Friday, October 30, 2015

Harold Reynolds: the Antidote to Your Baseball Announcer Pains

Bucking the trends on social media and other baseball blogs, I'd like to introduce a genuine defense of baseball broadcaster Harold Reynolds. Let's cut to the chase and you can read my diatribe afterwards.

The Harold Reynolds' Quirkycool Perspective of the Day:

Oct.28, 2015
World Series -- Game 2
NY Mets @ KC Royals

Commentator Scorebook:
(Fox telecast)
Joe Buck (JB)
Harold Reynolds (HR)
Tom Verducci (TV)

Top 1st, two outs
Cueto pitching to D. Murphy

TV: Yeah, those orchestrations, the quick delivery, the shimmy shakes, the delays... They shouldn't bother the Mets lineup that much. Really, Lucas Duda is the only one with a timing mechanism -- the high leg kick. Most of these Mets hitters get set very early (Ed: not true of Granderson, who has that hitch in his giddy-up). 

JB: I think sometimes it bothers Cueto more than it does the hitter (Ed: speculative drivel)

HR: You know, I just think he's very unique. For a guy to be able to throw strikes and do that? You just don't see it. I love the creativity. I think our game can be boring at times... So I love seeing this. But I think he's very... To throw strikes: I don't know how he's able to do it. Let's just put it that way. I think it's pretty fascinating. (Ed: goddamn right!)

JB: His teammate Edinson Volquez tried it; couldn't do it (Ed: what the fuck is he referring to exactly? I don't recall Volquez ever doing a shimmy on the mound. Enough with the negative criticism of things you neither enjoy, nor appreciate, Joe!!)

*
Daniel Murphy, on the very next pitch, proceeds to strike out looking at a tailing two-seam fastball from Cueto, in the upper part of the zone, drawing back to the inside corner of th plate...on the black! Murphy, in 2015, was the most difficult player to strike out in the majors. There's no mention of this astounding and quite interesting fact, nor of Cueto's achieving the impossible by a) not allowing Murphy to homer b) striking him out while he's on fire c) catching him looking at a pitch that ended up in the strike zone, to end the first inning of Game 2, a must-win for the Mets, which set the tone early: not tonight, bitches.

*
As I wrote my brother-in-law, "not sure how can you so quickly cave into the Harold Reynolds criticism? This is only his first or second year in the booth; The insufferable Buck and MacCarver were given thirty years to destroy all of baseball's best moments, now preserved in digital archives for eternity. Cultural criminals! Back to Reynolds: the guy has a great voice, he's fantastic on the mlb network, eloquently describing the subtler movements of the game. Yeah, ok, he doesn't know shit about geopolitics, some observations come off as way too obvious (though there seems to be a more subtle sublayer to a lot of these cliches), and has a tough time shutting up. BUT, the dude's enthusiasm is contagious and so are many of his insights. Good sense of humor. Bold enough to take over the Fox booth and bust it open from the inside! Joyfully opinionated about baseball minutae (and almost always right, according to my commentator scorebook). And was one helluva replacement player, to boot (a teammate of Uncle Vic!). If only there were more announcers like him (actually, A-Rod has been surprisingly succint and articulate, if only a bit too robotic in his emotional detachment)"

*
In an older post on this blog, I'd danced somewhat psychedelically through hypothetical conversations with a similarly resented commentator, Joe Morgan. While the racist overtones of major league baseball are obvious to any of us with heightened sensitivities to conscious and subconscious forms of such institutional racism, it's more difficult to assert a collective racist consciousness on behalf of baseball fans (outside of St. Louis, at least). But the aftertaste feels undeniable here: popular sentiments about players, and in this case broadcasters, dominated as they are by white opinions, are often times tinged with a familiar-tasting poison that just so happens to be mixed in with other, more innocuous flavors. Anyone who knows me knows I'm highly susceptible to even the slightest trace of poison.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

Fan reactions to ALCS Game 5: the Toronto tragi-comedy

What a circus! Canadians chucking beer cans at babies in the front row! Oh the humanity! I texted my sister at the time that "no one can be held responsible for anything at this point. Fans or players. It's the baseball apocalypse!"

Regarding the fluke throw back to the pitcher that somehow hit Choo's hand in the box, Wes wrote: "A real horsholm move by Texas. Seriously? Fuck this shit. Going to bed. Worse or just as bad as the Gallaraga call. Baseball is ruined." But he later clarified that it was the home plate umpire calling "dead ball", not knowing the rules, which ruined baseball.

And leave it to Tulo to ensure the craziest inning of all time ends with a whimper, popping out to the catcher, with the emotionally bruised Texas reliever brushing past him, talking shit, even after giving up Joey Bats' majestic bomb. Tulo probably replied like that dork in Half Baked, "hey! I'm somebody's BITCH!"

I'd cursed that fucktard Goins all series for going 0/18 with 9 k's, stranding a dozen, but the dude saves the ball game with two fine defensive plays late in the game; especially in the 6th with a tremendous sliding backhand up the middle on an Andrus grounder, stranding the guy at third, ending the inning. A perfect segueway for E2 and his titanic blast into the upper deck to tie the game at 2. God that was gorgeous.

Poor Andrus, though. Robbed of that hit. Caught stealing third to end the 3rd inning. All three errors in the 7th involved him and then he misses out on his chance at redemption by stranding two guys on base making the final out in the 8th via the K. He'll probably hang himself at some point this winter, if Beltre doesn't strangle him to death first.

Lost in all the mayhem were the six brilliant, quick innings of mound artistry from Stroman and Hamels. Both lineups are fulll of swagger and spice and everything un-nice, but those guys were in the groove. It was also the most consistent strike zone in recent memory. Crazy shit also went down and the umps kept their cool, met together to confer on important matters, and even though the home plate ump botched the deflection call he took it to replay to make sure his crew got it right. So many close pitches, nibbling at the corners, impervious to the furious crowd, the home plate ump was still able to resist getting emotionally pulled into the Toronto vortex or give in to the pitiful Texas dugout bitching. Fair play to ye, sirs!

My sister asked if Tulo actually cracked a smile at the end of the game amidst the jubilation. I told her The Glass Man actually cracked a rib while hugging Pilar. His status for the ALCS remains up in the air.