Thursday, June 30, 2011

Remember The Maine

Actually, there are really two Maine's to remember: The USS Maine, a battleship that blew up in Havana Harbor February 15, 1898 under questionable circumstances, and pitcher John Maine who's career with the Mets blew up on May 20, 2010 against the Washington Nationals. The sinking of the pre-dreadnought version took with it 274 lives. The former Met righthander went down on his own.

Maine was a guy with major league stuff and you can't blame former general manager Omar Minaya for this one. The Orioles drafted Maine in 2002 and the following year led all minor league pitchers with 185 strikeouts. He made his Orioles debut in 2004 and after shuttling back and forth from the minors and picked up his first major league win, a 1-0 shutout of the Blue Jays in August of 2005.

Meanwhile pitcher Kris Benson was having problems with the Mets. Or I should say the Mets were having problems with Benson's wife Anna. A smokin' hot Southern Belle from Atlanta, the former stripper (gee, I wonder how a ballplayer would come in contact with a stripper) who says "she had a baby and then a husband when she was seventeen," quickly began giving the Mets front office more agita than a two-pound pastrami on rye. During the off season in 2004, Anna posed on the cover for FHM Magazine and was named "baseball's hottest wife." That surely must have made her a hit with the other Mets wives. And to add spicy hot mustard to it, Anna appeared on "The Howard Stern Show" later that year and said that if husband Kris ever cheated on her she would take revenge by sleeping with the entire Mets organization (public relations man Jay Horowitz too?) Something I'm sure the players would've found highly objectionable.

Despite Omar Minaya's insistance to the contrary, Kris and Anna were sent packing to Baltimore on January 21, 2006. In return the Mets got Maine and reliever Jorge Julio. Me and Julio down by the school yard better known as Shea Stadium. "We just made a baseball trade," said Omar.

Ironically, Maine's first game with the Mets came against the Nationals on May 2, 2006. He took the loss, but the baseball gods were already giving him "the finger." He was place on the disabled list with an inflamed middle finger he says he hurt during that start. After a short rehab stint in the minors, Maine started to look like a legit two or three guy. He returned and pitched a complete game shutout against the Astros. That began a 26 inning scoreless streak, the longest ever by a Mets rookie starter. He ended the season 6-5 with a 3.60 ERA. Not bad. A year later Maine went 15-10 with a 3.91 ERA. He even struck out 14 in a win against the Marlins in late September, so his stuff was there.

But bad stuff started to happen a year later. On August 4, 2008 Maine was placed on the dl with a strained rotator cuff. He came back to make three more starts but went back on the dl and manager Jerry Manuel decided to end his season right there. Maine underwent shoulder surgery and doctors removed what they said was the largest bone spur they ever saw.

Now here's the thing. After this operation, the Mets took a major gamble. The following January, the team avoided arbitration and signed Maine to a one year $2.6 million contract. Mega bone spur, 2.6 mil. Go figure. Would this have anything to do with the boys in the Bronx signing both CC Sabathia and A.J. Burnett to mega deals a few months before? Gotta keep up with the Jones' even though the Jones' just drove out of the showroom with a Lamborghini and you just scooted off the lot with a Buick Regal. Damn those Jones'!

Maine stunk up the joint in April going 1-2 with a 5.40 in four April starts. He then started to work his way back in May going 4-1. But the Regal began to sputter in June as he was placed on the dl with "arm fatigue." Translated, that means a pitcher's arm aches so bad he can barely brush his teeth. He came back in mid-September and looked good in a game against the Astros, so the Mets figured "Houston, there is no problem" after all. They signed him to another one year deal, this time for $3.3 million. But there was indeed a problem. He got off to another slow start and spent more time on the dl. Then it all went kaboom.

On May 20 his start against the Nationals was shorter than Jose Reyes' attention span after getting on base. In a non-walk season that is. Maine walked the leadoff batter on four pitches all in the mid-80's. Kinda like a boxer just coming off brain surgery starting a bout with his hands down taking four quickies off the chin. After one more pitch Manuel cried "No Mas!" and took Maine out of the game. The two had a heated discussion in the dugout. Pitching coach Dan Warthen said Maine "wasn't throwing as hard as he could because he was hiding yet another injury" and that he "was a habitual liar" when it came to his health. I remember using a Maine soundbite during my morning sports report on Bloomberg Radio the next morning where Maine said his arm didn't feel great, but that's how it usually feels. Nothing out of the ordinary. Turns out it was the last pitch he'd throw not only for the Mets but in a major league uniform. In July he had arthroscopic shoulder surgery and was done for the rest of the season.

The sad part of it is his age. He's only 30. What's even sadder is that after signing a minor league contract with the Rockies, he couldn't even look halfway decent in Triple-A. Last week Maine allowed eight runs on 10 hits in four-plus innings in a game against the Diamondbacks farm team. His ERA is 7.43 with 37 walks in 46 innings. He was so bad this season that he left the team and is considering throwing in the towel.

It all comes down to an athlete's pride vs. his common sense. Pride says, "Be macho. The guys and skip will respect me." Common sense says, "Don't be a schmuck. Self preservation's the name of this game bro."
In Maine's case it looks like pride won. And when Maine does throw in the towel chances are it won't even be that hard. On the radar gun that is. 













 


Thursday, June 23, 2011

The Game Just Isn't The Same

Going to a baseball game just isn't like it used to be when I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn. I'm sure a lot has do with what I do for a living - radio sportscasting. You have to be objective. You can't let your love for your favorite team cloud your judgement. Unless you're a sports talk host where management wants you to be as opinionated and outrageous as possible,  you have to be neutral. So the rare times I get to a ballgame as a paying fan and not a member of the media, I sit in my seat much calmer and less out for blood than I used to.

When The Game Was A Game
I remember when I was a kid, Al Kaline tore his shoulder making a catch against the Yankees for the final out. "I hope he dies!" I cried. I mean I really cried. My father said, "Joel, don't ever say that." I thought he was crazy. How could anyone not want someone who just made a ridiculous catch to beat the Yankees dead?


There are other reasons the game has changed for me. Money. When I played amateur ball and tried so hard to make it to the pros, I never, ever thought of money as part of it. It was ego. Me smokin' my heater past the guy at the plate. Having my arm get me to where I wanted to go - the mound at Yankee Stadium where I could tip my hat to my dad in the front row by the Yankee dugout and make all the sweat and struggle to get there worthwhile. Walking out of the same players entrance where Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio and Mantle used to, signing autographs with a sexy blond with big hair and a tight skirt holding my (left) arm. And after a road game going to dinner with Ron Guidry and the guys feeling privileged and on top of the world. Never money though. Never an issue with me. Just making it was my goal. So seeing what ballplayers (and owners) make does take away a lot of the childhood passion I once had. No more Seaver vs. Stargell or Clemens vs. Big Papi. Now it's down to one guy making $23 million a season against another guy making $14.5 and how they could be wearing the other's uniform a year from now.

A Test of My Devotion
Two years ago I decided that I'd do all I could to see the first-ever game at the new Yankee Stadium. Not an easy thing to do especially since I live in Port St. Lucie, Florida.  I managed to get a ticket through one of the online ticket resellers and book a flight to New York.

 My plan - to get to the Stadium early enough to take in the sights, take a few pictures, see the game and get out with enough time to make my return flight.

I got to the airport real early and to my surprise saw a few guys wearing Yankees hats. "Is this just another couple of ex-New Yorkers wearing Yankees hats as part of their fashion statement or are they crazy enough to be doing what I'm doing?" I asked myself.  One guy sat across from me on the plane. So I asked him. Sure enough he was a transplanted New Yorker taking his kid to opening day. But not returning the same day like I was.

Yankees and Indians, first game ever at the New Yankee Stadium. Gorgeous day. The place looked like a brand new sparkling version of the old stadium, the real one before the 1974-75 renovation. I got a couple of those $6.50 hot dogs and at the condiment stand stood next to a guy with a Red Sox hat on. What kind of schmuck would do this to himself? And the Red Sox were no where in sight! I usually avoid conversation with strangers but I couldn't resist. "Aren't you in the wrong place?" "Just checking things out," he said. So an enemy with at least some awareness of this historic day.

As I sat in my seat in the upper right field stands I couldn't help but pay attention to everything except the game. CC Sabathia against Cliff Lee. Didn't matter. Hey look at that scoreboard! Damn, that facade looks just like the one in the old place! I wonder how much they're charging for a scorecard...The game itself was a mere distraction. I could hardly keep my attention on what was happening on the field. Before I knew it, the Indians were up by like 10 runs. Now I'm keeping my eye on my watch. Should I take a cab to LaGuardia or chance it and leave in the 7th and save a few bucks by taking the subway? I couldn't deal with this anymore. Cab it was. Leaving a ballgame before the final out was never in my vocabulary. Heresy. Real fans don't do such a thing. At least anywhere outside of LA. Today, in the first game ever in a place that will be around a lot longer than I will, I have to throw in the towel. It's a long flight back I told myself. But deep down I knew better.

The game just wasn't the same anymore.