What we have here is a crisis.
It's a crisis not just involving baseball -- but our entire, beloved English language.
And before this column is over, we're going to ask you to help us solve it.
|  | | Mike Piazza says there needs to be a whole new terminology put into place in naming home run balls. |
This crisis was first brought to our attention last week by one of our favorite baseball linguists, Mr. Michael Piazza. And essentially, that crisis can be boiled down to this:
Baseball changes. So how come the language doesn't?
Everything else about baseball gets towed along by the great tractor pull of life. We now have catcher cams and strike-zone boxes. We have miked first-base coaches and umpires being taught the new strike zone by laser beams.
So how come, Piazza wonders, we're still using the same old terms to describe home runs we used to use in, like 1944?
"I think 'bomb' is such an outdated term," Piazza grumbled. "It's not 'bomb' anymore. That's so 1997. It went out with 'Girl Power.' "
So Piazza told Week in Review he thinks it's time for some new terms. And how can we argue with him? There are going to be more than 5,000 home runs hit this year. That's more bombs than were dropped on Berlin by the whole 47th Airborne.
And being the helpful guy he is, Piazza was good enough to bust out some updated terms himself, right here on the ESPN airwaves, during the All-Star Home Run Derby.
Here is some of what he fired out there, to the shock of a cliché-ravaged public:
"Flogging."
"Scud." As in Scud missiles, of course.
"SAM." As in surface-to-air missiles.
"Stinger." Which he told Week in Review emissary Lawrence Rocca, of the Newark Star-Ledger, was a "hand-held surface-to-air missile." As opposed to a hand-held late-night cocktail.
"Some will take off," Piazza said of his contributions to the long-distance baseball vocabulary. "Some won't. It's kind of like a continental breakfast."
Well, if you've ever ordered a continental breakfast, you know you'd sure love to have someone review the pastries. So we're asking you, the American cyberspace public, to suggest some terms of your own, which we can use to advance our sagging lexicon into the trendy, futuristic new millennium.
Now you may recall we tried this last year, by asking you readers to suggest potential new home-run calls for the desperate broadcasters of our land. After that experience, which resulted in unforeseen Phoebe Cates allusions, we know all too well you need some guidance from a trained language expert before you tackle your new job.
So we're bringing in just such an expert -- the great voice of ESPN baseball himself, Jon Miller.
Miller, naturally, is on record as having opposed outdated terminology since he was a mere youth, describing his own Wiffle Ball games in the back yard.
"When I was a kid," he said, "we had all kinds of terms everyone used. Like 'frozen rope.' I was, like: 'What does that mean?' And 'humpback liner.' What does that mean?"
Good question. We've always thought a humpback liner was simply a whale of a hit. But that's just us.
At any rate, we asked Miller, first off, to review Piazza's contributions.
He liked "Scud." He liked "surface-to-air missile." He liked the updating of all that militaristic stuff from the tired WW2 era into at least a Gulf War motif.
Miller had to admit, though, he was a little thrown off by "flogged."
"Let's see now," he said. "It needs a context: 'He flogged it.' 'He flogs it deep.' I'm just worried that, with the roar of the crowd, people will be asking: 'Did he say, 'slogged it?' Did he mean, 'slugged it?' You have that S-F problem that could really come into play amid the roar of the crowd."
And don't we all hate when that happens? But in general, Miller thought Piazza was onto something here. Now we just need to latch onto this concept and, well, flog it into the upper deck.
Fortunately, turning these linguistic concepts into reality is something Miller knows all about.
"You know, the first year I broadcast baseball, in '74 with Oakland, I interviewed a guy after a game," Miller reminisced. ""And he said, 'When we hit those 'dingers' in the eighth, we knew we were going to win.' And I said, 'Dingers? What's that?' And he said, 'That's what everyone calls home runs now.'
"So the next night, my partner, Monte Moore, said, 'If they're calling them dingers, we've got to get a couple of bells up here and ding a bell every time someone hits a home run.' So we got home from the road trip, and we had like 25 bells sent to us. So we went through the boxes. We picked out the bells we liked, that were easy to travel with. And every time the A's hit a home run, we rang our dinger."
This, you see, is a perfect example of how a hot new term can catch on, grab the public, provide important sound effects and even help a drooping sector of economy.
Once you get it rolling, too, you can truly run amok with it. And that's exactly what Jon Miller and Monte Moore did.
"We were coming up on a twinight doubleheader with the Kansas City Royals in September," Miller said. "They were our big rivals in the division. And Monte said, 'We should make that Dinger Night. Everybody bring their dingers to the stadium. In fact, since it's a doubleheader, make it Double Dinger Night.
"So for the next month, we went on, ringing our little bells. And sure enough, that night, for the doubleheader, they sold out the stadium. There were thousands of bells ... cable-car bells, cow bells, dinner bells, mini-Liberty Bells. It sounded like Christmas. The A's swept the doubleheader. And Alvin Dark, the manager, was effusive in his praise of Monte and I for brilliantly orchestrating Double Dinger Night."
So there. See what can happen if you latch onto the right idea out there?
But we should warn you: There's always a potential downfall to any stroke of brilliance, even one as seemingly innocent as the dinger phenomenon.
"We used to do radio on a phone coupler," Miller said. "And apparently, one of the bells had the same tone as a special tone that a phone-company maintenance person would use to send a tone down the line and automatically shut down the line so he could repair it.
"So Gene Tenace would hit a home run, and I'd ring my little dinger -- and I'd automatically put us off the air for like 60 seconds. Then the next inning, a guy would hit a home run, I'd ring my dinger, and I'd put us off the air again. It was a real problem. I had to change dingers."
Like all trends, of course, this one eventually petered out. We're just not sure exactly when.
"How would I know?" Miller said. "Charlie Finley fired me before the next year."
We're betting that won't happen this time. But that might depend on what you all come up with. Suppose we continue along this militaristic road -- and people start bringing Scud missiles to the park? Could get ugly.
That's why Miller says -- and we concur -- that he'd "prefer to get away from these military, war-like allusions."
He even offered historic documentation of just how dangerous those allusions can be.
"Back in the late '60s or early '70s," Miller said, "when those metal detectors were first coming into use in the airports, the Pirates had just won a game. Willie Stargell had hit one of those long, tape-measure homers. And so they get to the airport. They're in line. And (broadcaster) Bob Prince is talking about the home run, and he says, 'Oh man, that was a bomb.'
"So now he gets up there to the detector. A uniformed security guard steps into the line, puts handcuffs on him and takes him to a room for interrogation. He missed the flight, all because he used the word, 'bomb.' "
Whooh. We sure don't want that happening to anyone in our audience. So let's remember that militaristic talk doesn't fit in our pastoral, more cerebral game. This isn't war. This isn't even football.
So feel free to be futuristic. But leave the ammunition at home.
"There was a time when they used that phrase, 'Dial 8,' for a long home run because that's the number you had to dial in the hotel to get a long-distance line," Miller said. "It was clever. But now, we don't even use the phones in hotels. We use cell phones. So we need some cell-phone terminology. And e-mail. Cyberspace.
"And what about space?" he ruminated. "I remember the first show of Sunday Night Baseball we did, in 1990, it was the year the Hubble telescope went into space. And a guy hit a major-league pop-up, and I think I said something like, 'He hit it as high as the Hubble telescope.' I was pretty proud of it. It was totally up to date. And nobody reacted. Nobody paid any attention to it at all.
"But I still think space is a great area to explore. Maybe we could contact some people from NASA, get some good space terminology. We could get some good 'synergy' going between the space program and baseball. It could be good for everybody."
OK, by now, you should have caught on to where we're going with this. And you sure did as we got plenty of your suggestions. Thanks very much for helping out. We'll run our favorite contributions by Miller and Piazza next week to see how you did.
Ejection of the week
Smoking volcanoes erupt. Ticking bombs explode. So what was up with Larry Bowa?
Everyone knew it was such a stone-cold lock that the ever-combustible manager of the Phillies would get himself ejected about 50 times this season that the Philadelphia Daily News actually ran a contest this spring asking readers to guess the date of Bowa's first ejection.
|
“ |
Oh,
it was definitely worth the wait. It was lovely. But
what I was thinking was that every team now has
a bobblehead doll. And for ours, we picked Pat
Burrell -- which was wonderful, don't get me
wrong. I have it in my locker. But what we really
needed was a Larry Bowa bobblehead, because
he has it. ” |
|
|
— Doug Glanville, Phillies outfielder, on manager Larry Bowa's
first ejection of the season |
No truth to the rumor the Daily News also ran a second contest asking readers to guess the number of people who would choose a date after, say, April 15.
"I didn't really know him before this," Phillies center-field quotesmith Doug Glanville told Week in Review. "But if I'd had to guess, off what I'd heard going into camp, I'd have said sometime in March. First intrasquad game. Something like that."
Hey, good guess. But then a funny thing happened to that Larry Bowa Ejection Sweepstakes. April came and went. May came and went. Even the All-Star break came and went -- and nobody had won, because Mount St. Bowa had yet to pop. Amazing.
There may be a few developments in life that would rank as more unlikely as this one. But the Phillies observers we surveyed were sure hard-pressed to think of them.
"This would be up there with the bird living through that Randy Johnson fastball," said Phillies broadcast-witticist Larry Andersen. "Or Clinton saying it wasn't sex. Or Casey Candaele winning the MVP in 2001 (after retiring yet)."
Hoo boy. Now that's unlikely. But shouldn't this rank with any of that stuff?
"I'd say the only thing I can think of that would be more unlikely than that," Glanville said, "would be Steve Balboni making a comeback -- and leading the league in stolen bases."
But just as an international panel of prominent seismologists was being dispatched to the scene, the inevitable finally happened last Saturday. Home-plate ump Dan Iassogna did the honors, firing the prize-winning thumb at Bowa after the manager muttered a tad too loudly after a dubious strike call on Phillies catcher Johnny Estrada.
Bowa then made the wait worth everybody's while by carrying on a "conversation" with Iassogna that we can safely predict you will not hear replayed on any forthcoming episodes of "Barney". After which he got a thunderous standing ovation, naturally.
"Oh, it was definitely worth the wait," Glanville said. "It was lovely. But what I was thinking was that every team now has a bobblehead doll. And for ours, we picked Pat Burrell -- which was wonderful, don't get me wrong. I have it in my locker. But what we really needed was a Larry Bowa bobblehead, because he has it.
"That's what I thought of when I saw it. He was a real-life bobblehead. So I'm really disappointed we don't have one. Well, maybe next year."
Yeah, maybe. And while you're waiting for that Larry Bowa Bobblehead Day, digest this fact:
How incredible was it that manager Bowa didn't get tossed until July 14? According to the commissioner's office, the other 29 managers -- oops, make that 33, counting firings -- were ejected 56 times before Bowa got thrown out once -- including six by Buddy Bell (Rockies), five by Bobby Cox (Braves) and four by Davey Lopes (Brewers). Even that mild-mannered Joe Torre got part of a night off.
"This would be up there with me going 3 for 3 at the plate some year," Andersen said. "Or Curt Schilling not talking to the media after a win."
All right. So it's an upset already. We've firmly established that.
Still, the question of the day, after all the F-bombs had been detonated, was this:
Why then? Why July 14?
And being the wizened, erudite Penn grad he is, Glanville had it all figured out.
"I later found out it was Bastille Day," he reported. "French independence. Revolutions. Napoleon. I think there are tremendous implications."
Glanville said he didn't even realize it was Bastille Day until he went out to dinner that night -- at a French restaurant. And then, he said, "it all kind of came together."
Of course, we're not sure what it means that it all kind of came together. But Glanville does know that Estrada later pulled a crumpled-up piece of paper out of his locker with the words, "Bastille Day," written on it -- and claimed to have forecast that date. And he knows that Bowa was well aware of the contest itself -- since he was asked about it every 20 seconds.
"That's why I think there was some Bastille Day connection set up from the beginning of the season," Glanville theorized. "Actually, you know the Eiffel Tower? I've heard it's going to move to Philadelphia. That's the rumor in the streets.
"I think we're going to put it in the new ballpark. Enron has the flagpole in center field. We'll have the Eiffel Tower. And that will be Larry Bowa's legacy."
The Eiffel Tower in center field. How cool would that be? Who needs a Green Monster when you've got an Eiffel Tower?
"You could bill it as: 'Cheesesteaks, Tastycakes, Eiffel Tower.' Who could compete with that?" Glanville wondered. "People will stop going to Paris altogether and come to Philadelphia, to go to the new ballpark."
On the other hand, while that would give new meaning to the term, "towering fly ball," it might be challenging to work a new baseball ambiance into the old Eiffel Tower. Or would it?
"No, just put a little luxury box on top, put in a little restaurant," Glanville suggested, "and it will work out real well."
So there you have it. Larry Bowa. Dan Iassogna. Bastille Day. And the Eiffel Tower. Wrapped up in one neat -- OK, bizarre but neat -- package.
"Coincidence?" mused Doug Glanville. "I don't think so."
Long reliever of the week
Well, at least Randy Johnson has finally found his niche.
As baseball's foremost seven-inning closer.
Yes, in this age of bullpen guys who can't go more than one inning -- or even one hitter -- it's hard to beat having a secret weapon out there who can march out of the old 'pen after the light towers blow up and strike out 16 in seven innings.
That, of course, is what his Unitness did Thursday in San Diego, in compiling the most whiff-packed relief outing ever witnessed. Normally, a team would think it was a good thing to have the stadium conveniently fall apart on them when Curt Schilling is pitching for the other team.
But by bringing in Johnson to relieve Schilling after the old exploding-light-tower trick short-circuited Schilling's start the night before, Arizona manager Bob Brenly helped produce one of the most memorable box scores in the history of box scores.
|
Pitcher
|
IP
|
H
|
R
|
ER
|
BB
|
SO
|
|
Schilling
|
2
|
0
|
0
|
0
|
0
|
1
|
|
Johnson
|
7
|
1
|
0
|
0
|
1
|
16
|
Phew. How can you beat Randy Johnson relieving Curt Schilling? They're the greatest tag team since the Executioners. Consider all this:
They own the National League's last four strikeout titles.
They've started the last three All-Star Games. (In fact, they were both named to start this year's game.)
This marked the first time in history that one 300-strikeout man had ever relieved another.
And they came within one Wiki Gonzalez single of throwing the first combined perfect game ever.
"That's a tough matchup," said Padres manager Bruce Bochy, in that understated way of his. "Schilling and Johnson in the same game."
Yeah, it would be a little tougher than Brian (Last of the 20-Game Losers) Kingman relieving Anthony (26 Losses in a Row) Young, anyway.
But it was well worth it, because there were many entertaining highlights and sidelights to this classic:
First, there was the puff of smoke out of the Qualcomm Stadium light towers that started all this Wednesday night -- right after Schilling had hit a weak foul ball to kick off the top of the third inning. Schilling, of course, was bummed that the game never resumed after that -- in part because he had a shutout going after two innings.
"Plus," he told the East Valley Tribune's Ed Price, "I was getting ready to go yard."
In "The Natural," at least Robert Redford had to hit a ball over the upper deck to cause the lights to blow up. Schilling only had to hit a foul ball. But teammate Mark Grace said that was because he was the true Natural here, not Schilling, since he'd homered the inning before.
"It was kind of like Roy Hobbs," Grace said. "I hit a home run. It just took an inning for the lights to explode."
But while Schilling's pitching portion of the festivities ended with that explosion, his offensive participation didn't. With help from pitching teammate Brian Anderson, he managed to strike out while sitting on the bench -- more than 15 hours after he started his at-bat.
That's usually hard to do. But it was made possible by Anderson, who was sent up to pinch-hit for Schilling after the suspended game resumed the next day. Anderson inherited an 0-2 count, found a big breaking ball from Woody Williams heading his way -- and took it. For strike three.
"It was knee-high on the black," Anderson alibied. "I wasn't hitting that if I'm looking for it."
But the good news was: It wasn't his punchout. Since Schilling had racked up the first two strikes, he got charged with the strikeout without moving a muscle. What a sport.
Afterward, it was hard to tell who was more upset -- Schilling or Anderson.
Anderson called his big pinch-hit moment "embarrassing." But at least, he figured, Williams showed him some respect by throwing him a breaking ball.
"I'm trying to look on the bright side," he said, "after a one-pitch punchout."
Good idea. But all Schilling knew was that somewhere in there, a blast of smoke in the light tower, and a teammate who never swung the bat, had cost him a potential win -- and earned him a third strike he never saw.
"That's going to really crush my chances at a Silver Slugger," Schilling quipped.
But once that hilarity was out of the way, Johnson kind of took over.
In his first relief appearance since he sneaked in there to vulture his 20th win of the season in the last weekend in 1997, he became the first pitcher in either league to make a seven-inning relief appearance, according to the Elias Sports Bureau, since Matt Whiteside finished up a 15-4 blowout for the Rangers on Sept. 12, 1996.
But it's safe to say this wasn't exactly mop-up work. Johnson struck out five of the first six hitters he faced, seven of the first nine and 14 of the first 17.
He struck out more hitters in relief in one day (16) than Oakland's Mike Magnante has whiffed in relief all year (15), in 37 appearances.
He blew away seven in a row at one point, breaking a National League record held by 12 previous relievers -- including our pal, Rob Dibble.
And by breaking Walter Johnson's 88-year-old record for most strikeouts in a game by a relief pitcher, it meant the Unit had pulled off an nearly impossible daily double: He now holds the record for most strikeouts in one game by a reliever and by a starter (20).
So who knows? Maybe, like Dennis Eckersley, he's about ready for a late-career job switch.
"I'm not going to rule out anything," said Brenly. "But we like Randy in the starting rotation."
Road trip of the week
Things may not be going too hot for those Colorado Rockies on the field lately. But off the field, at least it was tough to beat their schedule this week.
They just became the second team in major-league history (joining the equally exhausted '98 Mariners) to make that arduous road trip from Oakland all the way to San Francisco. So our question was: Did they book a charter to change floors at the hotel?
"Yeah, we checked out on getaway day," Rockies coach-witticist Rich Donnelly told Week in Review. "We took our luggage down to the lobby. We let it sit there all day. Then we came back and picked it up."
We're pretty sure there has never been a two-city trip before in which a team never left the same hotel. But the Rockies just had that unique thrill at San Francisco's lovely and historic Westin-St. Francis.
"You know, a lot of neat stuff happened in this hotel," Donnelly said. "They play a tape on the TVs about the history of the hotel. Fatty Arbuckle murdered a girl here in the '20s. I've seen Fatty Arbuckle now 600 times since I've been here. I could do the whole tape by memory.
"Did you know Fatty Arbuckle and Al Jolson both died in this hotel, in the same room -- 1120? I'm in 1080. And I've noticed everybody's kind of afraid to stay on the floor upstairs."
Thanks to the fabulous combination of unbalanced schedules and interleague play, the Rockies will actually spend 12 of their 91 nights on the road this season just in the Westin St. Francis. And don't think they haven't noticed.
"I've spent more time at the Westin this year than I have on my street in Colorado," Donnelly said. "I know the maids. I know the bellmen. I walk by, and they say, 'Hi, Rich.' And I say, 'Hi, Marie. How you doing?'
"But I've noticed the one question they never ask: 'Sir, are you checking out?' All they ever say is: 'Sir, see you tomorrow.' "
Jayson Stark is a Senior Writer at ESPN.com. Week in Review appears each Friday.
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