Smile Politely. Speak Directly. A Champaign-Urbana Culture Blog

Back in December, I wrote a long-winded eulogy for Jim Edmonds when his ties were cut with the Cardinals upon being shipped to San Diego. I wanted to remember his loping, upper-cut swing, his shoestring or scaling-the-wall catches, his notoriously lackadaisical appearance on the field, his So. Cal. bleached tips, his uncanny ability to clobber the high fastball and that glorious, walk-off home run he hit off Dan Miceli to keep the Cardinals alive in the 2004 NLCS.

I never published that eulogy. And now, I’m glad I didn’t, because Jim Edmonds isn’t going quietly into the night. Instead, he’s playing for the arch-rival Cubs. Whether Edmonds, who once admitted to treading lightly on Wrigley’s warning track thanks to its vine-covered brick walls, has any gas left in the tank or not is beside the point. He’ll be wearing the C on his chest, and that’s uncomfortable for Redbirds fans. The man who said on many occasions that he wanted to end his career in St. Louis will now likely cap his career in Chicago. That’s tough to stomach.

The Cardinals’ Rick Ankiel has accomplished more in his six-year major league career than most. He’s won 13 games and sports a 3.90 career ERA. He’s averaged better than a strikeout per inning on the mound. At the plate, he owns a .470 slugging percentage and 67 career RBIs.

Ankiel has also earned enough criticism, empathy, praise and “What if … ?”s in six seasons to last him a lifetime. The role of pitching phenom is never an easy part to play. Just ask Kerry Wood or Mark Prior. But neither of their stories mimic the bizarre tale of Ankiel, which any recent baseball fan knows all too well. His progression has been a memorable one: “the next Sandy Koufax,” Game 1 of the 2000 NLDS, wild pitches, mental blocks, media scrutiny, failed comeback, Single-A ball, injuries, more failure, thoughts of quitting, rebirth as a position player, success in the minors, comparisons to The Natural in the majors, scandal, suspense.

Let’s get three things straight about Tony La Russa, manager of the St. Louis Cardinals. First, a pet peeve: There is a space between “La” and “Russa.” Second, his lifetime Major League batting average as a middle infielder is one point below the Mendoza Line. Third, and most important, his 2,393 career wins as a Major League manager place him among some select, Hall-of-Fame company: Only Connie Mack and John McGraw have more victories.

Mack, who has won — by far — more games than any other manager in MLB history, 3,731, also has 3,948 losses. I bring this up because wins, as a metric for the success of managers and starting pitchers alike, don’t tell the whole story. And in the case of La Russa, the whole story is worth telling.

I spend my days editing and acquiring sports non-fiction books. I also often spend my nights reading sports non-fiction books, which makes for a lot of sports reading — probably too much. In light of the arrival of both spring and the baseball season, I’m sharing some recent baseball reads that you may find of interest.

I don’t much care to join the debate over whether the Big Ten Network is in the wrong or Comcast should be blamed for the cable provider’s ongoing refusal to carry the Big Ten Network. Regardless of who is ultimately to blame — and the likely truth is that it’s both of ’em to some degree — I’m still without the Big Ten Network, despite reports that the two sides are close to agreement. The only one getting screwed in this process is me, the fan.

And Comcast hasn’t improved its Q rating by choosing not to pick up an extra twenty Cardinals games that Fox Sports Midwest is offering. On Tuesday night I waited with bated breath for the first-place Cardinals to take on the second-place Brewers. After all, this was the first time in the last fifty years (and, quite possibly, ever) of Major League Baseball that two opposing teams would each bat the pitcher eighth in the order. (Yes, these are the sorts of thrills that I look forward to on a daily basis.)

No one pegged the Cardinals to win the N.L. Central this year, but after ten games they find themselves atop the division, a half-game ahead of the Brewers and the streaking Cubs. You can put me among those skeptics. I felt this team had as much of a chance of winning the division as Neifi Perez had in finding his stroke, landing with the Yankees, displacing Alex Rodriguez at third base and making his first All-Star team. (I don’t think they currently market that strong of a performance-enhancing drug.)

Finally, games that count have arrived. For better or worse, that means the Cardinals took the field this week. The Redbirds then promptly played in a game that didn’t count, an Opening Day rainout that washed away an Albert Pujols home run. Funny how that happens. Opening Day redux ended with Rockies starter Kip Wells getting the best of his former team. Ouch. But St. Louis rebounded to take the series with a win on Thursday. All told, they allowed the reigning N.L. champs just five runs in three games.

Getting back to my last column — a silly expedition in selecting the best players in the N.L. Central — I must carry on where I left off and identify the pitchers who will surely shine this season, given my blessing. We’ll start with a rotation, then build a pen.

As I stated last week, I could really care less about spring training. It becomes especially difficult to pay attention to baseball games that don’t count when there’s college basketball games that do count being played for all the marbles. March is for the Butlers, George Masons, Bucknells, Kent States, Vermonts and Virginia Commonwealths. March is for whomever is playing Duke. I could care less who is playing the St. Louis Cardinals.

But for the sake of writing a baseball column amidst the excitement of a college basketball tournament, I’ll attempt to honor college basketball tradition and pick a preseason “all conference” team for the N.L. Central. Like any great preseason team, my picks are based on wild hunches and threads of evidence, and will largely turn out to be wrong come September.

I’m in the minority among baseball fans: I don’t find spring training to be all that interesting. Sure, it’s exciting to know that baseball games that actually count are right around the corner, but as for devouring the ins and outs of spring training games and studying the myriad competitions for precious roster spots that ensue, I could care less. So and so is mowing down the organization’s soon-to-be Double-Aers in batting practice? So and so is 16 for 40 and leading the team in RBIs? So what!

A recent happening best characterizes my uncomfortable settlement into my thirties. Like most Americans, I should exercise more often. While I haven’t run frequently for over a decade, I decided this past Sunday to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather, get off my lazy ass, forsake the gym membership and hit the pavement for an afternoon jog. Four blocks into my run — well before the frightful sucking sounds had a chance to kick in — I turned a corner and while transitioning from the sidewalk to the street, I planted my foot in a muddy, slick stretch of grass. I slid just enough to unsettle my balance, then roll my ankle. Some jog.

Who can stand to watch SportsCenter these days? The sporting news is chock full of athletes in distress, a bunch of liars, cheaters and thieves who give in to their countless vices. Then again, that could also occasionally describe me, and probably you. Yet we don’t like to admit as much, because pointing fingers at others is more fun.

For fans, managing the itchy trigger finger is hard work when week after week the media provides fresh bait. Gee, I wonder if Barry Bonds is grateful that Roger Clemens has shifted the steroids spotlight off him? The negative press is so relentless that yesterday’s news seems to have happened years ago. When was the last time you thought about Michael Vick? Or Floyd Landis, or Marion Jones, or Pacman Jones, or Tim Donaghy? You have Kelvin Sampson, Bill Belichick, Reggie Bush, Florida State University and the U.S. Congress to thank for that. Soon enough, someone or something will excuse those entries from our mind, as the media continues to tantalize sports fans with one scandal after another. In some instances, however, it’s worth holding on to the past, if only to obtain some closure.

In case you missed the Big Ben news yesterday, the Chicago Bulls pulled off a three-way deadline deal with the Cleveland Cavs and the Seattle Sonics. The trade was a bit of a yawner in the sense that it has long been supposed that the Bulls would deal forward Ben Wallace, and that’s precisely what they did in dumping the final two years and change of Wallace’s massive contract on Cleveland. Considering that Wallace has been a shell of his former self this season (not to mention an occasional grump), the move makes sense for Chicago, which needs to get a good read on the futures of frontcourt young’uns Tyrus Thomas, Aaron Gray and Joakim Noah.

Alas, Thursday’s snowstorm kept me from attending the University of Illinois women’s basketball game against Ohio State. And that’s a shame because the Illini beat No. 17 Ohio State, 68–64, behind sophomore forward Jenna Smith’s 20 points and 10 rebounds. It would have been a nice change of pace to watch an Illini basketball team actually win a game against a worthy foe. I’ll catch up with the ladies for a column in the near future.

It just so happens that I’ve almost completed the first season of Lost, the popular ABC drama. (Yes, I’m that far behind the rest of you. Sorry, I was busy with The Wire and Six Feet Under and Mad Men and, of course, The Sopranos.) So the theme for this week is not losing, per say, but those who are lost. The Chicago Bulls and the Illinois men’s basketball team provided the inspiration for this thematic selection with a pair of pitiful performances on Wednesday night.

Back in early November, when I began considering topics for the winter editions of this column, I was a bit worried that I wouldn’t have enough column inches to devote to both the Illini men’s basketball team and the Bulls. That is to say, that both teams would be providing me with plenty of material. Of course, I had hoped to be chronicling a transitional Illini team capable of making the NCAA tournament, not a team whose fall from the Big Ten’s upper echelon has been monumentally embarrassing. And I had expected to be covering a Bulls team fighting for a No. 1 seed in the weak NBA East. Instead, the Bulls are fighting for the No. 1 overall draft pick.

Needless to say, some weeks it’s difficult enough to find a reason to watch either team’s games, let alone write about them. (I actually won a pair of free tickets to Sunday’s Northwestern game, and it almost feels like a punishment.) It’s quite the challenge to avoid sounding like a broken record. So for the next couple weeks, I’ll be changing the subject. Next week I’ll focus on the Illini women’s basketball team; this week, I’m focusing on the women — rather, woman — in my life.

I’ve resisted writing about the St. Louis Cardinals’ offseason for too long. The time is right; someone needs to defend the masses from the incessant babble of the Homers at the Post-Dispatch.

St. Louis fans were set up for a franchise-altering offseason for the Redbirds, with the theme being addition by subtraction. Longtime general manager Walt Jocketty, winner of two pennants and deliverer of Mark McGwire, Jim Edmonds, Scott Rolen, Adam Wainwright and Chris Carpenter, was shown the door. His stubborn refusal to embrace a more youth-oriented focus and his immature treatment of the nexus of that movement, VP of player development Jeff Luhnow, forced ownership’s hand.

Fans of the Illini men’s basketball team should be excused if the Democratic or Republican presidential races have become more interesting than the Big Ten race (which is all of three games old). If one wants to root for a winner in the state of Illinois this year, the smart money is on the presidential race — not the University of Illinois men’s basketball team, losers of four straight for the first time under Bruce Weber (pictured).

I was one of few present last Saturday for the tip-off of the second annual Shootout at the Hall. The culprit: a snowstorm and an early start for a day-long affair featuring seven boys’ high school basketball games. The crowd thickened somewhat as the snow continued to accumulate outside, but even for the afternoon’s marquee match ups Section A of the Hall was hardly full.

Those of us bemoaning the beginning of another long year for the Illini basketball team need to stop reading Ken Pomeroy’s scouting report for Illinois — which tells us a host of things we already know about this team, and a few we don’t — and start listening to Kenny Battle. Why? Because former Flyin’ Illini Kenny Battle, who called the Weber St. game for the Big Ten Network, may be the worst color analyst in basketball. Listening to him call a game can be painful, yet relieving. His blather has the power to distract Illini Nation from what we already know about this Illini team: It doesn’t get to the line often enough; when it does get to the line it can’t make its free throws at anything close to an acceptable clip (58.8%); it shoots too many three-pointers after wasting away the shot clock; and its personnel has a tendency to make poor decisions and play submissively on offense, especially when facing a zone defense. Collectively, these are things we already knew going into this season. (See: season 2006–07. Or season 2005–06.)

My, look how much it costs to maintain the status quo these days: $400 million for the Yankees; the firing of the wrong sacrificial pig at Indiana U; sneaky camera trickery for the undefeated Patriots; and apparently plenty of Xs in the win column for the Bulls.

For the 3–10 Chicago Bulls, mediocrity doesn’t come cheap either, and apparently it doesn’t even know its true value. Both Luol Deng and Ben Gordon turned down phat contract extensions shortly before this season began. Taking cue, Chicago general manager John Paxson then promptly refused to trade Luol (and perhaps Little Ben) to the Lakers for Kobe Bryant. Doing so, Paxson more or less agreed with his young players’ assessments of their worth: “Yep, too good to give up.” We’ve heard that one before.