Just as Stephen Strasburg signs a record deal with the Nationals, two sure fire Hall of Famers seem near the end. One looks like he has accepted it, the other no. Whether it is the money or just the competitive juices, it is hard to know when it is time to say goodbye.
Tom Glavine has won over 300 games. He is a class act. He was not overpowering, just effective. Despite an injury he was attempting one last comeback with the Atlanta Braves. He pitched well in a minor league rehab start, but the Braves released him. To date he has not been picked up. This may mean a lack of interest, although I doubt that, or that Glavine has realized it is time to start running that five year clock on the Hall of Fame.
His former teammate, John Smoltz is not going so quietly into the night. A comeback with the Red Sox was a disaster, producing an E.R.A. of over 8.00. He was released and is apparently out there looking for another team to pitch for. Baseball being in desperate need of pitching, witness giving a college kid $15 million before he throws a professional pitch, I imagine someone will pick him up. What will be different? With a 2 or three week layoff will that fastball suddenly return to form? Will the slider remind us of the mid 1990s John Smoltz? Doubtful.
Knowing when to say goodbye is tough. The money seems to make it even harder. I remember Dave Winfield ending his career in a Twins or Indians uniform and Steve Carlton pitching middle relief for the Twins. Even before the really big money however, Babe Ruth suited up for the Boston Braves, Warren Spahn wound down with the mid 1960s Mets and Willie Mays stumbled in the outfield for the Mets.
Maybe Stephen Strasburg will be a Hall of Famer. With his signing bonus he should never have to worry about working again. Let's hope that whenever the times comes, he knows how to say goodbye.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
No Greater Joy
Obviously I love the game of baseball. I played it as a kid up through high school. Limited height, lack of speed, in other words reality; shut down the dreams of a major league career, but did not sour my love of the game.
I have now discovered an even greater thrill: watching my son play the game. This week my eight year old son attended a baseball camp. I was fortunate enough to be able to spend some time at the ballpark watching. There is nothing better.
I always worry about being one of those "Little League dads" we read about: obsessive about the development of my son's skills, pushing him and eventually taking all of the fun out of the game. I try really hard to make sure it stays fun. After camp I don't ask how he did, but whether he had fun. I also try to focus on whether he liked the coaches and the other kids. The answer to both questions is yes.
The high point of the week was his competitive pitching debut in the camp games. He wants to pitch. I think he is a middle infielder, but life is about trying things out, so he goes for it. Unexpectedly he took the mound to start the first camp game. I happened to stop by just in time.
I must admit my stomach was a little nervous. My son is hard on himself and I feared that not pitching well might spoil his whole week. No problem. He struck out two and retired the third on a comebacker with an easy flip to first base.
After the inning he came up to fill his water bottle and I tried to congratulate him with a high five or fist bump (I am at least smart enough to know a hug would be so uncool!). He barely acknowledged me (he is too cool), but I could tell he felt about six feet tall.
His later pitching performances were not as strong as the first outing, but his bat came around. The best part however, was the smiles and watching him interact with his fellow ballplayers. The kids seem to bond over the week and really form a ball club. The great things is it is a ball club with no big contracts, no holdouts and no prima donnas. Just a bunch of kids learning the game and loving it.
Who knows whether any of these kids will play pro ball, or even college ball. Who cares? The important thing is that they are out there for love of the game.
I don't need my son to pitch a perfect inning or get a big hit to validate me as a parent. I do need him to do what he loves to do, and if baseball is that wonderful. If it is something else, equally wonderful. For now, watching your own flesh and blood play the game you love, there is no greater joy.
I have now discovered an even greater thrill: watching my son play the game. This week my eight year old son attended a baseball camp. I was fortunate enough to be able to spend some time at the ballpark watching. There is nothing better.
I always worry about being one of those "Little League dads" we read about: obsessive about the development of my son's skills, pushing him and eventually taking all of the fun out of the game. I try really hard to make sure it stays fun. After camp I don't ask how he did, but whether he had fun. I also try to focus on whether he liked the coaches and the other kids. The answer to both questions is yes.
The high point of the week was his competitive pitching debut in the camp games. He wants to pitch. I think he is a middle infielder, but life is about trying things out, so he goes for it. Unexpectedly he took the mound to start the first camp game. I happened to stop by just in time.
I must admit my stomach was a little nervous. My son is hard on himself and I feared that not pitching well might spoil his whole week. No problem. He struck out two and retired the third on a comebacker with an easy flip to first base.
After the inning he came up to fill his water bottle and I tried to congratulate him with a high five or fist bump (I am at least smart enough to know a hug would be so uncool!). He barely acknowledged me (he is too cool), but I could tell he felt about six feet tall.
His later pitching performances were not as strong as the first outing, but his bat came around. The best part however, was the smiles and watching him interact with his fellow ballplayers. The kids seem to bond over the week and really form a ball club. The great things is it is a ball club with no big contracts, no holdouts and no prima donnas. Just a bunch of kids learning the game and loving it.
Who knows whether any of these kids will play pro ball, or even college ball. Who cares? The important thing is that they are out there for love of the game.
I don't need my son to pitch a perfect inning or get a big hit to validate me as a parent. I do need him to do what he loves to do, and if baseball is that wonderful. If it is something else, equally wonderful. For now, watching your own flesh and blood play the game you love, there is no greater joy.
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