Yet Another OOTP6 Dynasty, Year 2: One Flew Over the Pale Hose

[Jestor]

Originally Posted by ifspuds

Don't you mean go Average White of Chicago?

I think we have a new nickname for the Pale Hose or should we just go ahead and start saying the Average White?

Edit: Then again, with how bad this team is, they still have a long way to go before they can even think of aspiring to being the Average White.

[cknox0723]

i am in a rush here as i go on the radio in...10 minutes, but i will say that i thought the same thing about how we're a long ways off from being the average white of chicago. now, without further adieu (or rambling)...

[cknox0723]

Ever go to a game and see a player that's on a completely different level vis-â-vis everyone else on the ballfield? You don't see it on the pro level much except for the greats. Randy Johnson's perfect game, for example. Something like that brings back memories of Little League, where one kid defeats an entire team single-handedly. 1 versus 9, and the Lone Ranger wins. In no other sport can that happen.

I got to see that on August fourth last year at the hometown ballpark. The Lakewood BlueClaws have been the bottom-feeders of the Low-A South Atlantic League for going on five years now, but this guy, I'm convinced, would have been hitting ropes off Messr. Johnson the way he was swinging the bat that night. Scarcely had my buddy and I settled in after the national anthem before Mr. Moss had clubbed the first pitch over the right field fence to give the visiting Green Jackets the lead. Most striking was not the distance of the blast, but how hard it was hit, clearing the wall before Mr. Moss had rounded first base. Second at-bat, third inning, first pitch...same thing. CRACK! Less emphatic, but every bit as much a long ball. By the time Moss was digging in for his third at-bat in the fifth or sixth inning, my compadre and I were scrambling out of our seats, just about going nuts, wondering "Who the f*ck is that and how big does the baseball look in his world?" We may have been the only ones. Lakewood, NJ is not exactly known for its passion for baseball.

Moss lined out to center that third time up, but that's almost besides the point. There's not a whole lot that can compare to wondering "Who the hell is that, and how in the name of the Lord can he do those things on a ballfield?" Some guys just need a bigger ballfield to contain them, because mere mortals don't hit .350 and drive in 100 runs in the Sally League at the age of 21. Mere mortals don't hit two home runs on the first two pitches they see in batting practice, let alone in a live ballgame. I don't have much faith in my scouting abilities, and I'm not a betting man, but I'd still wager a lot that Brandon Moss is going to become a star. So's this guy:

YEAR/LEVEL	IP	H	BB	K	ERA
2006, A		47.1	28	7	38	2.47
2006, AA	74.1	48	17	74	2.54

Mere mortals don't allow 48 hits in 74 innings. Mere mortals don't strike out 112 and walk 24 at the age of 21. Isn't it amazing what a line of numbers can tell you? This kid's going to be a stud.

Want to hear the best part? He's property of the Pale Hose. After a year of misery, a year that contained a 24-run loss, countless leads blown and thousands (yes, thousands) of runners stranded, nothing brings a bigger smile to my face than dreaming the world on a tall, lanky righthander from Virginia with a megawatt fastball, an electric changeup, and the poise to match. Nothing would delight me more than uttering those five beautiful words..."Who the f*ck is that?"

And now, I finally have that chance.

[BadluckinOOTP]

What about Butner? The hotshot reliever you drafted. How did he do?

So Jestor's a White Sox fan huh? Well, all those years of torture must of caused him to burst. I'll pick up the posting slack that Jestor's leaving here in the thread. It's a promise!

[cknox0723]

Originally Posted by BadluckinOOTP

What about Butner? The hotshot reliever you drafted. How did he do?

you have no idea how happy this question made me. it is the dynasty writer's dream to get questions about players in their league. my banana dances for you.
here are the stats for the south carolina alum:

YEAR/LEVEL	IP	H	BB	K	ERA	SV
2006, A		15	4	6	12	0.00	10
2006, AA	23	19	16	23	4.70	12

as you can see, the now-22 year old was indescribably dominant over the kiddies down at a-ball. an aside: how freakin' awesome is it that both of our prospects are youthful collegians as opposed to 23 or 24 years of age? oh, the upside!! i'm slightly worried about his control but southpaws that touch three digits on the radar gun are in short supply. his spring training outing did nothing to dispel my fears, but for now i am still blinded by his upside. pray for his left arm, though.

thanks again for the question!

Originally Posted by BadluckinOOTP

So Jestor's a White Sox fan huh? Well, all those years of torture must of caused him to burst. I'll pick up the posting slack that Jestor's leaving here in the thread. It's a promise!

can't think of a ridiculous joke to make so i will simply say that i do hope jestor returns soon.

well, that was sort of like an update, only with less capital letters, but i'll throw in another one, too, less influenced by e.e. cummings. nothing happens, but i kinda like it anyway. wouldn't that sort of be influenced by cummings, too?

[cknox0723]

One of my many infirmities is a tendency to expect far too much out of everyone around me. I do think it's better than having incredibly low expectations, but it's not healthy to be constantly disappointed, either.

Exacerbating that is a memory plagued by the recency effect. The two go hand-in-hand, I suppose, and when it comes to my interpersonal relationships, maybe it's not so bad. After all, why be forced to find solace in amicable acts of weeks past? Shouldn't those you dare to call friends make you feel like a million bucks all the time, or at least more than once in a while?

I don't know; I'm not a psychologist and I don't even play one in the classroom. But I do know that both of those aspects of my personality can be applied to the analysis of baseball players. For once, though, this isn't just one of my quirks, though it was on display in full force in our most recent exhibition affair. No, this is something that you and I and especially the talking heads on the radio are guilty of. But it's funnier when applied to the Pale Hose, or so I hope.

I entered this third and final spring training match of 2006 with my head, predictably enough, still in the clouds, filled with visions of a lanky first round pick from Virginia dazzling last year's runner-up for World Champion. Never mind that it was the Cubbies' B-Squad, and never mind that it was only spring training besides. Just as I still hold onto the small chance that my own Ruth Graham won't end up ripping my friggin' heart out thanks to a traveling hypnotist, I also refuse to consider the possibility that Chris Scarborough will be anything but a star.

Even though there's no such thing as a pitching prospect, particularly when he's regarded as injury 'prone', I couldn't help but see Chris Scarborough as our franchise's savior. Even though he's still just a kid with one half-year of pro ball under his belt, I see the Pale Hose in the World Series someday, led by the number three overall pick in 2006. Even though I'd never seen him pitch, I've been certain beyond all shadow of a doubt that we have a supernova ready to EXPLODE on the big leagues.

Well, I finally got the chance to see him pitch with this final spring training game.

And from the very moment he stepped on the mound, my idiosyncratic mind started f*cking around with every notion I'd associated with one Christopher Scarborough.

[cknox0723]

I had that feeling in my stomach. Some would call it butterflies -- part nervous energy, part confidence, knowing that things are going to be resolved soon one way or the other. I get it before a big test. I used to get it back when I actually played ball, too, specifically when I pitched.

Someone else apparently knows that feeling, too. Someone you might remember.

The top of the first frame of our third and final exhibition game went quick for our lads, as Chicago southpaw Jon Switzer set us down one, two, three. And third sacker Brendan Harris dug in to start the bottom half against our man, the gem of our system and the supernova ready to explode on the league, Chris Scarborough.

First pitch, fastball, up in his eyes for a ball. The second, delivered quickly, confidently, but in the dirt. Two and oh. Out of the box for a moment steps Harris, glancing down towards third. A tug of the helmet, a swing of the feet, and a few swipes of the air and he's ready. Our moundsman's still not, though -- ready for the game, that is. Fastball up near the chin. It'd be a hell of a brushback pitch in the right situation. That wasn't what Chris Scarborough was aiming for, though.

You know those moments where you see someone losing their sanity for a spell, and you want to say something to them, but you can't quite figure out what? That's what I felt right there. I wanted to push a visit mound button; I wanted to tell this 6'7" kid -- kid -- that it'd be all right, that his future didn't depend on this one start. Three pitches, I know, but this kid looked ready to crack. Instead, he stood out on that mound in Mesa, Arizona, sun beating down on the clay, dirt, and rubber of the pitcher's mound, alone, miles removed in size, skill, and stature from everyone else in the organization. 90% of the guys in our orgnaization won't ever make the money that Chris Scarborough's already made. The other 10% have accomplished a hell of a lot more in pro ball. How can a 21 year old guy who's never seen that much money in his life deal with that? I couldn't handle that. Could you?

Finally, our crown jewel delivers his fourth pitch. Forcing himself to throw a strike, it's a lackluster 87 mile an hour fastball tailing out of the strike zone. The right-handed batsman swings anyway, and clubs a lined shot to right. Clubs? Destroys. Only by the virtue of fortuitous positioning does Brendan Harris get held to one bag. If he swung upwards at all, got any loft under the ball, it'd be flying towards New Mexico right now. Instead, it's going back to the pitcher, who looks like he'd rather someone else keep it. But with that at-bat over, maybe our prized prospect will realize that the game's not over yet, he's not going to go back home to Fredericksburg, and he can hang with these guys.

But it doesn't look like it. The first pitch to Habelito Hernandez bounces off one of Miguel Olivo's shin guards and rolls on top of the plate. Five pitches, only one of which has been anywhere near the strike zone. Billy Beane was a prized prep star, too. "Billy was a guy you could dream on..." went the quote in Moneyball. I've been dreaming on this Scarborough kid ever since I drafted him. He's never thrown a major league inning, never faced anyone other than green kids. "I just didn't have it in me," sayeth Mr. Beane. What if this kid doesn't have it in him?

The moundsman comes to the set, kicks forward and fires his sixth pitch. Changeup, way high; Miggy pushes his arm in the air reflexively and somehow snares the sphere some six feet above the earth, momentum pushing him backwards in the process. Ball two. Again. The kid still looks lost. One wild swing and miss could change that, but instead he's thrown six balls and given up one laser beam. Feeling that, his shoulders are slumped as he receives the toss back from our fair retriever, who's inconspicuously silent. No jog out to the mound to pat him on the butt, no hard throw back to try to wake him up like I used to get every so often from my buddy when he caught. Just a lob. Can't f*cking Olivo tell this kid is losing it? What if we still had Piazza right now? What would he do? Why won't someone say something? Are the fans even paying attention anymore? Are they laughing?

That's how I always felt when I was pitching and didn't have it. Million thoughts, my mind in the clouds. Not the best for your control, your deceptiveness, your confidence. I would have underhanded the ball over the plate if I could have. It would have been just as effective. Instead, I'd start trying to force the ball into the strike zone. Aiming, not pitching.

That's what Chris Scarborough's trying to do right now. Another fastball, almost a foot outside. Three and oh. I can hear the boos raining down. Two batters into the beginning of his big league career, and our gem is merely pyrite. It's not even a real game! How is he going to handle a real call-up when the time comes? The inning, the game, this kid's confidence; they're all slipping away, right in front of my eyes. And with that, everything else is up in the air. If he fails, where is this team's future? We have nothing else.

He's setting back up now, but he's setting up for failure. Not pitching, but forcing himself to pitch, resignedly. This kid went undefeated in college, struck out 15 batters per nine innings. He's not used to failure. He's never struggled, not even last year in the minors. What if he can't handle adversity? The mind works in funny ways sometimes, but not in a comedic sense. I wish it did, though. I wish somebody would walk out to the mound right now and slap this kid in the face with a fish, or make some joke about the size of his tonsils. But there's no comic relief to be found. Instead, this kid just looks like a scared kid. Another batting practice fastball, right over the heart of the plate.

CRACK!

This isn't the pitcher I drafted number three overall half a year ago. It can't be.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
For once he was a true love of mine...

[seth70liz76]

This has to be the best post ever about two at bats! It that feeling us Cub fans get when Kerry sails that first pitch of the game toward Cicero and you just know where it's heading--I've seen this movie before, and I don't like the ending.

Heartbreaking--the laugh of a condemmed man always rings harsh.

[gordyhulten]

Originally Posted by cknox0723

my banana dances for you.

We've been over this before. Your bananananana most certainly is not dancing for me.

[Vris]

Agreed. Banana is not dancing.

Those two batters had me on the edge of my seat. Will Mr. Scarborough Fair up his control to battle in the major leagues? Or is he doomed to be play outfield, a la Wild Thing? Will we ever know?

[seth70liz76]

Originally Posted by Vris

Agreed. Banana is not dancing.

Those two batters had me on the edge of my seat. Will Mr. Scarborough Fair up his control to battle in the major leagues? Or is he doomed to be play outfield, a la Wild Thing? Will we ever know?

Banana is dancing--maybe it is a matter of faith, if you believe in the Banana . . .

And shouldn't he be Scarborough Poor, at least Scarborough Average--Fair is a little too generous at this point.

[Vris]

Ah, touche.

[Dougiestyle]

The banana is a lot like our beloved Pale Hose in this OOTP world. Sometimes they do what we want, sometimes they break our heart. It changes with the blink of an eye, just like Scarborough's potential.

[Tavarin]

The banana is dancing for me. Maybe everyone needs to truly be a Pale Hose fan to see it dance

[BadluckinOOTP]

Originally Posted by cknox0723

No jog out to the mound to pat him on the butt,

What if we still had Piazza right now? What would he do?

Yeah, Piazza would have patted him on the butt for sure.

[cknox0723]

wow. uh, what does it take to be a man who responds to all that? i don't know, but i was going to quote the comments i liked, until i realized that i was about to quote all of 'em. poetry, metaphors, gay jokes, bananas -- there are few places in this world where all four can intersect. i'm proud to say this is one of them and i appreciate all of the comments, really and truly. i took some notes there, too, so thanks for the inspiration.

here's the stunning conclusion -- to the game, even, and not just the first inning! it's, uh, a bit different. hope it works.

[cknox0723]

Click. Click. Click. Button-mashing, but of the remote. What does one watch when nothing's on at 11 PM? Baseball Tonight, of course. The following BBTN highlight never really happened...but don't you wish it did?

Ravech: "And both Chicago clubs concluded their exhibition seasons with a game in Mesa, Arizona. Man on, top of the first, Habelito Hernandez at the plate. Three-oh count, a shot to the left side but Eric Munson with a diving stop to his left --"

Reynolds: "Web. Gem."

Ravech: "--Wilson down to Thomas and Hernandez is out by half a step! Double play, around the horn, and watch the replay again to see just how close the play was at first. Peter, did Wally Bell make the right call here?"

Gammons: "Eric Munson, a former Golden Spikes winner, will transition well to third base because of his offseason work in the circus. A scout tells me he especially likes feeding the elephants peanuts."

Kruk: "I like peanuts. You can spit out the shells just like sunflower seeds, you know."

A muffled banging noise...

Ravech: "Ahem...Nic Jackson up with two outs, and watch this pitch from the rookie Scarborough on two-two. High heat, right by him to end the inning."

Kruk: "Must be why Jackson's missing the K at the end of his first name. Har har har har!"

Gammons: "Jackson slugged .409 in 208 at-bats last year. He's a darkhorse for MVP this year if he can shake that nasty parasite attatched to his left leg."

In the background, a squawking noise and thud are heard.

Ravech: "Errr...we move ahead to the bottom of the fourth, still scoreless. Habelito Hernandez leading off. One-two count...slider, and sit him back down."

Reynolds: "Lou Piniella would have hated Hernandez. See how his uniform is perfectly clean? I can't remember ever being in the fourth inning of a game with my uniform that clean. Hasn't he had to go to the bathroom by then? No need for toilet paper, son!"

Ravech: "Nic Jackson...frozen by a nasty change of pace for out number two."

Kruk: "See, what did I tell you about his name? Ha ha ha ha..."

Ravech: "And Jason DuBois...swingin'. One hit, no runs, and five K's for the rookie Scarborough in four innings pitched."

Gammons: "Cubs' manager Dusty Baker compared DuBois favorably to Marquis Grissom, according to one scout. I think he'll have a ten-year career as a clubhouse lawyer."

The left side of the desk buckles just a bit.

Ravech: "Top of the sixth, still...still zeroes on the board for both sides. Man on first for Enrique Wilson, who turns on a Jon Switzer fastball and hammers it...past a diving Brendan Harris and into the left field corner --"

Reynolds: "Wilson's a heck of a hitter. And look at Hernandez, receiving the relay in from the outfield and merely placing a late tag on Wilson as he slides into second. Dive for that tag, son! Get your uniform dirty!"

Ravech: "Aneudi Cuevas scores to make it 1-0 in favor of the Pale Hose --"

Gammons: "White Sox management drafted Cuevas in the offseason's Rule 5 draft because they love his character. His mother worked seven jobs in the Dominican Republic to feed his eight sisters and pet monkey. He is a man acutely aware of the Golden Rule, a lost art in a modern-day game dominated by --"

Ravech: "And...move ahead to the top of the seventh, one-nothing game still."

Gammons: "I -- I...wasn't done, Karl."

Ravech: "No, you were done, Peter. And now let's..."

Gammons: "F*ck you, Karl."

Ravech: "Hey! You can't say f*ck, Peter. What the heck are you thinking? I apologize, folks --"

Gammons: "Sure I can. If it's good enough for Billy Beane, hero of Moneyball..."

Kruk: "I don't understand why Beane had to write a book. The last book I read was Lenny Dykstra's biography, and that was only for the pictures. Why would I want to read about some guy with a pocket protector?"

Reynolds: "Pocket protectors don't work in the playoffs, right, Peter? You need heart, and you need to know how to get your uniform dirty."

Gammons: "Theo Epstein told me that..."

Ravech: "ALL RIGHT, ENOUGH! Seventh inning, Shea Hillenbrand leads off with a mighty swing of the lumber, and with that, changes the scoreboard to 2-0 Sox with a JACK to left off of Jon Leicester."

Kruk: "Shea Hillenbrand is a proven RBI machine. I like his chances this season."

Ravech suddenly has a coughing fit.

Ravech: "His...his chances for what, John?"

Kruk: "I...errr...uhhh...his...I just like his chances!"

Ravech sits back with a satisfied smile as the highlight reel continues to play. Mike Crudale's shown pitching to Nic Jackson with two outs in the ninth and the Pale Hose up two.

Reynolds: "Aren't you going to announce the highlight, Karl?"

Ravech: "Aren't you going to talk about a goddamned second baseman, Harold?"

Reynolds: "But everyone knows that second base is -- hey, you can't say damn on TV, Karl! Wash out your mouth, son!"

Kruk: "Yeah, you sound like Jim Eisenreich in the outfield. Har har har..."

Ravech: "Shut up, both of you. Just...shut up. You want me to announce the highlight? OK...some lousy player I've never heard of makes an out thanks to another lousy player I've never heard of, and a lousy team wins a game that means nothing except to the incomparably stupid Peter Gammons. I knew I should've let goddamn Pidto take this --"

Gammons: "F*ck you, Karl. And for your information, Ramon Vazquez is truly a man of the world, having visited 19 different countries, and his versatility makes him one of the seven most underpaid players from Aibonito, Puerto Rico in their long and storied baseball history. And Mike Crudale."

Reynolds: "I agree, Peter. You tell him! And I just don't think the Cubs will win until they get rid of Habelito Hernandez and find a second baseman with more heart."

Kruk: "Did I ever tell you what Darren Daulton used to say about heart? He'd say you have no heart, Karl. He --"

Ravech finally snaps, letting out a Karate Kid-like yell and flipping over the desk with one large heave, revealing Kruk in jeans, Reynolds in dirt-streaked baseball pants, and Gammons in boxer shorts covered with pictures of Theo Epstein. Muffled shouts and wild camera panning dominate the television for a few moments until the coverage is switched to yet another re-run of the World's Strongest Man Competition in Hamburg, Germany from your Worldwide Leader in sports coverage. Tune in tomorrow at 11!

[Vris]

*stares in awe at the television...

"Can John Kruk get any fatter?"

[ifspuds]

*doubled over laughing*

Now that's a post with heart.

[gordyhulten]

Post #277 needs a nomination for something. Primie, Oscar for best screenwriting, Pulitizer, Nobel Prize for Satire?

I don't know. But something.

"No need for toilet paper, son!"