Baseballhead:
Every Freakin' Year...

Michael Cox

Good evening. This.........is Baseballhead, where we......can't stop talking like.....Paul Harvey.

A little less than two weeks away from the end of All-Star balloting, we're getting a pretty good idea of the lay of the land, so to speak. As my compadre Dave Paisley mentioned in his recent dispatch, fans in the NL have actually done a great job so far in selecting not only fan favorites, but good fan favorites.

However, the AL is once again dealing with its annual local ballot-stuffing initiative, only this year it's neither the Indians nor the Rangers with the suspect totals -- it's the Seattle Mariners. Far from being cynical about David Bell's 370,000 votes, I chalk it up to a confluence of events, an alignment of the stars, or perhaps a gallstone. (Hey, a gallstone doesn't happen very often, does it?)

There's been no in-stadium hanky-panky, which I know because I've witnessed first-hand the apathy the average Mariner fan has towards punching the little dots out of the ballot. (That is, except the two women seated behind me one day who declared to the world that Cal Ripken was "the obvious choice at third base" even while he continued to make up for all that time he didn't spend on the DL during The Streak.)

No, the good folks of Seattle have had a little help from others, not the least of whom reside in a small but densely populated group of islands where tasty cuts of fish are served regularly, where you can buy anything you need from a vending machine, and where if your boss wants to go drinking, you'd better go drinking, boyo. Hey! Don't put that business card in your back pocket!

Sorry.

In addition to the Ichiro Coattail Effect, there's the eensy-weensy matter of the Mariners having one of the best records since organized baseball began keeping records. Do not doubt the power of the bandwagon.

My point is that every year one team or another seems to be rocking the vote, as it were. However, every single year someone gets it in their fool head that this would somehow work so much better if players were selected by merit instead of the current popularity poll.

You mean like the Golden Gloves, where the 1999 AL first base prize went to Ranger DH Rafael Palmeiro? Or like the MVP, which is usually awarded to the best non-pitcher and non-DH who hasn't pissed off the baseball writers lately?

No, when it comes to skills assessment, it seems that the writers and coaches are worse judges of talent than Joe Six-Pack (with whom I attended college in my junior year). So, unless you'd really pay $450 a ticket to see Rey Ordonez and Gary DiSarcina at shortstop, Scott Brosius as AL third baseman, and an NL outfield of Jim Edmonds, Andruw Jones and Jeromy Burnitz, you might want to leave it to the fans.

Item: With Cal Ripken's vote total in jeopardy of being surpassed by the Angels' Troy Glaus, Ripken announced his imminent retirement this week, magically transforming his One Season Too Many into a Farewell Tour. Now crowds who stayed away in droves when the O's came to town will flock to see Ripken one last time, sharing with their kids the story of where they were when Ripken broke Gehrig's record ("sitting on the sofa, watching ESPN").

My guess is that Cal knew he was out of gas, and wanted to retire immediately. However, he was most certainly convinced otherwise by Peter Angelos...

ANGELOS: I can see it now -- kids young and old, filling Camden Yards to see you, and to buy licensed merchandise...I've gotta get to work on that Final Game Commemorative Silver Coin, and a guy was just in asking if you'd endorse his company's unguent...

RIPKEN: No, no, I want to retire now, with dignity, the way I played throughout my career. I want people to remember the accomplishments, not an aching shadow of myself who trots out to third base every day just to sell a few more tickets.

ANGELOS: You know I can have you killed and all occurrences of your name erased from Nexis-Lexis?

RIPKEN: D'oh.

Item: The Barry Bonds Chasin' History™ Home Run Watch Media Circus is officially on. As we speak, zappy graphics are being made by ex-dot-com web designers now working for cheap, and interns are combing box scores to create breakdowns of how Barry compares with McGwire's ability to hit dingers in an afternoon game in Pittsburgh after eating chili fries in July.

Reporters will mob him after each game, utilizing their years of sports journalism to formulate such perceptive questions as, "how did it feel?" and "did you think it was going to go out?" that even McGwire couldn't stand by the time August 1998 rolled around. ESPN and Fox will break away from tied, pennant-race-critical games in the ninth to cover his at-bats, which as often as not will be intentional walks.

Be prepared. Barry Bonds will lead off SportsCenter, Baseball Tonight and whatever Fox is calling that Keith Olbermann show this week. Jim Rome will maintain that Bonds will crack under the media pressure, right up until homer 68 in early September, and Rome will hand-pick a panel of ex-NBA bench players to agree with him.

If Barry Bonds keeps up this pace, you will be so tired of hearing his name that by Labor Day you'll reflexively hit the Mute button upon hearing the first consonant. But you'll watch with amazement if he actually makes it to 70.

And if Barry Bonds breaks the single-season home run record, he will finally be recognized as the legend he's been for years.

Say what you will about his perceived arrogance (and remember that you're only saying it because you heard it on TV). The fact is that Bonds has been the greatest player of the past decade. He's outlasted Albert Belle and Frank Thomas, kept away from chronic, McGwire-esque injury problems, and still has productive years left to play.

Sure, he lacks the unctuous deference of Alex Rodriguez or the self-deprecating humility of Todd Helton, but his talent might just make up for that. He is what he is, and what he is (and always was) is amazing.

Enjoy it while you can, because he could still do a Reggie Jackson in the second half.

Item: Speaking of Bonds, a few news outlets recently ran with the story that an offshore Internet sports book has become the first to offer odds on Bonds' assault on the record.

10-11 odds.

If that isn't enough evidence that Internet gambling is a sucker's game, I'd be happy to give you 10-11 odds that a pack of rabid vicunas will attack Mitch Meluskey at some point this year. Just let me get offshore before you send your check.

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A note to our friends in the federal government: Michael Cox was joking about taking bets. Unless you want some action. Not saying it would constitute a bet, but if you were to wire funds to mc@strikethree.com, he'd hold it until something did or did not happen to Mitch Meluskey.