Look Out Cleveland

This begins the Summer of '04 series, chronicling my first serious baseball road trip. The italicized passages are notes that I've added after the fact. The rest is taken word-for-word, or paraphrased from, the journal I kept on this trip.

Friday, June 11
Today is the day...the beginning of my five-ballparks-in-seven-days tour of the Midwest. Unfortunately, I suffered a slight setback Wednesday night when I sprained my right foot sliding into third base during a softball game. Right now, I'm on crutches, but I've healed so quickly thus far that I doubt I'll need them for long.

Interestingly enough, when I hurt my foot/ankle during the game, I walked it off and remained in the game, playing the outfield, in fact. Later that night, after a few post-game drinks at the bar, I was limping a little, but that paled in comparison to when I woke up in the middle of the night writhing in pain.

The following morning, I called SMB, my teammate, co-worker, neighbor, and closest member of my urban family, who then drove me to the hospital. Later, when I informed the emergency room doctor of the trip I had planned, he essentially said to me that he probably should tell me not to go, but that if he were me, he'd still make the trip.

My first game is tomorrow night in Cleveland. They're playing Cincinnati, and Ken Griffey Jr. is two home runs shy of 500 for his career. Today, my goal is to drive across Massachusetts and upstate New York and spend the night near Rochester.

Later...after a productive day of driving (almost 400 miles), I make it to the vicinity of Rochester and find a motel room near Victor, New York. While driving, I was thinking about the possibility of adding a sixth game to my schedule. Unfortunately, there are no games in Milwaukee or Chicago on Monday—my open day between Detroit and St. Louis—so Philadelphia next Saturday appears to be my only real option.

Today's musical highlight was Matthew Ryan's Mayday. I haven't listened to this one in a while, but I still love it, and it's an excellent selection for a rural road trip. I watch SportsCenter from my motel room, but fall asleep while the Reds game is in extra innings, with Griffey still stuck on 498.

Saturday, June 12
I'm on the road from Victor to Cleveland for tonight's Reds-Indians game. I'm torn between rooting for Junior to hit two home runs or none, since I'll be seeing him again in Cincinnati next Thursday.

I make great time on Saturday, and arrive at my motel in the western suburbs of Cleveland—giving me a bit of a head start on tomorrow's driving—about five hours before game time. It's also worth noting that, by this point, I'd abandoned the use of the crutches. Although that's in part due to quick healing, it's also because getting in and out of the car while hopping on one foot is a royal pain in the ass.

Also of interest, although not necessarily in a good way, is that I ran the New York City Marathon twice in the four years prior to the injury. I don't think I've run any longer than five miles at one time since. On the upside (sort of), as I've felt my knees deteriorate in recent years, I realize that being forced to curtail, and eventually give up, running was probably my body's built-in defense mechanism.

I arrive at Jacobs Field a few hours early, so I head to a nearby sports bar called Alice Cooper'stown. I try the Eliot Ness from Great Lakes Brewing Company. I'm told it's a pale ale, but it seems more like a Killian's clone. For my next beer, I check out Alice's Poison Amber, which may or may not be brewed on the premises. It sucks also, reminding me of a poor man's Sam Adams, which is barely an upgrade over Killian's.

Honestly, I'm not sure why I was under the impression that I was going to discover good local brews in the Midwest. But, while I was quite critical of the beer selection, I was pleased with the fact that Cleveland is a city whose baseball stadium resides in the midst of a fairly happening downtown atmosphere. Most other cities I've visited on my two major ballpark trips can't make this claim, with Pittsburgh being the one exception that comes to mind.

There are lots of Reds fans in and around the park, which I guess isn't much of a surprise. It turns out that tonight is Omar Vizquel & Dave Concepcion Bobblehead Night. Concepcion is present to honor Vizquel during a pre-game tribute celebrating the fact that he's recently reached two significant milestones. Vizquel accumulated his 2,000th hit and played in his 2,000th game this year, and he's quite pleased that Concepcion, his boyhood idol and fellow Venezuelan, is on hand to take part in the ceremony.

On Deck: Cleveland Rocks

Common Misconceptions, Part 2

Back when I was playing intramural softball in college, there was a situation that involved a rule that, surprisingly, very few people seem to be aware of.

I was on third base with less than two outs, and the batter hit a routine fly ball to left field. It was easily deep enough, so I tagged up and scored on the play. However, the left fielder bobbled the ball, giving the impression that I hadn't tagged up properly, because technically I left the base before he completed the catch.

Our opponents appealed the play, and I was called out, as my teammates offered words of consolation, indicating that it was a tough break that the fielder bobbled the ball. But, I knew better.

I took up my case with the umpire, informing him that the runner is entitled to leave his base as soon as the ball is touched by the fielder. Unbelievably, he pulled out the rule book, looked it up, and changed his ruling. If I recall correctly, we were winning by five or so runs in the final innings of the game, so it didn't turn out to be a pivotal call. But, of course, I felt kind of smug about it.

Obviously, the rules of professional baseball and amateur softball are not identical, but I'm positive the baseball rule is the same. Interestingly enough, I can't locate this technicality in the major league rule book. Here's what I found:

7.08 Any runner is out when—

(d) He fails to retouch his base after a fair or foul ball is legally caught before he, or his base, is tagged by a fielder.

7.10 Any runner shall be called out, on appeal, when—

(a) After a fly ball is caught, he fails to retouch his original base before he or his original base is tagged.

Neither rule makes mention of any exception to the requirement that the runner wait until the ball is caught before leaving the base. This, of course, is another example of the confusion caused by the vagueness of the rule book. Regardless, I know I'm right, and this has been confirmed by a few subsequent experiences. Besides, if a fielder could bobble a ball and fake a runner into leaving a base early, why wouldn't it be a more common occurrence?

This one seems like a no-brainer, but it's happened so seldomly over the course of my 30-something years as a player, spectator and umpire that I'm not sure if the scenario has crossed most people's minds. So, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that, each time this has occurred, there have been witnesses who were fooled into thinking that the runner was guilty of leaving early and, therefore, out on appeal. As far as you're concerned, if you didn't know this already, now you won't need to see it to believe it.

Goal Post 13, NA1 11

First of all, I have no idea what NA1 is, but Monday night's opponent was the team who came in last place in the A Division last season. Each year, the first place team in the B Division moves up and the last place team in the A Division moves down. We fell into the latter category after going 10-20 in our first year in the league, and have basically been a middle-of-the-pack B team since.

NA1 looks as though they could be one of the contenders in the B Division this season. We got off to a quick start, leading 6-0 after three innings, but then their bats came to life, and we found ourselves trailing 11-10 after they scored two in the 4th, four in the 5th and five in the 6th.

I was back to my usual role of utility man, as I became the first player on the team this year to play both the infield and the outfield. I started in right field, as one of our primary outfielders arrived late. Fortunately, I didn't show any rust as I handled my only two chances, including a somewhat difficult fly ball hit over my head and down the line. Interestingly enough, they didn't score until after we made our defensive changes, moving me to my best position—second base—and inserting a better outfielder than I into right.

At the plate, I went 3-for-4, including hits that started three-run rallies in the 1st and 6th innings. Between my own performance and the team's, this was the most satisfying game of this young season. After squandering a six-run lead and trailing for the first time entering the 7th, we responded by scoring three runs in the top of the inning, and holding them scoreless in the bottom. It's early, but at 3-1, we currently stand tied for first place, and seem to have improved enough to be considered one of the better teams in the league.

Malachy's 15, Goal Post 10

The 11 runs they scored in the first two innings were really all our opponent would need on Thursday night to hand us our first loss of the season. But, trailing 11-0 after two innings and making a game of it is a bit of a moral victory, in that we showed—to ourselves, that is—that we weren't going to allow a rough start to completely frustrate us. Personally, I was a hard-luck 1-for-4, bringing my stats to 6-for-11 with three walks on the season.

In my discussion of our last game, I touched on the subject of strikeouts, which turned out to be a pretty significant issue in this game. After I grounded out to start the game, Ryan suffered the unfortunate indignity of striking out looking...and he knew it. In fact, he said he thought the pitch was going to be inside, and I recalled that, only a few pitches earlier, a gust of wind had blown a ball outside that looked like it was going to be in the strike zone.

The penalty for striking out looking is to buy the team a case of imported beer, which is supposed to be an upgrade over the usual 30-pack of Bud Light, but isn't necessarily in my book. I guess, if you put a gun to my head, I'd choose 24 Heinekens over 30 Buds. I'm considering looking at a strike three myself so that I can buy a case of Dogfish IPA, which isn't imported, of course, but I'm sure would qualify, although I'm not sure that it would be a huge hit.

We're going to have our work cut out for us when the weather gets better and the team starts hanging out in the parking lot after games, because Ryan's backwards K wasn't the only strikeout of the night. In fact, one teammate struck out twice, although it was swinging both times, and another fouled out to the catcher...which is considered on the same level as a strikeout. So, that's three 30-packs and one imported case that we have coming to us.

I was involved in another double play tonight, although it was more a case of good fortune than anything else. There were runners on first and second, with one out. I was playing second base—the only position I've played so far this year despite the utility role I've filled in years past—when a sinking line drive was hit towards me that I gloved, but didn't catch cleanly, just a few inches off the ground. I immediately threw the ball to our shortstop, who was covering second. The runners were really confused, as was everyone else, including the umpire. Rhino caught the throw—I believe while standing on second, a very important detail—tagged the runner who had returned to second thinking I would catch the liner, and tagged the runner coming from first, for good measure.

Like I said, everyone was confused, including me, to be completely honest. But, I pumped my fist and tried to sell it as a double play as I started to run off the field. This may or may not have worked, but the end result was that the umpire called both runners out.

Now, here's the important part of this lesson. If Rhino is standing on second base when he receives my throw, the runner from first is out, and the runner from second is no longer forced to go to third. So, if he's standing on the base when tagged, he's not out. But, if it happens the other way around—that is, if Rhino tags the runner from second, whether he's on the base or not, then tags the base—it’s a double play.

Personally, I think the umpire got this call wrong, and probably could have figured out how to get it right if he had taken a half-minute to think about what had just happened. But, even Rhino couldn't remember the sequence of events a few minutes after the play was over, so it was somewhat understandable.

I never thought of it this way, but our sponsor really has a vested interest in our success. No, I don't mean the huge trophy that would be displayed in the bar if won the championship, but the fact that the more times we go down on strikes, the less time and money we spend at the Goal Post.

Goal Post 12, Wash 'N' Dry 9

A less than inspiring performance over a team that finished at the bottom of the standings last year with a 3-25 record—although one of their victories was against us—resulted in our second win of this young season. Wash 'N' Dry looked much improved since last year, particularly in their new shirts featuring what appeared to be the old Hartford Whalers logo, but the game never really should have been as close as it was.

A lackluster offensive showing, combined with a couple of key defensive lapses, resulted in us trailing 8-7 going into the 7th inning. But, the one area that they apparently haven't improved is on the mound, as last night's pitcher struggled mightily with his control. In this league, each batter starts with a 1-1 count, so it's certainly a little easier to issue a three-pitch, rather than a four-pitch, walk. On the other hand, all it takes is one strike to place the batter in a situation where he's protecting the plate, because there is no greater indignity than striking out looking in slow-pitch softball. Believe me, it's happened, but fortunately not to me.

In fact, that's not entirely true. I did strike out looking in an intramural softball game in college, but that was over 20 years ago. It was quite embarrassing, but it was a bad call...of course. I also struck out swinging in a co-ed game about five years ago, but now in my fifth season in this particular men's league, I have yet to have to buy the team a 30-pack...the penalty for going down on strikes.

In the top of 7th, though, without any specific direction from Fax—our fearless leader—the team decided to be extremely patient at the plate. As a result, four consecutive walks to start the inning later, I "drove" in the go-ahead run with a bases-loaded walk. Our opponents then changed pitchers, but we proceeded to score three more runs, while giving up only one in the bottom of the inning, to come away with a 12-9 victory.

When I first joined this team, I considered the idea of writing a blog chronicling the team's exploits, on and off the field. This was mostly motivated by an early incident that underscored the tendency of some of my teammates to overdo it at the bar post-game. I never followed through on that, of course, and the team—although led by a small group of serious drinkers—never quite lived up to the hype.

There was some drama last night, though. We had 15 players—not including the habitually injured Fax, who did play on Friday—available at the game. So, since we can only bat 12, that meant at least six players were not going to be in the lineup for the entire game. No one really had a problem with this, but one teammate had a problem with a comment made by Fax as he removed him from the game.

Let's just say that Fax picked the wrong person to get on the bad side of. Duff, at 6'5" and 275 lbs., and looks more like a defensive lineman than a baseball player, has hit at least five home runs per season in the three years that we've played at the fence-enclosed Faxon Park. Only one other player on the team—my fellow Yankees fan, Kevin—has hit one during that time frame. Most of the time, Duff seems like the type of big man who wouldn't hurt a fly, but when Fax made an off-handed steroids remark while taking him out of the game, it apparently struck a nerve.

Duff was still fuming while hanging at the bar post-game. I mulled the idea of pulling Fax aside and pointing out his indiscretion, but Duff beat me to it. They talked—sometimes animatedly—in the corner of the bar for at least 15-20 minutes, before Kevin and I decided it was time to leave after our one beer each. I wasn't really worried that it was going to get ugly—not that there was anything I could do about it—because John, the team's second-in-command and also the godfather of at least one of Duff's children, didn't seem to be.

We jokingly said a dramatic goodbye to Fax as we left, and asked Duff if we would see him—Fax, that is—at Thursday's game. Duff still wasn't in a joking mood, although Fax was—which probably wasn't helping his case—but I'm confident that John won't be running the team on Thursday.

Goal Post 23, Cool Cat 2

I'm going to take a stab at doing a write-up for each of my softball team's games this year, similar to what Lee does for each Yankees game he attends. Speaking of which, I turned down tickets to last night's Yanks-Sox game at Fenway to play our first game of the season. My team needed me after all, as we had exactly ten players available. Actually, I'm pretty certain we could have won short-handed, as it turned out to be a rather easy victory over one of the weaker teams in the league, Cool Cat Sportswear.

We scored four or more runs in every inning except the third, and were awarded a mercy-rule victory after just five innings. I batted leadoff and went 5-for-6, although I was the beneficiary of a very generous scoring decision for one of the hits. My recent trend of opening the season by reaching base in my first ten or more plate appearances—something I've done the past two years—ended when I grounded into a fielder's choice for our final out of the game. My personal highlight, though, was turning the pivot on a 6-4-3 double play, on which our shortstop and first baseman told me later they thought we had no chance and assumed I would just take the force out and hold the ball.

Two of our three new players were in attendance last night, and it looks like they will be significant additions to a team that went 15-13 last year, but was swept in a best-of-five semi-final series by the eventual league champions. I believe the new guys make us a little younger, but that's not saying much for a team whose average age would be right around 40 if not for last year's addition of the 21-year old son of one of our teammates.

Of course, since it was Friday night, and our sponsor is a bar, the evening ended at the Goal Post Tavern, which meant I had to watch Jason Bay's coming-out party with its South Shore brethren. I suppose it could have been worse...I could have been at Fenway. Is it just me, or is David Ortiz now no better than the fourth-most feared hitter in that lineup? That statement's not meant as much as an endorsement of the Red Sox offense—although it is pretty impressive—as it is an indictment of Big Papi's rapidly eroding skills...not that you heard that hear first.

The night also ended with a few bets among teammates about the upcoming season, mostly involving the aforementioned double-play trio...hardly Tinker to Evers to Chance, I must add. I'll get to those wagers later, though, as it's going to be a long season...or at least that's what my body is telling me. It's time to go take a couple Advil.

Casey's Clipboard & Wally's World

Yesterday, the first installment of a new series I'm writing appeared on Casey's Clipboard & Wally's World. It's called Cooking with Chas: A Weekly Look at What's on the MLB Hot Stove, and it will be a regular Friday morning feature for the next few months. As the title suggests, I'll be discussing the major topics of the Major League Baseball off-season, what is commonly referred to as the Hot Stove League.

A little explanation as to where the Chas moniker came from is in order. My friend Smitty moved back to his native Rochester a little over a year ago, abandoning our undefeated fall co-ed softball team in the process. We lost in the finals, and continue to come up short in the quest to duplicate our Summer 2005 championship, despite several regular season first-place finishes. But, that has little to do with this story.

Shortly after Smitty returned home, he sent me a link to a blog that his uncle (Casey) had started recently, and encouraged me to check it out. I did, but I laid low for a little while, then decided to start commenting somewhat mysteriously. As you know, Charles Simone is my writing pseudonym. Charles is my middle name, and it's also my father's name. As a child, I recall my dad sometimes abbreviating his name as Chas in cards and notes he had written, so I decided to start leaving comments on the site as Chas.

I succeeded in my quest to be somewhat mysterious, as I learned later that there was some discussion between Smitty and Casey about who I was. Casey, as the site's administrator, was able to determine from his usage statistics that the comments were coming from the Boston area, so they surmised that I was a friend of Smitty's. But, since he had promoted the site to several people, he didn't know specifically who I was. Slowly, I revealed my identity through a series of hints, and have continued to be a regular commenter on the site since.

Casey and I developed a rapport through his blog, and eventually he started reading my blog as well. I now have Casey to thank for diverting some attention to Left Field, as both he and Rey--who writes an excellent weekly column about English football on the Clipboard called On the Pitch with an American Novice--have become fairly regular commenters here.

So, when Casey asked me to write a weekly column on the baseball hot stove league, it only made sense for me to continue to embrace the nickname that I don't particularly like, but for which I have no one but myself to blame. However, when I came up with the cleverly cheesy title Cooking with Chas, I started to appreciate the name a little more.

If you're interested, head on over to Casey's Clipboard and check out my first column. I'm hoping to generate some discussion there by incorporating the interests of the commenters into my future columns, so please feel free to become a part of that.

41 Going on 14

Following my softball game this past Friday night, I commented to a teammate that I think I've just finally realized that I'm in my 40's. Despite the fact that I'm still in pretty good shape, and still run pretty well, I'm not holding up as well as I used to. Yet, I still play as hard as ever, and always seem to be the guy with the dirtiest uniform.

But, sometimes this is unnecessary. Take Friday night's game, for example. On one play, about midway through the game, I'm running from first on a groundball hit in the hole between short and third. I don't even remember who came up with the ball, but he didn't field it cleanly. By busting my ass and sliding hard into second, I was able to beat the throw, and knock the ball loose in the process. Well worth the effort, of course.

Then, later in the game, I do the same thing, in a similar situation. This time, however, the ball is fielded cleanly by the shortstop, and, while I make the play closer than most would have, I'm still out by five feet. After realizing that I had jammed my left hand into the ground in the process, and can barely grip the bat and squeeze my glove afterwards, I decide this one was not worth it.

So, at my game last night, my hand is feeling better, but I still can't grip the bat really well, and it occasionally hurts to catch the ball. So, what do I do? Late in the game, in trying to avoid being forced at second again, I slide into the bag, and wouldn't you know it? The same hand hits the ground, slightly aggravating the injury.

After the game, it takes me ten minutes to remove my cleats, put my sneakers back on, and tie the laces. Then, I limp to the car, my bad ankle suddenly feeling tender again, while each knee takes a turn feeling like it's going to give out. In the process, I'm reminded that, despite being a fairly svelte 5'10" and 160 lbs, and the fact that I still play like a kid, I am definitely getting old.