Friday, June 22, 2007

No more blogging in the cold

Just a note…I’m moving to Arizona this weekend, so this bliggity-blog will be on hiatus until I get settled in, and until I can afford a scanner to post more stupid baseball cards. Hopefully I will find the time (and a computer – ours is on a moving truck now, possibly never to be heard from again) to keep a diary of how things progress over the next couple of weeks. If you don’t hear from me in two weeks, just know that it’s about 112 degrees in Arizona right now, and I probably just passed out again. So send help. In the meantime, feel free to browse the archives and enjoy all of the riveting material I have posted over the past three-plus years. And keep in mind, when my hit-counter reaches 10,000, I’m going to throw a huge party in Arizona, and award a bean burrito to my 10,000th “customer.” Not really though. But still.

See ya’ soon!


Thursday, June 21, 2007

Classic card of the week

Mike Fischlin, 1987 Topps

Hey, Mike Fischlin – I have an idea. Why don’t you choke up a little bit? Or, OR, why don’t you just run your hands halfway up the bat, so then if you swing, you can hit yourself in the chest at the same time? Wait, wait – I have a better idea. Why don’t you just use one of those miniature bats that they hand out to the fans on “bat day,” because that’s about as much power as you’re going to generate anyway standing there like that.

Mike Fischlin represents an extinct species of baseball player: the utility player. The utility players of the 80s were special because they could suck at several positions instead of just one. For example, Fischlin “played” both shortstop and second base – the positions of note for utility players – which gave the Yankees plenty of leverage in case their starting shortstop or second baseman died. Fischlin was a moderate upgrade from putting a cardboard cut-out of Alvaro Espinoza at shortstop, as the “Fishmeister” (as they called him) could not hit for average or power, was not especially fast, and was also blind. Mike Fischlin’s breakout season was most certainly 1980, when, while with the Astros, he played in one game, going 0-for-1 with a strikeout. For the season. But that was okay, because as the back of this card specifies, Mike Fischlin graduated from high school: Mike graduated from Elk Grove (Cal.) High School where he played baseball and basketball. Mike Fischlin was also a utility player for his high school basketball team – playing both point guard and second base – and was often asked to enter the game during the late stages of a blowout for the sole purpose of dribbling the ball off his leg.

Did you know?
Mike Fischlin is the only Yankee to never have his number retired, but a plaque that reads “Fishmeister” can be found in Monument Park next to Lou Gehrig.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Classic card of the week

John Henry Johnson, 1987 Topps

After signing the Declaration of Independence, John Henry Johnson was immediately drafted by the Milwaukee Brewers. Of course, I’m kidding – he was actually drafted by the Giants – obviously - and was eventually traded to the Brewers for 65 acres of land and the Senator of Virginia’s daughter. John Henry Johnson famously stunned the conservative American Congress by showing up to a weekly meeting wearing a wig that was not powdered white, which ironically was the origin of the “white afro,” which would ultimately be perfected by future American leaders such as Gallagher and Napolean Dynamite. Now, you may be wondering about John Henry Johnson’s baseball career, and asking yourself questions like, “How did John Henry Johnson develop such a love for the game of baseball?” That is an excellent question, and the back of this card can help explain: John Henry participated in Little League ball. Amazing, but true! It is not very often that you see a young boy participating in Little League ball, much less a young boy that would eventually go on to the big leagues! In fact, a 1986 survey stated that 94% of Major League Baseball players were once Girl Scouts, and had never even heard of “Little League.” But now you are undoubtedly saying to yourself, “But what about John Henry Johnson’s professional career?” Another excellent question. Let’s let the back of this card take over once again: July 6, 1965: Don Demeter played his 266th consecutive errorless game in outfield. Don’s 1965 Topps card was #429. Well, I hope that answers all of your questions about the great John Henry Johnson. Please remember to send him a thank-you card the next time you see an awesome white afro out in public. And don’t forget to vote! John Henry Johnson didn’t invent democracy for nothing!

Did you know?
John Henry Johnson’s nickname was Jo-He-Jo.

Friday, June 08, 2007

Classic card of the week

Kent Tekulve, 1988 Topps

Kent Tekulve was the last underhanded pitcher in Major League history. Now, you may be saying to yourself, “How the heck did a guy throw underhanded in the big leagues and not got shelled every time out?” Well, let me tell you something – Kent Tekulve had a little zip on his granny pitch. Tim Raines once mentally clocked a Tekulve changeup (all of his pitches were changeups) at 38mph, which isn’t too shabby, considering the gun had clocked the pitch at 36mph. Also, Kent Tekulve pretty much got shelled every time out. In fact, in 1985, Tekulve made just three appearances out of the bullpen for the Pirates, finishing the season with a stellar 16.20 ERA, which is, simply put, Weaveresque. In addition to distinguishing himself as the only underhanded pitcher of a generation ever, Kent Tekulve also had the largest caboose in modern baseball history. Kent Tekulve was the J-Lo of baseball, except slightly less attractive and not as Latin. Actually, like J-Lo, his backside often received more attention than Tekulve himself. Once in 1986, local Philadelphia paparazzi spotted Tekulve’s butt eating dinner with Kathleen Turner, which set off a media firestorm that would inadvertently spiral the Phillies into an 11-game losing streak. And that is not even where the J-Lo comparisons stop, as Tekulve wore the same sunglasses as Lopez, and was also once a backup dancer for “In Living Color.” I know, weird. Anyway, Kent Tekulve was approximately 5,000 years-old when this card was released, and was only mustering the energy to trot in from the bullpen every third day in order to collect his MLB pension. Whenever Tekulve made appearances in consecutive games, you could be sure that his locker would have a “Gone fishin’” sign on it the following day, since he was well aware that the Phillies were hesitant to overuse their prized 5,000-year old, underhanded workhorse. In 1989, Tekulve’s baseball pants split as he was launching ball four to R.J. Reynolds, which caused a 21-minute game delay, and forced Tekulve into retirement.

Did you know?
In 2003, Baseball Almanac proved, using a complicated statistical formula, that if Jeff Weaver pitched underhanded, his ERA would be infinity plus one.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

I almost died at the Spring Lake 5, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

For the past couple of years I had written “preview” columns for the Spring Lake 5, a popular Memorial Day Weekend 5-mile road race in Spring Lake, NJ. All these columns really consisted of was me doling out “advice” on how to best to run the race, what to wear, and when to go to the bathroom. Ya’ know, stupid stuff…the usual. Before the race last weekend, my wife asked me why I hadn’t written a column for this year’s race. I told her that there really wasn’t anything left to say. Well, I ran the race this year, and as it turns out – there’s a lot left to say.

I did not finish the Spring Lake 5 this year because I freakin’ collapsed near the finish line. Fantastic. Allow me to explain.

As usual, my entire family was running in the race this year – parents, wife, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws…everybody. And as usual, we all met at my aunt and uncle’s house (they live in Spring Lake Heights) beforehand. There were donuts, muffins, coffee…all kinds of stuff that I prefer not to inhale minutes before running a race. Twenty minutes till race time! Wait – is that chocolate frosted?! Not for me. A bottle of water was all I had that morning. This was no different than any year I had run the race, because I really don’t like to eat before running, and I’m not very hungry in the morning anyway. Most important meal of the day? Pffff. Well, you can probably sense the foreshadowing here already – I immediately regret that decision.

The last recorded picture of me standing...notice the empty stomach
(I'm the one in the middle...with mom and sister)

We were running a little late this year as well. Trying to pry 20 family members away from donuts so we can walk a mile to run five miles is pretty difficult, and this year proved darn near impossible. So my dad and I walked ahead of everybody, and barely made it in time for the start of the race. I very unpatriotically tried to weasel my way towards the front of the pack during the National Anthem, because I didn’t want to cross the starting line at the five-minute mark. Normally, we get to the race at least twenty minutes before it starts, giving us all time to stretch and mentally prepare (and by “mentally prepare” I mean stretch). Not this year. Two minutes after I got there, I was running. I hope you are still sensing the foreshadowing.

Bye Mike! See you at the banana stand! Or hospital! Whatever!

Now, last year for the Spring Lake 5, it was hot. I’m a fairly decent runner, I guess – I run a couple times a week, two miles here, three or four miles there. But I struggled last year. I don’t really set lofty goals for myself when it comes to running, but I always try to beat my time from the previous year’s race. Well, this year is was hot. Really hot. Last year I finished in 38:something, and this year I wanted to break 38 minutes. And at the risk of ruining the surprise, I didn’t. In fact, the clock is still running.

I was through the first mile marker at seven minutes, and feeling okay. I was still on pace at the second mile marker, just under 14 minutes, but feeling a little less okay. I still maintained my pace at three miles, 21 minutes. It was at this point however, that I was saying to myself, “Holy expletive, expletive. This is going to be the hardest thing I have ever done.”

I didn’t know what was going on. The previous Monday, in the hot and humid afternoon, I had run four miles outside no problem. I was totally ready for this race. Now, I had no legs underneath me, I was sucking wind, and people were passing me left and right. To make matters worse, keeping constant pace with me was a 60-something year-old dude, who was wheezing and gasping with every step and every breath. I didn’t think this guy was going to make it past the first mile, and now he was still there, making me feel like I couldn’t breath. I even said to the runner next to me, “Man, this guy is killing me!” No response. Just ran right ahead of me. Jerk.

Four miles at 29:30. I was losing it, but still on pace to beat my time. I’m barely moving at this point. People are blowing by me. I feel like Vince Carter in the fourth quarter of a playoff game, except I am actually trying.

Now, there’s a very defined homestretch of the Spring Lake 5. During the fifth mile, you turn a corner onto Ocean Avenue, and you can see the finish line ahead. Good times! This year? Bad times. The problem is, that finish line – although it appears right within reach – is still just under a half mile away. You still have to pace yourself. Regardless, this is the part of the race that I exert myself the most. Usually, I have something to exert.

I can see the clock ahead. It’s approaching 37 minutes. I still have about a quarter mile left. I’m running as hard as I can, but I feel like I’m dragging Rosie O’Donnell behind me. I start to notice that I’m running completely upright, like freakin’ Forrest Gump, and my body is starting to stiffen up. Now I’m veering off uncontrollably to the right side of the road. Still veering. Then, all of sudden, like the 2007 Yankees, I collapse.

I can’t imagine how this looked to anyone who was watching. It must have appeared as though a sniper got me from across the street. 10,000 people run this race every year, so the odds that not one of them saw me lose all coordination and end up on my butt were already stacked against me. Then, I find out the next day that my brother-in-law was caddying for a guy who had run in the race. After my brother-in-law described what had happened to me, the guy said, “Wait – tall guy? Lean? Wearing blue? Yeah, I saw him! I saw him go down!” Awesome. Hopefully, youtube was there too.

Also, I didn’t really collapse. I just couldn’t stand up anymore, and plopped to the ground. (Okay, fine…I collapsed.) A paramedic sees me and rushes over. I’m trying to get up, but I can’t. I’m two seconds away from passing out, and fighting it. I’m watching the runners pass, hoping that nobody I know – hey, only my entire family was behind me! – sees me like this. I’m pleading with the paramedic to let me finish, but meanwhile, I can’t even move. The paramedic picks me up, and we have to go to the freakin’ ambulance. To the left of me, I spot a woman whose entire face is covered in blood. Apparently, she didn’t eat her muffins either. At this point, the theme from “Platoon” is playing in my mind as I’m trying to cross a street of runners to get to the ambulance. What the hell is going on here?

Of course, I can joke about this now, but I kid you not – by the time I reached the ambulance, I thought I was going to die. I cannot stress this fact enough. Whereas my initial emotion upon this occurrence was pure embarrassment, the heightening of the situation was very dramatic. I literally thought I was dying. Not good times. I was a hairsbreadth away from losing consciousness, and I thought that if I did, I was a goner. I was screaming out prayers. I was scared as heck. My whole body was completely numb.

Now I’m inside the ambulance, on a stretcher, with an oxygen mask on (!). I’m still watching runners pass by, only now it’s out of the two small windows of the back of an ambulance. I still can’t feel my body. My mind is racing, but I’m slowly starting to realize that I’m not going to die, which was nice. I can hear the paramedic on his walkie-talkie describing me as “aggressive,” mostly because I arrived at the ambulance kicking and screaming, demanding that they “hook me up to something!” Now I’m more subdued, but still delirious. I can remember saying a few things, one being, “I’m either going to die, or this is going to be the best story ever.” Then, I noticed a “No Smoking” sign inside of the ambulance, and told the paramedic that I was “going to try not to light up,” at which point he laughed, and then told me to stop talking. Then I contemplated the ridiculousness of a “No Smoking” sign inside of an ambulance until I slowly started to feel my extremities again.

I felt like I was inside the ambulance for hours (it was actually about an hour and a half). Two paramedics hovered over me - talking to each other about their plans for the evening while occasionally taking my pulse and blood pressure - while I stared into oblivion. They also asked me repeatedly if I wanted to go to the hospital, to which I nodded no. They suggested I should definitely eat something as soon as possible, which struck me as odd, since we were parked about twenty yards from the finish line, where there were about 25 free banana stands. I’m wondering why one of them can’t get out and walk two minutes to get me a freakin’ banana, but I don’t have the strength to actually say it.

We need 20 CCs of water and two bananas! Stat!

Heat exhaustion and dehydration were the reasons given for what happened to me. Actually, according to the paramedics, people were dropping like flies at this year’s race, which made me feel a little better. But not really. It took me about twenty minutes to summon the strength to stand up. I managed to remember my uncle’s cell phone number (which was good, since he was the only one who would have had it on him), but I couldn’t even dial – the paramedic had to do it. Hi, is this, ummm…Uncle Dave? Yeah, this is the paramedics. We have your nephew. Over.

So my uncle came and picked me up. The rest of my family, after a two-hour long search party for me that only ended with the false hope that I was already back at my uncle’s, was still walking back to the house as we passed them in the car. Beep! Beep! Mike’s alive! So don’t worry - the barbeque is still on!

Of course, everyone was very concerned, especially my wife, who was among the handful of people that actually thought to eventually contact the first aid booth (to no avail) when they couldn’t find me. Actually, among the reasons given for my whereabouts before approaching the first-aid booth were: a) I went to a bar, and they were gonna kill me! (there are no bars in Spring Lake, by the way), b) I got tired of waiting for everyone and went back to the house (apparently, I’m Carl Lewis), and c) I had to take a humongous dump (the most feasible explanation, courtesy of my cousin John).

You can sense the concern as the search for Mike vehemently begins
(cousin Cara, sister Jill, cousin Kate)

So, not only did I not beat my time from last year, but I hung a big “DNF” atop my 2007 Spring Lake 5 overall performance. I came to find out later that, among the participants that officially beat me this year were a) everybody, b) my lovely wife, who runs as often as the Spring Lake Five rolls around, c) Larry the Lighthouse and Wendy the Windmill, a “couple” that ran inside of a giant lighthouse and windmill costume, respectively, d) my mom, who was once, during a 5-K race, handily beaten by a guy on crutches, e) several pregnant women, and f) the wheezing old man that I hold personally responsible for this entire turn of events. Geez, that guy really did almost kill me.

Honestly, as I’m writing this, I still haven’t fully recovered. I have no idea what happened out there, but I’m very thankful that I’m still alive. Apparently, as it turns out, I am not the one to give advice on how to run the Spring Lake 5, unless, of course, you are suicidal, in which case, I would reiterate my original point that breakfast is for losers.

And speaking of breakfast, my wife later informed me that after he finished the race, Larry the Lighthouse was eating a banana through the mouth hole of his giant lighthouse.

My banana.

Un. Freakin'. Believable.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Classic card of the week

Tom Henke, 1988 Topps

Tom Henke is the godfather of awesome 80s baseball cards, and there may be no better example of his greatness than this very card. For starters, this card proves that Tom Henke was not just great in the sarcastic sense – he was an actual all-star. It is virtually inconceivable to think that this guy was among baseball’s elite during an era that included Mattingly, Boggs, Puckett, Clemens, and many, many others. But nevertheless, let’s take a look at what truly made Tom Henke special. 1) Henke was a relief pitcher for a Canadian baseball team (the American dream, ironically). 2) When Henke smiled, his face bunched up in a manner that made it appear as though he was wearing one of those party hats with the strings that hurt your chin (equally awesome). 3) Tom Henke, rather brashly, ignored the ongoing trend of alternative visual aids, which presented the possibility of not wearing ridiculously humongous glasses while trying to perform athletic feats. During a time when many players were opting for the more resourceful, less-likely-to-fall-off-of-your-face-as-you-were-throwing contact lenses, Tom Henke had the foresight hindsight chutzpah to say, “Screw that. I’m sticking with these.” Truth be told however, Henke did once entertain the idea of switching to contacts, but because his prescription was so strong, his optometrist could only muster up contract lenses that were the size of Frisbees, which Henke would have had to wrap around his head with rubber bands.

But what made Tom Henke an all-star? Let’s see: Pitched scoreless relief to record Save as Blue Jays dealt Angels 3-1 defeat, May 29, 1987. His 34 Saves in 1987 represented career-high and led American League. So, in delving further into Tom Henke’s career accomplishments, we discover that he earned a save on May, 29, 1987 – which is absolutely amazing in and of itself, and on par with DiMaggio’s hitting streak – until we find out it was a scoreless save, which vaults Tom Henke into his own stratosphere among all-time great closers, leaving Mariano Rivera in the dust (who, by the way, never earned a save on May 29, 1987…I’m just saying). What may be less impressive however, was the fact that Henke led the American League in saves that year with 34. This number doesn’t really transfer well to modern times, as a lesser, present-day closer like K-Rod could notch 34 saves in a good month. Luckily, the Elias Sports Bureau was able to prorate Tom Henke’s 1987 save total to 2007 standards, incorporating all kinds of statistical data, like steroids, the weight of baseballs, the size of ballparks, and Lasik surgery. They concluded that Tom Henke’s 1987 season, twenty years later, would have resulted in 8,000 saves, approximately. That’s gotta be some sort of record.

Did you know?
Tom Henke finished eighth in a hot air balloon race from Ottawa to British Columbia in 1993.