Kuzul

For as long as most of us can remember, the Dallas Cowboys have been America’s Team. 

A lot of that has to do with the teams locale, the dearth of professional teams that existed in America’s heartland when the ‘Boys broke onto the expansion scene in 1960.

Mostly though you’d have to say it’s been their great on field success—almost from the word go as they quickly came to challenge Vince Lombardi’s Packers for NFL preeminence in the reasonably early ’60’s—that has dictated to their becoming not only a storied franchise, but one of the two or three most highly valued in all of sports.

There are challengers to the throne no doubt. Incrementally teams will rise up each year and capture the fancy of the rooting public, the New Orleans Saints of 2009/2010 for example, and in a bigger picture, love/hate/you just can’t take your eyes off them sense, the Pittsburgh Steelers, New England Patriots, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox or Celtics, the Los Angeles Lakers can at least make some claim to being the most acclaimed team in American sports.

But that’s not quite the same thing as being America’s Team. The team that best represents the country’s current state of being, and at this time we’d like to throw a new candidate into the ring.

The New York Mets.      

The team is owned by Fred Wilpon, who providentially bought a split share of the Queen’s nine in 1986, and then finished the deed in 2003 when he paid off partner Nelson Doubleday a balance sum of $135 million.

Good deal for Wilpon you would say. Let’s say he paid around $200 million in total for the Mets who are currently valued somewhere between $8-$900 million dollars. 

The problem there though is the Mets are currently in debt to the tune of $500 million plus.

Reports say they are leaking funds annually, maybe as much as $50 million—God knows how that can be, when virtually every other team in the game is turning a profit—and as everybody with access to any aspect of the media is aware, Fred Wilpon and company are up to their eyeballs in the Bernie Madoff scandal.

The latest byline being Wilpon profited from his dealings with the since jailed paper money maker, when countless others took it on the chin to the tune of 70 or 80 billion smackers combined.

Wilpon claims to be clean of course, that is in lieu of the billion dollar law suit against him helmed by attorney Irving Picard who represents the angrily fleeced. But with a Ponzi Scheme prior in 2008—which already cost him a $13 million settlement—you’ve got to figure “Fast Fred” could very well be going down on this one, at least to the tune of another couple of hundred million dollars.

That’s not good, and there’s no wonder MLB had to float the Mets $25 million a couple of months ago, and Wilpon now has his hand out for another $50 million in lieu of sorting through potential investors who are willing to invest an enormous sum for a 20-25 percent stake of this barely floating baseball ship. 

And these issues don’t even begin to address the Mets’ monumental on field concerns. With the games fifth largest payroll, $135 million, they finished the 2010 season 79-83, good for fourth in the tough National League East, and did little to improve the club in the offseason.

Heading into 2011 the team has about $12o million tied up in these eight players:

Johan Santana $22.5 million 
Carlos Beltran $18.5 million 
Jason Bay $16 million 
David Wright $14 million 
Oliver Perez $12 million 
Francisco Rodriguez $11.5 million 
Jose Reyes $11 million 
Luis Castillo $6 million 

There are some pretty frightening names and contracts there.

Figure you can count on Wright and Santana to perform at a high level, but by the same token you’re going to have to pray Oliver Perez and, to a lesser extent, Luis Castillo can make season long big league contributions.

You’ll be in the same position hoping Jose Reyes and Carlos Beltran can stay healthy, Jason Bay can give you ten million dollars worth out of the sixteen, and Francisco Rodriguez, Krazy-Rod, can just keep his head on straight long enough to complete the 162 season without complications arising due to domestic affairs and/or incarceration. 

And that’s only eight guys!

Is there any wonder why the Mets brought in “Moneyball Administrator” Sandy Alderson, previously adhered to the ever spartan Oakland Athletics, to take over the team and bring some measure of sanity to a situation run completely amok?

My goodness, we’re still thirty days or so from Opening Day and the New York Mets appear to be screwed sixteen ways from Sunday.

Financial status? Bleak.

Opportunity to remedy financial status? Slim to fat.

Field Product? Filled with question marks if not glaring holes. 

Prospects for 2011? Prayerful. 

Similarity to the status of too many Americans struggling to keep pace with diminished incomes if not outright joblessness and the higher cost of almost everything? Stark!

The New York Mets for all their myriad problems, tall tales, poor management and bleak prospects have become a media enhanced microcosm of too many things that plague our once great nation. 

American’s have lost confidence in our government, Met fans, baseball fans from around the country have come to view the Queen’s Kids as a shining example of almost everything wrong in our National Pastime.

Big spending, little to no return on the dollar. The team is rife with egoism, gluttony and most of all failure, and it would take an apparent miracle for a significant rebound in 2011.

Ring a bell?

In their not so storied past, the Mets have been known to conjure a miracle or two. “You Gotta Believe” is the teams very own catch phrase, and would it surprise you terribly to hear those same three words uttered by political mouthpieces hoping to gain your consumer confidence or just your plain vote as the country moves tenuously forward into continued uncharted waters?

It’s all so murky, but on the other hand so terribly clear. The New York Mets have almost always embraced the role of underdog, but now they are in the worst kind of financial mess to boot.

A lot like the rest of us, and one would have to hope if somehow the Mets can pull through and make a go of it in 2011, then maybe a great breath of others can too.

So here’s a vote for the New York Mets, with all their flaws if not glaring deficiencies becoming America’s Team.

Why?

Because we need a miracle too.

Thanks, A.M.,

DR

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St. Louis muscleman Albert Pujols has done a pretty good job of imprinting himself on Major League Baseball’s collective consciousness these past several months as followers of the grand old game have been compelled to consider a radical change of venue for the stand-out Cardinal first baseman.  

The numbers being bandied about are pretty heady, as Pujols, at least for now, seems intent on becoming the games highest paid player — something in the area of $25-30 million per year with the only possible harbinger being there are but a handful of clubs who could possibly consider crunching that number.   

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Thought we were going to leave you hanging, huh? No such luck—let’s tune in.

Mutt Munson: “Hello everyone, I’m Mutt Munson and I’m here with my great friend and longtime broadcast partner Jock Johnson, and today from Fenway Park we bring you the final game of what has been a thrilling match up so far between loaded contingents from New York and Boston.

And, Jock, this series has been stoked with controversy almost since it’s opening with fans questioning line up calls and in particular the move of Ted Williams to right field, but that seems to have gone on without a hitch. Williams has played error-less ball in right and his bat has been on fire since the outset of the series.” 

Jock Johnson: “Well why not, Mutt, I mean for chrissake Ted had the guts to go and take on the Jerry’s and the Goo … well North Koreans, risking his life in a flying tin can with bullets blazing everywhere so I would think a switch to right for the good of the club wouldn’t be something so far out of his reach.

In fact, I was talking to him a little earlier and he was saying he’d never seen an outfielder cover ground like Tris Speaker in his life and his standard policy so far this series is if he has to move more than fifty feet to his right he just holds up from there and lets the Grey Eagle take it on over.”

Mutt: “And on the offensive side it’s also been the combination of Williams & Speaker along with ol’ Double XX Jimmy Foxx and young shortstop Nomar Garciaparra carrying the day. Garciaparra has really impressed us on both sides of the ball, has shown great range in the field and a huge arm out of the hole … in particular that bang, bang beauty catching Mickey who was really hustling down the line a couple of nights ago in the game that tied this whole thing up for Boston.”

Jock: “Well that’s one of the few times anyone on the Boston staff has been able to handle Mantle. He’s been on base via the wood or walk 14 times in 25 at bats and along with DiMaggio and Ruth has been the catalyst for this devastating Yankee attack … but that’s enough about what’s gone on thus far, Mutt, let’s talk about today’s game and the pitching matchup.

People are saying Casey’s gone crazy and is trying to pull a rabbit out of his hat with clutch lefty Eddie Lopat and Francona has decided to go with his stud righty Curt Schilling bypassing a pretty well rested Lefty Grove.”

Mutt: “Both are tried and true though in numerous post season outings, folks, so hold onto your hats, we’re about to tip off after a quick message to you from our friends at Anheuser Busch.”

Off the air.

Jock: “God damn, I need a cigarette.” 

Mutt: “Yeah, well there’s no smoking up here … try chewing some gum.”

Jock: “I’d rather have a wad.”

Mutt: “Do you see a spitoon anywhere? And no booze either, Jock, we don’t need a repeat of what happened in Detroit. You start with some of that loose talk here and we’ll get pulled right off the air.”

Jock: “What are you my mother? Detroit was three years ago. All I said was I’d kill for a cigarette.”

Producer: “We’re back on in 30 seconds guys, cut the crap. You sound like my grand parents squawking over a game of parchese.”

Both Jock and Mutt turn around and offer a host of explicitives deleted. The first two innings go scoreless and we pick up the call with Red Sox runners on first and third with two away and Manny Ramirez at the plate.

Jock: “You know I tell you, Mutt, I never thought I’d see the day with a ballplayer wearing his hair down to the middle of his back like this kid Ramirez. I don’t know if he’s going for the Hercules effect but it hasn’t worked so far, he hasn’t hit a lick all series.

But Lopat hangs a curve Ramirez rips it down the left field line.

Mutt: There’s the first big hit by Ramirez, Pesky is home in a walk, Doerr rounds into third, the throw by Mantle is into second…he’s out! What a throw by Mickey Mantle from deep in the left field corner. I don’t think Ramirez thought he had a chance and he was kind of loafing off the turn at first and this inning comes to an end in dramatic fashion but it’s the Red Sox who take the early lead on the Yankee’s 1-0. 

And Schilling is dealing, throwing 95 and up, mixing in a sharp slider, the occasional change, and seems to have the Bronx Bombers just where he wants them.

On the other side, Lopat is pitching equally well. Aside from the run in the third he’s successfully worked the corners, changed speeds, and frustrating the left hand likes of William and Speaker entirely and thru seven full innings the Red Sox continue to lead 1-0.

But in the top of the eighth DiMaggio leads off with a double. Ruth skies to deep center, Speaker has a track on it but Joe moves to third on the sac with one away.

That brings Mantle to the plate. All the Yankees need is a fly ball to just about any part of the ballpark and the game will be tied. Schilling quickly runs the count to 0-2. Mantle then drives one down the right field line … just foul.

Schilling then drops an 0-2 change on the outside part of the late for a called strike three, Mantle is left shaking his head, the Red Sox fans explode, but it’s Gehrig coming to the plate and that prompts Francona to head to the mound.

Francona to Schilling: What do you think here? We take a pass on Gehirg?”

Schilling looks over to the on deck circle: “Yogi’s up next. That little fuc*&^er, I could throw it at his head and he’ll still find away to get a base hit. I say we go at he big guy.”

Francona decides it’s poison either way, let’s Schilling pitch to Gehrig but it turns out to be a mistake as Lou takes a 2-1 fastball on the outside part of the plate and promptly lines one off the Green Monster in left. Manny plays it cleanly, but the speedy Gehrig motors into second with a clean two bagger.

The Red Sox fans let out a collective groan, but the dissettlement over the tie score quickly becomes disbelief as Berra proves Schilling a profit by turning a chest high fastball over into right and with Gehrig off with the crack of the bat, he scores easily and the Yankee 1-0 deficit is suddenly a 2-1 lead. 

All of the city of Boston seems to deflate. Francona comes out and is booed heavily; Wood comes on for Schilling and punches out A-Rod but he damage is done. 

It appears as though it may be permanent, too. Lopat gets Williams and Foxx to start the bottom of eighth which brings on Johnny Pesky.

Mutt: Jock this is a tough matchup for the ‘Sox. Lopat is absolutely sailing and he hasn’t been touched by a left hand batter all day.

But Pesky battles Lopat to a 3-2 count, fouls off a couple of pitches while Red Sox fans hold their collective breath.

Mutt: Lopat winds, here’s the pitch. Pesky swings and he drives one to right does this ball have the legs…. 

Jock: I think it does, will it stay fair?

Mutt: Unbelievable, Johnny Pesky…my god I can’t even hear myself, Fenway park has just exploded! Johnny Peskey, Mr. Red Sox has just deposited one inside the aptly names Pesky pole and this game is now all tied up at two apiece. How about that?

And so it remains. Casey pulls Lopat, turns to Gossage who puts away Carlton Fisk and then Wood and Gossage both throwing, distinct, virtually unhittable heat trade zeroes in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh frames.

In the top of the 12th Lyle comes on. He quickly gets pinch hitter Jim Rice on a fly ball to left, strikes out Speaker on a slider that breaks a mile outside which brings Williams to the plate.

Ted promptly slams one into the deep gap in right center. DiMaggio hustles after it but this is the deepest part of Fenway and he amply beats Joe’s throw into third for a stand up triple.  

With Foxx coming up Stengal heads to he mound and calls for Rivera. This time the conversation revolves around walking Foxx, but with the left handed Pesky on deck, just the kind of punch hitter that will occasionally have some success against Rivera.

The Yanks decide to pitch walk Double XX and take another go at Pesky. It’s something of an unconventional move trading a right hand hitter for the left hander Pesky but Rivera and his slider are notoriously tough on south side swingers. 

Still Pesky and the great Rivera battle to a 2-2 count. 

Mutt: So here we are again, anything from Pesky will give the ‘Sox a 3-2 lead. Rivera deals, Pesky swings and oh my god it’s another drive to right. Ruth is moving over …

Jock: This could be outta here…

Mutt: Ruth goes up and into the stands. Does he have it?

A moment’s pause as Mutt waits on the umpires call.

Mutt: Yes, he does. Yes, he does! Oh what a catch by Babe Ruth to save the Yankees from a crushing defeat here in the bottom of the twelfth. Mr. Red Sox Johnny Pesky has been robbed ladies and gentleman, he has been robbed by Yankee right fielder Babe Ruth!  

Papelbon comes on in the top of the 13th. He gets DiMaggio and Ruth both fly to Speaker in center. With Mantle coming to the plate let’s pick up the call.

Mutt: Wow, wow, wow, Jock…two away in the bottom of the twelfth, we’re still tied at two apiece of what’s been an absolutely thrilling affair. The fans seem to be over the disappointment of a few moments ago when Johnny Pesky was absolutely robbed in right, are up on their feet again calling for Papelbon to put Mantle away as well.

The Red Sox closer winds and deals…Mantle takes a mammoth rip, and he dribbles one down the first base side. He’s off and flying, Papelbon rushes the ball…he can’t get to it, he can’t get to it, Mantle is safe at first! He’ s safe at first and the Yankee’s are still alive here in the 13th with Berra coming to the plate!    

Jock: We’ve seen it endlessly over the years, Mutt, this Yankee team will come and get you when you least expect it.

Mutt: Five O’Clock lightning, Jock.  

Jock: And Berra’s as clutch a hitter as you could want coming to the plate now. Papelbon has been throwing smoke and the ‘Sox just got the bad side of it on that Mantle infield dribbler.

Mutt: Mickey really showed off that incredible speed and Berra settles in.

Papelbon puts a blazer on the inside corner of he plate. Strike one. He does the same on the outside part of the plate. Yogi swings and misses strike two. 

Then he puts one well inside, a waste pitch. Berra decides to swing anyway, barely gets a piece and Fisk is unable to hold on. This turns out to be the pivotal pitch at bat. Papelbon then puts a pair of sliders in the dirt the second gets away from Fisk and Mantle hustles into second. 

The Red Sox consider walking Berra, but with two strikes and their ace closer throwing what appear to be unhittable heat they decide to try and finish Yogi off. A decision they will come to regret. 

Mutt: I’m absolutely breathless myself, Jock. This crowd has been up and roaring, imploring the Red Sox nine to finish off heir hated rivals the seventh inning on and the Yanks simply refuse to deal.

It’s still 2-2 here, Mantle takes a short lead off second, Papelbon winds and deals…Berra swings and hits one deep to left, that’s going to make it to the wall. No! It’s going to make it over the wall in left!

Yogi Berra has just planted one over the Green Monster in left and the Yankee’s have taken a 4-2 lead here in the 13th and folks you can here a pin drop here in Fenway as the Bronx Bombers mob team-mate Yogi Berra in the N.Y. dugout. Unbelievable.

A-Rod follows with a double off the wall but Rivera goes down swinging and the deficit holds at two heading into the bottom of the 13th. 

Rivera gets Manny looking on a knee high fastball that just nicks the outside part of the plate to open the bottom of the 13th. Fisk lines a single up the middle, Doerr walks, but Yaz, pinch hitting for Papelbon, flies to shallow left and neither runner is able to advance.

That brings Speaker to the plate and he surprises everyone dragging a bunt down the first base line. There is no play to be made, he is safe at first with the bags juiced.

Nomar comes to the plate and promptly smashes one down the third base line. Nettles in for A-Rod makes an incredible diving stop on the ball but it rolls out of his grasp, Fisk scores, the bases are still juiced with the great Ted Williams coming to the plate.

Mutt: Oh my goodness, gracious, so it comes to this. Two away in the bottom of the 13th, the Yanks holding on to a one run lead with two away Williams at the plate and a seemingly unruffled Mariano Rivera on the mound.

Jock: Mutt, however this goes down we have to say that this match up between these two great ball clubs has not disappointed on any level. This has turned out to be the series of the century and this game has just been something out of this world.

Mutt: Rivera is set, so is Williams…

Ted takes one a little inside for ball one. Hits a liner down the right field line … just foul. Rivera comes inside again, Williams lays off and it’s 2-1.

Mutt: There’s no way Rivera will walk Williams in this situation, he will have to put the ball somewhere inside the strike zone. The crowd is hushed at this point in rapt anticipation, Rivera winds, he deals, Williams swings, and he hits a liner up the middle, here comes DiMaggio …. 

In all fairness we should end it here. Neither side will ever believe their boys would drop this baseball showdown to end all showdowns, but that’s the things about the diamond game…unless Bud Selig is in attendance there ain’t no ties.

Mutt: DiMaggio’s coming, he dives…he’s got it! He’s got it! The great Yankee Clipper makes the catch and the New York Yankee’s have defeated the Boston Red Sox in one of the greatest games these baseball loving eyes have ever seen!

And that’s all she wrote, won’t get into a whole big aftermath here. Just hope you enjoyed it, 

DR

www.thedailymunson.com 

Read more MLB news on BleacherReport.com

To a certain extent this is excerpted from a recent write up on a battle between All Time Yankee’s & All Time Red Sox, though while writing about Roger Clemens and all of his recent travails it certainly felt like an interesting enough, or topical subject onto itself.

So we fleshed it out a bit with remarks about particular periods of seemingly extraordinary performance and we hope you’ll find it a worthwhile, conversational read.

That’s it for the preamble, DR. 

I admit it, at first it was complete and total brainlock that kept me from considering Roger Clemens from this format.

After, I readily considered giving it the old, well he was a juicer sluff off, which to a certain extent I still am, though eventually I came to feel it was an issue that deserved some open minded coverage from both sides of the coin.

So here we are (Career regular season stats can be found below). 

The Rocket burst onto the Red Sox scene in 1984, (when he won the Rookie Of The Year award in a truncated 9-4 season), and by 1986 he was already en route to being considered the best pitcher in baseball, going 24-4 with a 2.48 E.R.A, 238 K’s winning the first of three Cy Young awards in a Red Sox uniform. 

But by 1993 the Red Sox nation started to see a flameout and only three years later he was unceremoniously left to sign with the Toronto Blue Jays.

North of the border, the Rocket suddenly rekindled, winning 41 games in ’97 & ’98 as well as his fourth and fifth Cy Young awards. At the time, it just seemed like a change of venue boost; nobody really considered the possibility of Roger Clemens using performance enhancing drugs (or even knew much about performance enhancers back then), but looking back on it now, familiarized as we have been by the seeming ease with which one could—remember Ben Johnson!—or can get their hands on the stuff on Canadian turf, it goes to figure if there was a starting point for the usage 1997 & 1998 would be it.  

In 1999 at the age of 36 Clemens joined the New York Yankees, and while he was nowhere near the effective pitcher he was in Toronto or in his earlier years with the ‘Sox, he did win 77 regular season games for the Bombers in the ensuing five seasons. (One can openly wonder about the practical, continued or rampant use of steroids in the explosive eye of New York and all it’s press vs. the laid back environs of Toronto.) 

It was also in New York that he had his first real taste of post season success. With the ‘Sox he had been known as a regular season phenomenon, but a post season or big game bust. In nine postseason starts ranging from the age of 23 to the age of the 32, all with Boston, Clemens went 1-4.

With the Bombers, Clemens got 17 post season starts, winning seven and losing four with the highlight coming in 2000, (eight innings of two hit shutout ball vs. the rival cross town Mets), amidst the Piazza bat throwing incident when a presumably, if not momentarily deranged Rocket tossed a splintered bat that landed only few feet from Piazza’s person.

Then in 2004 at the age of 41, Clemens signed with the hometown Astros and did something that would have been considered beyond belief for almost anyone else as he went 18-4 for Houston and helped pitch the club into the NLCS.

The following year, Clemens won 13 games with a 1.87 ERA and made it back to the big dance as Houston squared of in the 2005 World Series with the Chicago White Sox in what turned out to be a losing effort.

Finally, at the age of 44, Clemens retired after a shot half season or so with the Yanks and from there looked to be on a dead track to becoming a first ballot Hall of Famer.

Of course that won’t happen now with all the allegations of steroid use, Clemens seemingly crazy denials, even going so far as to indict his wife as the recipient of injectable materials delivered to his Texas home.

All this continues to beg the omnipresent, two fold question, when did it start and where do the accusations leave Clemens as far as the game’s far reaching, historic channels go?

For now, it seems he is simply a non-person as far as Major League Baseball is concerned. Bud Selig very definitely wishes Clemens would go away for a long while, disassociate, as the Commissioner tries to work himself out from under never ending questions about performance enhancers and how they affected the game these past fifteen years or so.

For the everyday fan, well, he or she has been left to wonder if the miraculous turnaround seasons in Toronto, the ageless wonder seasons he engendered at home in Houston where he was able to do and train as he pleased, (not even accompanying the club on trips when he would not be pitching), were actually less to do with heaven sent or god given ability then to whatever it was he or personal trainer Brian McNamara might have been injecting into his rear.

One would think his numbers in Boston were legit because if he was juicing then, why would he have had so much fall off over the last couple of seasons in Beantown? Clemens attributed his rebound with the Jays to the addition of a lethal split finger, fastball, but with what we know now all of that is subject to serious debate.

From 1986 to 1992, seven full seasons, Roger Clemens was as good as it gets on a Major League level. The question from there is, was that as good as he was ever meant to be on a Major League Level with much of the ensuing success due to performance enhancing substances? 

The difference comes to this. In scenario A, Roger Clemens was a dominant pitcher with a blazing fastball who burned out after a truncated period of time and was meant to toil in mediocrity from there. In scenario B, he goes on to win another 150 games or so and ends up being considered one of the five greatest right hand pitchers in the history of the game and a surefire Hall Of Famer.

We know Clemens prefers scenario B. Most of the rest of us aren’t so sure all the protracted success should have ever come about and slowly but surely Roger Clemens the pitcher is fading from our memories. 

Feel free to chime in. Have a great New Year, 

DR

Read more MLB news on BleacherReport.com

Field of Dreams: James Earl Jones (Terrence Mann) to Kevin Costner (Ray Kinsella): “Ray, people will come Ray.”

“They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. 

“Of course, we won’t mind if you look around, you’ll say. It’s only $20 per person. They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it, for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they’ll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.

“People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh…people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”

While we are creeping a little closer to pitchers and catchers we’re still in the midst of what’s turning out to be one very ferocious winter. A lot of downtime with snow piling up everywhere, which may leave the mind to wander—contemplate a strong drink, fantasize about the neighbor’s wife and, in a pinch, strong, lingering memories of epic Yankee-Red Sox battles gone by. 

In this case we’ll do you one better—our own little Field of Dreams—and pull together 25-man rosters of All-Time Yankees and All-Time Red Sox and tee them off in a seven-game series that will have you seeing baseball stars.

So without further ado, we begin with the masked men, a group of receivers that have etched their own little corner in Cooperstown’s Hall of Fame.

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And the answer issss no. We’ll never see asterisks to mark some of the blatantly questionable performances of the denoted, approximate 15-year period ranging from the early 1990s until at least midway through the first decade of this century, because to do so is as much an indictment of Bud Selig and league ownership as it is many of the supersized players themselves.

The epic 1998 Mark McGwire-Sammy Sosa home run race clearly brought baseball back into the first-class seating section of American sports, re-establishing the long-time fan fascination with the long ball, which goes back to the days of the charismatic Bambino, traveling through the handsome vagaries of Lou Gehrig, Jimmy Foxx, Hank Greenberg, the great Teddy Ballgame, Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris.

Of course league ownership, media and the sensible fan knew something was going on. Forget that only two players in 70 years were able to touch the 60 plateau and suddenly Sosa, McGwire and Bonds were making successive mockeries of the mark.

For many of us with a watchful eye, it was the sudden, sensational emergence from offensive mediocrity to downright Mendoza line obscurity that can be attributed to the likes of a Brady Anderson, a .250 lifetime hitter with middling power who blasted 50 homers in 1996 or Benito Santiago who hit 30 homers for the Phils in ’96 at the age of 31 after totaling 35 home runs in the three previous seasons and never more than 18 in any of his 10 major league seasons to that point.

There were countless others that hammered home the point that it was way more than Wheaties that were driving the modern ballplayers’ engines in the approximate decade-and-a-half stanza when offensive statistics truly ran wild.

Certainly the issue of complicity is complicated and far reaching.

It can also be expounded upon at another time. Today we address the home run. If Major League Baseball won’t do anything to engender a little statistical perspective on the greatest long ball hitters of all time, we will—with a few liberties no doubt—but those have been taken in the most plausible way and the rearranged listing may just hit you about right.

One to Five: Ruth, Aaron, Griffey, Mays, Bonds

Babe Ruth: 714, Projected 774: The fact that the Great Bambino was a dominant left-handed pitcher over his first four seasons with the Boston Red Sox, combined with his later offensive exploits, in many minds makes him the greatest baseball player of all time. 

Despite the lingering perception that Babe’s training regimen included little other than hot dogs, beer and the ladies of the night, his long ball acumen—so thrilling for fans that it precipitated the use of a livelier ball and eventual elimination of the spitter to make the home run and enhanced offensive output more widespread amongst major league minions—is unsurpassed in terms of consistency over a peak period of play.  

From 1920 to 1931, 12 seasons (two of which were injury or attitude plagued), Ruth averaged 47 home runs and 150 RBI. He had six seasons where he hit .370 or better, peaking at .393 in 1923. If you add a mere 15 home runs per season for his time spent as a full-time hurler his projected total of 774 puts him on top of our reconstructed list. 

Henry Aaron: 755, No change: More of a line drive hitter than classic long ball type, “Bad Henry” still generated enough power and length on his fearsome rips to take advantage of reasonably cozy parks in both Milwaukee and Atlanta.   

He excelled in the late 50’s and 60’s during a time when major league pitching, especially in the National League (Gibson, Koufax, Drysdale, Marichal) was at its best. He hit 40 or more home runs in a season eight times, and had nine seasons with 118 or more RBI. He did his thing in a quiet way, and in the end, when he was really chasing down Ruth’s ghost, he had to put up with serious racist backlash from fans all over the country.  

While he wasn’t exactly the type to come out and say so, it certainly did appear Aaron, amongst numerous other purists, resented Bonds taking the career mark from him. 

At least here he doesn’t have that problem.

Ken Griffey Jr.: 630, Projected 735:  As great as he was, Griff’s name will always be synonymous with one thing: Injury.

Well, maybe two things, injury and unfulfilled expectations. As amazing as some of his final numbers were (1,662 runs, 524 doubles, 1,779 RBI), the man very frequently referred to as “The Kid” or “The Natural” lost approximately 500 peak career games over his 22 years in the Major Leagues.

Not even accounting for the overall impact or toll the injuries took on his career, if you measure him up for a mere 35 homers per during a time when he was readily bashing 50, you come to the projected total of 735, and in truth that is a very conservative estimate.  

Willie Mays: 660: Projected 720: One of the five greatest all-around players in the history of the game, Mays could beat you any way: bat, arm, legs, glove.

Like fellow superstars Aaron, Frank Robinson and Roberto Clemente, his career spanned a pitching-rich period for the NL, so his seasonal numbers are not consistently mind-boggling, but more so highlighted by incremental extraordinary achievement.

Long ball-wise, he twice hit 50 home runs in a season, and from 1961 to 1966, between the ages of 30 to 35, he averaged 44 HR a year amidst some of the toughest home run hitting conditions in the majors in San Francisco’s Candlestick Park.

He gets his adjustment for a pair of missed seasons to the Korean war effort in 52 & 53. You can say that’s a conservative number but he was still young and developing his power, hit 20 in 1951 and 40 in 1954, so an average of 30 in between seems fair.

(It was 250 ft. to the hanging tier in left that Bobby Thompson immortalized in ’51, so any further adjustments for the tough conditions in S.F. have to be countermanded by the less than plush, but ultra friendly home run confines of the once renowned Polo Grounds.)   

Mays was a two-time MVP and finished in the top six 12 times. Whatever the adjustment the man struck fear in the collective hearts of the opposition like few players ever have and even if the Say Hey Kid never hit a homer in his life, he’d still be one of the greatest to have ever stepped on the field!  

Barry Bonds: 762, Adjusted Downward Number 679: Through the age of 27, Barry Bonds averaged 25 home runs a year in a ballpark, Three Rivers, that was reasonably cozy dimension-wise, especially down both lines at 335 feet.

He was 28 when he moved over to San Francisco, and his 46 home runs, 123 RBI and .336 average, all career-highs, seemed plausible enough for a great young player coming into his prime.

Simply, Bonds dominated the game for the next 10 years, and at the age of 36 had what has to be considered one of the top two or three seasons in the history of the game, hitting 73 home runs, walking 177 times, hitting .328 with an on- base of .515.

At the age of 39, Bonds hit 45 HR, hit .362 and walked a mind-boggling 232 times. He was on base 61 percent of the time.

Try and fathom that last figure.

There is no disputing Bonds’ greatness. Early on he was a five-tool player, and late in his career he became the greatest power hitter the game has ever known. Of course that’s where the serious question marks rise.

Nobody will ever know to what extent Bonds’ game was elevated by the use of steroids, but in lieu of the fact that we only know of one player, Roger Maris, who definitively was not on steroids and managed to top Ruth’s single season mark, albeit in 162 games, one has to presume marginally in the least.

Yes, it undoubtedly requires inherent skills to play the game. I don’t think steroids positively impact the eyes, but as far as bat speed and strength, at 35+, even the most ardent Bonds fan can’t argue that his latter career stats were an enhanced anomaly, and that he really never should have been able to break Aaron’s career record, much less Ruth’s.

Bonds averaged just slightly over 30 home runs per season through the age of 34. Even if you give him 35 per season for 2000-2004 and you leave his last two seasons be, where he totaled 54 home runs at the age 41/42 coming off what might have been a career-ending injury in 2005 at the age of 40, you very generously come up with the figure of 679 home runs.

And even that supposes the greatest late career production of any player in the history of the game.

Six to Ten: Ted Williams, Mickey Mantle, Jim Thome, Frank Robinson, Harmon Killebrew.

Ted Williams: 521, Projected 671: The rivalry between the Great DiMaggio and Boston’s Ted Williams was certainly notable. DiMaggio was once asked, “Joe, what do you think of Ted Williams as a ballplayer?”

DiMaggio’s response, “Greatest left-handed hitter I’ve ever seen.”

DiMaggio was then asked the same question, “But, Joe, what do you think of Williams as a ballplayer?”

DiMaggio’s response, “Greatest left-handed hitter I’ve ever seen.”

The point being, Ted Williams may not have had DiMaggio’s all-encompassing skills, but with a bat in his hand, the Splendid Splinter could really do no wrong. A .344 lifetime hitter and the last Major Leaguer to hit .400, he slugged 521 career home runs despite missing five peak seasons to the mid-20th century war efforts in Europe and Korea.

Without a doubt, you could bag up 30 home runs a year during that period for a total of 671, and that’s also a conservative number. Williams might have challenged Ruth’s record if not for his time as a fighter pilot.

If you ever get a chance, the HBO special on “The Kid” is simply must see T.V.  

Mickey Mantle: 536 ~ Projected 600: Idolized by children everywhere, loved by as many women while still being revered by adult males. ‘The Mick’ played through almost every imaginable injury and nearly as many states of debilitating inebriation.

He was a three-time MVP with nine top-five finishes. He won the Triple Crown in 1956 and led the league in eight different offensive categories. His natural ability to play the game was otherworldly, but his broken body left him as a mere shell of the great ballplayer enshrined in Cooperstown and forever commemorated in the Yankees’ own Hall of Fame—Monument Park. 

What could he had done if not for the injuries and ample proclivity for one hellbent nightlife?

Mantle’s long ball power was the impetus for the term “tape measure home run” as his 565-foot shot out of old Griffith Stadium in Washington was actually measured just this way by traveling secretary Red Patterson. He was reputed to have hit one 635 feet out of Tiger Stadium in Detroit and twice hit the upper facade at old Yankee Stadium—a feat only accomplished by one other man, mythical Negro League catcher Josh Gibson.

He was without a doubt one of the single most feared hitters ever to step to the plate. A switch hitter with astonishing power from either side, 600 home runs would have been a walk in the park if the man would have been the beneficiary of better health and the practitioner of a slightly more conservative night life.  

Jim Thome: 589 and counting: I guess you could call Jim Thome an unspectacular player who has put up some pretty spectacular numbers. One-hundred ninety homers between 2001-2004. Hit 25 last year in a surprise for the Twins, and looks like a good bet to surpass 600.   

Frank Robinson: 586: No Change: Two-time MVP (six times in the top four), hands down the toughest late inning out I ever saw live and in person. (The guy killed the Yankees like nobody else.) Didn’t get the notoriety of a Mays, Aaron or Clemente, but what a five-tool ballplayer!

They called him “The Judge,” basically because you couldn’t get away with anything when he was at the plate. Definitely one of the great nicknames in baseball lore for one of the greatest players to ever grace the green pastures.

Harmon Killebrew: 573, No change: As pure a home-run hitting force that exists on this list. From 1959 to 1970, he hit 40-plus eight times. Six top-four MVP finishes and the winner in 1969 when at the age of 33, he hit 49 and drove in 140. The man simply destroyed baseballs and was very aptly nicknamed “Killer” Killebrew. 

A Tainted Five: A-Rod, McGuire, Sosa, Palmiero, Manny

A-Rod: 613, Projected 555: There’s no denying A-Rod’s greatness. He’s a five-tool player with incredible instincts for the game. He was the best shortstop in baseball and has turned himself into a pre-eminent third sacker with the Yanks.

People love to hate him, but he’s definitely one of the best players to ever cross the lines. There’s no way you can lend any credence to his claims of short-term juicing though. We maxed him out at 40 per year outside of Seattle, and that may or may not be generous.

Sammy Sosa: 609, Projected 509: Sosa’s blatant steroid-enhanced production has, along with McGwire and Bonds, made a mockery of seasonal home run marks. He went from hitting 35 a year (1993-1997), to 58 a year over a five-year stretch 1998-2002.

Still, his battle with McGwire in ’98 and general enthusiasm for the game has been credited with bringing fans back to the ballpark after the disappointing strike-shortened season in 1994. That, and all the big numbers notwithstanding, the only way Sosa sees the inside of the Hall of Fame is as a glorified visitor.

Although we were loathe to even include him in the 500 club, he was only docked a straight 100, basically 20 per year over the last mentioned five-season stretch.  

Mark McGwire: 583, Projected 548: Really, one of the best guys in baseball and unlike Bonds’ mocking of Babe Ruth, he paid big-time respect to Roger Maris and his family during the epic ’98 run.

Again, using the 40-a-year max formula, we docked him 85 home runs from 1996 to 1999 when he hit 245. We gave him back 50 though for dramatically injury-shortened seasons in ’93 and ’94, and kind of looked the other way when he hit 61 in 186 games over two injury-plagued years in 2000 and 2001 when he finally retired at the age of 37.

Maybe he was juicing in the very early days in Oakland as Canseco claims and doesn’t even belong in the 500 club. He had all the power hitting tools though, a short stroke and explosive power. If he had played in Fenway or Wrigley instead of windy, cavernous Oakland or spacious Busch, he could have hit 600 in walk.

Steroids were legal during his career, so it’s hard to say he made a mistake. But he’s another guy who will carry around the stigma and will never make the Hall of Fame.

Rafael Palmeiro: 569, Projected 462: We maxed him at 30 a year, which seems pretty fair considering the guy made a complete idiot out of himself with his finger-pointing before Congress, and barely distinguished himself in a more flattering light by pitching Viagra at the age of 35 before a nationwide audience.

It’s a shame too because all the Havana-born Palmiero—1,835 RBI, three Gold Gloves, 569 home runs—had to do was keep himself clean at a time he should have really been retired anyway, and he might have been looking at the Hall of Fame.

He’s lost that, and we think he’s lost his Viagra ad-man status as well.

Palmiero’s definitely a guy who should lay low for awhile.

Manny Ramirez: 555, Projected Unknown: Who wold have thought a major league player wearing his hair down to the middle of his back for this long could have gotten away throughout without being called a pansy?

It’s had something to do with that electrifying bat. As a Yankee fan, I’ve watched Manny Ramirez lay wood to the ball for way too long to write him off as a steroid-using anomaly. Maybe he went from more of a power alley, 40-45 doubles, 25-30 home run guy, but there’s just no way to tell.  

During his prime years from 1998-2008, an 11-year period when he wasn’t even always playing his top game, he hit more than 400 home runs. Granted, his fairly recent indictment and a total of 28 home runs the past two years speaks volumes, but the last time I checked, steroid use doesn’t affect the batting eye. I’ve also seen stretches of games where there was just no way to get Ramirez out.   

If there’s one guy besides A-Rod on this tainted list who might slip by and make the Hall, it’s Ramirez. No matter how you break it down, he’s one of the greatest hitters in the history of the game.     

The Best Of The Rest: Reggie, Schmidt, Jimmy Foxx, Stretch McCovey, Frank Thomas. 

Quickly now, because my head is spinning. No projections here, just career numbers.

563: Reggie Jackson: His three-homer performance against the Dodgers in the ’77 World Series is as memorable as any in the history of the game. The moniker Mr. October says it all.

548: Mike Schmidt: Only A-Rod’s switch precludes his consensus choice as the best third baseman ever. Three-time M.V.P.

534: Jimmy Foxx: As ominous a right-handed power hitter as has ever played the game.  A .325 lifetime B.A., knocked in more than 160 runs three times, 58 homers in 1932 for the old (Connie Mack) Philadelphia Athletics.

That team won three straight A.L. titles in between 1929-1931 and won two World Series and finished second to the Yanks in ’32 before being sold off in parts post-1933 by a cash-strapped Mack, with both Foxx and southpaw ace Lefty Grove heading to the Boston Red Sox.

521: Willie “Stretch” McCovey: One of the most ominous left-handed power hitters to ever play the game. At least by appearance. Five hundred-plus home runs, with half his games coming in a windy Candlestick, is no mean feat.

521: Frank Thomas: At his peak, Thomas could do it all with the bat. Back-to-back A.L. M.V.P. in 1993 and 1994.

And that’s all, hope you enjoyed it.

www.thedailymunson.com

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Come on everybody let’s sing! “It’s the most wonderful time of the year, duh, duh, duh duh duh duh, blah, blah blah blah blah blah, it’s the most wonderful time of the year .”

That is, except for the obscenely manic, your compulsive over eaters, and New York Yankee fans already fretting over the state of their team and the very recently improved roster of their hated rival, the Boston Red Sox.  

Unlike all that turkey and gravy, pretty pies, whatever else your mama’s preparing for the holiday season’s biggest meal, I find that last described upset a little hard to digest.

After all, we are in the throes of another blustery winter, and for one, the New York Football Giants look strong heading into a highly critical Sunday match up with their own heated rival, the Philadelphia Eagles. 

Just across locker room way, the Jets, while not looking anywhere near as muscular as they did a couple of weeks ago, still have a pretty legit shot at the playoffs. (He said tongue in cheek—I’m not much for the Green & White, can’t really imagine why anyone else would be either aside from the fatty corn beef and heady parking lot cocktails that start around nine o’clock on a typical, football Sunday morning and last, via flasks masked as thermoses—or is that the other way around?—until utter oblivion sets in sometime later that afternoon or evening.)

Knickerbocker basketball has almost magically returned from utter absentia. Amar’e and Co. are on a roll, Madison Square Garden is once again electrified and tonight the high flying men from Manhattan will be entertaining another team New Yorkers love to hate from the top down, Pat Riley, Dwayne Wade, Lebron James and the Miami Heat.   

Even the Rangers, yes the once famed Blueshirts, (a hockey team that many city dwellers have been forced to forget about these past many years under threat of becoming overtly non responsive), are playing pretty well—20-13-1, fifth in the East—how’s that for a surprise?

So by no stretch of the imagination is this great northeastern metropolis lacking for easy to feature sporting news these days, in fact this may be the greatest collective abundance of good news multi team loving New Yorkers have had to embrace in a very long time. 

Of course that doesn’t do much for the endless breath of N.Y. Yankee beat writers dealing up columns for those things people used to read called newspapers. Lately there’s been a deluge of reporting over the Cliff Lee tragedy.  Oh fare thee well, Cliff, may you live long and prosper in the City of Brotherly Love & let’s see you out-pitch Giant ace Matt Cain or long haired, cannabis loving, Tim Lincecum next time the two or three of you should meet. 

But even with all the commotion over Lee, (finally dying down), and his truthfully, refreshing choice to take less and perhaps enjoy life more in Philadelphia, the notable focus of the expansive Yankee press is already returning to the teams near century old rival—the suddenly bigger spending Boston Red Sox.

You see with the laudable additions of speedster Carl Crawford and ex Pod slugger, Adrian Gonzales, the ‘Sawx, by popular report, have flown by the Yanks who’ve been relegated as of now—at least in the New York if not nationwide press—to nothing more than a potential Wild Card contender at best.

So with that in mind, or having been said, let’s take this opportunity to segue into a quick comparative, position by position look at the Red Sox & Yankee’s to see if things are really as hopeless as currently deemed—as if heading into the season as something other than a heavy odds on favorite to win it all is something to contemplate slitting ones wrists over—for a team that has won 27 World Championship Titles and forever has it’s collective mind on adding additional hardware to the worlds largest trophy case.  

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