The Coach is KILLING Me!

Sebelius climbs to #2 in my personal governor power rankings

I had never heard of Kathleen Sebelius until this week, when the whole Democratic-response-to-the-State-of-the-Union-and-then-endorse-Obama thing happened. Well, this is the first picture in her photo gallery, so she's all right by me. This week's rankings:

#1: Schwarzenegger, California. I actually voted for the other Arnold, but every so often he shows up on my TV and says something about helping Cal-ee-for-nee-a families, and it never fails to crack me up.

#2: Sebelius, Kansas. See above.

#3: Ed Rendell, Pennsylvania. Okay, so he's an Eagles fan. A really rabid one. But I appreciate that he doesn't try to waffle on it.

Nobody else is worth mentioning, really. I miss the likes of Jesse Ventura, William Donald Schaefer, and Jim McGreevey. Why aren't there more gay former wrestlers who talk about the [poop]house of the Eastern Shore?

Um... I guess I'm really off format now...

Link: Kansas Governor Kathleen Sebelius - Photo Gallery.

30-3

I got my first text message at 8 PM. "Congratulations to the Orioles on being part of history!" it said. The first phone call was at 8:45 -- from a friend of my wife's who doesn't know Walker, Texas Ranger from the Texas Rangers.

The emails have been coming all day.  Some are subtle - "hey, what was the score of the Orioles game last night?" Some go for the jugular -- "how does that happen at the major league level?" Some just say "hahahahahahaha!"

Suffice it to say, no one is letting me forget this game.

Of course, why should they? My first text message was from a Yankees fan I work with who I had taunted thed ay before because she was at the Angels-Yankees game where Garrett Anderson had 10 RBI. "Wow, it must have been so exciting to witness history like that" read my IM. "this user has signed off" said her response. In addition, I emailed this image around quite liberally three years ago:

The reach of this story is actually quite impressive. It is on the front page of The Oregonian (I'm in Portland today). Some blowhard on CNN took time out from railing about illegal immigrants to make fun of it. IN the middle of an email thread with a client about a financial matter (with 4 others cc'ed), he simply responded "30-3?"

The Orioles haven't done anything interesting in 10 years, so I suppose that it's nice that people are paying attention. In addition, I am catching up with old friends who have decided to email me today to ask if Rangers missed the extra point to make 31-3 (har-de-freakin-har). So there are some positives, but I am looking forward to when this moves off the national landscape and the Orioles go back to being anonymous -- which I hope is after the pile of jokes that Letterman, Leno & Conan pile on tonight.

Well, I guess it is good to be in the record books in some way...

Full Circle

We went to see the Orioles play the Angels up the road in Anaheim today. I was actually going on line yesterday to buy Padres tickets (we had decided a ball game was in order), and saw the preview link for the O's - Angels. Last year was the first year since 1981 that I had not seen the Orioles play (we were traveling to Baltimore, ironically, the weekend they were here), and it would have been pretty frustrating if I had not realized they were in town. It shows you how much I am following baseball these days, though.

Anyway, after we walked through the gate, I had a flashback to Memorial Day, 1999. My wife & I were on our honeymoon in the strange and exotic location of California. Somehow, and to this day I'm not sure how I pulled it off, we decided to see some ballgames while we were out here. We got married on May 29, a Saturday, flew out Sunday, and went to the Angels-Twins game on Monday. The hotel I had picked did not have room service, and we had no idea what the heck this "Pink Dot" thing was, so we when to the game to eat. It was a 2 PM game, and we got there as the gates opened. We sat in this same courtyard waiting for Carl's Jr. (something else we had never heard of) to open so we could get some food. And here we were, almost 7 years to the day, with our two kids, watching an Orioles game.

So, I thought about the 1999 version of me, sitting there waiting for the grill to get fired up so he could have a Western Bacon Cheeseburger. How that guy would be quite surprised that he was sitting somewhere that he would be visiting many times in the future. That he would certainly not think that The Big A would be our only opportunity to see the Orioles each year (although they did come to Dodger Stadium once). I wonder what he would have thought of the kids, and the suburbs, and the lack of humidity.

I know he would have assumed that the Orioles would be better by now.

West Coast, East Sports

One of the biggest adjustments to moving across country is how it affects sports. This is due to distance and time zones. I can't pop into Camden Yards to catch the Orioles, I have wait until they travel out here. If I want to watch the Redskins, the game starts at 10 AM, and it most likely won't be on TV here. The standings in the paper list the Western divisions first.

Anyway, I have still been able to root for my crappy East Coast teams. Unfortunately, none of the local teams are any good either (with the exception of the Lakers). Nonetheless, as proof of my dedication, here are the photos of me showing that pride. We caught two of the three games that the Orioles played in Anaheim. It also included Cal Ripken's final game in SoCal, with a guest appearance by The Mouse. The line for autographs literally wrapped around the stadium, so we just sat in the bleachers and complained about the Rally Monkey (a story for another day).

If you have sophisticated photo enhancement equipment, you can see Cal standing just outside the dugout.

We also managed to see a Redskins game for the first time since our first date WAAY back in November 1995 in RFK. Since the Chargers only sell out Raiders games when gangs of hoodlums descend from LA, we were able to get good seats to opening day. In this photo, you can see that the Chargers are about to score another touchdown. They might have won the game, but the Chargers theme song ("San Diego... Super Chargers!") is awful. It sounds like it came about as the result of a high school contest in the late 80's.

An Interview with Albert Belle

Albert Belle, the moody Orioles slugger, no longer talks to the media, instead referring reporters to his web site. This is a novel combination of sports and technology, and as far as I know, has not been attempted by any major athlete before. It means that:

a) Albert can control his comments;

b) Ordinary people (including those with web sites such as our own) have as much access to Albert as those high-fallutin' reporters with those fancy press passes; and

c) He's a jerk.

But that's besides the point. What is the point is that little old me can perform an interview with one of the highest paid stars in baseball. So, I dialed up Albert's site earlier this week, and read his "journal," which is what passes for his press statements these days, and "Bank on Belle," which contains financial advice. From these statements, I managed to conduct an interview.

Me: So, Albert, how are you doing?

Albert Belle's Web Site: Ok.

Me: Have you ever seen our web site?

ABWS: I've seen... it.

Me: What's your favorite part?

ABWS: All there is to it.

Me: Well, thank you. Besides our web site, what do you read?

ABWS: The Wall Street Journal.

Me: Let's get personal for a minute. Have you quit drinking, or are you going to throw a baseball at me just for asking that question?

ABWS: I stopped.

Me: Stopped what - drinking, or throwing baseballs at people?

ABWS: I... play hard. But now, there's no mention of it in the papers.

Me: So, you're being more discreet?

ABWS: [I'm] making my way.

Me: How are you with the ladies?

ABWS: The first step is... to identify your personal needs and goals and to develop an understanding of the relationship. I try and score on every possible base.

Me: Hey now!

ABWS: Some people are ... trying to get balls. I wouldn't ... be... this long if --

Me: Whoa! I'll have to cut you off there. Let talk a little more about baseball. A few years back, you got busted for corking your bat.

ABWS: Ok, it's time to set the record straight.

Me: What's your version?

ABWS: It's become a big deal because it involved me.

Me: So, you don't think another player would get the kind of scrutiny you did?

ABWS: I've seen this... happen many times with other guys as recently as this week.

Me: Who, specifically?

ABWS: Some people.

Me: I can see you want to be evasive on that one. So, how do have any financial advice?

ABWS: The process by which your available financial resources are apportioned across a number of "major" asset classes to achieve the optimum return for a given tolerance of risk is called asset allocation.

Me: That makes no sense whatsoever.

ABWS: I know.

Me: Do you remember at Spring Training, when you were playing the Cardinals, and we were yelling at you from the bleachers and--

ABWS: [Oh yeah, I remember you now, Jason. You guys were really loaded. I was going to ask you to come out to a strip club called Pure Platinum with a bunch of us Orioles, but decided to stay home and count my money instead.]

Me: Well, will you be able to do another interview with us sometime?

ABWS: I'll talk to you ... again soon.

Me: Thanks, Albert.

ABWS: G...o...o...d.. b...ye.

The Day the Franchise Died

There is one big story in this young 1999 baseball season, and it's the Baltimore Orioles. They are losing in every way possible, and are well on their way of topping last year's record for most dollars spent per win.

Instead of trying to analyze what's wrong with the Orioles, or even lament their current situation, why don't we turn the clock back to Thursday, October 9, 1997.

Things were going well for the Orioles on that day. In fact, they couldn't have been better. The O's looked unstoppable. Cal Ripken was tearing it up, showing no signs of being uncomfortable at his new position, 3rd base, the starting pitching was strong, and the bullpen was the best in baseball.

They had finished the regular season with 98 wins, leading the American League East from wire to wire. They had beat up on the Mariners in the division series, beating the most feared pitcher in the league, Randy Johnson, twice. They didn't even have to face defending world champion Yankees in the AL Championship Series. And they had won game 1 of the ALCS against the Cleveland Indians the night before in convincing fashion.

Game 2 was that night, and with games 3 through 5 in Cleveland, few thought that the series would last long enough to return to Baltimore.

The positive trend continued on that night, Thursday, October 9, 1997. The Orioles turned over a 4-2 lead to their imposing set-up man, Armando Benitez, who had hardly been touched in the playoffs. As the end of the 8th inning approached, people in Charm City were making plans for World Series tickets.

With two outs and two men on, one courtesy of a controversial check-swing that wasn't called strike three, 9th place hitter Marquis Grissom came up to the plate. Grissom had only hit four home runs in entire nine-year career, and hadn't shown any ability to make contact with Benitez's pitches in the past.

It was just after eleven o'clock on Thursday, October 9, 1997.

On a 1-1 count, Benitez threw a slider to Grissom, who punched it over the center field wall to give the Indians a 5-4 lead and the win.

Game 3 was a bizarre 5 hour marathon that saw the Orioles lose on a passed ball (or a tipped bunt, depending who you ask) in the 12th. They then lost the series, 4 games to 2, even after out-hitting Cleveland in the series and outscoring them 19-18. The Orioles went home, becoming the only team to lead the AL East from wire to wire and not win the World Series.

That off-season, Davey Johnson, the American League Manager of the Year, left the team after a dispute with owner Peter Angelos. Randy Myers, who had a league leading 45 saves in 97, departed via free agency. They tried to fill the gaps with older players, but were ill prepared when three members of the starting rotation, including Mike Mussina, went on the disabled list early in the season. They limped through 1998, only finishing ahead of the expansion Devil Rays in the division, but still having the highest payroll in the game.

In 1999, the Orioles again spent big money on older players, including Albert Belle, known for his home runs and his "chemistry." They've added several members of the Seattle Mariners' bullpen, which is like recruiting for Police Officers at Dallas Cowboys training camp.

And now, they have the worst record in baseball. The symbol of what they Orioles used to be, Cal Ripken, is on the disabled list for the first time in his career. In the past 18 months, the Orioles have gone from the very top to rock bottom.

It's amazing what one hanging slider can do.

Not Quite Live, Not Exactly From Florida

It sounded like a good idea. Combine our real world and our virtual world by posting a "live" report on the web while in the midst of a booze-fueled road trip to Fort Lauderdale.

Well, it didn't exactly work out.

Our stay in South Florida was pretty much non-stop from ballgame to bar to bar to sleep (briefly) to bar to beach (briefly) to ballgame to bar to bar. At no time did it ever even enter my mind to turn on the laptop and file a report. We only had 48 hours in town, and we couldn't waste it being jacked into the Net. We had to taunt food vendors, pass out on the bathroom floor of the hotel suite of an up and coming singer/songwriter, leer at all the scantily-clad young women, and a lot of other stuff that I don't quite remember.

So, I'll put here what we would have written if we actually did do an update.

But before we start, I would like to take a moment to chastise Don Bruns for bailing out of the trip with only 24 hours notice. You have been docked party points, and you truly are a Ratbastard.

---

Saturday, March 13, 1999
Fort Lauderdale, FL
26N 80W
3:02 PM

Hey everyone! Things are great here in Florida! It's 85 degrees and sunny, and I know everyone back in DC is loving the 35 degree freezing rain! Okay, enough exclamation points!

It seems like weeks ago that we hopped into our rented mini-van and drove all night to get here. I guess if you never go to sleep, it is hard to delineate the days.

We got to Ft. Lauderdale just as the first baseball game of our adventure was starting. The place was packed, as it was a beautiful Friday afternoon and the Orioles were playing Mark McGwire and the St. Louis Cardinals. At this point, with all the hype surrounding the Big Mac, they should just change the uniforms to actually read "Mark McGwire and the Cardinals." (it kind of sounds like an late 50's rock combo - "Now opening for Chubby Checker, Mark McGwire and the Cardinals!")

We took our seats in the right field bleachers and sent representatives for food and beer. As the food line stretched almost to Boca Raton, we settled for just the beer. Now, I'm a serious baseball fan. I've never appreciated the boorish idiots who think that a ballgame is just an excuse to get really ripped and yell at players, umpires, other fans, and the voices in their heads. But, yesterday, with lots of beer but no food, we were those guys. We struck up friendly talk with the future optometrists behind us (mostly yelling, "How many fingers am I holding up now, eye-doctor boy?" when the answer was obviously one, if you know what I mean). We had deep, meaningful conversations with the beer vendors. And we tried to strike up conversations with the right fielders at every turn, or at least at every new beer.

The two outfielders near us yesterday were especially intriguing. For the Orioles, it was newly acquired and surly millionaire Albert Belle. For the Cardinals, the right fielder was former Oriole Eric Davis. Neither of them were obvious enemies or heroes. Davis was very popular when he was an Oriole, and many fans miss him. But still, he was on the opposing team.

Albert Belle was in the opposite situation. He was an Oriole, and therefore someone you SHOULD root for, but after so many years of hating him, it is a tough transition. We alternated between cheering and taunting him throughout the game, calling him Albert when we liked him, and Joey (what he went by early in his career) when we were mad. He mostly ignored everyone, but would occasionally say something or smile and shake his head. When one of the bleacher creatures asked Albert to play in his softball league, Albert replied, "There's not enough money in that league." That started a whole new set of catcalls. "Is it only about the money, Joey?" "What about the love of the game?" and the ever popular, "You suck!"

The taunts from the stands continued as the day got longer and the regulars got replaced by bench players, prospects, and guys who will be selling insurance in April. I personally thought that statements like, "I know good a real estate broker in Rochester (the O's AAA minor league team)," or "Enjoy the s***house of the Eastern Shore (the O's A team is in Salisbury, on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake bay, which former Maryland governor William Donald Schaefer once referred to as just that)," were out of line. But I had no room to talk, because when Lyle Mouton became the new fielder for the O's, I shouted out, "Hey, Lyle! Where's your brother Eric?" and was subjected to much derision. What can I say, it seemed amusing before I said it.

After the game, we went to our cushy beachfront hotel try to stuff six people in it. Chip, our political correspondent, went with me to check in to provide some extra muscle. Unfortunately, they did not have our reservation, and Chip, in a burst of malice that we would later refer to as the appearance of "Evil Chip," threatened the front desk clerk with arrest. We almost didn't get any sort of room in that hotel, but Chip did manage to convince the manager that he wasn't a complete psychopath (although I still need hear more arguments on the subject), and we did get a room.

Tonight we will be going to another game, but this time against the Montreal-for-the-time-being Expos, so we do not expect a big crowd. Maybe we'll be able to sit behind home plate and taunt the strange food vendors, all while answering stupid questions from some guy from Philly like "Is that the same Cal Ripken who broke all those records?" What a strange premonition...

Anyway, it's great down here. Warm, sunny, half-naked women everywhere, and the beer flows like wine. I've decided to never come back. We all have. We can get jobs somehow. When we make enough money, we'll send for the rest of you! I'm king of the world!

"Hey Jason, be careful, you're going to spill that beer on the laptop--"

<< end transmission >>