Gregory Pratt

Except for the fact that Josh has been a masher since he was a child and he's in the prime of his life, at the age at which all sluggers -- according to Bill Jenkinson, who charts homeruns hit by every major slugger in history and many, many "minor" sluggers -- hit their longest homeruns. He is at the right age to hit them as far, and he was quite clearly blessed with tremendous ability. That does not preclude the possibility of enhancement, but I doubt it.

Are you seriously alleging that Josh Hamilton is on steroids or performance-enhancers? The same Josh Hamilton who is drug-tested ten times a month and has a coach/friend with him at almost all times? And are you alleging this without a willingness to back it up with something more forthcoming, or is it just an innuendo?

The Cubs dealing Hamilton is not something to mock, really: they did it out of a sense of decency, if I recall correctly, because the Reds wanted him and they had Narron who had coached him when he was young and even works with the Rangers now to take care of him, and they agreed to send him to Cinci so that Josh could have a better chance at making the big leagues and staying sober. It was no more and no less than that.

And we will blow WSI out of the water.

Thanks for the kind words, guys.

I will interject here to suggest that no one ought to be pitching except for NSS unless we are blowing WSI out of the water.

http://baseballevolution.com/gregory/weekreview15.html During his trip, Gregory Pratt has nearly-drowned in the Pacific Ocean (key-quote: "Good God, man -- are you wearing pants?"), risked falling a hundred feet just to see a beautiful waterfall and then survived a small car accident, took time to write a profile of Jack McDowell, and received a warm welcome entering Portland, where he found a new favorite restaurant. He spent some time alone in Seattle after his friend left for Canada, and he has very much enjoyed the trip, even if he hasn't written about it as much as he envisioned. You can see pictures here and here. But he generally believes that taking pictures takes away from truly enjoying the moment, so he almost never snaps photos on foot. Arms Race / International Relations -- The Chicago Cubs responded to the Milwaukee Brewers trading for CC Sabathia by making a move for Rich Harden. It is a much less risky deal for the Cubs, as they have the money to absorb a dead-weight contract in the event of an injury and they've got him for next year, too. That said, I'm rooting for Milwaukee to win the Central or the Wild Card (it's the underdog thing, you know?), and I think that Sheets/Sabathia is a better pair than Zambrano/Harden. Easier to root for, too, especially when Sabathia has a bat in his hands. I fully expect the Pittsburgh Pirates to trade for Mike Hampton now, in an effort to "keep pace" with its rivals. Such is the nature of the security dilemma! Arms Control / Respects -- I was watching when Mark Mulder made his start against the Phillies this week, and I was watching when he was pulled from the game with an injury. I've never had a problem with Mark Mulder, and I like to root for people trying to achieve their goals or overcome adversity, so I was sad to see him exit the game after sixteen pitches. If he never pitches again, he'll have had a fine career to be proud of, even if it's hard to come to terms with. Pedro Martinez is having tightness in his shoulder again, and I am starting to think that he is done, too. I happen to believe that he's had a career to be proud of as well, but I only think he's the very best pitcher of all-time. "Making Time Stand Still" -- I recommend the article linked to in the title to you, dear reader, because it is a touching story of nuns and terminally-ill cancer patients finding joy in baseball at Turner Field. It's important to remember that we are all just small parts of a whole, and to give of our hearts and wishes to those less fortunate than we might be at any given moment because no one is healthy forever. The Subject of my Most Disliked Sports Illustrated Cover is Not Making It Look So Easy Anymore, Is He? -- Jeff Francoeur was sent down to the minor leagues by the Atlanta Braves and then called up after just three days. He came back claiming to feel like a new man but he stills looks like a slightly-better Greg Norton to me this season. "Frenchy" needs to turn it around or go back to the minors, and the Braves should not be shy about sending him down if he can't produce. Now, don't take this paragraph to be a knock against him -- I happen to like the guy, and I'm rooting for him. But that SI cover really irks me. "The Natural" designations should not to be made willy-nilly. The only ballplayer who can reasonably claim to be like Roy Hobbs in baseball today is Josh Hamilton. Maybe ever. Home Run Derby -- I'm more excited for this year's Home Run Derby than I have been in a long time. I'm rooting for Hamilton, but it should be quite the show with Ryan Braun, Chase Utley, Lance Berkman, Dan Uggla, Justin Morneau, Grady Sizemore, and Evan Longoria competing against him. Unfortunately, I'm going to miss parts of the All-Star Game, as I'm going to be flying back to Chicago around that time, but that's why God gave us recording devices, right? Picture This -- Dan and I are driving through Oregon, where everything is green and beautiful, when I take his cellphone and check the news real quick. I see that Roy Halladay has thrown another shutout at Yankee Stadium and start cheering and dancing in the car. He's not a baseball fan so he doesn't understand, but I imagine that you do. TEACH ME TO OUTGROW MY MADNESS -- I received an email from a friend and reader telling me that last week's Pepper was the very worst that I had ever written, and the teaser for it on the front page of Baseball Evolution ended with the question: I thought about responding with something about when I realized that these notes give me a perfect chance to hawk a classic book I'm reading: Teach Us to Outgrow our Madness, by Kenzaburo Oe. That book, by the way, once led to a humorous story with a professor, who told me that as a gag, he and a good friend like to get each other the weirdest-titled book they can find for their birthdays. He thinks the all-time winner is this: "A History of Dentistry in Canada. Volume III." History of the Week -- I dedicate this week's History to my colleague Richard Van Zandt, who is passionate about baseball everywhere, even if he does take a special interest in the Japanese leagues. Our conversation when we met (read his take here and my take here) turned to Sadaharu Oh at one point, which reminded me of an old quote I read in a history textbook about the introduction of baseball to Japan, but because I am in Los Angeles I do not have access to my books, so I Googled around for the story. I found it here, and I'll excerpt the relevant portions: I feel the same way about Thomas Edison and the phonograph.

QUOTE (southsider2k5 @ Jul 14, 2008 -> 06:46 AM) I make the f***ing line up! "FIRESALE!" ... I'd like to play shortstop, as I did that well for half the game last year. Short or second, but I prefer short.

Gage and I agreed that I'm hitting third.

central?

what time is it scheduled to start?

http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/news/story?i...e=ESPNHeadlines Interesting

PICTURE: http://s117.photobucket.com/albums/o56/Gre...nt=DSC03551.jpg

A Conversation with Jack McDowell By Gregory Pratt Black Jack McDowell is watering the outfield grass and killing weeds at the high school he coaches at when I approach him for our interview, and I instantly recognize the 1993 Cy Young Award winner. He still has a tall, thin frame befitting the "stickfigure" moniker of his band and childhood, and though his hair is graying, he appears to be in good shape as we start our conversation. I had worried about whether or not meeting this living-legend would be a disappointment, whether I would learn that a hero of mine is a jerk or a shell of what he once was, but McDowell is neither unpleasant nor living pitifully off of the past. We are a couple of minutes into our meeting, just making general small-talk, when he demonstrates this perfectly. I had just finished asking a question about his relationship with former teammates when he looked up at me and said, "I just want you to know that I am paying attention, but I'm taking care of these weeds at the same time. Don't think I'm ignoring you." It was a small gesture, unnecessary insofar as I had no doubt that he was listening, but those types of gestures are often the easiest to appreciate. He did not have to assure me of anything, yet went out of his way to, and it should be noted that he never once made it difficult to interview him. My friend Pat Jordan warned me to start out with easy questions and then go into the controversial ones so that the player won't feel as if he's under attack or take a defensive tone from the outset, and near the end of the interview I shared this advice with McDowell. He replied that "nothing" I ask could piss him off because questions are simply made to be answered. Like numerous reporters before me, I found that Jack McDowell is a journalist's dream. And after all these years, he still knows how to throw strikes. I did not have enough time with Jack McDowell to write a formal profile of him, nor did I arrive with a template for an article already written, so this piece is part interview, part profile, and part transcript of the time I spent in Encinitas, California with Black Jack McDowell. I have titled it simply "A Conversation with Jack McDowell" because I had and have zero interest in playing a "gotcha" game with him or quoting the man out of context to create controversy. My vision of the day was one of thoughts and ideas being exchanged freely and for the record, and I will attempt to stay true to that by simply sharing the encounter with only minimal commentary. It will not be presented in a linear manner as a direct transcript, but nothing will be taken out of context. There were questions that I asked and dropped only to follow up on them later, which for purposes of clarity I am organizing according to relevance. Confidence of a ballplayer To start, McDowell tells me that the "weirdest thing about having been a professional ballplayer is not playing. When you retire, you're done. At every level. There are no pick-up games. It's not like football, where you can play two-on-two if you want. Baseball isn't that kind of sport. You need eighteen guys." I think about his comment for a moment and suggest that he could play in Independent League ball. I ask what he thinks of this. "I could go for a few games and that's it. Then they'd have to call 9-1-1." We both laughed at his response but I pressed on with a logical follow-up. "How hard do you throw today, Jack?" "Oh, I don't know," he laughs, and I'm not sure if he's reminiscing or simply being modest. "You'd have to ask the kids I throw to." I think it's a fair answer, but I decide to re-work the question anyway: What if you started working out to get into major league shape. How hard do you think you could get up to? "Pretty close to my playing days' velocity," he says to me, and whatever answer I might have expected, that wasn't it. I did a visible double-take. "Really? You think you could get back to ninety?" "Sure, or close to it. Now sustaining it over thirty starts is a different matter." Nobody ever said that Jack McDowell lacks confidence. And for what it's worth, I do not doubt for one moment that he is right. Black Jack teaching Nowadays, Jack McDowell spends much of his time coaching, both with his children and at his high school. I guess that McDowell is a good coach, from our conversation and the testimony of some of his ballplayers who testified to that effect. "Would you still say that if he weren't standing fifteen feet away?" I asked one of them who had called him a good coach, and he replied, "Oh yeah. I think he's great." From what I've seen and heard, I concur. McDowell is a purist, intense and articulate in his belief that the game of baseball needs to be played and coached flexibly but given utmost respect. His answer to my question, "Were you easy to coach?" indicates this perfectly. "Probably not, no," he said in response to my query. "I was hard-headed. And a lot of coaches can only get something out of certain types of players. A lot of people can't deal with different mechanics and don't understand that there isn't just one way to teach. I like to look at things and ask how many ways we can get out of something or get something to work. We live in an age of mechanics, statistics, pitch-counts -- and nobody lets kids develop their own styles." Which does not mean that he takes a laissez-faire approach to coaching. Like many former baseball players and analysts, he talks about the Twins as a great organization of baseball players. "Look at them. They've got grinders who play correctly. They hang every year because they've got guys playing correctly from the majors on down. That's why they hang every year." And then he brings up a favorite example of a bad baseball team: the 2006 Detroit Tigers. "Look at that Tigers team that lost the World Series. They can't field a bunt and throw it to first base, so they can't win! The first thing I would change if I were a pitching coach would be more pitcher's fielding practice. You do it all through spring training and then you never do it again, so that from August on, pitchers are throwing balls away and don't know how to field." Out of curiosity, I ask him what the first thing he taught his players was after taking over at his high school. He says it was how to run the bases, because "I didn't think they knew how to play the game." I ask him if he ever brings up his playing days with his ballplayers, and he says, "Not really. Only sometimes, mostly if they ask, but I'll bring something up to show when something worked and when something didn't." He makes it clear that he is not trying to compete through his children or anyone else's. "There are a lot of guys out there with 'Little League Dad Syndrome.' I'm not like that. Teaching is the most important thing when you're coaching kids. Obviously, I want to win. You play the game to win. It's in the Little League rulebook, that the purpose of playing is to score more runs than the other team." From here, he started on a riff about how much "babying there is [in baseball] today. Too much coddling." He complains that ballplayers aren't what they used to be, that you aren't allowed to make outs in T-Ball. I laughed out loud and said, "That may be true, but you know that every ballplayer says that of his succeeding generation, right?" "Well, it's true about this one," he says. And when I read about pitchers like Erik Bedard refusing to pitch deep into ballgames, I think he's right, and it starts to get a little less humorous. The Scientific Method with Jack McDowell I asked McDowell if he had heard about the Japanese pitcher that gave up sixty-six runs in two innings, using 250 pitches, and he could not believe it. I said, "Isn't that crazy? I mean, if you put a guy out there to pitch batting practice with a defense behind him would he give up that many runs?" He said no. "That's a big lesson I try to teach my kids. It's a big lesson for hitters and pitchers. I try to get them to hit doubles by throwing it down the middle and you'll see guys pop balls up or ground them into the ground. Pitchers don't have to be perfect every time." (I suppose that the converse is also true: hitters often have to be perfect, and to start an at-bat the pitcher has an upper-hand, although that is my commentary and not explicitly his). I used the Japanese pitcher's pitch count as a starting point for a discussion of his own career. McDowell was known as a workhorse starting pitcher who routinely threw complete games in an age where that was becoming more and more rare, so I asked him if he regrets throwing as many innings as he did as young as he did, and I asked whether or not he wishes he had pitched less innings to potentially save his career. He is emphatic, and I have no doubt he means his answer: "Absolutely not." He paused. "I wish they'd had a four-man rotation when I was a pitcher." But McDowell didn't simply want the ball each fourth game for his own satisfaction: he wanted it so that his team could have a better chance to win rather than having to rely on some AAAA pitcher for the fifth starter as most every team has to do through a full season. "You see that with every team nowadays." From there we started to talk about complete games, about pitchers who want to pitch deep into the ballgame. He starts to talk about pitch counts, and says that they are the "most overblown crock of crap, unbelievable and sickening." Showing a knack for sound modern journalism, he admonishes me to write that down word-for-word. "It's a good quote!" And then he makes a passionate argument decrying the lack of science in dealings with pitchers today. "The pitch count is accepted as a science. But it's the furthest thing from science. When you think of science, you think of testing something against other things, of taking variables and controlling them. There's no way you can blanket '100' as a pitch count for everyone." We start to talk about his own players, and I ask if he ever has parents complain about pitch counts. He talks about how some parents hover over him counting each throw, and how he always tells them that the kid is eighteen years old and nothing will happen to him if he goes an extra inning. "The hitters will tell us when he's going to come out." As always happens when discussion turns to workhorses and starting pitchers in today's game, my mind turns to Roy Halladay, and I say to McDowell, "Roy Halladay must be your hero." His answer is perfect: "Whoever is letting him pitch is my hero." Exploited, not appreciated. I asked McDowell if he had ever chewed out a reporter after a story was printed. He said no, because "what's done is done," but that he had felt "exploited, not appreciated" at times during his career by the media. Knowing that McDowell would always give straight-talk and not "Bull Durham answers," the press would approach him right after events to get their stories filled. I said, "I've read that you have 'disdain' for the media. Is that right?" He says that it's basically right, but that it's a part of the job that has to be done whether he likes it or not, or trusts any given reporter. Out of curiosity I asked him what he got out of his education at Stanford, where he majored in communication, something that is a little-known fact about him. The answer is immediate: "A love of editing. Came in big with my music. I put that into the music." He pauses just as suddenly. "That's probably it." If you didn't know, McDowell had a band called Stickfigure that he played in both during his player career and after, and he would take at least one tour a year every year from 1992 onwards. He had to give it up after a back surgery made it difficult to tour, and now the project is largely done with. It's difficult to do with his coaching gig and his family, and it's difficult to do as a matter of logistics. "There are no more small scenes. There was a time when you could always find a place to play, but people aren't at clubs as often anymore and you don't see that like you used to. I never tried to be a superstar. It was just about the music." I sidestep the subject now -- not wishing to talk about the music too much as it is not my forte or my focus and, I am disappointed to hear that the project is likely over -- and ask about the national championship he won at Stanford, and more specifically, I ask him if that is the most meaningful thing that happened during his broad playing career. "Yeah. Easily. If you win a championship you could not have had a better year. At the end of the season you're out there alone and on top. Individual awards can be bettered. But if you're on top, you're on top, and there's no one else there." I stretched this to ask if he truly would rather win a title with a team while going 10-10 with a 4.50 ERA rather than ending the season at home but being recognized as the best pitcher in the league. He stands by that. Easy for a Cy Young Award winner and national champion to say. A man without regrets I have often wondered whether or not Barry Zito feels shame over winning the Cy Young Award over Pedro Martinez when he clearly did not deserve to in 2003, and I wish that someone could ask him whether or not he feels he deserved it over Martinez. I have heard people argue in the past that Jack McDowell did not deserve the Cy Young in 1993 over Randy Johnson, and I wondered whether he had ever given thought to the subject. So I ask him explicitly whether he thinks he earned it over Johnson fair and square. "I think I deserved the Cy Young Award," he says without any conflict in his voice. "If you look at Randy Johnson, we had similar teams in the same division that year. He had more strikeouts but I had more of everything else." "You should ask Dennis Eckersley if he deserved the Cy Young Award the year before when I came second. No relief pitcher should ever beat a 20-win pitcher. Closers only get into the game if it's opportune. The starter has to get him there. Being a closer is like being a pinch-hitter who only pinch-hits with runners on second and third and no-outs. Now granted, Dennis Eckersley was a stud," he says, and I offer to keep Eckersley off the record but he doesn't mind if I write his comments down. I, too, find it easy to speak my mind when I'm right, so I sympathize. As we go deeper into his playing career, I ask him if he has any regrets, and I was specifically thinking of the fact that his career ended prematurely, largely as a result of injuries. McDowell does say that he wishes he hadn't lost out on the "second half of his career," that he wishes he could still be out there like Glavine, Maddux, Smoltz and Johnson. Not just for his own glory and statistics, but to be a mentor to younger players. "I lost the part of being the super-veteran pitcher. Early in my career I had Carlton Fisk, and those guys are the best coaches. Now I coach my kids, but it's not the same as what you can accomplish at the big-league level." That leads to a question many people ask about McDowell: "Why haven't you become a full-time coach yet?" He says he won't do it until his kids are grown, and that'll be a few more years. I wonder if anyone has ever formally approached him about coaching and he says that he has been approached about his interest, but that he always says the time isn't right in his life right now. "I assume you don't broadcast for the same reasons?" "Yeah." But he makes it clear that he isn't all that enthused about broadcasting. "If I'm going to go down on the road, it'll be in the dugout." I ask him if he thinks he could ever be a full-time broadcaster. "I don't think so. I am first interested in being on the field. It's fun to do a spot gig here and there when someone asks you to because someone's sick or whatever, but it's not something I'd really want to do full-time." I keep with the line of questioning, about his future, and ask why he doesn't coach at a college. The answer is, at first, that it is too much of a time commitment, and he does not want to leave his family at this point. But then he adds this: "I like it here because it's just about baseball. There's no recruiting. Just baseball." It is an admirable sentiment, in line with his purist attitude. At this point, I notice that the balls his players are using have been scuffed with dirt, and I recount the Mike Mussina anecdote from Living on the Black to him about how Mussina shows the ball to young players and tells them that a dirty baseball is a gift from God to be protected and used. McDowell never liked to do that because he liked to have some control over where the ball was going and didn't feel comfortable just throwing it down the middle and hoping that it moves to the corners, "which is what those guys do." I decided to come at him from left field and ask if he regrets flipping off the fans at Yankee Stadium. "Not really. Everyone's known for a few things in life, and I guess that's one of them for me. But the funny part about that is that it was a Tuesday before old-timer's game, and a bunch of old Yankees were in town and we were talking about it. They had stories about everyone getting on the fans. Guidry had some great stories. And I wasn't the first. The fans understood it." Everyone with whom I've shared that anecdote has reveled in it: how appropriate for fans to embrace him after he gave them the bird! McDowell says he has no regrets, only disappointments. He wishes he could've done better against Toronto, that he'd won a World Series and lasted longer, but regret is not doing something you could've done and there were always circumstances that he had no control over but wishes he had. It's not an excuse; just an explanation. And when you're a pitcher, you come to understand that sometimes you do all you can and it's up to everyone else to carry the day for you. Catch! Near the end of our interview I ask him if he would mind having a catch with me as we talk. "I know it's not conventional for an interview, but..." "Sure, I think we can do that," he says and goes into his truck to find two gloves. He puts on a catcher's mitt and lets me use a glove he used in the major leagues. We go over into the outfield, outside the foul lines, and start to toss the ball around. As he winds up to throw to me and I wind up to throw it back, I feel the oddest sensation. I'm playing catch with a Cy Young Award winner. He's a good guy. He tells me stories about pitchers yelling at umpires for not calling strikes, and when he gets animated, he spreads his arms out to illustrate his point. We're just talking now, not strictly for an interview but because we share a love of baseball. I ask him if he thinks divisional play and the Wild Card have "cheapened" the World Series. He says no, that it's great especially with all these teams because it gives more good teams a chance to compete. We talk about a few other things and round out the session. We don't throw for a terribly long time, but it is enough to satisfy me that I have just had a special moment in my life. It is 3:30 when he has to go, as he has numerous kids coming in to collect a binder full of workout information he's prepared for them so that their bodies can be prepared for pitching. He gives me the ball we caught with and takes a picture with me, and then I am on my way home after thanking him. As I walk away, my mind turns to the first thing I said to Jack McDowell after I introduced myself. "So, on the way here, I was thinking about our meeting and how demonstrative I think it is of who we are. You've been retired since 1999 and I've been 'retired' in my own way since last summer, but you're coaching a baseball team and I am making time on a trip across the west coast that is not really for baseball consumption to interview a ballplayer. It always comes back to baseball for men like us, doesn't it?"

I am in no rush to compare him to anyone. Let the kid prove that he is who he has been so far this season for the rest of this year and then next year before I refer to him as Roy Halladay.

NS -- You bring up an old Weekly Pepper, one of the firsts, but in another weeks later I mentioned that Floyd was one of this season's biggest surprises --- and flukes. I suspect that this baseball season and next will prove that, but I do not know for sure. His curveball has been consistent, but I am not sure that it will be permanently so and in fact would guess that he is just another in a long-line of one-year wonders that Major League Baseball in general and Don Cooper's tutelage in particular generate. He's having a good year, though, and that's good for him and his team.

Har, har, har. I wasn't driving. And we got boxed in when we tried to merge. It happens. No need for your sarcasm.

Flirting with Disaster We were in a car accident last night. There were no serious injuries, but there could have been. A lane was blocked off on our way into Seattle and a trucker boxed us into the soon-to-be-gone lane, so we couldn't get behind him and merge. Our passenger-side mirror was knocked off by a barrel, and we shook a little bit but managed to get into the safe lane. We were silent for a moment when Dan asked if I was okay. I said, "I've actually just been holding in a joke. 'Good thing we've got insurance!'" Once it became clear that we were safe and would be safe, there was no point holding the humor. The centerpiece of our trip to Eugene, Oregon was supposed to be a side-trip to Toketee Falls, but when we arrived there in the early-afternoon on the fifth we saw that it was closed as a result of snowstorms destroying the route back in January. Now, we had come a long way to see the Falls, and it was difficult to accept that we'd just wasted a couple of hours driving away from our ultimate direction to get there, so when we parked to assess the situation we decided to keep going. Or Dan did. "I didn't come out here to turn around with nothing," he said, and we drew up a timetable for his return, with the agreement that I would stay behind and call the proper authorities if he did not return in reasonable time and then maybe we'd do it all over again. Fortunately, it did not have a disastrous outcome for either of us. He returned about forty minutes after he left me and said, "I would not recommend what I just did to anyone. But it was beautiful. You know all those things we saw in the pictures? I was right there, and it was beautiful." This piqued my interest, and so I asked him for more detail. He said that all of the staircases have been destroyed, and there's a bridge out that you must now cross over a tree, in addition to numerous other impediments along the path. Then when you arrive at the falls, the observation deck is fragile and has sustained some serious damage that makes it dangerous to stand on, to say the least. It is about a hundred feet high over a cliff. They need to fix that path soon because it is absolutely gorgeous and it's been blocked since January, which is more than half-a-year ago and so it is unacceptable for them to take so long in fixing it. But that wasn't the only excitement we had on the fifth. We had woken up that morning in a harbor in Crescent City, California, where we had arrived at in the middle of the night looking for a place to stay as Eureka had not had any. We'd been in Eureka the night before because that is the town that Dan was born in but has no recollection of, so he wanted to go there to get to know his roots. Like a salmon. Well, we were there to watch fireworks but there was a ridiculous amount of fog and it was almost impossible to see the actual fireworks. The clouds did change colors in a beautiful fashion, at least, and it was pleasant to walk around the town. There was a carnival... besides us, that is. Sleeping in the harbor was probably the worst thing to happen to us so far this trip, even if nothing happened to us aside from getting a lousy amount of sleep inside of a car. It's just frustrating to not have a bed and to have it happen because you didn't think to reserve a place somewhere on the Fourth of July. We're much smarter than that, but I guess we were having too much fun. Last night Dan and I were walking and talking in downtown Seattle and I said to him, "I guess that everyone traveling across such a large area as we are would have a near-death experience or two on the way, right?" He laughed and said that he didn't think so. "I guess you're right... how many other people would walk into the ocean fully-clothed or stand atop a compromised balcony?" It's called "style." I apologize for the delay in writing. It's been delightful on this trip, and I've been very, very busy. I'll write again soon, and try to include earlier days and more recent days, too. I do want to say that the fast lane is for people "who want to go fast." It's not very complicated, but a couple of days ago we were going under the speed limit in the freeway on the way up to Portland because everyone else was going slow. Don't think that all we're doing is nearly-dying, as we are having a great deal of fun and are generally being quite safe about everything. The car "accident" was mostly a fluke, and everything else is alright.

Incendiary Weekly Pepper (Called "Incendiary" because of this manner in which it was described by my editor: "In an incendiary review of the week, Gregory calls Brian Wilson unfit to be an All-Star, compares Matt LaPorta to Richie Sexson, and considers Derek Jeter and Andy Van Slyke more important to the game's history than Alex Rodriguez and Barry Bonds are. Is Gregory breathing in too much smog on the West Coast, or is there method to his madness?") Gregory Pratt is having a blast on the west coast of the United States. He is currently stationed in Portland. He will share specific details of his trip next week, and he apologizes for the relative brevity of this entry but wants you to understand that he has had precious little time to prepare it. Redemption? -- The Philadelphia Phillies have extended Brad Lidge. The contract is for three years and 35 million dollars. I do not know whether or not Lidge is worth the investment or whether he really is the man he has been this season, but Pat Gillick can certainly say that he got the better of his trade with Ed Wade. Michael Bourn for Brad Lidge? Hundred miles per hour versus a hundred yard dash. Teknically Unsound / Unsafe at Any Speed -- On our flight to Los Angeles Tuesday, we met a woman who is related to Jason Varitek through her daughter's marriage, and she talked to us about how hard Varitek works on defense, how down-to-Earth and kind he is. It was pleasant, and I definitely admire "the Captain's" work ethic, but let's not kid ourselves; he does not belong in the All-Star Game by any standard this season. I wish I knew how to decide whether or not a player belonged in the game or not, so as to reasonably avoid poor choices, but I do know that the big-market teams should not represent the league because of their fan base, and players like Joe Crede don't belong in the game, either, no matter what the players might say with their votes. And don't get me started on Brian Wilson who has saves but not much else. Kosuke Fukudome is not a good choice, either, but the people have voted, eh? Paul Revere Rides to Milwaukee -- CC Sabathia has, as of this writing, been traded to the Milwaukee Brewers, except it is not yet official, and I've got to say that I like the deal for Milwaukee. They're in a very weak division and league, and could use an extra ace for the stretch run, so they are giving up a defensively-challenged ballplayer who might flame out, hit a lot of homeruns, or wind up providing a Sexson mix of both (and not much else) and a couple of other prospects (who are not impact prospects) for one of the very best pitchers in baseball. I just hope the sausage racers are given fair warning, as Sabathia cometh with an appetite, and not just for a championship. Achey Breakey Heart -- Roy Oswalt's out "indefinitely" with a strained hip. I can not stress unto you how distressed I am by this news. [Pratt note: I guess not. The news report seems to indicate that he will now be starting soon, on Friday.] Borowski a Smoke -- Joe Borowski has been designated for assignment by the Cleveland Indians. So, listen, he wasn't a great or a good closer, but he got the job done for a while, and that counts for something, even if the deck is stacked in every closer's favor. Rays -- You know, I have long believed that Major League Baseball does not work in Florida, but I am thoroughly enjoying this year's Tampa Bay team. I just wish more people would turn out to watch them, because I would live in Tropicana Field if I lived in that city, largely because it is so cheap and the team is so fun. The Chase is On -- The most interesting "chase" for a "record" this season might be Roy Halladay's attempt to throw double-digit complete games, which is something that has not been done since 1999. And the Dream Will Never Die -- Chipper Jones fell below .400 a small while ago, but he's still right around there. The only consistent baseball "watching" I have done on this trip is in the boxscore for Jones' games, and I still hope that he can make it to .400, although I do not believe he will. That's the point of watching and reading, though. Flukeillis -- There's no other way to describe this nifty video. Except for "nifty." [Pratt note: MLB took it down. ] History Theory of the Week -- In baseball lore, there is no male-female relationship more important than Joe DiMaggio's with Marilyn Monroe. Alex Rodriguez is adding his own love affair to the Yankees' history books with his alleged relationship with hundred-year-old Madonna. This is why Rodriguez will be remembered by baseball history with less reverence than that which Reggie Jackson or the Yankee Clipper are afforded, and this story reminded me of the following song parody: Now Harry Walker is the one who manages the crew. He doesn't like it when we drink and fight and smoke and screw. But when we win our games each day. What the hell can Harry say! It makes a fellow proud to be an Astro (too)! I guess that's a tangent. There is little doubt here that Rodriguez is a more valuable ballplayer to have on your team than Derek Jeter, but are there really all that many children dreaming of being Alex Rodriguez instead of Jeter? In this sense, Roberto Clemente is more important to this game's history and legacy than almost every other ballplayer who has ever played the game, Andy Van Slyke is more important in Pittsburgh than Barry Bonds is, and so on and so forth. I have always believed in the game's continuity and the importance of establishing links between the past and the present and the future in this game, as it is most definitely in a state of constant transition and generational care. So, with that in mind, I firmly believe that men who played the game and have inflated or deflated reputations as a result of their whole body of work are to be praised and criticized for it, in a responsible manner of course (Sandy Koufax is not the greatest pitcher of all-time). Every ballplayer is a retainer of the game of baseball, and there is something to be said for ballplayers who take their responsibilities seriously and provide a strong narrative for the books. The game is a significant part of our culture, and it should be understood accordingly.

happy happy

Thanks. ... I am in Eugene Portland. Going out now. More later.

We were making a shortish stop, and I didn't want to waste time. And I wrote this to maximize the humour of the situation, which is much funnier now than it was when it happened although Dan tells me that I came out with a sheepish grin. Probably hysterics.

I wrote this one on the evening of the second, and I am going to be writing a recap of my first and third days on the road when we are driving from San Francisco to Eureka or a closer city to celebrate the Fourth of July. Near-death on the West Coast I almost died today. Well, yesterday, but that’s just a detail. The greater point is that I am alive. Who knows what would have happened if there didn’t happen to be lifeguards at the beach in Encinitas just outside of San Diego? This is definitely not what I expected to write about in the first entry of this travel-log. I expected to make remarks about the fun we are having with our Honda Civic hybrid rental car, or detail our trip to the Getty Museum and Santa Monica yesterday after a delightful plane ride, or describe the joy we had driving down the highway to meet a former Major League Baseball starting pitcher for an interview in San Diego but instead I find myself writing about a near-death experience. That’s life. The story I have to tell can be summarized in one sentence, really. It is not a sentence I expected to hear at the beach, nor is it one I could have imagined through pure imagination. As I prepare to type it, I am reminded of an argument made in this article about the nature of non-fictional narratives: “Nonfiction has to be true, of course, but it doesn’t have to be believable, which may help explain why so many recent best-sellers are of the Ripley’s variety. Coincidences that no novelist could get away with happen all the time in ‘real life.’ And while characters in fiction have to be consistent, people rarely are.” Once we had arrived at the shore, and I had stood on my own two feet for the first time in several minutes, the lifeguard looked me over and said: “Good God, man. Are you wearing pants?” I was. Slacks. And a golf shirt, with socks. Grey socks. It had to have been the strangest rescue he had ever had to make. I did not intend to go deep into the ocean at all when we pulled up to the beach, partly because I was not wearing shorts and partly because I am not an exceptional swimmer and it has been awhile since I went for a good swim in deep or deepish water, but I was floating backward in relaxed pose when I realized that I was rather far from the shore. I attempted to swim back but could not for the life of me move from where I was and in fact seemed to have been swimming backward. I looked across the water and saw a young man about thirty, forty feet away and I asked him if he would get me help, please. “You need help?” I do, I told him. “I do not think I can get out of here alone.” I was starting to tire from swimming in place, and I did not believe that I could return to shore of my own strength. (I am generally aware of my limitations and my strengths. Fighting strong currents is not a strength. And I was probably right, but I will never know as the lifeguard arrived half a minute afterward to tether me to him and bring me back to land.) “That’s a nasty, nasty rip there, man,” he told me as he tied me. “I need you to kick for me, okay?” He set off, carrying me behind him as if I were a corpse, motionless but for the thoughts racing around inside my head about the situation I had just found myself in as I simply could not generate the strength for a good kick but thoughts are not “heavy.” I apologized for my inability to help him help me, and he took it all in as his duty. Then he noticed that I was wearing normal clothes, and told me that I should be in as near a state of total undress as legally allowed when I go swimming, if I wish to swim efficiently. I will certainly keep that in mind, and I will always remember the look on his face when his voice rose to heights it likely hasn’t reached since before he hit puberty and said “Good God, man. Are you wearing pants?” Believe it or not, I did not know what a riptide was, but I do now. I will avoid them, and I won’t wear pants into the ocean. I would write about my interview but I will be working on an article about it for a different publication and so I will not go into details at this time. I will write about the other things we have done since we arrived on the west coast tomorrow, in all likelihood. Right now I am rather tired and somewhat busy, so I will return to the first day tomorrow. Today’s near-death experience, coupled with a more pleasant start and finish to the day, has left me exhausted. I do recommend you look here for images from the trip. I am not a good photographer nor do I have a great camera nor am I the sort of man who likes to just snap picture after picture (I would rather be sharing word after word) but I have taken some, and I’ll share them even if they are nothing special. Tomorrow I will write you, with the blessings of a lifeguard.

Isn't the Fairness Doctrine unconstitutional?

The "peace and love" at Air America. "Talk radio" politics are no good.