Mastersball

One of my leisurely summer reads has been David Halberstam's "October 1964," a book that chronicles the collapse of the mighty New York Yankees dynasty that dominated the baseball universe from the late 40's to the early 60's.

1964 was the Bronx Bombers last hurrah for a number of years and Halberstam sets the table of the book by discussing the Yankee managers--in fact baseball managers and owners--for in 1964 the team was just a couple of years removed from Casey Stengal.

One of the reasons I enjoyed the author's analysis regarding the front office and the guys at the helm was that I always wondered why it seemed the same old recycled guys kept popping up managing one team, then another, and then another with very little in the way of ultimate success.

Mind you I turned 12 after the 1964 Series, but even then I was aware that the likes of Alvin Dark and Birdie Tibbets and Johnny Keane and Leo Durocher had all had multiple gigs managing at the big league level. Plus, I knew there were a lot more guys like them, and though it was that some of these gentlemen did not have their success, it still seemed strange to me that rarely was a new face introduced into what seemed like a secret club.

Well, times and players and salaries and mores have indeed changed since 1964--and Halberstam again sets the tone for this noting salaries and attitudes were changing, making it tough for a player from the 30's to relate to a player of the 60's--and there has been much better movement in baseball managers. And, I think that is for the better.

So, though I sort of understood the canning of Terry Francona at the end of last season, I was pretty much flabbergasted by the team's signing of Bobby Valentine to the managing slot. 

First, I guess it is true that the team ran amok in 2011; however, it was Francona who guided the Sox to not one, but two titles, putting the Curse of the Bambino firmly in the franchise's collective rear view mirror.

Second, I cannot believe that Theo Epstein--newly departed for Chicago--would have made the move. Oh, he may well have cut ties with Francona, but no way he would have hired the volatile Valentine.

But, even more to the--and Halberstam's point--Valentine has not been a very good major league manager, with a career won/loss of 1176-1138 (.508) with just one pennant to his name with the Mets in 2000, over 16 years.

Further, he is much like Halberstam's assessment of the likes of Eddie Stankey and Solly Hemus of the 60's: solid enough players of the 40's who thought the way to motivate a team was to be adversarial and a disciplinarian. And, well, with today's players and salaries and system, that just does not work.

That does not mean a manager cannot be firm, for that is appropriate and necessary no matter what the discipline, for employees always need to know who is in charge, plain and simple.

And, it is not like this year's underachieving Sox are all on Valentine's shoulders, for certainly injuries to Carl Crawford and Jacoby Ellsbury among others certainly contributed to the bad year. But, back to management in general, the terrible trade for Andrew Bailey did not help either.

Still, just Valentine's handling of Kevin Youkilis says it all to me, for Youk had trouble producing for Valentine (.233-4-14 and a .315 OBP over 146 at-bats) and while his average is not what we are used to with Chicago, the numbers are way better at .246-11-34 over 171 at-bats with a .368 OBP. Oh yeah, an .835 OPS for the Pale Hose as opposed to the .692 for Boston suggesting Youk still had something in his stick that Valentine could not reach.

And, that is the manager's job, to bring out the best of his or her empolyees no matter the environ.

Well, Bobby does not do that, and were he successful more often than not it could be excused.

But he is not. Rather, he is an opinionated loud mouth much better suited to make stupid comments from the press box second guessing managers who actually know what they are doing.

I actually had a baseball related topic in my head for this week's tome, but I guess a week in the redwoods singing and playing guitar--from Celtic to Motown to blue grass to some seriously cranked out progressive jamming--still has me in a music mood.

Well, that and the fact that as I soaked in a hot shower this morning, Norman Greenbaum's "Spirit in the Sky" came on the radio (yes, we still have a radio in the bathroom). Now, I have to confess I never even close to liked this song, not so much because it proselytizes, but because the words and rhymes are really dumb. I mean, rhyming "die" with "sky" and "rest" with "best"? Pathetic (don't these guys ever listen to a Lennon and McCartney rhyme, or Richard Thompson or Ray Davies couplet?).

Still, my overall ambivalence to the song pales compared to some of the songs that really bother me, and just so this critique does not seem so random, a month back a group of us were discussing just that: What is the worst song ever?

So, I will list my Top Five, although I also claim the privilege of ranting for a minute on a couple of other music irritations. Like how I wish they would not play so much Journey at ATT, for though the band had chops, they never put together a tune half as good as, dare I say it, "Spirit in the Sky." I swear every time "Don't Stop Believin'" is played, my mate David Feldman and I start in with what they mean by South Detroit is Toronto.

I am trying to like The Killers, but I just can't. I wish I could. But, their stuff just gets on my nerves. I have "Hot Fuss," and had hopes, but they come off a lot more like Maroon5. And, it is not like I don't love pop rock. When I play with my band Strictly Olga, that is what we do, in fact that is what I write.

But, just so you don't think I am turning into a total curmudgeon, I do love Arcade Fire and White Stripes and Black Keys, and Kings of Leon among current bands. Not to mention The Shins.

But ok, I digress. And, before I note the songs I think are the worst ever, I would like to encourage you to tell me yours, for if you are reading this, I am guessing you are a baseball fan, and if you are a baseball fan, that means you are a fan of lists. And, well, if you are a fan of lists....Need I say more (the songs are linked to their respective Wikipedia page)?

You can email me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it with your nominations.

Lawr's Top Five Most Hated Songs

5.  Incense and Peppermints Strawberry Alarm Clock (1967): I always felt this quasi-psychedelic tune from flower power days was vastly overrated. These were the days of the Airplane and Moby Grape and the Mamas and the Papas. The Beatles were toying with TNK ("Tomorrow Never Knows") and the Stones were playing with Their Satanic Majesty's Request. The Doors were hot, and though the Alarm Clark tune was sort of catchy, I have no clue what the words mean. Not that this is necessary in any song (who knows all the words to "Wooly Bully?") but the truth is this song always gave me a headache. Pure and simple.

4. You Light up my Life Debbi Boone (1977): I was nowhere close to AM radio--mercifully--when this song came out. In fact I listened to KSAN, one of the first album oriented rock (AOR) stations in the country, where playing a set featuring Joni Mitchell, Gene Amons, and the Tubes (at the time) was not unusual. Still, the song just gives me the creeps. In fact, every time I see that awful "life lift" commercial with Ms. Boone, where they play the song and she sort of pretends to ad lib the lyric, the best thing that happens in I hit the mute button. I don't mind corny. But, I hate stupid. Boone won the best new artist Grammy for that song, which is one more than the Beatles ever won and which validates how meaningless the awards are.

3. Seasons in the Sun Terry Jacks (1974): Hard to believe this song could be so creepy. It is, after all based upon a Jacques Brel tune, and the English words were by Rod McKuen. Brel was great, and though McKuen kind of hippy dippy trippy, there are a lot of poets who are worse. As for the song, double ugh. Maudlin. Maybe it is the sugary (I think Jacks was also the lead voice of the Archies) vocals, for I can hear Brel delivering this in a spoken form and it not bothering me nearly so much. And, there are death songs, like Tell Laura I Lover Her, Teen Angel, and even Dicky Lee's Patches that I don't mind at all despite the similar theme. Like I said: double ugh.

2. In the Year 2525 Zager and Evans (1969): I was 16 years old when this song came out, and right away I knew a bad song when I heard one. Ripped from really fine and prophetic ideas, like Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World," and George Orwell's "1984" this song was like a bad Star Trek episode. Maybe the one with the space hippies and the guy named Adam who were looking for Eden, and of whom Spock noted, "we reach." Pandering is the best word I can think of. But, at the time my family subscribed to "Time" magazine, and I remember there was a review of the Zager and Evans album in it. Somehow I also remember that it was suggested that the other songs on the album were "equally prophetic" to "2525." Really? How prophetic. Cos I think they mean bad. The difference is I knew it then.

1. An Open Letter at a Teenage Son Victor Lundberg (1967):  It was obnoxious and--as with what seems a common thread here--pandering. In the worst way. Seizing upon the fear of hippiedom and the changes that flower power proposed, this song is written from the perspective of "I don't understand you and I don't want to, but I will try to accept you except if you prove to be un-American and then I will never let you in my house again." So much for free will, thinking and open dialogue. This song actually hit #10 on Billboard, and was nominated for a Grammy. Once again showing that in the year "Light My Fire," "Hey Girl," "White Rabbit," "Omaha," "I'm So Glad," "A Day in the Life," and "2,000 Light Years From Home"  were also released, the Grammy voters had no clue.

Again, let me know the songs that drive you wacky at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

And, just in case, some time in the future, we will take a look at the best songs ever!

Now, I have to start this piece with I love our country, wonderful melting pot, and land of opportunity that it is.

My parents both fled the holocaust, and while my mother's family (she mirgrated to the states when she was 15 with her mother and father) all settled here, the remainder of my father's side of the house all settled in that current Olympic hub of London.

In San Francisco, my folks met in 1940, and married in 1942, just before my father, who became a citizen thanks to the draft in World War II, shipped off for the European theatre. When he came home he went to Hastings College of the Law--on the GI bill--and eventually became a constitutional lawyer and ultimately a judge.

Meaning he had a pretty successful life thanks to the opportunities our country afforded. And, I have been lucky enough to benefit further, attending the good public schools in the 50's and 60's, then getting undergraduate and graduate degrees at the California State University of the East Bay (at the time known as Hayward State).

Further, I am a sports junkie of sorts as you could probably guess by reading my baseball and football work. But, growing up I was a swimmer, played tennis and golf regularly, and I can even plug an Olympic connection having attended the 1960 Winter fete at Squaw Valley, where my mother worked for a month as an interpreter.

Furthermore, I love London, where I have a myriad of cousins.

But, I have to say that I couldn't care less any more about the Summer games of this year. I have watched only a few moments scattered in among the news stories and on televisions in public (honestly, I saw a few minutes of ping pong and some trampoline, and well, are those really sports? Honest).

 Worse, my disillusionment which I think of it for lack of better verbiage, seems to betting worse as I age; however, I don't think this is simply because I am getting closer to being a cranky old "you kids get out of my yard" kind of old man.

For one thing, like religion (or at least spirituality), I think national pride is one of those things that is more subtle and powerful when it is not smacked in our faces like advertising on cable TV. Which the Olympic games are, being a major part of such things mundane as probably Pepto Bismal being the "official dyspeptic relief formula of the Olympic games."

And, it is not that I am not happy for our countrymen and athletes winning awards, and being the world's best. I just don't like tallying and counting up the totals with the assumption that--especially in a global community--it means we are better than everyone else. For, again, we are a wonderful country in many ways. But, there are many other such, and, well, everywhere is home to someone. And, home is where the heart is, so...

But, I could relate to a piece I heard on NPR earlier in the week that said people were turned off by the advertising and jingoism and just overall in-your-face commercialism of the games, which are no longer even amatuer (was moving to professional status for the athletes a worse decision than DH or Astroturf?).

But, sort of like politics, I wish there were truly some fair way to underwrite games or elections so that everyone indeed had an equal chance as opposed to the biggest, richest, and baddest--and that could include both Russia and China--seemingly dominating everything in sight.

To me it just rings truer, with a sweeter tinge to victory, when there is a little national humility associated with the win. And, well, that is true for any kind of win, actually, be it in Scrabble or Yahtzee or the Men's 100 meter butterfly.

Oh, I wish I could get excited. I really do. And, it isn't that I want to be or feel cynical about the whole thing.

I just wish the Olympic committee would strip things back to something simpler, and truer to the ideas of sportsmanship and camaraderie that the original Grecian games sort of suggested, and that ideally were the point when the games were reannointed in 1896, also in Greece.

I think in doing so, it could make the whole event a lot more interesting. And fun.Though sadly, neither do I think would the approach be embraced by an action move reality TV People magazine culture.

Well, like I said: I am just turning into a cranky old man.

Editor's note: There will be no Bed Goes Up next Saturday as I will be in Cazadero, at music camp, where there is no wi fi and my cell phone just does not work.

Names are almost as fascinating--not to mention as much fun--as statistics, especially in baseball.

I mean, who doesn't love monikers like Terrific Wonderful Monds or Coco Crisp? Or even simply Milton Bradley?

In fact, I always imagined special baseball cards: you know the ones with two or three players and a clever title? Like Buc Hill Aces, a 1959 card that featured Elroy Face, Ron Kline, Vernon Law, and Bob Friend? Or Tribe Hill Trio, a 1962 card with Barry Latman, Dick Stigman, and Jim Perry?

Well, I wanted to design some of my own. Like Steve Decker and Bud Black, on a Black & Decker card. Or Chili Davis and Carney Lansford on a Chili con Carney card. Or especially Brook Jacoby and Joey Meyer on a Jacoby & Meyer card.

A couple of years back, I remember scoring an Athletics/Mariners game where each team had a Suzuki--Ichiro and Kurt--each team had a Sweeney--Ryan and Mike--and each team had a Chavez--Endy and Eric--in their respective starting lineup. That was wonderful!

Well, this year I could not help but notice the influx of Brandons on the Oakland Athletics.

To start with, last year the team had Brandon McCarthy, but this season they added Brandon Inge, Brandon Moss, and then Brandon Hicks.  And don't forget, that Brandon Allen was also on the team for a minute. While, across the bay, the Giants own Brandon Belt and Brandon Crawford.

I started thinking about that first name, Brandon. I could not remember a baseball card or player with that name as I was growing up. There were lots of Willies and Johnnys and Robbys, but no Shanes, and no Brandons.

Furthermore, I don't remember a team having four guys with the same first name before, let alone three of them being on the infield at the same time, but that is what the A's have indeed had on several occasions.

Anyway, I decided to check out the name Brandon, and lo and behold, no player made the majors with that first name until the year 2000, when Brandon Kolb and Brandon Villafuerte were the first.

In 2001 a slew of them followed, with Inge, Brandon Lyon, Brandon Knight, Brandon Duckworth, and Brandon Berger, and then the floodgates were open.

Since, those Brandons broke the name barrier, there have been a total of 35, which is a lot when you think there were none until 11 years ago, and over three a year on average since.

Compared to Shane--which first appeared in 1978 with Shane Rawley, then again in 1987 with Shane Mack, has only had a total of 17.

This does make me wonder how the name suddenly became so popular? When I was younger, Mike, and Bill, and Mary and Sue were vogue names. Oh, and Debbie. But, now it is Brandon and Zach and Alexandra.

But Shane or Brandon never hit it anywhere, save Alan Ladd in the terrific George Stevens movie of 1953 (don't forget the part of Joey Starrett, son of Van Heflin, who utters the infamous, "Come back Shane" line is played by another Brandon, in de Wilde).

But, just for fun, I was trying to guess the next big name, and I think I have it.

Dylan. Which we have to thank Bob Dylan for. Or at least his fans who named their kids after the great singer/songwriter.

As of now, only Dylan Axelrod has cracked the majors. But at present there are 26 Dylans working their way up the minors, with with the retired Dylan Tedders apparently being the first to even make that level.

As Bob Dylan did suggest: "Something is happening here, and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones." However, that is a name I won't touch for every era seems to have had more than its share!

If you are old enough to remember the late 60's, then you remember the Buffalo Springfield tune, "For What It's Worth."

Well, to begin with the trivial, three of the principles of Buffalo Springfield were Neil Young, Steven Stills and Jim Messina, all of whom went on to pretty successful musical careers after their time in the legendary Canadian band.

But, equally important, "For What It's Worth" begins with the great lines:

"There's something happening here
What it is ain't exactly clear"

Well, if you have been following the Oakland Athletics, let alone spending time at the O.co Coliseum, those words might strike you, for as of a few hours ago, when Oakland dispatched the Yankees for the second straight evening, beating the Bronx Bombers on consecutive days in their home for the first time since 2006.

In the process, Oakland also stopped the Yankees consecutive game streak wherein the New Yorkers had tallied at least three runs over 43 straight games by beating them 3-2, with a walk off single by Brandon Moss in the bottom of the ninth.

In truth it has indeed been a while since the Athletics fielded a team that merited a lot of interest, but with the win, which put the Oaklanders five games over .500 at 49-44, putting the squad at 12-2 for the month of July, six games behind the second place Angels, in what now may be the toughest division in the AL, let alone majors.

So far this year, Brandon Moss and Chris Carter are a combined .263-16-29 over 129 at-bats covering first base for the Athletics. Last year over 382 at-bats between Daric Barton and Brandon Allen manning first were .209-3-32 and a year earlier, with Barton playing first base for 159 games and 556 at-bats, .273-10-57 was the total.

That means the Moss/Carter tandem are essentially already better than anything Oakland has put at first for the past two years, in one-third of the time.

With center fielder Coco Crisp red-hot (.328-2-4 over his last 17 games, with nine runs and three swipes. Newbie Yoenis Cespedes is equally smoking (.333-5-14 over his last 21 games) while Josh Reddick, with three hits Friday, lifted his his season totals to .274-21-46.

As for their pitchers, Travis Blackley (2-2, 2.86), Bartolo Colon (6-8, 3.88), Jarrod Parker (6-4, 3.16), A.J. Griffin (2-0, 2.70), Brandon McCarthy (6-3, 2.54), and Tommy Milone (9-6, 3.38) are good, and getting better.

In fact on Friday Milone tossed seven shutout innings, limiting the Yanks to six hits while whiffing ten, walking none, and never throwing a pitch over 89 MPH.  He threw first pitch strikes to 22 of the 25 hitters he faced, losing a win to homers to Russell Martin (allowed by Jerry Blevins in the eighth) and Robinson Cano (allowed by eventual winner Ryan Cook in the top of the ninth).

Still, it is hard to imagine the Athletics so successful with Brandon Inge (.207-7-38) holding third, Cliff Pennington (.197-3-16) at short, and Kurt Suzuki (.213-0-16) behind the dish, but somehow of late if not one of the above, then the likes of Seth Smith (.248-10-32)  or Jonny Gomes (.250-10-28)  provide the unlikely heroics.

Like Buffalo Springfield noted, whatever is happening is not clear. And, though it might not last, the extra playoff spot makes for some fun possibilities.

It also make going to the Oakland yard these days just about as much fun as hitting ATT. And that is not a bad thing.

Without trying to start off in a morbid way, one of the things I thought a lot about during the last years of my late wife and pal Cathy Hedgecock's life had to do with how I would prefer to go.

Cathy died of breast cancer, enduring it for seven years before it finally overcame a little lest than seven years ago.

Of course we were all happy to have the time with her, and for her to be around, but dying like that is a rugged burden in and of itself, and many times we talked with one another about whether it would be better to simply go to sleep and not wake up, or to live longer but have to endure the slow deterioration of one's mind and body.

Truth is I wondered this before Catthy and her illness, and, well, without meaning to demean the mystery of life and death, as I endured pitching issues in just about every fantasy front over the past two weeks I have begun to think about this analogy as it relates to my pitching staffs. And well, since pitching injuries have been so widespread that I have to think anyone reading this will relate. At least to the pitching portion, that is.

In Tout Wars my squad had moved up into a nice third place slot, and was cruising along, in fourth in wins, WHIP, and ERA, third in saves, and second in whiffs. And then Brandon McCarthy was on the DL for the second time, Derek Holland for almost a month, and C.C. Sabathia now for a couple of weeks, all joining Jeff Niemann on the team DL. That is four of my six starting pitchers on the Disabled List at the same time.

Crazy.

Fortunately I was able to turn Jose Valverde and Justin Masterson into Roy Oswalt just before Oswalt was activated. Or so I thought.

For, if you watched his start of last Tuesday against the White Sox, you know exactly what I mean. 4.2 innings, and 13 hits, 9 earned runs, and a walk (he did get four strikeouts anyway) and an ERA that has suddenly blossomed to 7.79 and a terrifying WHIP of 2.25 over 17.1 innings.

To compound the problem, Oswalt was relieved by a guy I really liked in Justin Grimm. He went three innings and surrendered three more runs and hits and a pair of walks, raising his ERA to 10.80.

So, between the pair, I moved from that comfy third place slot to tenth place overnight. Kind of like getting hit by a bus that runs a stop sign, right?

By contrast, I am in an NFBC Slow Draft League. That format is a 50-round draft and follow setup, meaning the 50 guys you take away from the draft are the 50 guys you finish with, like it or not. No free agents. No FAAB bidding. No trades. Period.

Well, in that league I selected 20 pitchers, and at last look 10 of them were on the DL. Worse, it looks like my #2 guy, Daniel Hudson is out until late 2013 with TJ surgery. Joining him were Sabathia, and Shaun Marcum over the last ten days, while Tim Stauffer, Alexi Ogando, and Niemann are all down. Not to mention Matt Capps, and while Dallas Braden and Eric Surkamp started the year injured, around draft time it was expected that both would be chucking the pill by All Star time.

In that league it got so tough that I could not even replace Sabathia, Capps, and Hudson, who all went on the DL almost two Sundays ago. Meaning I have been surviving or functioning or whatever with six pitchers the past two weeks.

And, well, dying a slow death, or so it seems.

Of course with the All Star Break there is hope and the chance for renewal.

Marcum, Sabathia, and Holland are all due back next week. In fact there are rumors that Holland might even get reactivated this weekend, though I will not be able to take advantage of that. Which means he will pitch like a champ, and then when I put him in the rotation to start after the break, he will get torched a la Oswalt.

I could go on with my pitching woes for the year. Like talking about LABR where I have Stauffer, and had Brian Wilson and Cory Luebke.

But, chances are you did not read this to hear me whine about my team and pitching woes.

My guess is you have enough of your own.

The other day as I was cruising home from ATT Park, after watching Ryan Vogelsong best the Dodgers and their ace Clayton Kershaw Giants announcer and former pitcher Mike Krukow noted just how much fun it was going to the ball park every day.

In fact, "Kruk" noted that he spoke to Barry Zito--who had helped shut out the Dodgers the night before--and noted what a huge smile the Giants lefty had on his face. Zito, Kruk noted, said of his grin, "How much more fun is coming to work than this?"

It is true. The Giants have sold out something like 120 consecutive games. The have the hits leader in the National League with surprising Melky Cabrera, a lovable corpulent third sacker in Pablo Sandoval, a couple of the more exciting young hitters in the league with catcher Buster Posey and the seriously improving Brandon Belt, and the best--and it helps to be healthy, for sure--starting rotation in baseball with Zito, Vogelsong, Tim Lincecum, Madison Bumgarner, and Matt Cain.

Equally amazing, is the team is doing with ranking 28th in the majors in home runs, with their 47 only two better than the Dodgers (who would be higher were Matt Kemp not injured) and the Padres, who just are not very good at this juncture.

In fact, as I write the Giants pitcher's scoreless streak, which started Monday with Zito's win (Oakland's walk-off by Derek Norris last Sunday against Santiago Casilla) and lasted to the first inning last night, when the Reds scored three first inning runs off this year's Giants ace.

The truth is I had a busy week these past days, working the Giants/Athletics game last Sunday with the Norris walk-off (it was exciting), then Monday when Zito won, Tuesday when Vogelsong won, and Thursday when Bumgarner tossed a one-hit complete game shutout that had me (well, a bunch of us) thinking no-no in the second inning, when the lefty sawed off a third bat on a grounder, earning a pair of whiffs and four ground outs his first seven batters (the lead off hitter walked) and six outs.

It is true that the one hit of the game--a sharp single up the middle Ryan Hanigan--was a legit hit, in fact not one journalist approached my bud OS David Feldman after the Hanigan at-bat to ask if he would reconsider (you would be shocked how often that one comes up).

Still, that made four straight shutouts, one shy of the recent Baltimore Orioles mark of five in 1995, and major league record of six the Pirates culled in 1903.

Not to mention with that win, the Giants nudged their way past the arch rival Dodgers for a solo hold on first place. In fact, the week was so bad for the Bums that the closest they came to scoring a run was Chad Billingsley being thrown out at the plate. Nothing else was even close, as in there were no runners at third that I saw over my three games there.

But, it is not just that. Melky has his legions, known as the "Milkmen" in fact this esprit de corps has just added a couple of women, now dubbed "Milkmaids." They dress up in milkman delivery suits and boogie around in the stands as their hero bangs out incredible hit after hit. There are the Sandoval legions who wear Panda hats, and the Belt minions who wear Giraffe hats.

There are Posey devotees, and Lincecum devotees, and Cain fanatics, not to mention those crazy for Gregor Blanco and Angel Pagan (who knew?).

It is just crazy.

But, just is crazy is the team is playing dangerous baseball, just like they did in 2010 when they ran the table, largely on Aubrey Huff and strong pitching.

The difference is this team is better, with five good starters all in synch. And, you may have your questions about Lincecum, who suffered adjustment issues I believe (check my early May piece, What's With Timmy?), but seems to have come out of his depths last Friday, after allowing the first six Oakland baserunners to reach, allowing three runs (I worked that game, too). Almost 40 pitches in the first inning, but, after that six batter, Lincecum struck out the side, and did not allow another hit for his remaining six innings, carrying that into his Wednesday start against the Dodgers and seven more shut out innings.

And, well, all of this is being accomplished without one of the team's most iconic faces: Brian Wilson, the Beard and their closer.

It is fun to be at ATT, and I think the joy started with the arrival of Sandoval, and then Lincecum. But, it was the 2010 pennant race and World Series win that correctly, as San Francisco GM noted, turned San Francisco into a baseball town.

Chances are that as you read this, I will be winging my way back to the park to work the Saturday Giants/Reds game, and in deference to Zito, and Kruk noting that ATT was the happiest place on earth, I have to agree. I have been to Disneyland.

These days, I would much rather spend my time at the yard.

Last week I further built upon my case that the recent spate of perfect games in baseball--that would be five over two years if we include Armando Galarraga--is not so much a case of superior pitching as it is inferior hitting.

Well, last Saturday I worked the Padres/Athletics interleague game, and though these two teams are not necessarily juggernauts of the offense, they are still lineups with major league hitters, facing major league pitchers.

Starting this particular circus were Ross Ohlendorf and Tyson Ross (they have Ross in common, eh?). They also both had no-hitters going through three innings, despite 56 pitches (30 strikes) from Ohlendorf and 44 (22 strikes) from Ross.

Ohlendorf lost his no-no when Seth Smith crushed a 1-0 slider over the center field wall, and Ross lost his no-hitter in the sixth, with two outs, to Carlos Quentin, after issuing a walk to Chase Headley.

At that point the score was Oakland 3, San Diego 2, and Ross came out after tossing 95 pitches, 50 for strikes, while Ohlendorf was pulled after 3.2 innings, and 85 pitches, 51 for strikes.

Sean Doolittle came in to cover Oakland in the seventh, and promptly lost the lead, allowing a double, a walk, and then a double, but was bailed out in the bottom of the seventh after Cliff Pennington walked, and Jemile Weeks singled. Josh Reddick then hit into a force out allowing Pennington to move to third, and Luke Gregerson was called in, mid at-bat, to finish off Jonny Gomes. His first throw was a wild pitch, and Pennington scored and the game was tied.

With a three-and-one count, Gomes crushed a two-run shot over the left field wall.

In the eighth, former closer Grant Balfour came in to hold the lead in the eighth, and he was awful, as follows:

1. Chase Headley lead off with a hard grounder down the line, nicely picked by Brandon Moss for a ground out.
2. Carlos Quentin walked.
3. Mark Kotsay  singled hard to right on a 3-2 count, with Headly moving to third. So, three batters, one fine defensive play, and runners on the corners.
4. Yonder Alonso hit a scorched line drive--also down the first base line--that Moss was able to spear while falling down. In the process he rolled over first base, doubling Kotsay off the bag, and ending the inning.

Somehow through all of that, Balfour was credited with a hold, while Gregerson, who threw precisely six pitches (he whiffed Brandon Inge after the Gomes dinger on three straight strikes) got the loss.

In the end, Ryan Cook came on to save the game, and of the nine pitchers who took the mound last Saturday, he was the only one who displayed any pitching acumen at all.

He got the save, and crazily Doolittle got the win despite five batters, two hits, a walk, and two runs over an inning. However, since awarding the victory is at the discretion of the OS, I personally begged Art Santo Domingo to award the win to Brandon Moss, who saved the game and Balfour with his two terrific defensive plays.

Still, four San Diego hits, and seven Oakland hits for a 5-3 game, with such lousy pitching does confirm my original therom:  hitting sucks.

Last year I wrote a piece for KFFL entitled Maybe Hitting is Just Lousy.

In it--and I encourage you to hit the link--I noted how terrible OBP was last year, and that maybe these days of great pitching is helped a lot by crappy hitting.

Well, on the heels of Matt Cain's perfect game--and, sorry, I was not there, so I did not work it--I started thinking more about that crappy hitting in the context of the perfectos.

Well, think about this:

Now, surely some of the frequency of this occurance has to do with that expansion as more teams means more hitters, and instead of the 224 best hitters alive, which is what there was essentially to 1962 with the first expansion, to now 30 teams, who, at 14 hitters per team, 644 hitters.

So, again, there is the factor to the hitting base is diluted.

Now, again, the focus on that KFFL piece I wrote is how terrible hitting--and in particular OBP--how suffered over the past few years, partially because younger players are being promoted sooner.

I think part of this is also that home runs are much not just what owners want, but how a player gets noticed, so working a count and taking advantage of strike zone knowledge have become less of a focal point it seems.

Which supports my thought that the "art" of hitting has shifted from Rembrandt and Matisse to the likes of Thomas Kinkade.

Of course this makes my brain kind explode with possibilities for study, from strikeouts per year, to number of walks to number of home runs, and then pro-rating everything to see how per player of "x" games--for remember, before expansion, 154 games was a season--strikeouts and OBP totals for hitters, while strikeouts and HRs allowed, for example among pitchers has changed.

Now, I do realize that a lot of the above might have already been done, but well, I am thinking about stuff I might do when I retire from having to do anything other than baseball to generate income (I do, but almost there).

But, I do think there is something to 22% of the total of one of baseball's rarest occurances all took place over the past three years.

 Mind you, I am not trying to diminish the accomplishments of those who have indeed tossed perfect games.

But, well, there is indeed something happening here and what it is is really not exactly clear. You know?

Before I go through my DraftStreet team for my fourth cycle of play, it is Interleague Time.

Now, I will confess I accept the DH, kind of like I accept Astroturf. I am not really crazy about either, but they are part of the baseball universe in which I live.

I am vehemently opposed, however, to any form of Instant Replay. For though I do understand the notion of wanting to get it right, since baseball--and all other sports for that matter--are games played and judged by human beings, it is fine with me to live with mistakes as part of the human factor of the game. Nothing is indeed perfect (including Instant Replay) and allowing for the human judge is akin to having an open and free society, as we enjoy here in America: the situation brings forth issues by definition. But, I would rather embrace that freedom and live with the consequences that live under restrictions than the illusion that being second guessed is an improvement, let alone always right.

But, I absolutely love Interleague Play.

I don't really know why, but as I write, I watch the Tigers and the Reds. I flipped this on after watching the Cubs and Twins, and before that it was a bit of the Marlins and Rays. However, I started the evening watching Luke Hochevar (who is on my Tout Wars team) duel Erik Bedard (who is on my XFL team) for six innings, before Hochevar was lifted for a pinch hitter.

And, I cringed watching Eric Hosmer play in the outfield, letting a ball get past him. And while part of me chuckles at the karma of the DH, the other part chuckles because it is indeed fun to watch these match-ups. I mean, I rarely watch either the Royals or the Buccos unless I happen to be working a game locally, and one of the teams is playing.

In fact next week I have Athletics games where the Oaklanders play both the Rockies and Padres in Oakland, and I look forward to it.

Back to the Pirates and the Royals, it is almost like an imaginary World Series that will never happen. It reminds me of being in London in 1977, during the start of the football season. There were ads for American beer on the wall of the underground stations, one of which extolled Super Bowl #12, ostensibly featuring the Chiefs and the Giants (in reality it was the Broncos and Cowboys).

At the time, that was as much of a pipe dream as a KC/Pittsburgh is now.

But, that does not mean it is not fun watching the two teams square off.

So, Yay to Interleague Play!

*     *     *     *

So, my latest DraftStreet foray worked a lot better than in the past, as my team actually finished 18th, with 60.8 points, missing the winning Rosalita Team (shepherded by none other than Mastersball's Todd Zola) by basically Kendrys Morales.

Had I taken Morales, and his 12.5 points at $5551 instead of Bryan LaHair (-1.5) at $6182, my total of 74.8 points would have been enough to beat Z and his squad's 73.8 winning points.

If.

But I did not. Todd and I both did milk the very hot Paul Goldschmidt (15.5 points), but otherwise we had no players in common.

A much better showing, and one where I managed 31.55 pitching points. I did draw an Arizona blank with Jason Kubel, though interestingly, Todd had the same issue with both Willie Bloomquist and Justin Upton.

Still, I was tracking my team, because, well, it is fun.

And, well, like I said, I would have done better, if. Of course, so would Todd, although I am not sure what is better than winning?