Baseballhead:
Choking on HR Saccharine

Michael Cox

After watching Mac hit number 61 yesterday, then taking in the resulting antics, I realized that nobody could ever make this story into a feature film...

JOEL SILVER (big-shot producer): I'm glad you could make it on such short notice - I know you're busy writing a treatment of the new Grisham thing...

SCREENWRITER: Ahh, that's no problem. I just take the screenplay from "The Firm" and change some of the dialogue, and nobody knows the difference.

SILVER: Trust me, some of us do, just not Grisham. Anyway, it's about this McGwire script. What is this crap? I mean:

"...as McGwire rounds the bases, even the opposing team high-fives him. His son is waiting for him at the plate, and Dad gives him a hug, lifting the kid into the air, giggling.

"Mac then points to the heavens, indicates to Roger Maris' children (flown in for the game) that their father is in his heart. Music swells. He then points to his parents, and remembers that, ironically, it's his dad's sixty-first birthday."

And later on...

"The fan who caught the ball meets McGwire, shaking his hand vigorously and then handing over the record-breaking ball for nothing more than a jersey."

What do you think this is, fricking Disney? I couldn't even sell this [expletive] to CBS!

SCREENWRITER: I didn't make any of that up, Mr. Silver. In fact, I left out the part where he kisses his son before his at-bat, or where the third-base coach gives him an Oakland-style forearm bash, causing Mac's career to flash before his eyes.

SILVER: I mean, I never would have signed on to this if I'd known that it'd be this heartwarming. I mean, where's the sex? The hatred? Now, Ruth, there was a ballplayer with a story. That guy had skeletons in every armoire! What about the steroid thing?

SCREENWRITER: Well, that would be alright, if he'd stopped taking them or something.

SILVER: That's it! A subplot where a friend, concerned about his health, replaces his steroids with Tums! Mac doesn't know the difference, and he slaps the friend around some before he realizes he didn't need the stuff anyway!

SCREENWRITER: But that wouldn't be true.

SILVER: True? Do you think anyone cares about true? Do you think that "The Freakin' Right Stuff" was all true? I want conflict, or I call Steven and Francis and your kids are forced to eat bag cereal for the rest of their childhood.

SCREENWRITER: OK, OK.

SILVER: Oh, and add a "'roid rage" scene too. See if you can figure out how to work in some kind of explosion.

I mean, it's almost like Mac is being very meticulous at giving everyone, from the fans who catch the balls to Sosa to the Maris kids, so much careful praise that it seems staged. Mind you, I can only imagine the crap that might transpire if it were Albert Belle instead of Mac, but unfortunately I've just gone past the point of being misty-eyed and very near that of being sick.

Please, oh please, no speeches and Ripken-style victory laps after number 62. I beseech everyone involved!

Item: After one of his pitchers served up #60 to Mac, Cincy manager Jack "How in the Hell Do I Keep My Job?" McKeon had this to say: "We thought about walking him, but then I also thought about all those people that have been calling my voice mail wanting me to heal the country. Since we're going through this healing process, I figured, 'well, I'm going to do something good for the country. I'll pitch to him.'"

Facetious? Perhaps, but maybe for a different reason. I'm not big on conspiracy theories, but with all the promotion MLB itself has done over this home run chase, a certain couple of Fox network characters might be suspicious about the source of the calls McKeon alluded to. However, I won't start worrying until the Astros sign "Stone Cold" Steve Austin and umpires begin to be "distracted" at crucial moments in games.

Item: Fans on the West Coast were deprived of the Cards-Reds potential-homer-number-61 game on Sunday due to the existence of the NFL, whose Dallas Felons and Phoenix Nobodies battled to a predictable Dallas rout with the only real people who cared living in the Metroplex. And you know, I couldn't bring myself to watch football even if it was the only way to see the record-tying homer. That's hatred of football, my friend.

Item: In non-McGwire news, Detroit manager Buddy Bell became ex-Detroit manager Buddy Bell last week, and I've got to say that I don't know how he lasted that long. Here in Seattle, we get this curious behavior among some visiting managers (usually the crappy ones) - they have this crazy idea that the way to beat a Lou Piniella-managed team is to use gamesmanship. (In fact, the way to beat a Piniella-managed team is to start a rookie pitcher and have Chris Hoiles and B.J. Surhoff in the lineup).

Unfortunately, aside from Tony LaRussa, most of the managers who tried this were the ones who made Lou look smart (Tony Muser, Phil Garner, various White Sox managers). Bell was one of these, and the only thing the Tigers managed to do was to beat Randy Johnson at Tiger Stadium once in a while. Usually he'd just end up getting tossed. Apparently even Mike Illitch grew tired of Bell's antics, by the tone of the damning-by-faint-praise he gave Bell just before the firing.

Item: Speaking of RJ, he has still not given up a run at the Astrodome, and has an ERA of exactly 1.00 at this writing. Oh yeah, and he won the "showdown of the decade" against a curiously vulnerable Greg Maddux in Atlanta last week. "Headcase" or no (hint: no), if there was ever a guy who looked like a viable MVP with only a half-season in the league, Johnson is it...

That's about it for this week's Baseballhead, and I'd like to leave you with a heartfelt apology for the antics of Hayes Bowman at the game on Sunday night. In particular, I'd like to say I'm sorry to the fan who sent this letter:

Dear Sirs:

The unfortunate display of one of your staff has left me with a bad taste in my mouth, in addition to residual ill will towards your business. Baseball has always had a tradition of fan civility (except in New York City, where they can't help it) and the antics of your compatriot have sullied the grand old game. In all, it made me want to implode my eyeballs with a cattle prod.

Signed,

Marilyn Manson

Please accept my most gracious apology, as well as an offer to play the Strikethree.com company picnic next summer (theme: "It's a Grand Ole Flag").

 

 

about the author

Michael Cox was in the bathroom during the whole debacle on Sunday night, and if he could do it all again, he would've remained there for five minutes longer. Offer condolences at mc@strikethree.com.