Tag: world series

More baseball audio, just in time for the World Series

Shout! Factory, the imprint of the folks who used to run Rhino, has a new 4-CD box set out called “The Great American Baseball Box.” Looks like only one CD is songs; the other three seem to include play-by-play clips and whatever other audio they could dig up. I’ve got almost all the songs already, so if they sold Discs 2 through 4 separately, I might be tempted.

Also, when the White Sox revealed that their playoff anthem is Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” it didn’t take long for the record company to take advantage. This week, they released a 1981 live version as an iTunes single (maybe elsewhere as well). Actually, some of the iTunes reviewers claim the release is to promote a DVD release of the concert the song is taken from, but we know better — everything comes back to baseball.

These people walk among you

When we left Bill James, he was at Royals Stadium for Game 1 of the 1985 World Series, complaining about having paid $30 for a ticket. But then he realizes, “No one has a divine right to attend the event, and if you’re not willing to pay a good price for the tickets, you shouldn’t be there.” However…

All season, whenever Susie and I had gone into games we had been extremely fortunate as to the people seated around us; we made it through almost the entire season without being in earshot of an obnoxious drunk. On this memorable occasion, the law of averages caught up with us. We were seated three rows behind the last human being in the Western hemisphere that I would ever want to marry into my family; she is to this day known in our house only as That Dreadful Woman. That Dreadful Woman combined the virtues of a coquettish Southern Belle, the kind that during a Tennessee Williams play you always want to reach onstage and strangle to speed up the plot, with those of your ordinary garden-variety obnoxious drunken fan. She had a voice that would remind you of a clarinet with a broken reed, set to the volume of an airhorn, and I suppose that she had been a cheerleader two or three years ago, for she was determined to lead the section in cheers. She was a Cardinals fan, which was not the problem; in fact, the ingrained hospitality with which Midwesterners receive guests is probably all that kept her alive as the game progressed. Whenever anything happened…no, that’s not right…whether anything happened or not she would leap to her feet almost with every pitch and, turning around and gesturing with her arms as if tossing an invisible baby into the air, implore the section to screech along with her and give her some sort of reassurance about how cute she was. After about a half-inning of this, every time she got up she would, naturally, be greeted with a chorus of people yelling encouraging things like “Sit Down,” “Shut Up,” “Watch the Game,” “Lady, Pleeeese” and “Will you get your ass out of the way?” However, being apparently none too swift even when sober, she could not take in that it was not anyone in particular who was yelling these things, but everyone in the entire area taking turns. Having focused on someone who was abusing her, she would fasten onto the luckless soul — several, I am sure, will never go back to a baseball game as long as they live — and begin to whimper accusingly about how she didn’t mean to do any wrong and she was just trying to enjoy the game and didn’t they want to enjoy the game and didn’t Royals fans like to have fun and what had she done except cheer for her team and couldn’t they be friends? Eventually she would shake hands with whoever it was; this was, after all, the only way to get her to stop whining in your face. Then she would grab her camera and put her arm around her new friend and have her husband (or boyfriend, or whoever the poor bastard was) take a picture of the event.

She had other uses for the camera — for example, she would try on a funny hat, hand off the camera to a stranger and have him take a picture of her. She would do this, mind you, with the inning in progress.

The rest of the fans in the right field bleachers were not exactly a prize aggregation, either. There was an ABC crowd camera near us, and scattered around were several dozen children and nitwits whose attention was entirely focused on it. Whenever this camera panned near us they would leap to their feet and hold up banners, requiring the people sitting behind them, which was all of us except the front row, to jump up and down constantly in an attempt to follow the game. There were several beach balls bouncing around, enough that it took the baseball fans in the area two or three innings to capture each one and neutralize it with a pocket knife. It was easily the worst Kansas City baseball crowd that I’ve seen.

Also seated around us were a number of die-hard, life-long Cardinal fans who had driven over from St. Louis (five hour drive) to see the game. By the fifth inning, That Dreadful Woman had most of them discussing whether they should continue to support the Cardinals or perhaps should switch to the

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Royals. Several people offered to buy the Dreadful Woman a beer if she would just go stand in line to buy it. She took one guy up on his offer, apparently not understanding the purpose of it — she wasn’t easy to insult, this girl — and as she was leaving a guy about ten rows behind us shouted, ‘Remember where your seat is — section 342.” Needless to say, Section 342 was in an entirely different part of the ballpark, but it didn’t work. We enjoyed the game for a half-inning until she returned.

The next night, Bill James goes back for Game 2…

As Susie and I were walking down the aisle toward our seats the man in front of us yelled gleefully “I don’t think she’s here!” We broke out laughing; we were looking for the same thing. We had the same seats for all four games in Kansas City, if there were to be four games in Kansas City, and the thought of spending three more games trying to get HER to shut up had considerably dampened our enthusiasm for the event. We never saw her again, but it was easy to spot the people who had been in the

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same seats the day before. They were distinguished by the wary looks that they cast around until the offending seat was occupied.

They are the champions

This handy list of 2005 minor league champions was in the agate type of Sunday’s Los Angeles Times sports section, near the CFL results (Edmonton 37, British Columbia 20).

  • Triple A

    • Pacific Coast League: Nashville Sounds (Milwaukee Brewers)
    • International League: Toledo Mud Hens (Detroit Tigers)

  • Double A

    • Eastern League: Akron Aeros (Cleveland Indians)
    • Southern League: Jacksonville Suns (Dodgers)
    • Texas League: Midland RockHounds (Oakland Athletics)

  • Class A

    • California League: San Jose Giants (San Francisco Giants)
    • Carolina League: Frederick Keys (Baltimore Orioles)
    • Florida State League: Palm Beach Cardinals (St. Louis Cardinals)
    • Midwest League: South Bend Silver Hawks (Arizona Diamondbacks)
    • South Atlantic League: Kannapolis Intimidators (Chicago White Sox)
    • New York-Penn League: Staten Island Yankees (New York Yankees)
    • Northwest League: Spokane Indians (Texas Rangers)

  • Rookie

    • Appalachian League: Elizabethton Twins (Minnesota Twins)
    • Arizona League: Giants (San Francisco Giants)
    • Gulf Coast League: Yankees (New York Yankees)
    • Pioneer League: Orem Owlz (Angels)

  • Independent

    • Can-Am League: Worcester Tornadoes
    • Central League: Fort Worth Cats
    • Frontier League: Kalamazoo Kings
    • Golden Baseball: San Diego Surf Dawgs
    • Northern League: Gary SouthShore RailCats

Note that two teams that play in cities along the route of the South Shore Line won league championships, which may be a good omen for the Chicago White Sox.

Meanwhile, here’s Bill James, attending Game 1 of the 1985 World Series and writing about it in the 1986 Baseball Abstract: “On the way in I grumbled about the $30 price of the ticket, but on arriving at the park was struck by the absurdity of this; you pay $45 for tickets to a Broadway show and don’t think anything of it, and this is the World Series.” I believe Levi saw a Broadway show earlier this year, so perhaps he will enjoy that 1985 price quote as much as I did.

More from Bill James’s extended review of the 1985 World Series coming soon, including a comparison of the cities of St. Louis and Kansas City, and the tale of That Dreadful Woman.

The World Series was more engrossing than…

The scandal du jour in my hometown is that, back in October, a fire department captain invited two strippers and a couple of photographers to a fire station so they could take some photos, in which the women were both fully nude and partially clad in firefighter uniforms.

The Tampa Tribune’s in-depth account of the evening says, of the firefighters who were on duty at the fire station that night: “Berwald, Campbell and Layton said they hung around in the truck bay out of curiosity when the women and men arrived. They said they were focused on the World Series, however, and went back to watch television as soon as one woman was completely naked.

“Layton said he later learned one woman wore his uniform pants in the pictures.”

Original comments…

thatbob: To be fair, it was a very engrossing World Series, and 80% of firemen are gay. There aren’t many other professions where you get paid to lay around the house, lift weights, and gossip – when there isn’t a fire, of course.

maura: the scandal du jour in your hometown should be the rays’ willingness to give money to denny neagle.

Levi: I was talking to a coworker the other day, and I said, “You know: no matter how much we screw up at work, we can’t screw up so that it costs our company $75 over five years like Dave Dombrowski did by signing Magglio.” It was a freeing realization.

Not that I don’t love Magglio. But the guy is old, and he’s going to cost more than Scott Rolen, who’s younger and better and plays a tougher position.

The Motor City, etc.

I don’t think AAA would approve of staying in a hotel that has chunks of plaster all over the floor and pigeons roosting inside. But maybe I’m wrong. Their 2004 Tourbooks come out in April, so I’ll pick up the one for Michigan when I have the Triptik made and see how many “diamonds” they give the ol’ Book Cadillac.

While we’re on the subject of Detroit, just the other night, I watched an HBO documentary called “A City on Fire: The Story of the ’68 Detroit Tigers.” The part about the World Series might make Levi depressed and morose, but I enjoyed it. Our next baseball trip after this one needs to involve time travel.

It actually contained some content relevant to our National Anthem discussion: Mickey Lolich complaining about how long it took Jose Feliciano to get through “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the beginning of Game 5, and several other interviewees, including Ernie Harwell, talking about all the complaints received about this unique take on the anthem. It sounded fine to me, although they didn’t play the whole thing uninterrupted in the documentary, so I couldn’t tell exactly how long it went on for.

The birth of this blog prodded a couple of people to put their names into consideration as official hangers-on. Luke wants to go to Davenport and St. Louis, and Maura wants to join us in Pittsburgh in addition to Philadelphia, so I certainly hope she enjoys the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I have updated the itinerary with details of their attendance.

(S)T(L) and sympathy

In 1996, Levi was in the U.K. and the Cardinals battled the Braves in the NLCS. The Braves beat the Cardinals 14-0 in Game 5, and then 15-0 in Game 7, becoming the first team to win the NLCS after being down 3 games to 1. So I mailed Levi, across the ocean, a sympathy card with a few news clippings enclosed.

This year, shortly before Game 4 of the World Series was about to begin with the Cardinals already down 3 games to 0, I stopped off at the drugstore and bought a sympathy card. There was no reason to include news clippings this time, so instead, so it was more than just a card, I broke out my disused colored pencils to do some illustration, making a certain logo into a sad and tearful Cardinal.

I was finished by the sixth inning, and we all know what happened next. I put it in the mail the next day.

The preprinted message on the right reads “Although no words of sympathy can ease the loss you bear/Still, may you find some comfort knowing others truly care.” Appropriate, huh? The message I wrote on the left reads, “Well, we’ll see what happens in the next 86 years… (signed) Jim.” There was a raised illustration of a bouquet of flowers on the front of the card, so I couldn’t draw on the bumpy surface on the left side (which I didn’t think about when I was buying the card). I think I did a pretty good job, except for the fact that I somehow managed to end up with the cardinal leaning backwards. It’s more straight up-and-down in the real Cardinals logo.

Original comments…

Levi: I don’t know that this presentation does the card justice. The crying Cardinal looks very, very sad.

But Jim, does the fact that you were working on this card during the final game mean that the Cardinals’ loss is your fault?

Jim: I was watching the game TiVo-delayed, so nothing I did could possibly have affected the outcome. At least that’s my excuse.

Jason: It looks like the Cardinal is about to fall backwards off the bat in despair. And nice lettering job! Could you now draw a happy Devil Ray to celebrate the escape from the AL East cellar?

Score that play 1-3, and thus ends 2004

Well, Levi, aside from the fact that you had a rooting interest in the team that lost the World Series, I would hope you can agree with this statement: overall, this was a great baseball season. Maybe you wouldn’t use the emphasis, but I would (and did).

Original comments:

Lucas: My condolences, Levi.

Toby: Sorry, Levi. When are you coming home? I have a CD for you.

Dan: Levi, I feel your pain — ’twas me in ’00. I didn’t speak to anyone for days. And I still don’t like talking about it.

Steve: Even though it didn’t turn out right for the Cardinals this year, thanks to Levi and Jim for making this one of the most enjoyable interactive baseball seasons ever. This blog was like an angioplasty in the artery that led to my black baseball loathing heart. There are many things that still bug the hell out of me about baseball but this is neither the time nor the place. Thanks again.

Quoth the Rajah

“People ask me what I do in the winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do: I stare out the window and wait for spring.”
— Rogers Hornsby

Here’s hoping the Cardinals stave off winter one game at a time until at least Sunday.

Original comments…

Luke, hanger-on: Only 129 days until pitchers and catchers report.

Levi: I was counting on someone knowing the number. I was consoling myeslf that it’s about four months.

Thanks, Luke.

It could still happen

Don’t worry, Levi; my co-worker Joe and I spent our lunch break on Tuesday coming up with horrible “curse” scenarios that would cause the Red Sox to lose in spectacular fashion. Among them: Curt Schilling has a perfect game going, until his legs fall off. Also, Tim Wakefield gets hit by a truck.

Original comments…

Jason: Other curse scenarios:

Johnny Damon gets lost during a tour of the Anheuser-Busch brewery.

David Ortiz loses his shirt at one of the local riverboat casinos, so he has to serve as a greeter for the rest of the series until his debt is paid off.

Bill Mueller gets married to Bill Buckner’s daughter, and decides to take her last name.

Manny Ramirez gets stuck atop the Gateway Arch.

Terry Francona turns into Terry Francenstein.

sandor: Of the three post-game Red Sox interviews I’ve seen in this series, all three players spent their first moments behind the mic profusely crediting God for all of their good fortune.

So it wouldn’t seem totally unreasonable to me, if in fact God is responsible for the Sox players’ success, for Him to suddenly… change his mind. Who better to put on a curse than the cursemeister Himself?

Levi: Or, if Satan is responsible for their good fortune, I could see him getting really pissed and pulling the plug.

We’ll know that tonight when Jason Marquis, with a freshly-grown goatee, hits three home runs and throws a two-hit shutout.

What is it with Sox named Bill?

In Sunday’s game, Bill Mueller had the potential to become the next Bill Buckner, but a funny thing happened: the Red Sox won in spite of his errors. Well, also, it was only Game 2, so the Sox didn’t have a chance to win it all the way they did in Game 6 in 1986.

Anyway, perhaps this is a sign that Babe Ruth’s ghost has finally stopped haunting the Red Sox. Hopefully, he is now haunting Horatio Sanz for doing the worst Babe Ruth impression ever on this week’s “Saturday Night Live.” It was such a horrible impression that they had to start playing the wrong lip-sync track for poor Ashlee Simpson in order to distract the viewers from its horribleness. (The Babe Ruth impression, I mean, not necessarily Ashlee Simpson’s lip-sync track.) It also doesn’t help that Horatio Sanz is incapable of doing a comedy bit lasting longer than 90 seconds without cracking up for no good reason.

Original comments…

Jason: I didn’t know anyone still watched SNL.

Jim: But it’s so easy to TiVo through the boring parts, and occasionally there’s something that makes it all worthwhile.