Bleacher Report - Articles by Illya Harrell

What the Cincinnati Reds Can Do with $8.5 Million

Illya Harrell — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 04:14:46 -0500

A couple of days ago the Cincinnati Reds dumped $8.5 million by not picking up the option year of catcher Ramon Martinez. Now let's say that the Reds don't go all nutters and start trading like a stockbroker on crack.

What do we do with this new cash?

Here is a novel idea—one that Reds' owner, Bob Castellini may wish to consider: Tuck it under the mattress and save it for a rainy day.

Yes, it is a lot of loot. But it relieves most of the fat wad Scott Rolen is set to earn next season.

It also allows the Reds keep inning eating pitchers, Aaron Harang and Bronson Arroyo. We can hang onto closer Coco Cordero for another year.

So just sit tight Bobby. Instruct your General Manager, Walt Jocketty, not to touch a phone. Give him the wrong dates for the winter meetings. Take away his matches to disable his smoke signaling skills.

Thinking about a free agent? Stop! The Reds have no glaring weaknesses at any position that $8.5 million would buy.

Sure, everyone can always use more pitching. But who could that money buy? Doubtful anyone from the A or B list. So that leaves the no comp free agents. There is no one there who would improve the club.

Well, with the exception of Pedro Martinez, Jason Schmidt, or John Smoltz. But with any of those guys you would also need to purchase a time machine and that would take you way over budget.

A lot has been made over the Reds shortstop situation. Many in Reds' country have their eyes on Marco Scutaro.

Horrible idea.

Why? First off, more than a few teams are looking at him. Which means a bidding war. Second, and so much more obvious is the fact that he is 34-years-old and had a career year in the final season of his contract.

Scutaro had career highs in nearly every offensive category. The list is huge. Batting average, runs, RBI, homers, OBP, SLG, OBP+, sacrifice flies, groupies—you get the picture. Hopefully Mr. Castellini will as well.

And besides, what's not to like about Paul Janish? At the beginning of last season we had no problem penciling in Alex Gonzalez at short. Nobody expected him to hit. He was just a slick glove.

Let's give Janish a no pressure look and see what he can do with the stick. You're right. Probably about .230 and five fluke homers. With the glove though, Janish can pick it with the best of them.

So what is the difference between Gonzalez and Janish?

Answer: Not enough to go after Marco Scutaro.

And please, Mr. Castellini, restrain Jocketty from signing any more centerfielders... ever.

B/R, How Much Money Do I Owe You?

Illya Harrell — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 14:50:29 -0500

To the fine folks who run this site, I need to apologize. Honestly, I had no idea we were suppose to pay for the privilege to post our articles on your servers.

The recent bickering over how the site is run has led to my newly acquired knowledge. Again, sorry, I promise I must have skipped over the payment part while reading the B/R "Terms of Service."

Okay. I didn't really read them. Does anybody?

I know a lot of people who skip the "Terms of Service" section and just check the box. I can't be the only one who skirted out of paying. Another thing, I suggest that you guys and gals make it a little more visible that this is a pay site.

Let's be fair.

For starters, it's not like back in college when we had three houses receiving cable from one box. As noted, this was an honest mistake.

Maybe this is Karma coming back to bite me in the pooch.

Next up, I have no clue how you guys work your subscription process. My profile says I have been a member for five months. But, and you feel free to check your records on this, I have been fairly inactive for the past month.

So unless we are charged to read articles and make the occasional comment, I don't think I should owe you for October.

But if it is an annual or lifetime subscription fee, I guess this plea holds no weight.

Here's a good question, though (and hopefully one that will get me off the hook).

Is it only writers who happen to be ranked in a specific section that are required to pay the dues?

I mean, admittedly, I was ranked in the top-50 MLB writers for about three days. Did you send an email during that time? If so, it must have gone straight to my spam box and was subsequently deleted.

If I have to pay to be ranked, I'm not interested. I write for fun—not accolades.

In fact, I'm just happy to have a place to post my scribblings. Sorry. That is obvious brown-nosing. Listen though, throw a brother a bone. I swear, I did not know!

Yes, the Yahoo! headlines are saying the recession is over. But I'm still, like...dirt farmer poor. So any discounts would be greatly appreciated.

Do you guys offer those online coupon codes?

Cincinnati Reds' Offseason: So Far, So Good

Illya Harrell — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:46:11 -0500

Reds' fans should be digging the offseason so far.

First, Diamond Dick Pole was sacked—well, that was during the last week of play (the unofficial start of Reds offseason).

Anybody would be better than Pole.

While many Reds' faithful were clamoring for Ted Power or Mario Soto, Bryan Price is a swell hire.

Price is a former Coach of the Year and Pitching Coach of the Year for both the Mariners and Diamondbacks. At 47, he's got some experience, but isn't a decrepit old man with jowls.

Like Dick Pole.

Price tendered his resignation to Arizona in May of this past season after manager Bob Melvin was replaced by A.J. Hinch, a 34-year-old with zero skipper experience at any level.

Pole had been Reds' manager Dusty Baker's pitching coach at every one of his managerial posts—San Francisco, Chicago, and Cincinnati. It will be interesting to see how he treats the new blood.

More interesting will be to see how Price handles a maligned staff full of untapped promise. He'll probably get Edinson Volquez back from Tommy John surgery by August of next season, if not sooner.

It will be fun to see how he treats the healthy arms he has and what he can do with those guys. As noted earlier, anyone is better than Dick Pole.

It would be nice to see Johnny Cueto put together a full season of quality performances from the hill.

Homer Bailey made great strides last season.

Wonder if Price can turn him into the elite hurler of whom Reds' fans have been hearing tell for the past...well, seems like forever.

The Reds did not offer to renew Ramon Hernandez's contract.

Hernandez was a solid catcher last season, but he got hurt and Ryan Hanigan sort of "Wally Pipped" him.

The move made sense.

When a team, especially a small budget team, has two comparable players at the same position why would they pay a guy a lot when they can pay the other guy Major League minimum wage?

Hanigan proved durable and one of the better defensive catchers in the league.

There is not exactly a ton of noteworthy news coming off the Reds wires. These two tid-bits seem, in the words of Larry David, "pret-ty good."

New York Yankees: Bad for the Bronx, Bad for Baseball

Illya Harrell — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 14:27:59 -0400

In the not so distant past the New York Yankees embodied everything good about baseball and America. Slowly that faded. Yankee lore officially died on August 19, 2006—ground breaking day of New Yankee Stadium.

This is a story about corporate greed, political cronyism, and arrogant negligence to the neighborhood where the ghosts of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Mickey Mantle, and Thurman Munson occasionally pitch tent and drink beers with ghost fans of those "Bronx Bombers".

The new and the old Yankee Stadiums both stand in New York state's 16th Congressional District. Outside of the beltway, it is more commonly known as the South Bronx.

New York's 16th Congressional District is 98 percent Hispanic and black.

According to the 2000 census, it is the most impoverished of the 435 districts in the country. How can this be? Aren't the Yankees the wealthiest team in baseball?

The year 2000 was a pivotal one for the older white men who wear expensive suits to the ballpark. The team's owner, George Steinbrenner, hired Randy Levine as Yankees' president.

Levine's Wikipedia bio states interesting facts:

—"Levine served as principal associate deputy attorney general and principal deputy associate attorney general at the U.S. Department of Justice during the Reagan administration."

—"(Levine) negotiated the 1996 MLB labor agreement."

—Under Rudy Giuliani, Levine worked as "New York City’s Deputy Mayor for Economic Development, Planning and Administration from 1997 to 2000. In January 2000, he announced his resignation...he was named president of the Yankees the next day."

—"Levine was a 'bundler' for John McCain's 2008 presidential campaign, and raised between $100,000 and $250,000 for McCain in 2008.

In the 2008 Presidential Election, Barack Obama won the 16th Congressional District of New York with 95 percent of the vote to McCain's five percent—the largest margin of all 435 districts in the country.

So to say that Randy Levine represents residents of the South Bronx is like saying 90-year-old kooky cat lady across the street would make a swell Miss America.

While it may never be proven, to think Levine did not use his political clout, greased some palms, and stuffed the pockets of state, city, and Bronx Borough politicians is kindly called naive.

Not so kindly called, [insert tactless insult to mental capacity].

This New York Daily News article makes clear good Mayor Bloomberg took it upon himself and, "rushed a bill through the Legislature to give 22-acres of Macombs Dam Park and part of John Mullaly Park as sites for the new stadium and its parking garages."

Yes, the Yankees—whoops, the taxpayers are suppose to eventually replace the acreage.

Wait a second. How do you replace fully grown trees in a microcosm of concrete? Go ahead laugh. It actually turned out to be just over 25-acres with trees as old as 80 years. Say it. Tree hugger.

[Inserting crude and tactless insult to mental capacity]

Land rape.

On those 25-plus acres there used to be 377 fully grown trees. To put it in better perspective, 70 percent of the trees in the area.

The New Yankee Stadium and their "up yours Bronx" bosses stole 70 percent of the mature trees.

This in the South Bronx, an area with already breathtaking rates of asthma. And take a guess where the highest rates of asthma are located in the South Bronx. Ready?

Near Yankee stadium, and all the trees that were plowed for construction of the $1.5 billion playpen.

Quick biology refresher: Humans breath oxygen. They exhale carbon dioxide. Plant life (the bigger the better) takes in the human's exhaled carbon dioxide and turns it back into fresh oxygen.

This is just a guess. But lowball, it's safe to say 50% of breathable air has disappeared from a community.

Little league baseball fields, tennis courts, handball, football—all plowed down.

Aside from the stolen physical fitness, it's just lovely to see these recreationally displaced kids grow up with loads of free time in a neighborhood where they risk big trouble with only one poor choice of a so-called friend.

The Yankees, though, they're nice guys. After all the club did pay for the stadium.

Well...sort of. While the Yankees did pay for the stadium itself, they left residents of the state, and worse, residents of the city who live in the state with an ever growing deficit that currently stands at about $550 million.

About $180 million to replace the parks (sans trees), $25 million to demolish the existing stadium.

And, oh yeah, the Yankees no longer have to pay rent (as they did in old Yankee stadium). So go ahead and tack on about another $150 million. Foregone property tax revenue? Chump change, $44 million.

Good gosh! Forgotten was the one positive for the South Bronx community. The jobs. Indeed, step right up and mustard down the wiener for minimum wage, 20 hours a week, for seven months.

Hey now, wait, what happened to the old Yankee Stadium's wiener slingers?

So who is to blame for this monumental boondoggle?

Remember how much mom paid for that snappy "official MLB merchandise" Yankee jersey? What was it? Like $175? Take a look at the tag.

Ever even heard of Macau?

This article would never have been written if it weren't for my friend, and life long Bronx resident, Goon, and some of his insightful commentary in defense of my article that criticized a dark day in Yankee history... 74 years ago.

When I told him my idea, Goon was especially helpful providing links and a "go get 'em boy" attitude. If I never read his passionate comments, your eyes would not be here.

Here are a few that made me so irate I had to research and write this:

"All you have to do is take a look at the Yankee Stadium crowd to know that NONE of those people live in the neighborhood. They are all from Manhattan, the more exclusive areas of Brooklyn, the suburbs of upstate NY, and from the suburbs of New Jersey."

"They (Yankees) attract a fan base that...lacks any sense of social justice and fair play in the world."

And finally, this almost served as an outline.

"The Yankee organization does nothing for their local community except for displace residents, knock little leaguers out of the borough by bulldozing their long time parks and playing fields to build parking lots for Yankee games, cause massive traffic jams by blocking streets and major roads with an overabundance of police presence and use up all our local police force man power (which further costs Bronx area residents valuable tax dollars that could be spend for more community oriented projects such as health care, child aid, transportation, waste removal, etc.)

"Who isn't readily willing to admit that the Yankees hurt a lot of people involved with the game of baseball and also those who have nothing to do with it."

Thanks man.

Eating Another Plate of Crow

Illya Harrell — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 11:59:50 -0400

Eating crow is a fine meal when it benefits one's team. Scott Rolen has been nothing short of fantastic since joining the Reds. And all I did was whine and complain when first hearing the trade rumors. There are times I love being wrong.

After one hit in his first 13 at bats, Rolen has hit a solid .289 as a Red. A far cry from Edwin Encarnacion who is currently batting .216 with the Jays.

Defensively, unlike most, I never had anything against Edwin's play in the field. It was always my belief that he saved more runs by fielding balls that other third basemen could only dream of reaching. Sure, he threw a few into the stands, but I put up with that.

Seeing Rolen diving all over the place and knocking down as many (if not more) than Edwin with accurate throws to first, well, I now know what a great third baseman looks like.

Not surprisingly Edwin has committed four errors in his 27 games in a Toronto uniform. Rolen? Zilch, zero, nada.

Yes, the Reds did give up a couple of arms in the deal.

Josh Roenicke, while still very young, has been totally ineffective. Thus far with the Jays he has allowed 10 earned in 13.1 innings of work with a 1.8 WHIP.

Zach Stewart, also a kid, may or may not turn out to be something special.

My opinion of the trade has gone full circle.

We sent one pitching prospect and, at best, a middle-grade reliever for a stud third baseman while ridding ourselves of Encarnacion who contributed nothing to the clubhouse and just a tad more at the dish and in the field—maybe that should be the other way around.

What did we get in return? An All-Star caliber third baseman who provides some much needed veteran leadership in the dugout.

You're probably not asking yourself how this translates into wins and losses. But you most likely haven't thought about that yet.

Since the Reds acquired the services of Scott Rolen they are 17-9 in the games which he has played.

Flip side, the Jays are 12-15 post trade.

Rolen does remain an injury risk, and has already spent time on the DL. But that was a fluke. After a heater nailed his noggin, he was forced out for about 12 or 13 ballgames.

Before and since then he has been a mainstay in the lineup. The same can not be said for Encarnacion. Even with Rolen's concussion like symptoms that sent him to the DL, Edwin has played just one more game than Rolen.

What am I thinking?

I'm thinking 2010 may not be yet another rebuilding year. Barring serious injury, we could once again make a serious run. Yes, I know—but let a brother dream for another off season.

If you have never tasted it, believe me, crow is quite a delicacy.

Yankee Fans 1935: Celebrating Almost 75 Years of No Class

Illya Harrell — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 16:56:36 -0400

Yankee Stadium, Sept. 14, 1935, the Detroit Tigers came to town for a double header. Hank Greenberg, a native New Yorker, and the first formidable Jewish baseball player did not gather a hit in either game and struck out five times.

In the 1998 film, The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg, his son Stephen detailed the indescribable sadness his father felt upon returning from the host stadium of his childhood heroes and favorite team.

The New York American chronicled the day, "The hooting and jeering which some of the fans turned loose against Hank wasn't much of a tribute to the sportsmanship of his home town."

Even as tens of thousands European Jews escaped to Ellis Island from what was becoming a mass genocide, Yankee fans bombarded Greenberg with earfuls of anti-Semitic insults.

The Tigers won the American League, finishing three games ahead of the Yankees. And in six games beat the Chicago Cubs to win the 1935 World Series.

Did the 1935 Yankee fans feel a sense of entitlement regarding the AL Pennant?

Probably.

When a team gets so accustomed to winning year-in and year-out, it is only natural for expectations to be high. What is not natural, and actually quite baffling, is the treatment of a native son on a day where he contributed nothing in either game of the twin bill.

It is interesting to compare the Yankee fans of yesteryear to their modern day counterparts. Of course any fan who would scream anything remotely racist or anti-Semitic these politically correct days would be escorted out and given a lifetime ban.

But does that sense of entitlement remain?

Maybe. Maybe not. It is impossible to judge while the Yankees are amongst the league leaders each year. A few years of mediocrity, and the answer will become evident.

One thing is for certain.

There will never be a day remotely close to that 74 years ago when a home town Jewish kid struck out five times, got no hits, but was still the object of "hooting and jeering"—much of which blasted his race/religion—while at the same time the same group of human beings were being terrorized and brutally murdered on the other side of the Atlantic.

Innocent Joy: Opening a Fresh Pack Of Cards

Illya Harrell — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 16:54:32 -0400

Is that not the most incredible Eric Davis baseball card ever? Man, I loved that guy, easily my all-time favorite Reds' player. "The Class and the Ass" was the immediate title that came to mind when I saw the Don Mattingly and Mark McGwire card.

During the warm months, on the first Thursday, the city shuts down the street below my apartment building and holds an outdoor concert. Vendors fill the avenue and try to hock their wares.

In my apartment, on those Thursdays, I can not avoid the music—which to myself is exactly three notches above God-awful.

There is one brilliant thing about those outdoor concerts: Kettle corn.

For those unfamiliar with kettle corn it has a light sugary coating... but far from it's overweight brother, caramel corn. From the first concert to last Thursday I have bought a two-feet tall, five dollar bag off of my kettle corn dealer.

So last Thursday I headed down the elevator to get my monthly fix. For the first time they had moved the stage. I remain convinced this little deviation was concocted to further annoy me with what supposedly passes as music.

Instead of the quick jaunt strait ahead, my kettle corn dealer had moved his location to a place where I passed other vendors. I love outdoor vendors and think everything should be sold from street kiosks—sort of like the wild west way one would acquire a coonskin cap.

One of the first vendors I saw had a box filled with late 80s and early 90s, mass produced (and worthless) baseball cards. It barely registered. I was on a mission to the kettle corn man.

With my huge bag of in tow, I slowed down to absorb my surroundings—thankfully the music had yet to start.

I stopped at the card dealer's booth. He was paying attention to people who were interested in his more expensive new stuff with pieces of uniform somehow implanted in the card.

I don't understand the appeal of those cards or the people who buy them.

I began rummaging the box of cheap stuff. Wax packs and cellos. Not to be confused with the three-fold rack pack, the cello also has a plastic see through wrapping where you are able to see the first and last of the 33 cards.

Priced at 50 cents per pack or 13 packs for five bucks, I felt like a kid in a candy store. After getting the dudes attention I told him I'd take 13 packs and handed him my fin.

During my youth I was an obsessive collector. My first two packs were bought in 1978 while I was in a Ben Franklin store with my mom—I was seven.

I collected from '78 to '88.

In 1989, I went to college and considered myself way too cool for my childhood hobby.

But seeing the cards of my younger days was a red-letter event in my otherwise ordinary day-to-day existence. I grabbed all four of his 1988 Donruss cellos and nine 1990 Fleer cellos.

I'm still sitting on three unopened packs. For this article, I thought it appropriate to open the tenth pack.

In my previous nine, I have so far scored a 1988 rookie Greg Maddox and a first year Fleer Ken Griffey Jr.

In the pack I opened for this article, besides the Davis and A.L. All-Star Mattingly and McGwire, the highlight was a rookie or second year Gary Sheffield... back when his body was that of a normal human ballplayer before sporting his modern day steroid beast look.

Dave Winfield, Tony Gwynn, and Andre Dawson were some other big time players in the pack. I also got a Willie Fraser who wrote for the some baseball website as myself last season.

I opened each pack in the same fashion as in my youth. Carefully moving each card down to cover the name of the next card while trying to remember or guess the player's identity.

Flash backing to my preteen and teenage years has been nothing less than dreamlike.

That Eric Davis card is exactly how I remember his stroke. Long stride, bat back until the last second when his lighting quick wrists would crush balls over the wall in Riverfront Stadium.

It's crippling to know I have only three packs left. I've vowed not to open them until the first Thursday of next month. Hopefully, there will be another street concert and the baseball card will have a booth.

That will make the horrendous excuse for music, much more tolerable.

College Football is the Best Thing About Loving a Cruddy Baseball Team

Illya Harrell — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 09:02:11 -0400

I'm a Cincinnati Reds' fan. They are nowhere near contention for a spot in the postseason...per usual.

One would think I'd be upset over this. Not the case. It's Saturday morning, and I haven't slept a wink—I'm way too excited.

I have this ritual on college football Saturdays.

First, I do usually sleep the night before. So let's assume I did.

I wake up, brew some rocket fuel coffee, grab my trusty ruler, clipboard, and a copy of the game slate from the Wednesday U.S.A. Today. Why Wednesday? Because me and few other guys, we each pick eight games against the spread.

Each week...for the next 14 weeks. Just the thought makes me smile.

I have two copies. A clean one where I have carefully rulered strait lines under each game. This one I will use to keep the scores.

My other copy got a heavy workout last night.

The lines fluctuate from Wednesday to Friday. Not so much this week. In fact, the only game where the line moved more than a point was the Buffalo-UTEP game. It moved in UTEP's favor.

From the beginning of the week though, I was dead set on Buffalo. They, along with Western Michigan over Michigan, were my only two solid, gut feel picks.

It was quite strenuous on Friday night in the Harrell apartment. I studied almost every match up, and was very careful not to hastily mark the sheet. Once it is marked, there is no going back.

Of course it is totally legal to switch picks before the player emails his or her choices. But it is very bad luck. A certain 1-7 week, and for the first week...that is doom.

I saw "his or her" even though there is not an official "her" in the league; however, mid-season, slumping participants have been known to let their wives or lady friends make their picks. This seems to work, and then the next week the guy makes his own picks and fails miserably.

More bad luck. I would never, ever consider letting my wife or girlfriend make my picks for me. I mean, you know, if I had one.

Is this making sense? Am I rambling? Does it seem like I'm just killing time before kickoff?

There is more to my Saturday pregame ritual than just coffee and ruler lines.

I write down every televised game and channel for a quick reference and proper flipping. I also print everyone's picks from the league website.

This allows me to gauge when and/or I will take my nap. In week one, unless I go down 0-2 in my 12:00 p.m. games, a nap is out of the question...again, bad luck.

If Penn St. and Minnesota both fail to cover, I will take a brief nap during the 3:30 games.

Now I am a fan, a big fan, of the Marshall Thundering Herd...I can see the stadium from my kitchen window. I could've easily gotten tickets, not only tickets but really good seats for today's 4:30 contest versus a pretty good FCS team, Southern Illinois.

But going to the game is a lose-lose situation. They should win. If they don't, I will have missed some of my key picks and leave the stadium with a knot in my gut.

Western Michigan, Notre Dame, and the Illinois versus Mizzou games all are set for 3:30 kickoffs.

And besides, being in the sun would tucker me out and I would miss the prime time battles; Bama and Tech, BYU and Oklahoma. Wow, talk about some serious channel flipping.

Even though I shied away from the game, a lot of the guys picked LSU, so I have to stay up for that 10:30 game and pull for Washington to stay within 17 points of the Tigers.

Jiminy Christmas, I am going to be so busy today.

And for anyone who thinks that it's easy work, do you have any idea the strain on the eyes from 14 strait hours of television? The stiffness wears the body after sitting docile for incredible amounts of time.

And, oh yeah, I think the Reds play today. It is such a relief not to be a fan of a good baseball team.

Bar Chief? I'll Have One Ball Player with a Twist of Character, Please

Illya Harrell — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 20:48:06 -0400

I was reading an article earlier today that mentioned John Kruk. What a corporate shill he has become. May as well put Walt Disney's Mickey Mouse ears on his head. I'm ashamed he's a fellow West Virginian. Call me the John Kruk Dixie Chick.

He used to be cool. Many of you are familiar with this story. I've heard two different versions.

The original, and more believable, was that a lady was with her kids and saw Kruk walking through a stadium corridor, in uniform, smoking a cigarette.

She said something like, "I can't believe a professional athlete is smoking!"

Kruk's response, "Lady, I ain't an athlete. I'm a ball player."

He later wrote a book that claimed the lady recognized him in a restaurant and said the same thing. Like any woman would recognize John Kruk.

Listen up, kiddie corp...the pre-steroid era was not like this. All the way back. All through baseball history there have been guys who've gone against the grain.

Who knows? Maybe you like the stale post-game interview where the guy who hit four homers gives all of the credit to the team's pitcher. Or the hurler who just completed a no-no is giving all kudos to the sticks.

You don't even have to go very far back.

If Rickey Henderson were being interviewed for his post-game heroics, you think he'd credit the pitchers? Hell no!

"Rickey won this game for Rickey's team. What team is Rickey playing for this month?" Doesn't bother to looks at jersey. "Rickey is the best. Rickey is the prettiest."

Name some true characters playing today. Ozzie Guillen? No, he's managing now.

How about Tim Flannery, the Jeff Spicoli, of the San Diego Padres? Nope, Flannery is a third base coach with a West coast team.

He retired from playing because he could not land a job for a team located near any tasty waves.

He had a baseball card holding a board.

His best pal on the team was Eric Show...try telling me there wasn't big league partying afloat. They were characters damnit.

You don't have to smoke or do drugs to be a big league character. In fact totally the opposite.

Sandy Koufax would not pitch on the Jewish sabbath.

Koufax had character.

Do you see Kevin Youkilis or Ryan Braun taking Friday nights, or Saturday day games off?

No. Why? Because they lack character.

All other professional sports have characters. Take, for example, Washington Redskin running back, Clinton Portis and his outlandish wigs and entire get up during off day interviews. He has fun with it...and his deadpan delivery is stinkin' hilarious.

Think Derek Jeter would do that? No. Why? Yeah, you've got it by now.

I'd bet anything that shill, Kruk, only smokes his cigarettes on the back porch.

ESPN -> ABC -> Disney should go ahead and animate John Kruk. At least that way Baseball Tonight would be tolerable.

Pirates, Reds, September, and Pop Culture

Illya Harrell — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 04:03:59 -0400

Any U.S. white kid who went through puberty during the 1980s and is not familiar with the work of the recently deceased film director John Hughes is either Amish, has a brain more than a tad addled by booze and/or drugs, or is currently in a coma.

"Yeah, but the thing is, I'm kinda like the leader. Kinda like the king of the dipsh*ts."

Over one-quarter of their remaining 32 games, the Cincinnati Reds play the Pittsburgh Pirates.

That quote from Anthony Michael Hall's character in Hughes' cinematic masterpiece, Sixteen Candles, is relevant to the race for the cellar of the NL Central.

With Monday's doubleheader sweep, the Reds took a 4.5 game lead over the Bucs in the divisional battle for "the king of the dipsh*ts."

Ever have one of those articles where every word flows as easily as nails on a chalk board? This is one of those pieces.

Why is that?

Answer: The first of September.

Autumn is in the air. This, like every other Reds recent September, means one more battle for futility. Sure, we can look forward to the call-ups.

Other than that most are looking forward to the first kickoff—whether one's poison is the Buckeyes, Mountaineers, Hoosiers, Panthers, Thundering Herd, Skins, Steelers, Bengals, or Browns.

Football is a swell pacifier for the end of the baseball season.

Some of the big city boys and girls will have until the middle of November to root for their respective baseball teams. Not us.

For the next seven months Reds' country is stuck in a state of big league purgatory.

Now, please don't be mistaken, there are plenty of things to do during the offseason. Mainly apologizing to friends and family for your extended absence.

For the diehards, video games exist.

For the die hard (and much cooler) old souls of baseball, brushing the dust off the old Strat-O-Matic or Statis Pro board games will ease the pain. They take much longer than a video game and are more cerebral—just like the real thing...well, almost.

Playing the 1976 season over again is a lovely way to make it through those cold winter months.

Catching up on movies and music can also cure the baseball blues.

What am I going to do?

I'll watch some of the Reds versus Bucs games. Mainly to get a peek at the kids lucky enough to get a September call-up. I'll hit Joan C. Edwards Stadium for some Marshall football.

I've already started listening to the Roses, Sloan, Mats, Mondays, and Big Star again.

Before I clean off my coffee table and set up my Statis Pro Baseball game, I am off to rent The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, and Sixteen Candles.

September, or offseason for the Reds, is here.

And you know what? Life is good, and we'll all be fine.

I Am In Love With GnomeGirl

Illya Harrell — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 20:22:15 -0400

Meet GnomeGirl, my future wife. Sometime last week while Googling myself, I noticed another enlightened site (GnomeGirl) had paid B/R a couple a million for the right to print some of my work.

I'd like to thank Zander and company for creating and maintaining this site.

I will never be able to repay Bleacher Report for bringing GnomeGirl into my life.

I walked home from the library—where I do my daily Googling of myself. Different IP addresses, that is the key to achieving the fame of having your name "suggested" by the Google toolbar.

Back at my apartment, I slipped out of my public clothing and into something more comfortable. Specifically, loose velour pants, and one of my shiny glittered black t-shirts.

Then I sat and spun my computer chair around to the fridge and, in one motion, popped open the door grabbed the two-liter of bubbly water, still spinning, I poured a tall glass, and put the bottle back.

I closed the refrigerator door using my right foot. Using the left, I shoved off and slid into perfect position in front of my mahogany computer desk.

Bubbly water in hand, hair still perfect.

It is a ritual for me to quickly login to Bleacher Report and check out the number of girlfans accumulated over the past hour.

I'm not rude. I always post on their bulletin board the obligatory, "Thank you. I am flattered that you find me so hot."

After responding to all new girlfans, I was once again free to satisfy my own needs.

For the sole purpose of achieving Google fame, I built a program that allows one to easily change their IP address.

Blame it on a full moon, blame it on the rain, but there was something different that evening.

I decided to click on the GnomeGirl site.

Wow! Not only was she a beautiful sport nut, but she has impeccable taste in writing.

GnomeGirl must be rather poor. She could afford only a few of my articles.

The one's she chose though...

My early work. The toils from my salad days as a mere "member" and "contributor" to Bleacher Report.

GnomeGirl had pulled her pennies together and chosen my most romantic article, "Best Wedding Gift Ever." Then and there, I knew GnomeGirl was wifeable. I knew GnomeGirl would make an honest man of me.

No more video chat with the Romanian, Bulgarian, and Macedonian ladies.

I could not let GnomeGirl get away. I contacted her immediately.

Having learned from the time I sent a "thank you" email to the mother of one of my good friends, I now understand that to compliment the bosom of a lady is not appropriate when sending the first email—much less an attachment of a scanned drawing.

So, believe you me, the message I sent GnomeGirl was oozing the smooth.

The message was sent from my most private account—in fact, it was brand new... specifically created for GnomeGirl.

I just assumed it would be about an hour before she would get back to me. I was about to get up and look at myself in the mirror when the new account chimed as soon as I started to get out of my seat.

Yes!

GnomeGirl was kind enough to send lots of ED medication advertisements. I couldn't help but to chuckle, and imagine what an unbelievably kind heart would send such a variety of choices that I would be free to order with the anonymity of the Internet.

I wrote GnomeGirl back thanking her, but also assuring her pretty little head that there was nothing to worry about.

It was after the second time I wrote that she purchased the services of an official London based barrister. I needed not to read the email.

GnomeGirl wanted to meet me in Nigeria.

I replied to the barristers email to make sure GnomeGirl would be there.

After giving the nice man my bank account info, social security number, mother's maiden name, and scanned copy of my birth certificate—he informed me that GnomeGirl was already there waiting to meet me.

The barrister went on to say that she had agreed to be my wife, and that if it were okay with me next Sunday, September 6, 2009 we will be wed.

To look at her photo would you imagine her so shy? Not me. But I like it!

Tomorrow I am catching a flight to Lagos, Nigeria to meet GnomeGirl face-to-face for the first time.

Next Sunday is our wedding date.

And all of my B/R friends are invited. This is hard for me to say, oh gosh, here goes...

To my many girlfans—I am officially off the market. Believe me when I say that it is not you. It is me.

Cherish your memories, but please do not blame GnomeGirl.

Milton Bradley: Borderline Personality Disorder?

Illya Harrell — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 18:09:16 -0400

Is Milton Bradley a jerk? Well, it's probably safe to say that not many baseball (especially Cubs) fans would invite him to be a FriendFace buddy.

But back to the question—yes, Bradley is a jerk. Big time.

However, anyone who has watched or heard of his odd moods and violent behavior should be asking, "What in the hell would drive someone to be such a lunatic?"

For a psychiatrist or any student who has paid attention through an abnormal psychology course, the diagnosis is glaringly obvious.

Bradley has all the symptoms of a Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

Yes, that does sound like a lame excuse...and perhaps even an imaginary disorder.

According to The National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), BPD a "serious mental illness." Many Tom Cruise-types dismiss it, but the brain is a very tricky device.

NIMH lists the symptoms of BPD:

"Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a serious mental illness characterized by pervasive instability in moods, interpersonal relationships, self-image, and behavior. This instability often disrupts family and work life, long-term planning, and the individual's sense of self-identity."

Sound like anyone we know?

Mood stabilizing medication along with anti-depressants can be given to BPD patients. It is unknown and probably unlikely that Bradley is taking medication.

Perhaps the most telling signal, "While a person with depression or bipolar disorder typically endures the same mood for weeks, a person with BPD may experience intense bouts of anger, depression, and anxiety that may last only hours, or at most a day."

During the 2008 season, while Bradley was with Texas, a T.V. announcer said something like how great Josh Hamilton's comeback story was and how Milton Bradley should take notes.

After the game Bradley chased and tried to confront the announcer. Luckily he was restrained.

Bradley broke into tears after the incident, saying something to the effect of, "I've been a good boy this year."

If that, along with his past behavior, did not send a humongous red flags to general managers around the league looking to sign the 2009 free agent, then they should be held more accountable than Bradley.

Especially if the GM were dim enough to give him more than a one-year deal. More so if they offered a $30 million/three-year contract.

In fact, fans of any team with such a bird-brained GM should be irate and refuse to buy tickets until Jim Hendry (whoops) is kicked to the curb.

All the signs were there. Only one team was dumb enough to sign Bradley to a multi-year deal.

This article is in no way an attempt to give Bradley a free pass.

Milton Bradley is mentally ill.

Illya Harrell is not a psychiatrist, nor is he employed in a field remotely related to the subject. He does, however, hold a worthless Psychology undergraduate degree.

Pete Rose Killed Mario Soto's Career: Part II—Evidence For Naysayers

Illya Harrell — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 19:26:07 -0400

Since yesterday's article, "Pete Rose Killed Mario Soto's Career," a few folks have doubted the validity of my argument. For some reason, I cannot let go of this.

It might have something to do with the fact that I am so right, and the naysayers are so wrong.

Pete Rose's gambling addiction led him to over pitch Mario Soto. By sending him out to throw on three days rest in 1985, Soto's career was cut short. He retired at age 31, after three injury plagued seasons.

First, for the people who say that what he did while as a manager of the club should have no bearing on his reinstatement to baseball.

Let me remind you:

Pete Rose was an acting player/manager until Aug. 17, 1986—after he killed Mario Soto's throwing arm.

So your argument holds no weight. He was a player as well as a manager.

For those who say, "It was 1985, things were different back then. Pitchers threw on three days rest all the time."

Yeah? Show me one.

I did a little research for a comment I made to Andrew Nuscler, a writer whose work I enjoy tremendously and opinions I generally agree with.

But not this time.

The knuckle ball is the easiest pitch on the arm. That's why you see guys like the Niekro's and the Perry's pitching until they are ready for the old folks home.

One would expect that they would be the most likely to go on three days rest.

Remember, Pete Rose sent Mario Soto to the mound on three days rest 19 of his 36 starts in 1985—while Rose was still a player.

Let's look at the knuckle ballers:

Phil Niekro, 32 starts in 1985...two on three days of rest.

His brother Joe, 35 starts...five on three days rest.

Doyle Alexander, while he did not solely rely on the knuckle ball, had 34 starts in 1985...five on three days rest.

Tom Candiotti saved his career by learning the pitch. He did not start tossing it until 1986. For kicks and giggles, let's toss his 1986 numbers into the mix. Candiotti started 34 games...three on three days rest.

Shoot, let's throw in the league's games-started leader, Bert Blyleven.

In 1985, Blyleven started 37 games...four on three days rest.

Okay, that's four knuckle ballers, plus Blyleven.

A total of 172 starts in 1985 (1986 in Candiotti's case).

How many of those 172 games were pitched on three days rest?

Answer: 19

Mario Soto, in 1985, pitched on three days rest 19 of his 36 starts.

So for everyone who uses the, "it was 1985" excuse...the game had already evolved from the pre-1900 mindset.

Try to prove me wrong. I'll welcome it with open arms and kiss your feet if you can find a pitcher in 1985 who even threw half the number of games on three days rest as Soto.

The most I could find (with limited searching) was Joe Niekro and Alexander with five each.

Soto, again, 19 of 36. Knuckle ballers, plus Blyleven, 19 of 172.

Pete Rose was an acting player, as well as manager, in 1985.

Anyone who uses either the "what he did while managing" or "it was 1986" very flawed arguments needs to take their Pete Rose love and set it aside for a moment.

Then take a look at the cold hard facts.

Pete Rose ruined the career of a possible Hall of Famer. Pete Rose should not even be considered for reinstatement. I don't know Pete Rose—so it is nothing personal against the man. I do, however, know the numbers.

And for anyone to think that he was not betting on baseball while a player for the Reds...Examine the box score from the last game of the '84 season—look, and compare the number of times Soto pitched on three days rest to other pitchers in 1985.

I just do not get people who find flaws in this argument. That's the main reason I had to write this. I didn't wake up at 4 p.m. thinking I was going to write a case for my solid and unbreakable argument.

This article is not meant to offend anyone's opinion. If anyone was offended, I apologize. Just facts I felt the need to throw out there.

Pete Rose Killed Mario Soto's Career

Illya Harrell — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 18:54:03 -0400

Today is the 20-year anniversary of Pete Rose waking up, knowing he would not drive to the ballpark and manage the Reds.

What do you think he did that morning?

My guess: he probably called his bookie, got the morning lines, called him back, and placed some bets.

Still believing he had done nothing wrong during his tenure in the Majors.

If an adult wants to bet on a game, it should be legal. If they want to marry their pet goat, it should be legal. Smoke crack? Sure, have at it buddy. Just don't expect emergency room treatment after you smoke too much.

Unless a person is harming someone else, I think adults should be allowed to do anything they damn well please. To me, that is what's known as freedom.

With my personal views on morality now out in the open, Pete Rose should never be elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Never.

I am a huge Reds fan. I do believe him when he says he only bet on Reds' games. I don't give a rat's fat one.

When you sign on to work in a business, you agree to follow their rules. But still, that is not my main beef here.

Mario Soto would not have been forced, by injury, to retire at only 31-years-old had Pete Rose never managed him.

So, Rose did harm someone else. He cut a career short by at least six or seven years.

He cost Mario Soto millions of dollars.

Before Rose Took over the Reds

For six straight years, Soto's change-up (and other pitches) struck more batters out than any other pitcher in the league. Year in and year out, he ranked among the league leaders in ERA, WHIP, K/9, H/9, and SO/BB.

A three time All-Star, Soto gathered enough votes to make him a top-10 Cy Young Award recipient in four separate seasons.

In other words, Soto was a stud pitcher and the ace of the Reds' staff.

On Aug. 15, 1984, Enter Pete Rose as Manager of the Cincinnati Reds

Soto, until that day, and through his first seven seasons in the big leagues, had started back-to-back games on three days rest exactly seven times.

Twice during pennant races, and once after a poor start where he threw only one third of an inning.

His first start under Rose was on three days rest. Immediately, the results should have been noticed. His next start, Soto leaves after allowing six earned in three innings.

His arm was not used to so much work, and after the three inning performance, he was already hurt. Instead of being placed on the DL, Soto waited 11 days before taking the mound again.

In the final game of that 1984 season, with the Reds 22 games behind the first place San Diego Padres, instead of taking a look at a first year guy like managers usually do, he started Soto.

Again, on three days rest.

Being the season's final game, I think it's safe to say he probably had a little extra riding on it.

In a meaningless game versus the Astros, Rose not only started Soto, he rode him to a hard complete game. The Reds won in the ninth, 7-6. After going up 4-0 early, Soto began getting roughed up.

Soto faced 39 batters during the game—that is a dead-ball era number. Pre-1900's pitch counts on the last game of the season, out of the race by 22 games?

In 1985, Soto started on three days rest in 19 of his 36 starts.

Mario Soto was never the same after the 1985 season. He was 28 years old.

Pete Rose had killed Mario Soto's arm. After failed comebacks, Soto retired three years later.

Not only did Pete Rose break one of the few cardinal sins of baseball, he is also responsible for prematurely ending the career of a player who was on the road to a Hall of Fame career.

So Hank Aaron and others of your ilk, give the commissioner your lame arguments that Rose has paid his price.

Then go have a chat with Mario Soto.

Baseball Gods: Please, Hear Us Out

Illya Harrell — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 11:37:21 -0400

Baseball Gods, you know that we prayed, fasted, and flogged for you to hear our cries.

All Maria and I asked was that Cincinnati Reds' manager, Dusty Baker be fired.

In no way whatsoever did we insist that the man be humiliated in the faces of his friends, family, fans, and you, the heartless Baseball Gods.

Baseball Gods, yes, we are calling you out. Right here, right now.

Maria is a fellow Reds' fan. She is also one of my girl fans on this site (she uses a different picture of course). We talk frequently about the way you Baseball Gods are always trying to teach us that worn out cliché, "Be careful what you ask for."

You know what? We were careful. By the grace of Shoeless Joe Jackson, we were careful. We did not ask for off-the-cuff, willy nilly help.

We fasted for three weeks in late June and early July. We flogged. Yes, we flogged a lot for you Baseball Gods.

I ask you, Baseball Gods... did we spend all of those mornings, mid-mornings, nooners, early afternoons, mid-afternoons, early, mid, late evenings, and three times before sleeping—was all of that flogging in vain?

We flogged our brains out for all of you—yes, even Cap Anson. And for what? The blisters?

Do you have any idea how many blisters we each received? Oh yeah, you do because you are the "all knowing" Baseball Gods.

So I guess you also know that you have turned our Reds into the laughingstock of baseball. And you know that since the All-Star break we have the worst record of all 30 Major League teams.

Since the break, for Babe Ruth's sake, we are the only team still with a single digit in the win column.

The Nationals just took three of four from us, the Pirates are on the verge of sweeping us on Sunday.

For the love of The Mick, we have a right fielder from the Netherlands. Nothing against the Netherlands, beautiful country. And nothing against the Dutch, wonderful people.

What's next? A second baseman from Iceland to take over for Brandon Phillips?

Jimmy Foxx, I don't know how much more of this I can handle.

Please, Baseball Gods, stop embarrassing the team. Stop embarrassing Dusty. Most of all please stop embarrassing Cincinnati.

In the meantime, Maria and I will start flogging again—even if we have to flog through football and basketball season.

It's for the good of the team. And we will prove to you merciless Baseball Gods that we are worthy of a playoff season.

1986 Cincinnati Reds: Tom Runnells

Illya Harrell — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 20:59:14 -0400

This is the second in a series of 34 player profiles of each member of the Cincinnati Reds' 1986 season. Details of the project were described in this article.

The Reds finished the year in second place, 10 games behind the NL West champion Houston Astros.

Thomas William Runnells reached the Majors in 1985 as a 30-year-old rookie.

Runnells spent nine years toiling with San Francisco minor league affiliates. Upon his 1983 release from the Giants farm system, the Cincinnati Reds signed him as a free agent.

On August 10, 1985, the utility man made his major league debut, pinch hitting for Reds' starting pitcher, Jay Tibbs with two outs in the visiting half of the seventh inning against Dodger starter Fernando Valenzuela.

He popped up to future Red Mariano Duncan at short to end the inning.

In his rookie year he collected only 35 at bats, and ended the season with an even .200 batting average.

The 1986 season would be Runnells last as a player in the Major Leagues. He started zero games, and was used primarily as a late inning defensive replacement, pinch hitter, and pinch runner.

Spending less than a month with the Reds in his last season, he had only one hit in 11 at bats.

That one hit came after he replaced Ron Oester at second base in the seventh inning and led off the top of the ninth with a double off Pittsburgh relief pitcher, Pat Clements.

Reds' starter Bill Gullickson then bunted him to third base. He was left stranded after ground outs by Eddie Milner and Pete Rose.

His only run scored of the 1986 season came in the ninth inning of a game versus Philadelphia. Pitcher Don Carman had replaced starter Charles Hudson in the seventh inning.

With Carman still on the mound, the Reds trailed 5-3 in the top of the ninth. Davey Concepcion led off the inning with a single to center. Buddy Bell followed with a single to left, advancing Davey to second.

Bell, being the tying run and slow of foot, prompted manager Pete Rose to replace Bell at first with Runnells as a pinch runner.

Phillies' closer, Steve Bedrosian relieved Carman and retired pinch hitter Max Venable on a fly ball to right that advanced Concepcion to third.

The next batter, Oester deposited a Bedrosian pitch over the Veterans Stadium fence for a three run homer, giving the Reds a 6-5 lead that they would hold onto for the win.

Even though Oester trotted the bases behind him, Runnells will be forever credited with the game tying run on May 15, 1986.

Runnells was sent back to the minors after June 6, 1986. At age 31, he retired as a player following the season, finishing the year with the Reds' minor league club, the Denver Zephyrs.

With his playing days behind him, Runnells went into coaching and managing.

In 1991, he replaced Montreal Expos skipper, Buck Rogers and took over as their manager.

His tenure as a manager in the big leagues would be short lived. He began the 1992 campaign still in charge of the Expos.

According to Wikipedia, in a move that can only be described as odd, "He made an entrance at spring training in 1992 dressed in marine fatigues, apparently trying to channel the spirit of General Norman Schwartzkopf. Everyone who witnessed the performance found it eerily distressing."

Runnells was fired 37 games into the 1992 season. His replacement, Felipe Alou, went on to post a 70-55 record leading Montreal to a second place finish in the NL East.

After a couple of years away from managing, Runnells took it up again with the Colorado Rockies organization.

In the 2009 season, after the Colorado Rockies fired manager, Clint Hurdle and replaced him with Jim Tracy, Runnells was once again in a big league dugout.

He is currently a bench coach with the Rockies.

No NFL For Me This Year: Besides Very Limited Occasions

Illya Harrell — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 10:31:31 -0400

Alright, I used to be one of "those guys" who would get up at the break of dawn—well, not really. But I would damn sure set the alarm so to get up and make coffee by the time the ESPN pregame show started.

I'd get decked out in my Redskin furbelow (okay, "furbelow" was dictionary.com's "word of the day"). I don't really dress in NFL clothing. Even when I was buying into all the hype, I refused to pay for the overpriced garb.

I noticed my illness starting last season.

Unless the 'Skins were playing I usually did not watch the Sunday night game or the ESPN version of Monday Night Football.

This year, I could not be less excited.

In fact, I just logged into my Yahoo Fantasy Football league with every intention of removing my team and sending an email to the commish and asking him to please inform me upon the start of next year's fantasy baseball season.

But I noticed that Yahoo had shaken things up a bit. Our league is now separated into two divisions and has what is known as a "Rivalry Week".

My rivalry is against Dead Prez.

I have nothing against Dead Prez's owner. I don't even know him. I don't know if it is actually a "him".

But I do know one thing.

I hate the Dead Prez team.

Dead Prez was responsible for knocking me out of a playoff spot in the last week of the 2008 season. And I always have trouble with the team—no matter how dominant mine is... which, not to brag, is pretty much every season.

So I didn't write the email to the commish. I stuck with my Kurva Drát team. Kurva Drát means "bloody hell" in Czech, and I am all about reminding the rest of the league that I spent two years in Prague.

I was in deep while overseas. I missed the ESPN pregame.

Thankfully, there was an American Sports Bar in the neighborhood. Aptly named, "American Sports Bar". It was located under a brothel and run by Russian mafia.

Night games did not end until 5 a.m.

But each Sunday I'd drag a different non-NFL fan to the bar and watch the Redskins, or any game where Chad Pennington or Byron Leftwich was quarterbacking. They were both hometown boys... I felt the need to show them some love.

In fact, word around the campfire says that Byron used to live on the eighth floor of my apartment building.

Unfortunately I was away at college at the time, or I would have stocked up on autographed footballs, photos, and bobble heads.

I would've definitely tried (begged) to hang with him—no doubt he was a lady magnet. I'm sure he needed at least two or three wingmen. That would have been sweet.

I just read yesterday that Byron is the front runner for the Tampa QB job.

Back to my "sick and tired" of the NFL speech.

I'm not watching anything this season... with the exception of all Redskin games.

And, yeah, I'll have to watch Tampa and Miami games to support the homies.

I guess I'll have to watch NFC East games as well. Anything that may alter the standings, and the number of games that the Giants, Eagles, or Cowboys are behind the first place Redskins.

Sunday night games might be cool now that John Madden has retired. I'll definitely be checking those out.

But Monday Night Football—no way. Unless the Redskins, Jets, Bucs, Fins or an NFC East team is playing. Or if MNF has an especially cute sideline reporter. Or say, that between now and then, I get a job that requires me to wake up before 4 p.m.

Other than that, no NFL for me this year.

1986 Cincinnati Reds: Mike Smith

Illya Harrell — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 11:56:35 -0400

This is the first of 34 player profiles described in yesterday's article. Most likely it will start with minor players and work up to the key players.

Besides today, the plan is to introduce or reintroduce every player from the 1986 Reds' season each Sunday. If the project is completed it will end on opening day of next year.

In 1986, the Cincinnati Reds finished in second place, 10 games behind the Houston Astros.

A case can not be made that Michael Anthony Smith was the least important part of the Reds' season.

It is fitting that Mike Smith had the least interesting name on the '86 team. He pitched in two games for the squad that year, one in relief and one starting appearance.

A September call-up, Smith pitched a perfect three-up, three-down ninth inning on September 16 in a 6-1 loss to the Astros.

He retired Billy Hatcher on a ground ball to third baseman Buddy Bell, then got Billy Doran to fly out to leftfielder Nick Esasky, and completed the inning by inducing another grounder to Barry Larkin.

Not bad relief in a mop up roll—the Reds were already down five runs going into the home half of the ninth.

The Reds did win, 9-5, in his only start of 1986 versus the Los Angeles Dodgers. This was in no part thanks to Smith.

He was responsible for all five Dodger runs in two-and-one-third innings pitched.

After pitching another perfect inning in the first, the wheels fell off and he allowed eight batters in the second—four of whom crossed the dish, giving the Dodgers an early 4-0 lead.

In the third, he walked the leadoff man, gave up a single to the second batter of the inning, and then recorded his only strikeout of the season. The following batter, Franklin Stubbs doubled to center driving home Bill Madlock.

Pete Rose, manager of the Reds, then took a trip to the mound. Mike Smith's 1986 campaign was finished.

On the positive side, he did throw two perfect innings, and did not lose any games during the year.

The Jackson, Mississippi, native spent parts of five unremarkable years in the majors. Signed by the Reds as an undrafted free agent in 1981, Smith was dealt to the Montreal Expos following the '86 season in exchange another pitcher, Bill Cutshall.

Cutshall never made it to the bigs.

There is a quirky side note to Smith's career. While in the Reds' minor league system, he was one of two pitchers named Michael Anthony Smith.

"Mississippi Mike" and "Texas Mike" never played on the same Major League team together.

However, in 1989, they were both in the Major Leagues but never faced each other as "Mississippi Mike" was still throwing in the National League for Pittsburgh and "Texas Mike" was in the American League with the Baltimore Orioles.

At age 28, the 1989 season would be the last in the big league career of "Mississippi Mike." He did not officially retire from baseball until 2000, pitching until he was 39-years-old.

Smith's final four seasons were spent throwing for independent minor league clubs. In his final year with the Zion Pioneerzz (yes, two z's) he went 10-5 with a 3.13 ERA.

So at least the guy hung up his cleats on a high note...well, sort of.

Bingo! I Have a Project

Illya Harrell — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 10:19:42 -0400

As my good buddy Cliff Eastham will vouch, we "Featured Columnists" have many a responsibility. Well, not really. But we did agree to write three weekly Reds related articles during the season and two a week in the off-season.

Cliff jumped on the roundtable idea. If only I had been as quick thinking—or an earlier riser.

So here I sit in need of something to get me through the doldrums of the last few weeks and some much needed off-season article ideas.

I needed a niche, a hook, anything as an easy excuse to bang a quick one out each week. Last night it hit me. As I explained in an article written about a month or so ago, I have this odd obsession with the 1986 Cincinnati Reds—probably due to a few reasons.

It was sort of my last innocent summer...The one before cars and high school. They had a pretty exciting team. A nice mixture of youth and vets.

Pete Rose was in his final season as the player/manager. He continued to manage the club for a couple more years, until his gambling problems were made public to everyone besides his bookies.

Tony Perez was having one last hurrah, go-round at the age of 44. Davey Concepcion, the only guy to stick with the team after the dismantling of the "Big Red Machine" was in the twilight of his playing days.

But it was the kids who got me excited. Eric Davis played his first full season. The guy had the quickest wrists I had ever seen.

He was Twiggy thin, but could easily launch balls into the second deck of the old Riverfront Stadium. If I am not mistaking he popped one upper-decker. A place where less than 10 home run balls landed.

Other young dudes included Kal Daniels, Tracy Jones, Paul O'Neill, and Kurt Stillwell.

But my favorite debuted in the middle of August.

Barry Larkin ended up playing 19 major league seasons—all with the Reds. Gold Glove winner at short, Silver Slugger, 12-time All Star, MVP, and World Series Champion.

Larkin will be on the Hall of Fame ballot for the first time next year. Very doubtful he will be a first-ballot guy, but if he isn't in by his fifth year of eligibility, I will consider it criminal.

The Project

If I had thought of this last week it would have worked out perfectly... leading up to Opening Day 2010.

But I didn't so we'll have to deal with it. Which wont be hard.

There were 34 different players on that 1986 team. Sometime this week, probably tonight, I will begin profiling each member of that 1986 squad.

After I get the first guy out of the way, the plan is to profile a new member and post the article each Sunday.

Like all of my new ideas, I have lofty aspirations. Hopefully, I'll be able to get a couple of interviews of some of the minor players.

Kurt Stillwell is a high school golf coach—shouldn't be too much trouble to track down. Reliever Rob Murphy has something to do with thoroughbreds. His email address was easy to find.

So starting tonight or tomorrow Michael Anthony Smith, otherwise known as Mike Smith, the only one of the 34 whose name I did not recognize. Probably because he only pitched two games in '86, and 49 and two-thirds total innings in his five year career.

Nonetheless, Mike Smith was a part of my favorite team ever and he will get his due profile in the highest regard.

It is my hope, first that I actually keep up with this, and second that you guys and gals enjoy this little project that will take us to opening day of next season.

If I start to slack, someone scream at me, tell me I am a total loser, and that I don't deserve the Featured Columnist position.

And that Cliff is better looking than me.

How Bleacher Report Saved Me from Myself

Illya Harrell — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 19:28:42 -0400

I am an ex-junkie. It is not a part of my past that makes me proud. Nevertheless, and for better or worse, it has shaped my mind into what my fellow bleacher creatures read every time they click on one of my articles.

It was bad. Rather, I was bad.

My addiction cost me friends and family members, but I didn't care so long as I found that next fix.

Politics, theology, the media—anything that had a hint of conspiracy. I was hooked and prided myself on being more informed than anyone else.

I constantly repeated that old cliché, "There is a fine line between genius and insanity."

After taking an official I.Q. test, imagine my dismay upon discovering my score of a mere 64—this after posting numbers as high as 177 on various Internet versions.

So I compensated by reading as many articles on radical politics, the pitiful corporate media and the trash they shove down the throat of Americans. Who cares if Paris Hilton has a new puppy?

Sorry. I still fight demons.

On June 2, 2009, my life would be forever changed.

After staying up all night researching the certain doom that will take place in 2012...Which will undoubtedly turn our society into one seen in the film Mad Max. Even though I am no longer hooked, I do plan on befriending Mel Gibson before the winter solstice of that year.

Again, I apologize. One day at a time.

Rewinding back to June 2, Cincinnati Reds' first baseman Joey Votto had been placed on the disabled list. The Reds were keeping a tight lid, not telling fans exactly why Votto was on the DL.

Being a huge baseball fan, and big time conspiracy theorist—I was convinced I knew the reason behind this silent treatment.

And I needed to inform the world.

So I wrote a piece, "Stressing Votto's Vertigo." I searched for a soapbox to place my article.

Last year I wrote for a baseball site that was much more academic than Bleacher Report. It was cult-like. If one did not know every sabermetric stat their articles were given little attention. I was an outsider.

So I quit writing for those guys and began whoring myself to the point where I was writing fake testimonials for male enhancement medication.

I had hit rock bottom.

I was in desperate need of a new platform.

By the grace of Shoeless Joe Jackson, I somehow found Bleacher Report. I can't even remember how I stumbled across the site. But I did, and it has saved my life.

No longer would I take beatings for spouting stuff like, "Barack Obama—they are all the same." Of course I meant politicians, but when talking to a couple of black guys in an elevator I quickly found that my comments could easily be misconstrued.

So after reading some brilliant articles, I quickly signed up and published my Votto story. It received immediate reads and comments. I was dumbfounded. This site was perfect.

Now, instead of reading world news and trying to be the one who changes the world with my opinions, I concentrate my writing skills solely on this site.

How many people actually change society with words? I'm no Mohandas Gandhi or Martin Luther King Jr.

Those guys had charisma and intelligence...and were snappy dressers. I possess none of those qualities.

I no longer pay any attention to world events. I don't even check the weather forecast. According to my profile, I have been clean for two months.

My life is here.

I have found a home. And I humbly thank Bleacher Report for saving me.

Salary Dumping With the Cincinnati Reds

Illya Harrell — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 18:17:24 -0400

Rejoice ye Reds fans. The team just dumped some smart salary.

Alex Gonzalez, the injury-plagued, slick fielding shortstop has been traded to Boston.

The Reds did pick up some of this Gonzo's salary for this season and in return got a guy named Kris Negron, a 23-year-old Single-A shortstop who has about as much chance to see the inside of the Great American Ball Park's clubhouse as Krusty the Clown.

Why? In January, Negron will be 24. Pretty old for a Single-A guy.

Addititionally, like Krusty, he spells his first name with a "K". If you are male and you spell your name Kris—no chance.

Guys with horrible baseball names never make it to the show.

Plus, Negron can't seem to hit a baseball. So far this season he is batting .264 with 3 HRs, and most disturbingly, he has been struck out 83 times in 409 at bats. If a light-hitting shortstop can't make contact at Single-A, it's time to face the fiddle and start filling out Wal-Mart applications.

With Gonzalez, the Red Sox re-acquire the slick glove they saw in 2006. That's where the positives end.

Ankle injuries have caused him to lose a step, but the guy can still pick it with the best of them.

The trade is good for both teams.

The Reds get to dump salary by getting rid of a guy they don't really need.

Paul Janish who is currently riding the pine is also a slick-fielding, light-hitting shortstop. And he comes about $4.5 million cheaper than Gonzo. The Reds will most likely give him a look.

At least until Scott "#$%^&" Rolen returns home from "la-la land."

The Red Sox get an almost Gold Glove caliber shortstop. Gonzo may even out hit Nick Green. He hasn't exactly set that bar very high.

As noted, ankle injuries have taken their toll—and Red Sox fans looking for the Gonzalez of 2006 may be a bit disappointed, but a post-injury Gonzalez is still a better fielder than 90 percent of the other MLB shortstops.

In short, this is a very minor deal that could have been fully explained in a Twitter thingy— "Reds give Sox slick glove at short to save money."

Scott Rolen Proves His Wussiness

Illya Harrell — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 19:29:21 -0400

Scott Rolen, the Cincinnati Reds' disabled listed third baseman, made a trip to the St. Louis Cardinal offices and gave the Cardinals' manager, Tony LaRussa, a heartfelt apology.

There is a special title for guys who do things like this: wussy.

Rolen had his feelings hurt by LaRussa when, while playing for St. Louis, his manager benched Rolen in favor of Scott Spiezio.

It was nothing personal.

Rolen was not performing up to snuff, and LaRussa was doing his job by benching him, trying to win, and get to the World Series—which he did, then beating the Detroit Tigers in five games.

During 16 total playoff and World Series games the Cards played that year, Rolen started 14 of the 16 matchups.

In the 2006 NL Divisional Series, Rolen played the first three games. He went 1-for-11 (.091). Larussa was up two games to one and obviously did not want to take the chance of going to a fifth and deciding game.

So, he benched Rolen in game four of the series. The 6-2 win clinched the series for the Cards.

In the NL Championship Series against the Mets, after failing to get a hit in the first game (one hit in his last 14 at bats), Larussa benched him in game two.

His replacement, Spiezio, had two hits (a double and a triple) in four at bats, three RBI, and two runs scored in the 9-6 win. His five runs produced was key to that victory, and thus an integral piece to the Cardinals' 4-3 series win.

When Rolen stepped into LaRussa's office on Monday, he proved not only that he was an over-the-hill, injury-prone has-been, but he also showed the baseball world that he is a wimp, a wuss, a total douche nozzle.

If LaRussa had the ability to laugh (which he does not), a fit of hysterics may have put him in the hospital.

In baseball, a player just does not do that.

Baseball is unique from "normal" jobs.

Say a person ticks off his Coca-Cola middle manager. Then they should apologize. It's not like baseball. The employee is not going to be traded to Pepsi.

Rolen is now playing for another team.

What good is going to come out of this meeting? Did Rolen's relationship with LaRussa keep him from sleeping at night? Why would a player do this?

It goes above and beyond being a nice guy. It reeks of extreme wussiness, and has no place in baseball.

What If Josh Hamilton Was Black?

Illya Harrell — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 15:30:57 -0400

Josh Hamilton is a crack-addicted drunkard. A big deal was made in 2008 about his "journey to hell and back," the "demons" on his shoulder, and how he found Jesus who was to help him leave the past behind.

For people unaware of Hamilton, the quick version is this: Great family, all-American kid (just love how that tag is never used to describe anyone who is not white), first pick of the 1999 amateur draft, got hurt and couldn't play in 2002.

This is where is gets good: While injured, Josh started hanging out in a tattoo parlor, drinking like a camel and smoking crack because he was "bored." He was then kicked out of baseball, and reinstated after he claimed to have found sobriety.

His wife, Katie, stuck with him for most of his crack-headed behavior. She finally left with her 3 kids when it got really bad, but took him back after he became sober.

Hamilton made a comeback in 2007—many never expected him to play again.

In the first half of 2008, he set the baseball world on fire. It seemed like he was going yard every other game.

Then, pitchers learned how to pitch him, and from the second half of last year to this very moment he has been a below average player.

Some blame injury (sure hope he didn't get "bored" again), but it has more to do with his failure to adjust his swing. Until he does, he will never experience last season's confetti or ticker-tape parades.

Earlier this year, photographs were taken of a drunken and shirtless Hamilton, getting his party on with the ladies, licking whipped cream off of their almost bare breasts. His wife did not seem to be in any of the shots.

The photos were not made public until late last week.

It almost seems taboo for a "professional" black journalist to broach the Hamilton story. Especially from this angle.

There have been rumors that, especially while playing for Cincinnati, he was not popular in the clubhouse.

The outspoken Brandon Phillips (a dark skinned black man) who also came from a great family, and could easily be described as an all-American kid (if he were born white), was rumored to have openly questioned why Hamilton received special treatment.

Given Phillips' propensity to tell it like it is without a sugar coat, it's safe to say that they were more than rumors. Especially while taking into account a late December, 2007, deal that shuttled Hamilton from Cincinnati to Texas.

Hamilton has a "life coach" who is supposed to follow him like a puppy, making certain he does not hit the pipe or bottle.

But how would the media treat Josh Hamilton if he looked like Phillips?

So instead of blaming the overzealous photographer, and making Hamilton out as the victim, blame Hamilton for not exhibiting self control.

His ability to hit a baseball is the only thing that separates Hamilton from the world's of millions of other drug addicts.

And it is not so much that he fell off the wagon—but more so, the fashion which it occurred.

When did it become acceptable for a self-professed man of faith to eat whipped cream off another woman's breasts?

Every white person who believes Hamilton deserves another shot—go look in the mirror and imagine yourself as a black man with a crack pipe dangling from your mouth.

Hal McCoy: Not So Funny When It Happens To Your Family

Illya Harrell — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 17:59:17 -0400

If video killed the radio star, then the Internet—sure as war—has killed the last of the great baseball beat writers.

Hall-of-Fame journalist Hal McCoy will retire at the end of the 2009 baseball season.

Mr. McCoy wrote for the Dayton (Ohio) Daily News, covering the Cincinnati Reds.

He announced on the newspaper's blog last night, "My run is over—37 years of bliss, doing a job that wasn’t a job."

He's been writing about the Reds for so long that I guess he forgot he's in his 38th season...that or he was too tipsy.

After all, he also stated, "I’m on the back patio, enjoying a Tangueray and tonic with my beautiful and supportive wife, Nadine. I’m sure it is the first of many tonight, so I wanted to get this down before I became incoherent."

When I think of baseball beat writers, I imagine cigarette smoking or cigar chomping men in hats who write with a cold beer or other libation next to their typewriters.

Being a Reds' fan, I always woke up hoping to find a fresh article. I don't look forward to much, but I do look forward by Mr. McCoy's newest article.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a piece that pretty much blasted corporate print media.

The Dayton Daily News is not exactly the New York Times or ESPN Magazine. In fact, it isn't even the widest circulating newspaper in its own state of Ohio.

For those not familiar with baseball, it's a very long season—162 games, to be exact, half of which are played on the road in the opposing team's city.

He doesn't blame the newspaper for, "putting the ol’ baseball scribe out to pasture."

He goes on to say, "It is the economic times, and we’re all suffering. They just can’t afford the more than a quarter of a million dollars a year to send me coast-to-coast."

Additionally, Mr. McCoy has been legally blind most of the decade. So, on top of airline expenses, the paper paid for drivers to get him around the various cities where the Reds happened to be playing.

The Dayton Daily News has yet to give in to a buyout from a big media conglomerate. It's owned by Cox Enterprises—since James M. Cox started the paper 111 years ago.

"The economic times are harsh, and I understand, and I’m not angry. I just feel as if something good has ended prematurely, something I’m not completely ready to accept, but must," McCoy said.

All readers of his articles should send thank-you letters to the paper for keeping him around as long as they did. They knew that they were going to lose money every summer by printing his much beloved articles.

Of course, this wasn't the case before the Internet came along. People had to pay to read Mr. McCoy's articles. While the Internet gave him a much wider readership, it also allowed people in the Dayton area to read the paper for free.

I don't live close enough to Dayton to purchase their city's newspaper. Even though I had heard of Hal McCoy and always wanted to read his stuff, I was unable to before the Internet came along.

So, ironically, I am part of the reason he has been sacked.

I thank both the Dayton Daily News and Mr. McCoy for all of his Cincinnati Reds' articles which I have been fortunate enough to read. Many of them sparked my own articles. In fact, I wrote a piece that mentioned him by name in the title just the day before his retirement.

Guess I'll just have to get used to the Associated Press and their generic, watered-down game recaps.

Who knows? Maybe he will join Bleacher Report. I would happily give him my "Featured Columnist" post.

Justin Lehr is No One Hit Wonder

Illya Harrell — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 16:02:42 -0400

Reds and Cubbie fans got a look at the real Justin Lehr on Wednesday night. His ball was moving like a Solid Gold dancer after a handful of diet pills. Working ahead in the count to either 21 or 22 Cub batters, Lehr was nothing short of solid gold himself last night.

He shut down, shut up, and shutout the white hot North side boys, allowing only four hits and one walk in his complete game 4-0 victory.

To say that this cat has been around the block is on par with saying "Jimi Hendrix sorta knew how to play the guitar."

For the love of baseball and everything else holy, Lehr once had his contract sold to Korea. To go half-way around the world to pitch says, well, like... he may be just a little bit determined to make it back to the bigs.

Some (cough, cough: wife, kids) may say stubborn.

He was 31 years old when he made his forgettable first big league start last week. He turned 32 on Monday. So maybe 32 is his lucky number.

Doubtful a number has anything to do with it.

The California native will not blow you away with heat. However, while in Korea he worked on his split finger which has turned into his out pitch.

Wednesday night he also worked a huge bender. He was changing speeds which allowed him to throw his high-80's, low-90's fastball.

Hitting the corners and down in the zone, his location was pretty close to perfect all night. Nothing short of pure brilliance, and the best start by a Reds' pitcher this season.

Lehr was proving this start after start down in Louisville, Cincinnati's AAA affiliate. He was named the International League's Pitcher of the Week three times, and along with outfielder, Drew Stubbs were the Louisville Bats representatives in the International League All-Star game.

In 12 games (11 starts) with Louisville, he posted an 8-1 record, 2.51 ERA, a minuscule 0.89 WHIP. He walked only 10 batter in 75 and one-third innings pitched.

That says that his six walk, five inning debut as a starting pitcher on July 31 was nothing more than a case of serious jitterbugs.

Of course the guy is not going to pitch shutouts every time out.

But the Reds, who are in dire need of starting pitching, have just found themselves a diamond in the rough... or rather a piece of solid gold.

Hal McCoy Has Eaten Enough Hot Dogs to Give Babe Ruth Indigestion

Illya Harrell — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 16:19:39 -0400

The Hall of Famer, Mr. McCoy, posed a very interesting question on his Dayton Daily News blog last night. "How do you fix the future Reds?" There were a few stipulations.

First, a budget of $75 million or under. Then the hard part of keeping both Dusty Baker and Walt Jocketty.

Warning: This article may come out as rambling gobbledygook. I was not able to sleep at all last night, am surviving on heroic amounts of caffeine, and (no matter how tired I get), need to stay up until five p.m. to wait for a phone call that most likely will not come.

Back to the subject at hand. People are commenting on Mr. McCoy's article faster than one of Leroy Watson's Bleacher Report articles—64 so far, up 10 since my last F5.

The consensus, among those who are following Mr. McCoy's rules, is to dump both the pitching and batting coach. That means the unemployment line for Dick Pole and Brook Jacoby.

Dusty wont fire these chumps. They're his buddies. So the orders have to come from Jocketty.

I am in total agreement with the consensus. People are clamoring for Mario Soto as pitching coach. I'd be fine with that. G'blimey, any warm body is better than Diamond Dick Pole.

Rather than Soto, I prefer AAA Louisville pitching coach, Ted Power.

Kosuke Fukudome's lead-off home run on Tuesday night brings the number of games where the starting pitcher has given up a first inning earned run to 45, or 42.5 percent of their games thus far.

And it's not like just one or two guys are responsible—everyone has played a part. Which tells me, and many others, that Pole has a clueless game time preparation plan.

As far as the batting coach goes, the most frequently mentioned names are former Red Eric Davis, current first base coach Billy Hatcher, AAA Louisville's batting coach Smokey Garrett—and get a load of this one, and probably the most mentioned name...Kevin Mitchell.

If I'm the Reds, I don't even think of dialing Mitchell's number solely due to the fact that, well, he is Kevin Mitchell, former slugger (of people) and rumored cat decapitator.

I don't know who I'd choose from that group. Don't know much about Burgess, and neither Hatcher nor Davis excite me as potential hitting instructors.

Okay, the coaches are done—gone, dead as the Reds.

Next up, the players:

The Reds need to dump salary. Most of the comments on Mr. McCoy's blog say that either Bronson Arroyo or Aaron Harang will be traded or put on the waiver wire.

I didn't read one comment sticking up for Arroyo over Harang. If it were up to me, I'd stay with Arroyo. But really, it's too close to call.

With Edinson Volquez out the majority of next year, I would do everything possible to keep them both while hoping the new pitching coach will help. But that probably puts them over the $75 million mark.

Who I would move is Coco Cordero. The Reds wont contend in 2010. There is no need for a high dollar closer.

Just prepare for 2011 while fiddling around for an in-house stopper. Nick Masset, Carlos Fisher, or even Arthur Rhodes being my top candidates.

Dump David Weathers.

Masset went into the 2009 spring training vying for the fifth starter job. So there is a chance he could land in the rotation next season.

The only three definite starters who will remain until Volquez returns are Johnny Cueto, Homer Bailey, and either Harang or Arroyo—Micah Owings, Justin Lehr, Matt Maloney, Darryl Thompson, Masset, and a possible trade or free agent guy can fight for the remaining two slots during spring training.

Offensively, dump Willy Taveras and don't re-sign Alex Gonzalez or Laynce Nix. Try to trade catcher Ramon Hernandez. If that doesn't work, don't re-sign him either.

Look for a free agent shortstop. Spend some money there and go after current Blue Jay Marco Scutaro. That, or save money and play Paul Janish. He's as slick a fielder as Gonzalez and can't be any worse with the stick.

Or if they don't get Scutaro move Brandon Phillips to short and give Todd Frazier a look at second.

The Reds are in desperate need of a leadoff man. Try and pry Juan Pierre away from the Dodgers. If that fails, for Pete's sake, find someone who can actually get on base.

So that gives us a starting lineup of:

C – Ryan Hanigan

1B – Joey Votto

2B – Phillips or Frazier

3B – Scott Rolen (until about game 15, after which Adam Rosales will take over due to Rolen's career ending hangnail)

SS – Unknown Free Agent, Phillips or Janish

LF – Wladimir Balentien (the guy was Baseball America's fifth ranked prospect for Seattle coming into last season; a change of scenery will do him well)

CF – Free Agent Leadoff Man

RF – Jay Bruce

Not bad for another rebuilding year.

Pitching will be the problem, both starting and relieving. But with a year of growth, a new pitching coach, and Volquez back, they should be primed for a playoff run in 2011.

To all the folks who commented on Mr. McCoy's article, I thank you. Without you, I'd definitely be snoozing and missing the phone call that never came.

I pity for the poor soul who has to edit this mess. All apologies.

Before leaving, I want to give credit to fellow Bleacher Report Reds' writers Cliff Eastham and Russell Wight, both of whom continue to contribute frequently to the Reds' page.

Even though the Reds have turned out to be one of the lousiest teams in the majors.

Feeling Dusty Baker's Pain

Illya Harrell — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 19:07:52 -0400

If you are a Reds' fan, even the harshest critic of Dusty Baker, and you do not feel at least a little sympathy for the man—then the color of your heart needs to be checked.

The world's best manager couldn't get this team to play .500 ball.

To rant, rave, and call for his firing (much like a certain Bleacher Report writer has) while he's playing with a loaded deck is one thing.

These days, though, to moan when he is playing with a line-up full of guys who either are not Major League ready or are, at best, second stringers is both pitiful and fruitless.

Be ashamed if you are one of these so-called fans.

Look at Monday night's starting line-up:

CF Willy Taveras (OBP .275), 3B Adam Rosales (OBP .286), 1B Joey Votto (very good numbers), 2B Brandon Phillips (solid numbers), LF Laynce Nix (OBP .292), RF Jonny Gomes (impressive so far—but still a forth outfielder on most teams), C Ryan Hanigan (.406 OBP—bat him in the two hole Dusty), and SS Paul Janish (OBP .299).

Tuesday night's line-up is about the same. Wlademir Balentien will make his first National League start in place of Nix, and Alex Gonzalez is back at short replacing Janish.

Newly acquired Scott Rolen is out of the line-up for the second night in a row. He'll probably be back soon.

But Reds' fans expecting more than gold glove caliber defense need a reality check. He was having a great year in Toronto. "Was" is the key word in that sentence.

We should be happy if he hits .260 the rest of the year—and can keep himself healthy.

Dusty's current rotation of starting pitchers (Aaron Harang, Bronson Arroyo, Johnny Cueto, Homer Bailey, and Justin Lehr) have a combined ERA of 4.82 and a 1.44 WHIP.

On the season, Reds' starters have given up first inning runs in 42 percent of their games.

Baker's lone returning all-star, Edinson Voquez, a second year player and projected anchor of the Reds' staff, is now out for what will be close to a year.

A certain Bleacher Report scribe with a funny Russian first name was the first journalist in the country to go on record with this information.

Back on June 18 (six weeks ago), in an article titled, Cincinnati Reds: The Freemasons of Baseball, he was quoted as saying, "Listen up, Reds faithful:

And remember where you first heard this breaking news.

Edinson Volquez needs Tommy John surgery and will not be back this season."

It didn't take a genius to see something was seriously wrong after Volquez's 15-day stint on the DL and an attempted come back where he pitched one inning of a game and left with numbness (not soreness).

The Reds' brass (doubtful Dusty had much to say regarding this decision) chose to wait six weeks before ordering the surgery. This was after seeing an MRI with major ligament damage.

Six weeks translates into about seven starts and is the difference between having him back before or after the All-Star break of next season.

Baker's relievers have been have done well this season. However, David Weathers has already started to show signs of fatigue, and Reds' fans can only expect the pen performance to further slide.

Watching Dusty in the dugout is painful.

His body language is that of a man who has just been told by his wife that she is leaving him for his best friend.

His post game interviews are hard to watch. He tries to be optimistic.

It is very hard to think that even he believes his own words. Always something to the tune of, "We're about to turn it around. I can feel it."

Over the last 10 years, it really has made no difference who is managing.

Dusty Baker just happens to be the current name on an old and long list of a losing organization.

Where's Marge Schott when you need her?

Cincinnati Reds' Prospect Profile: Darren Baker (Satire)

Illya Harrell — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 13:08:06 -0400

Darren Baker, the slick-fielding 10-year-old shortstop and son of Reds' skipper Dusty Baker, could get a sniff of the bigs when the September call-ups roll around.

Regardless, he is in the running for the Reds' 2010 starting shortstop position.

Darren is coming off of an incredible first-year season for the Gino's Pizza 10 through 12-year-old little league team in his native Riverside, Calif. He led the league in long balls with four, three of which were of the inside-the-park variety.

In a game versus the young men of the Chestnut Grove Church club, the shortstop had 13 RBI. His two-run triple in the visiting half of the fourth provided the deciding mercy rule runs as Gino's beat Chestnut 26-5 in a game lasting just under five hours.

When asked whether she would approve the call-up if the Reds' do so in September, East Riverside Elementary School principal Leila Robertson did not hesitate.

"With a smile on my face I would! Now if his father were not the manager, it would be a different bag of chips, but I have known the senior Baker for five years. He has assured me there will be tutelage provided and as well as a zero tolerance rascality clause in his contract."

How is Darren handling the possibility of a sudden change of scenery?

"I have mixed feelings. Sure it will be great to play in the middle with Brandon [Phillips]," Baker said, "On the other hand, I ran into Rachel Dawkins at the Cold Stone Creamery last week. Whew—let me tell you... if the rest of the girls in my class have matured like Rachel, I'll miss coming to school.

I'm 10-years-old now, almost a man. And an almost-man has needs besides Pokemon cards, you feelin' me?"

Slick.

It's rare that one word can describe an almost-man.

But Darren Baker is as slick on the field as he is off of it. His defensive play has been compared, ironically, to Alex Gonzalez (the man he would be replacing).

Unlike Gonzalez, Baker can hit and has speed. Baker led his East Riverside league in stolen bases, runs scored, and unassisted triple plays.

It is doubtful that the unassisted triple plays will come his way in the majors, but when asked, the young Baker just gave a confident look, grinned, and slowly shook his head up and down.

The Reds' manager is giving no hints other than saying that if Darren wants to play, "he needs to keep practicing with his friends and stop chasing tail."

Absolutely none of the above information is true (to my knowledge) and should not in any way be taken seriously.

This is the kind of thing that happens when your team is 3-14 since the all-star break, is now tied for last place, and has a bonehead general manager who insists on mortgaging the future for an injury-prone third baseman.

Black Friday in Cincinnati Reds' Country

Illya Harrell — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 05:04:56 -0400

When I heard we had traded Edwin Encarnacion, Jerry Hairston, Josh Roenicke, and Zach Stewart, I thought of Walt Jocketty and Iron Mike. Then I thought of Tyson saying he "want[ed] to eat [Lennox Lewis'] children."

I now have the same feeling.

Mine is not directed toward the children of Lewis but rather to the kids of Jocketty, the General Manager of the Reds.

I never understood the rage one bellied to say such a despicable thing. I now know.

Yay. We got Scott Rolen. Jocketty traded two of next year's key pitchers and Encarnacion for his friend (cough, cough: man crush).

I didn't hide my feelings about this three weeks ago in this article. Back then, I was just talking an Edwin-for-Rolen straight-up deal.

In a nutshell, it said that their numbers were strikingly similar, with Rolen having the advantage defensively and Edwin having more power.

I wouldn't have done the deal straight-up, but read that article if you want to see my reasoning.

This article is going to whine like a 12-year-old girls FriendFace journal. Please just leave right now...all of you.

I hate Walt Jocketty! I know hate is a strong word. I don't use hate regarding people. Ever. Jocketty is not a human.

It is a wretched, vile, cretinous, worm-like being probably sent from outer space to ruin what could have been a contending team...for years to come.

Dusty currently has 10 guys on the DL. I've been harsh on Dusty in the past, but his managing compared to Jocketty's general managing is first-ballot, Hall-of-Fame material when held side by side.

Let's look at some of the things Jocketty said while in the booth with George Grande and Chris Welsh during Friday night's game

Okay, Walt told the Reds' announcers a few things. I tried to write down the exact quotes but may have been off by a word or two—so let's call these paraphrases but pretty bloody close to the horse's mouth.

Scott Rolen is "as good as Brooks Robinson."

Scott Rolen is "a franchise-type player who will anchor the infield with Brandon Phillips and Joey Votto for a long time."

Scott Rolen is "a player who wants to play here."

As good as Brooks Robinson? I'll just raise my eyebrows, shake my head and let you guys do the same. Might want to hurry and get a trash can or something, so you don't vomit on the carpet.

Walt thinks Rolen will anchor the infield for a long time? In the five seasons between 2004 and 2008, he only had one with more than 500 at-bats.

Hard to anchor an infield when you are too injured to play.

A player who wants to play here? Shouldn't any player who is going to a new team want to "play here"? Man, this article is hard to write without using expletives in every other sentence.

Oh yeah, and the Reds lost on Friday night. Our 39-year-old reliever, David Weathers, gave up back-to-back jacks to the Colorado seven and eight-hole hitters.

Wonder if Roenicke would have done that?

Wonder how Zach Stewart would have fared next year considering the Dayton Daily News has reported this:

"Pitcher Edinson Volquez, scheduled for a simulated game today [July 31], didn’t complete it. He walked off the mound clutching his elbow. The Reds aren’t saying it—yet—but don’t be surprised if he has to undergo Tommy John surgery and will miss next year."

Guess we'll never know. Thanks, Walt.

Oh, but all is fine, the Reds now have Kip Wells in the bullpen. Yeah, that Kip Wells—the one who was cut by the Nationals because he was too inept to hold a spot in their pen.

So what do you do if you just traded for an injury-prone third baseman while you already have an injury-prone shortstop?

If your name is Walt Jocketty, you trade uber-utility man, Jerry Hairston Jr. to the Yanks for a single-A catcher.

This quote I know I got word for word: "We project him to be a starting catcher...possibly, someday."

Perhaps the greatest quote of the night came from Chris Welsh. This is golden.

Somehow in regards to bringing Rolen over, Welsh said, "[Rolen will] show Joey Votto and Brandon Phillips how to play the game."

Sorry guys and gals, I need to go steal some more of my granny's anti-anxiety medication.

Confessions Of a Self-Absorbed Bleacher Creature

Illya Harrell — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 21:29:53 -0400

Yes, I am one of "those guys". I spend most of my Bleacher Report time admiring my own profile. Hitting the "F5" key every five minutes—always on a five or zero minute number.

I don't even read any articles—well, besides my own.

Usually, I just look at Leroy's profile page and skim a couple of the articles that he posts. Then just vote them "Pick of the Day" without leaving a message. That way members will think I am a behind-the-scenes kind of guy.

Sometimes I will leave, "This article has left me speechless." But not very often. And I keep a list of B/R writers whose articles on which I have left that comment so to refrain from doubling.

Using the "Control F" feature, if I notice an article with comments that say "profound" or "poetic", I will add "beautiful" or "touched me" to my message. These articles are mostly written by Saraswathi Sirgina and Damali Binta Yael.

I do, however, read all articles that mention me by name. Last night, for example, I was cruising the site in hopes of finding something that applauds my commentary. I stumbled across Mohamed E.M's wonderful slide show, "My Way to Thank People on B/R."

I totally expected to find myself on his list, and I was quite pleased and just a tad surprised that he had saved me for last. So I fanned him immediately.

Speaking of fanning people, I mostly do so for only the highest ranked and most active writers. This is in hopes that they will return the favor, read my articles (all of which are ghost written by my neighbor), and pass them along to others.

I also tell my neighbor to drop as many names as possible. I feel that this will boost my Bleacher Report popularity.

In between my F5s, I enjoy looking at my 15-year-old profile picture. Although it was taken so long ago, I can't remember whether or not I airbrushed acne from the left side of my chin.

I do reply to comments on the articles my neighbor writes for me.

Any opportunity to say that I spent two years in Prague gives me more of an international air and surely makes me a hit with the European regulars. What I neglect to mention is that while there I was there looking for a Bulgarian woman I had met in a video chat room.

Now I do understand that by coming clean, I will most likely lose a few fans. But it is my hope that in doing so, my honesty will gain more fans than I lose.

It's a risky gamble, but if I lose Cliff Eastham and Daniel Abbas while recruiting BabyTate, Dorothy Willis, and Gray Ghost, my mission will be accomplished.

In closing, and in the words of my best friend, Rocky Getters, "The above article is meant for humorous purposes only. No one (and no website) is directly or indirectly meant to be insulted or belittled. B/R is a wonderful website, and I endorse its awesomeness."