Forgive me for acting the role of a withered old man and opening this conversation by talking about the weather, but the days are getting noticeably cooler and downcast and I am embracing the respite from the sun. When the sky is cloudless with a light grey hue it tends to dismiss humans and their petty vocations because its less violent and talkative creatures need vital H20. It gives me the feeling of ennui that I embrace like a long forgotten friend who ignites and inspires my creative energies with truthful exuberance. I imagine it’s the same feeling of animated sprightliness and mischievousness that caused Phillies fans to boo Santa Claus. They claimed he was drunk, skinny and beardless and who can blame them?
There is a sushi restaurant less than a block away from my house that I like to patronize on occasion. Today I stopped in for a few .99 cent sake bombs and there was an interesting article in the newspaper (now printed with soy ink!) concerning stat guru Bill James. According to James and his own Pythagorean formula the A’s should be 7 games over .500. I’m not sure whether it was Billy Martin or Earl Weaver or every other manager in the history of baseball that said your team can only go as far as their bullpen; but whoever it was they were certainly correct as far as the 2015 Oakland A’s are concerned.
Coco Crisp returned from the D.L. on Monday accounting for 2 hits, all but doubling his season total and raising his average to .082. Although the aforementioned feat happened at the hands of a 9-2 drubbing by the Orioles, this seemed to be a special moment because of Senior Crisp’s injuries and dwindling ability to help this team. I would compare the moment he stepped into the box to a Rolling Stones concert–very expensive, way past its prime, and incipient of a moment that should be enjoyed presently because it will be over before you know it. Perhaps Mr. Jagger, he of the peacock candor, can tip his cap to that.
In some ways, the home run is like the bright colors in a modern painting. They immediately attract attention, and for those not schooled in viewing modern art, they may overshadow other more subtle tones that are of equal or greater interest. But for those who appreciate the variety of baseball strategies and skills, the home run is not required. And importantly, the walk is not inherently disappointing. The walk opens up new tensions, new aesthetic possibilities, new kinds of drama, new story lines. — R. Scott Kretchmar
Coco Crisp was the singular player that made my mother fall in love with baseball. What makes it an interesting, even head-scratching affair was that she was in her 50’s when this happened. (A testament to his likability and edge of your seat playing style.) Perhaps it was his strange batting stance– bat held high and chin resting firmly on shoulder in an almost exaggerated motion. Or maybe it was simply because he always had a smile on his face and looked like he was actually having fun out there. (Hello, Mark Ellis!) She loved the tension in the ballpark when he was on the bag and eagerly awaited the eventual stolen base attempt. (surprisingly, he has only led the league once, with 49 swipes in 2011.) “He’s like a little flea!” she would exclaim.
As much as I love home runs, for me the most exciting plays in baseball are the triple, the stolen base and the bench clearing brawl. And as Coco could conceivably achieve 2 of these 3 in any game, he became one of my favorite players as well. (I digress– Crisp did actually charge the mound as a member of the Red Sox. James Shields had come up too far and inside buzzing Coco’s “junk.” Crisp ran at Shields at full speed, side-stepping a wild, girly haymaker before throwing one of his own. He was eventually tackled which gave current teammate Jonny Gomes the opportunity to pummel the now incapacitated Crisp. After the fracas Crisp had a smile on his face whereas Shields looked like he was going to cry.)
I woke up this morning and found a Vietnamese style chicken wrap in the refrigerator. I highly recommend ANYTHING Vietnamese food oriented, but this wrap was killing it. The ginger lime dipping sauce was excellent, and gave my taste buds something to believe in again. My brain: “Holy shit! You are actually giving your body the nutrients it needs after drinking about 10 bloody mary’s last night!? You soul-less bastard.” I know, I know, you come to this site for BASEBALL, I get it, so I have done some research on Coco Crisp’s season last year, and it comes down to this:
Chili Davis: “Teams don’t want to walk him, so when he gets ahead in the count, he likes to get in front of those fastballs.”
I’m sure I could give you a breakdown, charts, or his left handed hitting percentage against a right hander at night, while pinch hitting, while the weather is 50 degrees or lower,while his wife is bitching him out, while he’s in Jacobs Field…but I honestly don’t give a shit. More power to those people, but baseball loses all aesthetic meaning to me when it becomes a bunch of charts and other assorted rigamarole. Looking at a bunch of charts is NEVER as fun as being one with the universe and connecting on a pitch PERFECTLY and sending that fucker soaring deep, deep, deep. I’ve heard every term to explain this beautiful game from “universal truths” and “just too fucked up to analyze.”
I accept both.
Isn’t it strange that there is a blog named after a baseball player that doesn’t have a SINGLE post about said player? That’s what I thought, so I thought I’d share with you the lyrical stylings of Covelli “Coco” Crisp.