Bleacher Report - Articles by L.J. Burgess

Michael Schumacher Throws Down...Thank You Jesus!

L.J. Burgess — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:31:18 -0400

Or Deus...or Allah, Ishvara, Mother Mary, Yahweh, Vishnu and any another Godly entity that may have reached down and awoken the sleeping giant that is Michael Schumacher...yes, including even you Bernie...if you had fingers in this pie, God bless you, even if only for a moment.

This season would have gone down as the absolute worst in the storied history of Formula 1 if not for this divine intervention breaking the suffocating bonds of the FIA vs FOTA media frenzy and the sad resignation that Brawn GP is running away with the points title.

When Mark Webber becomes an overnight sensation...you know this season, any season, has gone south.

I confess, I was not a fan of Schumacher's domination.

Just as I despised the "idea" of Dale Earnhardt in the late '80s and early '90s, I could not stomach the "Micheal in Red" years...and I am a Ferrari guy.

Both of them reminded me of the last guy to pile on top and throw a noogie on your bruised scalp in a scrum.

It wasn't personal; I had no feelings one way or the other as far as their "guyness", it was their circumstances, successes and a seemingly inability to fail that turned me off and lessened my enjoyment of their respective disciplines for a while.

I admit, each had their little intrigues with both competitors and the FIA and NASCAR respectively, but none of that tomfoolery changed the notion in my head that they were just flat out boring due to the level of ease with which they dominated their respective sports.

Once they crashed back to earth, I lightened up.

I actually found myself focusing more when ol' Ironhead was in the top five late in a race. Then he was gone. My bad.

Schumacher? When Renault began challenging Ferrari in 2005, I perked up a bit, but I never saw a third place for the Scuderia coming. It was over by Montreal, Alonso and Kimi sweeping Schumacher and Ferrari under the rug.

After a hard fought 2006 season, that must have wrung the absolute last bit of fire out of both Schumacher and the boys in Maranello, Michael spit the bit and took a cubicle in the front office. He was 37 years old and perhaps past his prime.

Then again, perhaps not.

When the owners, overseers and participants in any endeavor intentionally set out to rip it apart, render it impotent and erase it's legacy as the pinnacle of achievement...very few men, if any, can step in and bring a halt to the ensuing trainwreck looming just around the bend.

After the near total destruction of a sport so near and dear to millions upon millions of fans globally, Schumacher has arrived to save the day.

And Michael Schumacher is just the man to save Formula 1.

I apologize to you Michael. It was not malicious, this apathy towards your accomplishments, nor was it personal, it was merely misguided and stubborn.

I could not bear giving up the heroes of my youth for one who seemed more machine than man, one who won with such regularity that struggle didn't seem part of the equation.

I was wrong Michael, you were the greatest driver in the history of Motorsports, bar none, from my heart, I tell you this now:

My hope is that you win each and every remaining race, I hope you can still show the way and send these new age prima donnas packing.

I hope that you give us all something that makes us leap off the sofa in a "did you see that!" kind of way.

I think this new car is your kind of carriage, a little squirrely, a little twitchy, and I think you'll do well in it...God, I hope so Michael.

As I stand before God, I hope so.

It won't be as simple as before, struggle is what you'll do, and not only on the track, but behind the scenes as well and that's where your power lies.

Fix this season, work that furor teutonicus and it's magic, snatch them up by the neck and shake some sense into them. Save us Michael, you're the last hope we have...I'm behind you 100% on this lap.

Tell them all to put down the knives and step away from the Golden Goose...it's the only one we've got.

Writing on B/R Without Reward: Could You? Would You?

L.J. Burgess — Sun, 03 May 2009 15:04:01 -0400

Yeah, I'm in a crap fight again, but hell, that's my unofficial job here on B/R, and it's always led to some higher level of understanding for everyone involved, so saddle up.

This particular tete-a-tete involves the writer's rankings, the score, or the carrot-and-stick system that either pleases us to no end or plagues us to terminal vexation, depending on which end of the stick you're looking at.

There has always been a monthly debate on the merits of rankings and the mission statement unique to B/R.

This debate has always been a passionate one, and because of that passion, a number of potential POTD articles have fallen by the wayside while we spend two or three days trying to "fix" B/R.

That has always been my complaint when I weigh in on these arguments.

The "competition'" here on B/R among the top dawg writers to be No. 1 detracts from those potential award-winning works of art.

This not to say that competition isn't a good thing, it's just not a good thing for B/R. It's become a distraction from the art form we work hard to master.

I myself am an incredibly competitive participant in my chosen field. They call what I do an art, but it's really a war that has to be won every 15 minutes for hundreds of times in a 12 hour day.

I truly believe that I have the chops to go up against any competitor I meet...although I have been wrong on occasion.

I have nothing against competition as long as it's competent and fair. Writing is an art that has been tarnished and sullied by Dan Brown, Stephen King, Tom Clancy types that pump out quantity and formula.

"The Da Vinci Code'"? Great story, horrible book. Anybody can write "Indiana Jones", give it a new perspective, and hit the N.Y. Times best seller list, or worse, the Oprah Book Club.

The worst of the worst competitive traits on B/R are as follows:

POTD slideshows of half-dressed women?

That's not fair, and it sure as hell ain't competent. It's trash journalism at it's worst. That sort of thing is for the hack administration at Sports Illustrated and blogs just to pump up hits and traffic.

The money-hungry admins here might love these trash pieces, but it denigrates those of us who want to...write.

Another trap that we fall into is the spamming of bulletin boards.

I fell for this out of pure hubris. I thought that writers valued MY opinion, therefore I felt "obligated" to award POTDs by the truckload.

All well and good, until I found the same spam on another account that I moderate, a private account for an online sim game that B/R has sponsored. We only have 20 members and we're not working the writer's angle there.

I realized that these spammers didn't give a squat what I really thought...if 1,000 spams net you 10 POTDs, then the work was worth it. Now, I completely ignore the dozens of read requests that I receive every freakin' day.

Saddest of all, some of the best writers on B/R are guilty of this...and they don't really need that strategy to rise in the rankings. Their work, if left to stand alone, would achieve the end game regardless.

Let's not stoop to that level anymore.

POTD articles on improving B/R's rating/ranking system will ALWAYS get the most intra-site traffic, comments, and stars. That's not fair competition either.

We need to whack that mole every time it pops up, too. Those pieces of work always bring out the worst in us as members of B/R because we are invested in the process. We are weaker writers because of it.

The last sin we commit is the old quantity over quality game. This one has been talked to death, so I leave this one for the Jackals to pick over...again.

So, the question is: Has the B/R rewards system brought out the worst in us solely for the sake of "achievement"? In the majority of cases, yes it has.

I put forth this solution: end the writer's rankings, the POTDs, and star system completely.

Let the best writers succeed as they did prior to the Internet...by word of mouth, by loyal readers who promote their favorite writers, by "MUST READ" lists passed from member to member.

That's how the cream will truly rise to the top...by public and peer recognition and those will be the writers that move on to real jobs in real journalistic environments.

The Bard, Steinbeck, Vonnegut, Hemingway, et al, they didn't write for rankings, stars, or POTDs...they wrote for you.

Could you do that? Would you do that? Would you stand in here, toe-to-toe, with those giants of literature and write for no tangible reward?

B/R is a gift, so let's not turn it into a cheap reality show like "Survivor"...or more aptly, "Dancing With The Stars".

How Joe Willie Namath Saved Football from Itself and Changed a Nation Forever

L.J. Burgess — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 17:28:40 -0500

"I Can't Wait Until Tomorrow...'Cause I Get Better Looking Every Day"...words to live by.

I was a 10-year-old farm boy when Joe Namath signed the biggest contract in pro football history.

The war between the AFL and NFL had reached its apex, and the news of Namath's choosing the upstart AFL traveled far and wide—even to our local weekly, the little ol' "Reidsville Review" down in Carolina.

At that point in my life, my knowledge of professional football was gleaned from family gatherings around a huge woodstove on Sundays and an occasional peek at a snowy black and white TV that the men huddled around after church...as long as I was quiet.

Out of those bull sessions, I surmised that Johnny Unitas and the Baltimore Colts were, and always would be, the greatest group of athletes in the history of the game...forever, 1958's "Greatest Game Ever Played" being the benchmark against all who would challenge their superiority.

Six months later, my father uprooted us and followed his company north to the Dalmarva peninsula and the heart of Colts country. We left behind the red clay tobacco fields, the mule and milk cows, and moved into a suburban life of middle-class America.

Instead of biking the graveled back roads with the same three friends for hours on end, I was shoved into a group of 100 or so children of the suburbanite culture, crazy about sports and crazy about heroes.

The one constant was...the Baltimore Colts...but I kept watch out of the corner of my eye on this AFL deal and this guy, this incredibly cocky No. 12 of the Jets.

By the close of 1965, the official escalation of the second Indochina war was almost 12 months old, and we were losing an average of 155 22-year-old men per month—1,863 officially for the year. The nation cringed and the seeds of doubt were planted.

That year, a street busker from Berkeley by the name of Joseph Allen McDonald penned the now infamous "I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-To-Die Rag" and the infant "counter-culture" had its anthem.

The AFL had finagled a lucrative contract with ABC to televise it's games nationwide and our move north meant no more fuzzy black and white games fighting their way from Raleigh-Durham, but a choice of games from Philadelphia or Baltimore...in freakin' COLOR.

That's what sold me on the AFL. They had flashier uniforms, they threw the ball...a lot...and there was that tall, lanky dude from Beaver Falls, PA who was not only playing football with abandon, he was living the high-life that every man-child dreamed of.

He was "Broadway Joe" now or "Joe Willie" as Cosell called him.

There was the Fu Manchu, a mustache wasn't enough, it had to be a "spectacular" mustache, there were the white shoes, so easy to find in a sea of black high tops, the mink coat on the sideline. It all screamed "Individuality" in a world of Madison Avenue conformity.

Still, there was a war coming into our living room every night—a war brought to you by Gillette, DOW Chemical, and Chevrolet; a war sanctioned, blessed and sponsored by the 'establishment'—a war that ended up erasing almost 60,000 members of my generation.

As my family stood the last goal-line defense for the great '50s American Dream...I hooked it wide left.

By 1968, my freshman year of high school, I was no longer that little country bumpkin from Rockingham County. I had grown to a 6'0", 215-pound wannabe quarterback on the famous late '60s Middletown, DE Cavalier JV squad.

I played center. I played fullback. I played tight end...I played none of them well. Perhaps as a consolation, perhaps only because it fit, I was issued the No. 10. I wanted No. 19...or No. 12.

I was forever resigned to 'lineman eligible' status...and I blew that, too.

In a season and a half, I created more chaos in that locker room than Bill Billings had ever seen. Beer, long hair, girls, drag racing, joy rides in the town police car, all under the radar and hidden from public view...the coaching staff put up with all of that and more because I was big and could long snap like a QB.

What straw broke the camel's back?

Those white shoes...I wore white shoes to a pregame scrimmage one day. I crossed that unseen line in the sand between the past and the future and I had unknowingly slipped into the evil counter-culture that had infected this great nation in her time of crisis.

On the field, the royal blue and white Middletown Cavaliers were the spittin' image of the Baltimore Colts minus the horseshoe, even down to the black hightops we were required to wear. White shoes weren't part of that image. I had made my last snap.

Thank you, Joe Willie Namath.

1968 was a year of transition as well for this country and for the New York Jets. The war had turned bad by then and it's various opponents had finally united to stop the slaughter.

After the Tet Offensive exposed the strategic weakness of America's base defense systems, the U.S. military indiscriminately bombed, burned and destroyed anything it viewed as a threat to South Vietnam's security and the phrase "We had to destroy the village to save it." entered the American lexicon.

This nation was torn apart, and I rolled with it.

The NFL was the "establishment" as were my beloved Colts. The AFL were "counter-culture" all the way.

No more "three yards and a cloud of dust", Namath had thrown for 4,007 yards in 14 games, Joe Willie had made Don Maynard and George Sauer household names in 1967.

Namath had taken the Jets from a football joke to championship contenders in three short seasons.

With this nation in flames and our government in paranoid denial, racial tensions spilled onto the front page, and the population poised to split along generational, racial and political lines, we needed a hero, someone who could do battle with the status quo.

With the "establishment" maintaining control in a manner that would shame the KGB...the "other" America needed someone cool, someone young, brash and willing to tell the NFL "establishment" to "stick it."

We found that hero in Joe Namath.

The details of Namath's war with the league and his proclivity for the spotlight are well chronicled and need not be rehashed ad nauseam.

He stood his ground, the league submitted, a compromise was reached and the league thrived because of it. If this handsome gunslinger had anything on his side it was the destiny to evolve and control his environment.

On that humid, overcast day in Miami, Namath evolved, he tossed aside his gunslinger ways and took the game to my Colts on their terms...and won.

Joe Namath beat the "establishment" with their own weapons...a solid run game, timely throws and clock management.

Something died in me that day in Miami...but in every death there is a re-birth. The Colts and my boyhood icon had aged before my very eyes but my faith in social change and it's righteousness was re-born that day as well. I don't think I've ever given up hope since.

In a precursor to American history, the leagues merged and became one of the most successful capitalistic ventures in history, it became the flagship "establishment" enterprise and Joe Namath, his outrageous contract and his legitimizing his own personal 'counter culture' made that happen.

It took a few more years for the American "counter culture" and "establishment" to merge, to kiss and make up if you will. A war had to end, veterans had to rejoin the mainstream sans guilt and mothers had to bury their 58,913 children once and for all.

As the AFL and NFL recognized that their "war" was self-defeating, eventually so did we as a nation.

By the time I mustered out of the Infantry in 1975, the nation seemed to be back on track...and Joe Willie became just another bad kneed quarterback with a porous offensive line. The nation had begun to heal, if not Joe Willie's knees.

Namath passed from our view as his career and the war wound down. His star shown bright and blew by us in a quick blaze of glory. It was our loss, Joe. It was our loss.

It took two extra years to see him elected to Canton, but in the end, the old "establishment" and new "counter-culture" Hall of Fame voters hugged and got it right, embracing Namath not for the numbers, the white shoes or the mink coat, but for the impact he had on the NFL and a nation at it's height of crisis.

*For a further, more comprehensive discussion of Joe Namath's place in American history I leave you with Rob Kirkpatrick's "1969: The Year Everything Changed"

(dedicated to Lisa Horne)

Chrysler and the Dodge Boys: A NASCAR Manufacturer in Disarray

L.J. Burgess — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 10:06:17 -0400

Much has been made in the business sections of this nation's top newspapers about the U.S. automotive industry and its struggles to stay relevant in the 21st century.

Chrysler's most recent involvement in NASCAR could be seen as a road map through this decade's automotive design and engineering minefield.

Analyst Kelly Crandall's latest article, revealing Brad Keselowski's refusal of an offer to drive Penske South's recent Daytona 500 winning seat, is a staggering indictment of Chrysler's ability to stay competitive in NASCAR's top series.

If one of the Nationwide Series' top young stars recognizes that he's better off waiting two years for a competitive seat rather than stepping into a race-ready ride like the No. 12 then something is seriously wrong in the Dodge camp.

There may be a lot of contributing factors to Keselowski's decision, such as contracts with Chevrolet, loyalty to Dale Earnhardt, Jr., and the promise of a Hendrick Motor Sports seat. But it's obvious that he was granted the opportunity to make that choice by JR Motorsports.

Keselowski's decision confirms that Dodge has become the laughing stock of NASCAR.

After sitting out of NASCAR competition for a quarter of a century, Chrysler brought Dodge back into the Sprint Cup fold with a lot of fanfare in the 2000 offseason.

The Dodge division spared little, if anything, in luring Ray Evernham from Hendrick Motor Sports to set up the Dodge flagship team; buying Chip Ganassi's loyalties for his NASCAR maiden entry, convincing an up-and-coming Bill Davis Racing to switch brands, and, of course, bringing Petty Enterprises back into the fold. That cost a lot of Chrysler cash.

The 2001 season driver lineup had it all with past champion Bill Elliott, Daytona master Sterling Marlin, NASCAR ambassador Kyle Petty, John Andretti, Ward Burton, and a host of up-and-comers (Jason Leffler, Casey Atwood, Buckshot Jones, and Stacey Compton).

That generous investment paid off immediately with a first row sweep at that year's Daytona 500, another pole 16 races later, and the ultimate win in Detroit's backyard at Michigan International Speedway seven months into the season.

The rest of the season was a Dodge tour de force with top fives, top tens, and wins at Darlington, Charlotte, and Homestead. A third place finish in the points race for Marlin and Ganassi showed that the Dodge Boys were back with a vengeance.

Seven short years later those drivers are only fond memories and the Chrysler/Dodge teams they drove for are in shambles.

In between, there were flashes of brilliance: a Daytona 500 win, Ryan Newman's 2003 season, Kasey Kahne's emergence with Gillett Evernham Motorsports, and Ganassi and Penske Chase runs stand as high points.

But the highlights have diminished and with only two drivers in the Chase since 2005 Dodge is in serious decline in the NASCAR garage. If Kahne drops out of contention for the '08 Chase it will be the first time since 2002 that Dodge has been out of the top 10 in points by Homestead.

One common thread among these Dodge teams is driver turnover. Some proven veterans have been fired by, or bailed on, Dodge teams for countless reasons including a soap opera of personality clashes and alleged marital infidelity.

The knee-jerk reaction was to import established open wheel stars from the fractured IRL and Champ Car series. The result has been a disaster, with only J.P. Montoya having a modicum of success.

The infrastructure of the teams has been in constant flux. Crew chiefs have been passed around like trading cards and some have moved on in frustration.

The owners who looked like geniuses a few short years ago now look completely incompetent and lost.

Sponsorships have been cobbled together and few remain constant from week to week. Now a NASCAR stalwart, Texaco/Havoline has spit the bit. If not for the big red Dodge Dealer cars, Chrysler wouldn't have any true identity left on the track.

This tragic downfall can only be laid at the feet of Chrysler's board of directors and the Daimler Benz money men that abandoned them as soon as times got tough. The Benz boys knew where the market was moving and it wasn't in Chrysler's direction.

The choice was "America or the World, Dodge Motorsports or McLaren Mercedes"...and the Benz money men bolted.

Mercedes faces its biggest sales challenge here in the States. Lexus, Infinity, Cadillac, and even Buick have all taken a huge piece of the quality based luxury car market away from the Europeans.

With quality, reliability, and high repair cost issues in its recent history, the European luxury car manufacturer's new technological gimmicks look like tinsel on a dying Christmas tree.

The top of the line German brands have been exposed for the poseurs they are and now depend on blind loyalty from the wannabe bourgeoisie to make sales targets.

So the choice was simple: back to the continent and Formula 1.

Chrysler Corp. has a history of government and union bailouts due to poor market strategy and shortsightedness. Another low interest "charity ball" wouldn't surprise me.

With a history of shaky quality, bad model choices, and singular design, Chrysler has to depend on the fringe market of Jeep, PT Cruiser, and nine MPG pickup truck lovers to cover the wishy-washy sales of the brick-like Charger and the rest of its horrendous-looking, low MPG, model line.

The Dodge Charger is the perfect example of Chrysler's lack of touch with its market and its NASCAR fan base.

The Dodge Intrepid was the perfect racecar—smooth, sleek, aerodynamic, and a winner on the track. Was it boring? Yes, but so was the incredibly successful Ford Taurus, which made Ford bring that design back from the dead because it was so popular among its loyal fans.

The racing budget is drying up, the engineering re-prioritized, and the future of the newest Dodge V8 "Hemi" is in question, as is everything coming out of the Chrysler design studios.

If Dodge is a major player in NASCAR's 2010 season, I'll be shocked.

I can't see Chrysler surviving another season with its teams in such disarray, its sponsors bailing, and its fans wondering who they can count on for a top five, much less wins. The future was four years ago and somehow Chrysler missed the memo.

"Win on Sunday, sell on Monday" used to be the mantra of the American automotive industry.

But not for the Dodge Boys. Not anymore.

Open Mic: The All-Time Baltimore Oriole Scrap-Iron, Blue-Collar, Magical Lineup

L.J. Burgess — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 17:22:48 -0400

The All-Time Baltimore Oriole Scrap-Iron Lineup

These aren't the All-Stars. They're not the Cal Jr.s, the Eddie Murrays, or Jim Palmers of Oriole fame. These are the scrappy guys, the hard heads that wouldn't quit, the guys that did the dirty work up the middle. These are the guys that embody "Oriole Magic."

General Manager

Paul Richards. A journeyman, backup catcher in the bigs, Richards, who played for Bill Terry and Connie Mack, spent four seasons as an Oriole on-field GM/Manager. Paul Rapier Richards set the tone for future Oriole teams by initiating "The Oriole Way," which was youth, pitching, and defense.

It only took him five seasons to prove the system worked, with a second place finish to the Yanks in 1960.

Prior to coming to the Orioles, Richards built the Chicago White Sox into contenders using the same theory, and upon moving to Baltimore tried to swap the entire O's roster with the ChiSox, but a kid named Brooks Robinson killed the deal.

Ex-catchers are all scrap-iron and when you bring that to the GM's job, it rubs off on the organization.

"Today's athletes run faster and make a lot more plays in the field, but the name of the game is still pitching and it ain't going to change." - Paul Richards

Manager

Who else but the epitome of scrap iron, "The Earl of Baltimore," Earl Weaver. Weaver was the happiest angry man I've ever seen work...or maybe it was the other way 'round.

At the halfway mark of the '68 season, and at three games over .500, O's GM Harry Dalton replaced 1966 World Series winning manager Hank Bauer with Weaver. Earl managed 15 years of great O's teams before retiring in '82.

Prior to taking a second shot with the dying Birds of '85-'86, Earl's worst season was a 90-win, fourth-place finish in '78.

Never a big leaguer, Earl knew "the Oriole Way," a game of pitching and defense, but he added his own twist—the three-run homer that carried the club to the top of the AL East for a decade and a half.

Dalton and Weaver enjoyed the O's '68-'71 run together. After Dalton left, Earl worked with GM greats Frank Cashen '72-'75 and Hank Peters '75-'86, who enabled Weaver's winning style of managing.

One of Earl's most underrated accomplishments was Dr. Frankensteining, a switch-hitting left fielder that hit 79 home runs and 264 RBI over the '82-'83 seasons, an accomplishment that I can not find a comparison to...help me out.

"A manager's job is simple. For 162 games, you try not to screw up all that smart stuff your organization did last December." - Earl Weaver

Coach

Cal Ripken, Sr. Check Cal Sr.'s baseball card, I mean, look at this guy! Is that the face of scrap-iron baseball or what? Obviously, the father of Orioles' Cal Jr. and Billy, Cal Sr. was an Oriole before both were born.

Cal Ripken, Sr. spent 36 years in the Baltimore Oriole organization, booking 964 wins in a 13-year minor-league managing career before filling a number of roles for the Orioles, but the third-base coaching box was his primary domain.

In 1988, he was promoted to the Bird's manager's office and was promptly crapped all over by the O's front office for losing the first six games of the infamous '88 season. Cal Ripken Sr.'s firing was a sad day for Oriole fans.

"The game of baseball is made up of many little things. If we do all the little things right, then we'll never have a big thing to worry about." - Cal Ripken Sr.

Coach

Elrod Hendricks WAS the face of the Baltimore Orioles. In 37 years as a player and a coach, Ellie was a fixture at Memorial Stadium and the Yard. Pre-game workouts were the E-Rod show, as he worked the lower field boxes, waving, smiling, and having a chat with friends.

He handled the O's bullpen like a benevolent dictator for 28 of those years. Ellie had a stroke in April of '05 and was removed from the coaching roster, but O's manager Lee Mazilli reinstated Hendricks because the club and fans missed him in the locker room.

In December of 2005, Elrod Hendricks died of heart failure the day after playing Santa Claus for over 100 Baltimore children. Hendricks was "E-Rod" before there was an A-Rod.

"You know Earl. He's not happy unless he's not happy." - Bullpen Coach Elrod Hendricks

First Base

Kevin Millar, RH. Yeah, yeah, he's a flake from LA LA Land, and he "cowboyed up" with the '04 BoSox Champs, but Millar is my scrap-iron first bagger of ALL-TIME.

The guy just flat out loves the game and always plays above his skill set by giving 100 percent on the field. Millar comes in as an undrafted, independent leaguer and wins a World Series ring. He was SCAB during the '94-'95 strike and BARRED from the MLBPA, who sucks anyway.

Because of Millar's ban, he is fictionalized on all MLBPA licensed video games with Power Pros '08 "Great Johnson" being his most apt alias. He'll be remembered as a wonderful baseball ambassador and it will mean zilch.

Millar gives everything for the game, but he'll get absolutely nothing from it when he's gone. Write your congressman.

"Has anyone ever called you a scab?" "That’s the one thing I’ve never accepted. If anyone had a problem with me—I always made them come to me and talk to me about my situation if somebody approaches me like that, like a non-human being. There’s been a couple of scenarios.

Other than that, I never had a problem with that because players approach me, know my situation. I reported back, but now they (withhold) my licensing money. You don’t have a choice. All the people have all the answers 10 years later. You don’t know what’s going on when you’re a guy making $600 a month with no benefits from Major League Baseball." - Kevin Millar

*Honorable Mention: Randy Milligan just for being a constant on the scrap-iron team of all-time, the 1989 Orioles. Milligan worked the count harder than anyone in that lineup.

Second Base

Rich Dauer, RH/Bobby Grich, RH. I am so torn between these two; I couldn't choose just one. The Baltimore Orioles are the Bermuda Triangle of free agency, and Bobby Grich was probably the Orioles' biggest free-agent mistake ever, a tragedy of epic proportions.

If we, as a nation, can apologize publicly for an evil of evils such as human slavery...why can't the Baltimore Orioles baseball club deliver a genuflecting edict taking responsibility for losing one of the greatest second basemen ever to play the game?

Don't you just love picking up a four- or five-tool second baseman in your fantasy drafts? You know you do! Bobby Grich was the prototype for the modern version of the second baseman, and he was tough as scrap-iron nails.

Grich was a SIX-tool second bagger because anything he lacked, he made up for with brains. Remember how experts said Cal Ripken didn't need as much range because he was always in the right position? That's why Bobby Grich set all those fielding records too.

Grich's line for 17 seasons: .266 AVG/224 HR/864 RBI/1033 R/104 SB/47 Triples/six-time All-Star/four Gold Gloves/one Silver Slugger award.

Bobby Grich could do it all...and I am STILL pissed off!

"He was the professional ball player's professional. Always was nice to the fans, signed autographs every time there was a request. Did all the interviews, did everything that was asked of him" - Brooks Robinson on Bobby Grich.

Rich Dauer, RH. Richie Dauer did not strike out, he led the AL twice in not striking out...it's no wonder Earl Weaver loved this little guy so much. Earl loved Richie so much he put him in 1,140 games simply because hit put the ball in play and was adept at turning the double play with shortstop Mark Belanger.

Dauer was a good, solid second sacker that would never see the inside of a big league clubhouse this day and age, but yet was good enough to pair up with Cal Ripken, Jr. for four years of double play magic, too.

I have no clue why I love Richie Dauer so much, other than the fact that he should have never been a starter on a big league club...but was for almost eight years. This is the guy that took over for the above-mentioned Bobby Grich, and that's as hard as a rock right there.

Maybe I love 'im because he actually made it easier to move on after Grich departed, or maybe because second base didn't turn into a revolving door of failure, as so often happens in Balmer. Richie Dauer was a scrap-iron Bird.

But maybe it was that Rich Dauer epitomized the Oriole Way by giving every freakin' ounce of himself to the game, day in and day out, regardless of his talent or his contract. Dauer has two World Series rings as a player, and I'm going to let you tell me...Eight Seasons: .257 AVG / 43 HR / .987 FP-2B.

"I walked into Double-A and Cal Ripken, Sr. grabbed me by the throat and he threw me up against the wall, and he said, 'I don't care where you went to school. I don't care what round you got drafted in. I don't care who you are, and I don't care if you hit .300. But if you play and you give me 110 percent, then we're going to get along fine.'" - Rich Dauer

*Honorable Mention: Old F**K F**E hisself, Billy Ripken, again for being an '89 Oriole.

Third Base

Doug DeCinces, RH. If Brooks Robinson was the "Human Vacuum Cleaner," DeCinces was "The Hockey Goalie" at third base for the O's. When I close my eyes and think of Doug, I see a broken nose, and I can hear Chuck Thompson saying..."it's a hard grounder to... OUCH!"

What made DeCinces truly scrap-iron was that he didn't care...and he had a rifle for an arm...so as long as he knocked the ball down with some part of his bruised and bloodied person, he could still throw 'em out at first.

Doug DeCinces was a good, solid third sacker for 12 years, seven with the Orioles, and was the second-biggest free agent loss in O's history.

Why? Because we got to watch Glenn Gulliver, Todd Cruz, Wayne Gross, Floyd Rayford, Ray Knight, Rene Gonzales, Craig Worthington, Leo Gomez, Tim Hulett, Jeff Manto, B.J. Surhoff, Cal Jr., and Tony Batista cover third base over the next 22 years. (Thank you Melvin Mora.)

"Replacing Brooks, that's not easy, I mean I can tell you a time where, true story, my parents brought my grandmother to watch me play my first major-league game back in Baltimore. We're playing against the Twins in a doubleheader.

I started the second game and as I'm warming up, there are 36,000 fans that day, and I was running, I'm 24, 25 years old, you know, trying to make it and there'd be some old Baltimore blue-collar guys yelling 'DeCinces, you're never going to replace Brooks Robinson' and then they announce my name 'Starting third baseman' and there's those boos, because they want to see Brooks." - Doug DeCinces

*Honorable Mention: Aurelio Rodriguez, one of my all-time favorite players and in 1983, the Orioles finally handed Aurelio a World Series ring after 17 years of scrapping it out as one of the great third base gloves of his era with a .237 BA and 124 HR career.

Shortstop

Mike Bordick. Bordick made it possible for Cal Jr. to move to third base. He was an Oriole mainstay for six seasons, and with Cal Jr. on his right flank and Robbie Alomar on his left, he was able to slip under the radar and seamlessly replace a legend at shortstop.

Amazingly, he made the 2000 AL All-Star team at short, had an outstanding glove, and he rarely sat down. Bordick always gave his body up for the team, and that's why he's my scrap-iron Oriole shortstop.

''I was a little suspect because I wasn't really sure how the situation with Ripken at third base went last year but as I was being pursued by the Orioles a little bit more, I realized it was going to be like an inevitable move. I spoke to Ripken. It was a fact-finding thing for myself, I wasn't calling to say, 'Can I come over and play short?' '' - Mike Bordick

*Honorable Mention: Mark "The Blade" Belanger, the O's second best shortstop of all-time was all scrap-iron and tough as nails. Mark will show up on a different list of Oriole players that I admire so I'm going to save him 'til then.

Left Field

Gary John "Solo" "Brother Lo" Lowenicki-Roenstein, SH. He made Earl Weaver the genius that he is claimed to be today. Gary John was a switch-hitting left fielder and a mainstay for the Orioles from 1978-1985.

For two amazing seasons, '82 and '83, he hit .292 with 79 HR, 202 R, 234 RBI, and was a big part of the Orioles' success as 1979 American League champions and 1983 World Series winners.

Unfortunately, the ravages of schizophrenia took their toll, and Gary John was out of baseball after the '85 season. To play that well and that long under a psychotic Bonaparte like Earl Weaver is nothing but scrap-iron tuff.

"I flush the john between innings to keep my wrists strong" - John Lowensten LH 1982- 24 HR 66 RBI / 1983- 15 HR 60 RBI

"Lowenstein? Never heard of him." - Gary Roenicki RH 1982- 21 HR 74 RBI / 1983- 19 HR, 64 RBI

*Honorable Mention: B.J. Surhoff for being such a gamer and just loving the city of Baltimore and O's fans. We love you too B.J.!

Center Field

Mike "Devo" Devereaux, RH. Devo came to the O's from the Dodgers at the absolute lowest point in the Orioles' history, following an embarrassing 1988 season that began with...20 something, I don't even care or remember, losses in a row...futility.

Mike took the place of a rapidly fading, overrated Fred Lynn...another O's free-agent blunder...and immediately sparked the Memorial Stadium crowd with his youthful enthusiasm and some timely ninth-inning dingers.

In fairness, Devo was no Fred Lynn at the plate for the long-term, but he was a big improvement in center field.

But most importantly, Mike Devereaux was part of an Oriole season that wiped away the memories of the absolute armpit, hell-hole, piece-of-crap squad that tied the Atlanta Braves for the worst record in the Major Leagues in 1988.

Yes...the 1989 O's, with a collection of rejects, castaways, truck drivers, and beer-league softball players contended for the AL East flag, up until the last three days of the season.

After losing 108 games the previous year, the O's came back and won 87, a 33-game swing in 12 months AND held first place in the AL East longer than any other team that season before losing the flag by two games to Toronto.

"Here’s the thing about Devo, any scout or baseball scribe from that era will tell you that Mike was a terrific athlete — with very few baseball instincts." - Phil Wood - Examiner San Francisco

Cal Ripken Jr.'s line that season: .257/21 HR/93 RBI...How'd they do it without Cal Jr. hitting? It was magic...pure magic. If you're a player that was on the '89 Oriole roster, you're scrap-iron...and I love you for it.

*Honorable Mention: John "T-Bone" Shelby, SH, of the '83 O's was a rookie when he patrolled center field and had 10 assists and three double plays out there for the world champions. He only started for two seasons but they were scrap-iron years.

Right Field

Joe "Slak" Orsulak LH. Another member of the amazing '89 O's. The nickname "Skates" is already owned by Lonnie Smith, but if it was available, it would belong to Orsulak. Joseph Michael spent five seasons flailing around in right field for the O's, but he got to more balls than the aging Lee Lacey, whom he replaced.

With a rocket arm, he had 10 assists and two double plays for the '89 O's. "Slak" just looked like blue-collar scrap-iron out there, too.

"You know, the higher up in the stands you sit, the easier the game gets. Unless you're on the ground, there's no way you can know what's going on." - Joe Orsulak

*Honorable Mention: "Whitey" Herzog '61-'62 O's...yeah THAT Whitey Herzog...and you know he was scrap-iron.

Catcher

Chris Hoiles, RH/Mickey "Froot Loops""Cereal Killer" Tettleton, SH. Another toss up in scrap-iron O's history, but they were both on the '89 roster, Mickey as the starter and Hoiles for a September cup of coffee.

The Orioles had NO power in '89, but Mickey led the team in dingers with 26. Mickey was a fan favorite and played a scrap-iron game as catcher until he went down with an injury. When Tettleton went on the DL, the air of excitement just deflated for Oriole fans that year, but he is always spoken of with admiration even now.

"The biggest offensive surprise (in 1989) was Mickey Tettleton, who had a breakthrough season with 26 homers. After an interview in which his wife credited his success to his habit of eating 'Froot Loops,' Tettleton was nicknamed 'The Cereal Killer.'" - From 33rd Street to Camdem Yards - John Eisenberg

Hoiles must have given the O's big hopes because, in another foolish move, they traded Tettleton to Detroit for the '91 season and, as so often happens, Tettleton went on a tear, hitting 168 home runs in the next six years.

But Chris Hoiles was a highly-rated Tiger prospect and Detroit took Fred Lynn in exchange, so in my mind, Hoiles could do no wrong. Hoiles spent his entire career with the O's, had some pop in his bat and a big fan club in the stands, and that was scrap-iron enough for most of us.

"Hoiles, along with most of his ex-Oriole coaching staff, was brought up through the system learning "The Oriole Way," something that strongly stressed working on fundamentals and getting the basics right.

His coaches Al Bumbry, Tippy Martinez, Ryan Minor and Hoiles himself had it drilled into them throughout their development with the Orioles. 'That's kind of the era that I was brought up in, and Cal Ripken Sr. was a huge part of that -- and the whole Ripken family.'" - Jeff Seidel - MLB.com

*Honorable Mention: Clint "Scrap Iron" Courtney LH. '54 & '60 O's...The original "Scrap Iron"...check out his baseball card.

*Bonus Pick: Lenn Sakata, RH 2B/C One game 1983...After tying a 3-1 game against Toronto in the bottom of the ninth and using up all of his catchers and bench, manager Joe Altobelli had this lineup left: Lowenstein at 2B, Roenicki at 3B, and Lenn Sakata behind the plate in Dempsey's catching gear.

Tim "Big Foot" Stoddard opened the ninth by throwing two pitches, the first a Cliff Johnson HR, the second a Barry Bonnell single to right field. Sakata still hadn't received a pitch in his catching debut. Lefty Tippy Martinez relieved Stoddard and switch hitter Dave Collins stepped into the left side box to block Sakata's view of Bonnell leading off first. Tippy came to his set and, with Bonnell leaning on Sakata, Tippy picked him off first base.

Collins switched to the right side and worked Martinez for a walk, but he was promptly picked off as well. Willie Upshaw smacked an infield single over the mound and then Tippy picked him off, too.

Lenny Sakata's catching career began and ended with Tippy Martinez picking off three in the Jays' 10th, and then Tippy getting the win after two Randy Moffit walks to Eddie Murray and "T-Bone" Shelby were followed by...yep, you got it...catcher Lenn Sakata's three-run tater in the bottom of the frame. That, my friends, was a scrap-iron moment.

DH/PH

Harold Baines, LH. Harold is a local guy from here on Maryland's Eastern Shore, and he had some stellar seasons for the ChiSox before returning to Maryland with the Orioles. I'm saving Harold's hoopla for another list but let's face it, with knees so bad he could barely walk, everything Baines accomplished was scrap-iron hard.

"Evidently." - Harold Baines (This is the longest Harold Baines quote in existence.)

*Honorable Mentions: Jim Dwyer, LH PH, Benny "Eclipse" Ayala, RH PH, Terry "Crow" Crowley, LH PH. These guys were masters at coming off of the Oriole bench with amazing and timely hits...and they were all flaky as hell to boot.

Sitting and waiting half a career to hear Earl scream "grab a bat and get out there!" and then coming through is as scrap-iron as it gets.

"Wake me up in the bottom of the sixth." - Jim Dwyer, Benny Ayala, and Terry Crowley

Starting Pitchers

Steve Stone RH...1980 Cy Young winner was 25-7 that year. After a 78-79 career came to O's, found a curve, and used it until his arm fell off two years later. Five-feet-10 inches and 175 lbs of scrap-iron.

"I have one comment about the Steve Bartman incident. Steve Bartman did not give up the four hits to the team later. He did not make the error at shortstop. Steve Bartman did not cause the Chicago Cubs not to go to the World Series. The Florida Marlins did." - Steve Stone - Chicago Cubs Announcer

Jeff Ballard, LH 18-8. Ace of the staff in '89, his only winning season...a once in a lifetime scrap-iron STUD. This kid came out of no-where in '89, and we always knew he'd be a great one...and then he was gone.

"The one thing any pitcher has to learn is, you have to know yourself, you have to know what you have to do to get the ball where you want to get it, with an aggressive attitude but when somebody goes through a struggle, you start questioning things, and you don't have any foundation to fall back on." - Jeff Ballard - 1994, five years later at AAA Buffalo.

Scott McGregor, LH. Career Oriole, 138-108, 3.99 ERA, six 200+ inning seasons, 2,140 innings in 11 seasons. Thank you scrap-iron Scotty.

"Earl was gone, and the minor-league system fell apart. I wasn't getting stronger at the end of games any more. My arm started falling apart in `87. I might have been able to catch on with another team as a lefty reliever, but I didn't want to leave Baltimore, I fell in love with Baltimore. I wasn't going anywhere." - Scott McGregor - On being released in 1988

Mike Cuellar, LH. The O's fifth starter for seven years put 139 wins on the board with four 20-win seasons and 2,028 innings. Scrap-Iron Mike.

"I went to Orioles Fantasy Camp in 1992. I went down there and played! If you're a baseball fan, it's one of the greatest things you can do. I also started pitching. I was taught how to throw a screwball by Mike Cuellar. I screwed up my rotator cuff, though." - Joan Jett of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Dave Johnson, RH. '89 O's dream team, ex-truck driver, ex-softball player, the big media story in 1989...he's scrap-iron on the radio now and is just one big quote.

The Bullpen

Moe "Snake Man" Drabowsky RH. One of the biggest jackasses in baseball. In October of 1966, Moe set me up for life as an Oriole fan when he relieved Dave McNally in the Orioles' first World Series game against the L.A. Dodgers, with one out in the third inning.

Sitting on a 4-2 lead, Drabowsky proceeded to strike out 11 Dodgers that day while giving up only one hit and two walks. Moe got the win that day, the Orioles swept the Dodgers four days later, and I became a lifetime fan of Baltimore baseball...that's a lot of scrap-iron in one week.

"I had pitched in Kansas City for a few years, so I was familiar with the phone system. I knew the extension of the Kansas City bullpen and you could dial it direct from the visitor's bullpen.

One game, Jim Nash of the Athletics is cruising against us in about the fifth inning. So I call their bullpen and shout, 'Get Krausse up' and hang up. You should've seen them scramble, trying to get Lew Krausse warmed up in a hurry, It really was funny."- Moe Drabowsky

Gregg "Otter" Olson, RH. Another '89 O's hero, Olson was brought up at the end of the 1988 debacle but it didn't affect his curve ball in '89. Installed as the Oriole closer, Olson started dropping abominable yakkers that had a mind of their own around the plate.

Gregg's knee-buckling "Uncle Charlie" was good for 27 saves, a 1.69 ERA, and five wins in the mix. Olson won the 1989 Rookie of the Year award, was sixth in Cy Young voting, and picked up an All-Star berth in 1990.

Along with that devastating curve came the inevitable elbow injury, but while "Otter" was in his prime, he was nothing but scrap-iron.

"My favorite place to play was Memorial Stadium, You almost knew all the fans because they were accessible. Half the time, the players' parking lot was in the middle of the regular parking lot, so you got to know everybody outside the park after the game. ... You weren't above -- you weren't anything. You were just somebody they came to watch." - Greg Olson - On being enshrined in the Oriole Hall Of Fame.

Randy Myers, LH. At last, a quality free-agent signing by the Oriole front office! Myers was an established star before joining the Oriole bullpen in '96, and in his two seasons with the O's, he gave them 76 saves in two playoff seasons. His career year was 1997 with a 1.51 ERA and 45 saves.

Myers signed with Toronto for 1998, was swapped to the Padres and promptly fell off the face of earth 12 months later. Myers was the closer for the Reds' 1990 World Champion team that swept Tony La Russa's Bash Brother's and won me a ton of chips...now that's scrap-iron!

"Myers was quite a character when he pitched here, I can still see him sitting on the clubhouse floor in his camouflage T-shirt and shorts, using a large knife to slice some sort of meat for a pre-game snack. Beef, deer…I never asked. He also kept a toy grenade in his locker. At least I think it was a toy." - Roch Kubatko - Baltimore Sun

Tim "Big Foot" Stoddard, RH, "Slamin'" Sammy Stewart, RH, and Don "Stan the Man Unusual""Two Pack" Stanhouse RH. If Earl Weaver dies of lung cancer, these three guys should feel some shame.

Stanhouse was the closer in '78 and '79 and had a 2.87 ERA and 45 saves, but walked 103 batters in 146 innings, which made Weaver stomp up the tunnel and smoke as many cigarettes as he could until Ray Miller let him know how the inning went.

Tim Stoddard tried closing the following season, but Weaver wanted him to set-up with Sammy Sewart...but they were all right-handers. This righty log-jam broke when Stanhouse was shipped to the Dodgers and left-hander Tippy Martinez stepped up, but Tippy wasn't a classic closer either.

With the Orioles being in a pennant race every year, and with Earl Weaver at the helm, the Orioles' bullpen was forever a source of agony for everyone involved, but they were all a big, funny load of scrap-iron.

"Earl Weaver once called Pitcher Tim Stoddard 'two packs.' Asked by a reporter why two packs, he said that his how many cigarettes I smoke in the tunnel every time the guy pitches." - The Sporting News

"Sammy Stewart, who pitched for the 1983 World Series champion Baltimore Orioles during his 10 major-league seasons, has been sentenced to at least six years in prison after pleading guilty to drug charges and other crimes.

Stewart, 51, pleaded guilty to being a habitual felon, felony drug possession, and failure to appear in court on a felony. His plea agreement allowed the charges to be consolidated into a single habitual felon charge for sentencing purposes. Since 1988, Stewart has been charged with more than 60 offenses and sent to prison six times." - Associated Press 10/18/06

"Well, Don Stanhouse was an [expletive]. He had us in trouble, had the [expletive] bases loaded [expletive] almost every [expletive] time he went out there. He liked to ruin my health smoking cigarettes" - Earl Weaver in an old interview mistakenly aired live on YES.

*Bonus Pick: Only two pitchers with the first name Radhames have played in the bigs, Dykhoff and Liz, the O's signed both...they better be scrap-iron.

Open Mic: What's a Sport? Bullfighting, Mountain Climbing, or Auto Racing?

L.J. Burgess — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 16:46:00 -0400

The title comes from a variation of a quote attributed to Barnaby Conrad, the author of The Death Of Manolete, magazine writer, all-around bon vivant, and owner of El Matador nightclub in San Francisco.

Conrad was a contemporary of Ernest Hemingway's, and a prolific scribe of that era. He was considered a man's man in his circle, and a comparison to Hemingway and confusion as to the origin of the quote were both apt for the times.

The quote itself exists in many forms, but a simple translation would be:

"Only bullfighting, mountain climbing and auto racing are sports, the rest are merely games".

In Conrad's time, those three sports would have been considered life-and-death struggles compared to the "games" extant at the moment. Although there are still occasional deaths involved in each sport, advancement in equipment, technique, innovation, and training have lessened the lethal aspects of each. (Although fans of mediáticos in glimmering silk vs. pissed off, wounded bovines might be appalled at that suggestion.)

Merriam-Webster defines the word "sport" as a fifteenth-century noun: "1a: a source of diversion 1b: sexual play (nice!) 1c (1): physical activity engaged in for pleasure (see "1b") 1c (2): a particular physical activity (as an athletic game) so engaged in."

So, sport the noun is a still a wide-open field of interpretation, and is completely subjective in definition, depending on the fan's perspective.

Therefore, if one follows the Hot-Dog Eating circuit and enjoys the, 1a: diversion of it, Merriam-Webster would support said fan's claim of Hot-Dog Eating as a sport. Similarly, the World Series of Poker would be validated as a sport for its fans as well.

But we know better, don't we?

It's all about 1a, once you drag yourself past 1b and actually participate in 1c (1), when the words "physical activity" prominently come into play.

After years and years of miserably pursuing 1c (1) while participating in 1c (2), we become a fan of 1c (2) played by professionals, buy a big-screen HDTV, and realize that we have wasted our lives and should have been making a play for more 1b all along.

So again, sport should be loosely defined as "physical activity" during a contest of skill, resulting in a winner of a competition, whether you're watching or playing.

There we go again with the "physical activity", so it must be true. Now we can weed out the poker players, hot dog eaters, and maybe racecar drivers and their ilk...I suppose. Get the f*#k back! Now you guys!

But, as always, I digress.

The email that I received from Bleacher Report specifically asked for my subjective opinion on what I think defines the word sport.

To define sport, we have to separate it from "games" and "competitions", as we know them in our era.

I believe that "sport" and "sports" involve physical activity, mano-a-mano or teams of manos-a-manos, in confrontation and competition, using physical strength, mental dexterity, agility, and preparation, with the goal of winning a contest, prize, or tangible reward.

It must be a discipline that can, or could, be contested in a loincloth with the bare minimum of equipment at hand. It must be caveman simple (sorry Geico guys), not intellectually simple, but simple in its economy of rules.

It must be something that a child can grasp and play well at their age level, with improvement and skill growing with age. It also must be appealing and available to all age groups at their level of ability and maturity.

And, there must be blood. Blood should be spilled at some point in a participant's career. Broken bones would suffice, turf burns are acceptable, cuts, scrapes, gouges, black eyes, and pulled muscles are encouraged. Crying, screaming, whimpering, and limping are verboten.

We didn't roll over the Rhineland leaving a trail of tissues, now did we?

So, in my mind, we can go back in time, back to the origins of the Conrad quote and the allusions in Hemingway's prose as to what constitutes manliness. Death, destruction, and blood.

That's what separates sports from games...an ambulance ride.

Now get off your couch and go outside and get some air...and take a ball with you.

Matt Wieters Kills Carolina League, Promoted to AA Bowie Bay Sox

L.J. Burgess — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 17:28:13 -0400

The Baltimore Orioles announced the promotion of their 2007 first round draft pick Matt Wieters to the AA Bowie Bay Sox tonight. Wieters will be in the Bay Sox lineup on Saturday night.

This raises the question of a September call up to Baltimore if the Orioles are in contention for a Wild Card spot. With the big league club only seven games out of first in the AL East at the halfway mark and in need of another big bat, it has to be a consideration.

Orioles GM Andy McPhail and his minor league staff had hoped to move Wieters through the Orioles' minor league system at a deliberate pace, but the young switch hitter's rapid progress has derailed that plan.

After less than half a season, Wieters leaves the single A Carolina League pitching staff in shambles after 38 games with a .342, 14 HR, 38 RBI start for the Frederick Keys.

Matt Wieters just turned 22 last week and is the number one prospect in the Orioles' minor league system. He was drafted fifth as a catcher out of Georgia Tech in 2007 where he was two-time All-American. Wieters was also a Yellow Jacket closer in his first three seasons.

The native of Goose Creek, South Carolina, represented by Scott Boros, signed within 90 days of the draft and received a $6 million signing bonus.

War Is Brewing: Are Budweiser's Sports Sponsorships in Jeopardy?

L.J. Burgess — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 23:45:21 -0400

Belgian beer-brewer InBev and Brazilian beverage-subsidiary AmBev are prepping a $46 billion offer for U.S. brewer Anheuser-Busch.

The InBev take-over, if successful, would create the world's largest beverage business by joining the world's No. 2, InBev, with the world's No. 4, Anheuser-Busch. The InBev offer spreads out to $65 per share.

If this deal goes down, the two beer brewers, combined with AmBev's South American soft-drink dominance, might permanently checkmate the coming U.S. partnership of SABMiller and Molson Coors, which will control nearly 30 percent of the $97 billion U.S. market. Anheuser-Busch maintains a 51 percent market share stateside.

To stave off InBev's bid, Anheuser-Busch is seeking to complete a partnership with Mexican brewing giant Grupo Modelo, in which it already has a 50 percent stake, to strengthen their North American No. 1 ranking.

InBev has warned the American beer giant against such a move citing concerns that any deal would lessen Anheuser-Busch's appeal and damage share-holder confidence.

With the successful incursion of independent craft-beer brewers in the U.S. marketplace, Anheuser-Busch has attempted to stay relevant. They've bought into Red Hook Ale and Widmer breweries in the Northwest and have invested millions in developing and expanding their award-winning Michelob line, adding Amberbock, Honey Lager and Oktoberfest Marzen beers to compete with the Molson Coors in-house developed Blue Moon Belgian White Ale brand, the best-selling beer in U.S. grocery stores.

At the same time Anheuser-Busch's largest distributor in the U.S. has broken the brewer's exclusive contract so independent craft-beer brewers can be stocked on its shelves. The high profit margins on niche beers justifies this radical move. Obviously, like dominoes falling, this ballsy move will be duplicated by more of Anheuser-Busch's exclusive distributors across the U.S. hoping to cash in on the niche-brewer market.

But it's going take a big deal to keep this merger from happening. After the Yahoo vs. Microsoft fiasco, and with a $65-per-share offer on the table, stockholders worldwide may be trigger happy in this beer-slinging shootout.

Warren Buffett and Busch family members are also stepping into the fray, urging a deal with InBev.

This is going to be huge somewhere down the line, regardless of whether InBev's offer succeeds or not. How would a merger of this magnitude affect sports worldwide? Anywhere in the world you can turn on a TV and see "Budweiser" plastered on anything that doesn't move...and yes, some that do, thank you Kasey Kahne. We suck that up here in the states.

How many Miller Lite drinkers choked on their foam when Kurt Busch stepped into the No. 2? Did you switch brands? No, you were loyal in the end, despite all of your griping.

Old-world beers are just as prominent in European motorsports—from the World Rally to Le Mans—and these fans are just as beer loyal as any Natty-Boh drinker in a Dundalk corner bar.

Did you catch sight of any beer cars in the Nationwide race in Mexico City? You better believe Tecate had a hood on the grid.

We've already glimpsed some minor beverage skirmishes in NASCAR's victory lane. Jimmie Johnson blocked the camera's view of a Coke product so that his Pepsi product could be better seen.

That's just a soft drink, and it's already gettin' ugly.

Will the conglomerates bid so high for event sponsorships that owning a league is cheaper than buying the naming rights? The National Budweiser League? The National Coors Athletic Association? Major Labatt's Baseball? (Okay, that's crazy...or is it?) The Kentucky Derby runs Clydesdales? Nah.

With worldwide beer dominance becoming a grudge match, the gloves are off and nothing will be sacred over the next decade, perhaps not even the amateur ranks. Will amateur athletes continue to hide their stipends, or will the cash finally come out of the closet?

When the Olympic Committee meets again it might be to sell out to the Miller Lite Milers, the Heineken Hurdlers, or the Blue Moon Broad Jumpers.

Will resources be so unlimited that, if NASCAR does franchise, Hendrick Motor Sports and Roush-Fenway become the "little guys"? Could they start a flat-out bidding war for NASCAR itself?

Where will it end, or perhaps, more timely, where will it start? Will there be only three beer companies left in the world?

Will we see a Sammy's Honey Tainted Wheat Harvest Sun Brewed Fall Dry Spell Pale Ale Ford Fusion on the high-banks of Daytona?

Those scenarios are far-fetched and certainly not timely as of yet, but one thing is certain: There will be no cutbacks and no quarter given. It's going to be balls to the walls in a battle for exposure, media bites, and your precious beer dollars...and you get to make the call.

My most urgent concern is, as always...where does Natty-Boh fit in this mess?

What's your take on this hops-and-barley beat down?

George Carlin Is Finally Safe at Home

L.J. Burgess — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 08:31:50 -0400

Tim Parent has an even better tribute;

My Pick of the Day !

George Carlin, a Tribute: Pucks Are for Urinals

George Denis Patrick Carlin has passed away. He was 71 years of age.

Carlin did stand-up comedy until the day he died. George had unwavering, critical opinions on most professional endeavors, including those in the world of sports. His rants on ice hockey and asides on college sports are tales of legend, but one of his (and his fan's) favorite routines was "Football vs Baseball".

It is second only to Abbott and Costello's "Who's on first ?" as baseball's best comedic ambassador to the non-sporting world.

Here is a link you can follow to his latest take on the subject.

Being an "old guy," I remember George Carlin and his early appearances on TV. I never was one to laugh out loud much, but Carlin's timeliness and irreverence always managed to elicit an uninhibited snort out of me.

I was an amateur subversive growing up, and I always grasped for things that would irritate my white-collar father and my Baptist-raised mother. George was my kind of guy: a white, middle class, pseudo revolutionary like me.

Mr. Carlin was born in Mahattan as an Irish Catholic. A high school drop-out and an Air Force wash-out, he became a radio DJ and did stand-up comedy with partner Jack Burns in the early '60s

George Carlin became a solo act in the mid 1960s and was a "suit-and-tie" comedian, endemic to the times.

As the decade wore on, Carlin's persona and stage material made a radical shift to the left, and he transformed into the "anti-establishment, tie-dyed hippie" comic, migrating from performing on The Ed Sullivan Show to The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson as a guest host, and on to host Saturday Night Live on it's maiden broadcast in 1975.

His most infamous routine "Seven Words That You Can Never Say on Television" and his follow-up "Filthy Words" landed Carlin in a Milwaukee jail and New York radio station WBAI FM in front of the Supreme Court for broadcasting "Filthy Words" uncensored, resulting in FCC control and censorship of the airways. Censorship that is still in control today.

Yep, George really was my kinda guy.

The beauty of Carlin was that success never blunted his acerbic view, his dark brand of humor, and his constant war with the psychology, syntax, religion, propriety, and the American way of life.

I give you..."Baseball vs Football" by George Carlin.

Baseball is different from any other sport, very different.

For instance, in most sports you score points or goals; in baseball you score runs.

In most sports the ball, or object, is put in play by the offensive team; in baseball the defensive team puts the ball in play, and only the defense is allowed to touch the ball. In fact, in baseball if an offensive player touches the ball intentionally, he's out; sometimes unintentionally, he's out.

Also: in football,basketball, soccer, volleyball, and all sports played with a ball, you score with the ball and in baseball the ball prevents you from scoring.

In most sports the team is run by a coach; in baseball the team is run by a manager. And only in baseball does the manager or coach wear the same clothing the players do.

If you'd ever seen John Madden in his Oakland Raiders uniform,you'd know the reason for this custom.

Now, I've mentioned football. Baseball & Football are the two most popular spectator sports in this country. And as such, it seems they ought to be able to tell us something about ourselves and our values.

I enjoy comparing baseball and football:

Baseball is a nineteenth-century pastoral game.
Football is a twentieth-century technological struggle.

Baseball is played on a diamond, in a park.The baseball park!
Football is played on a gridiron, in a stadium, sometimes called Soldier Field or War Memorial Stadium.

Baseball begins in the spring, the season of new life.
Football begins in the fall, when everything's dying.

In football you wear a helmet.
In baseball you wear a cap.

Football is concerned with downs - what down is it?
Baseball is concerned with ups - who's up?

In football you receive a penalty.
In baseball you make an error.

In football the specialist comes in to kick.
In baseball the specialist comes in to relieve somebody.

Football has hitting, clipping, spearing, piling on, personal fouls, late hitting and unnecessary roughness.
Baseball has the sacrifice.

Football is played in any kind of weather: rain, snow, sleet, hail, fog...
In baseball, if it rains, we don't go out to play.

Baseball has the seventh inning stretch.
Football has the two minute warning.

Baseball has no time limit: we don't know when it's gonna end - might have extra innings.
Football is rigidly timed, and it will end even if we've got to go to sudden death.

In baseball, during the game, in the stands, there's kind of a picnic feeling; emotions may run high or low, but there's not too much unpleasantness.
In football, during the game in the stands, you can be sure that at least twenty-seven times you're capable of taking the life of a fellow human being.

And finally, the objectives of the two games are completely different:

In football the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy's defensive line.

In baseball the object is to go home! And to be safe! - I hope I'll be safe at home!

Thanks George, baseball will miss you...dude.

Scott Kalitta: The Racer's Racer (1962-2008)

L.J. Burgess — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 11:25:10 -0400

Scott Kalitta died doing what he loved the most, racing down that 1,320 foot strip of two-lane black-top a winner.

Scott Kalitta had made this Sunday's Funny Car show at Old Bridge Township Raceway Park by beating Tony Bartone off the line in the final round of qualifying. Sadly it was to be his last win.

Scott had completed a 300 mph run before everything went horribly wrong and his DHL-sponsored Toyota Solara, engulfed in flames, hit the runoff retaining wall at high speed, taking his life.

Scott Kalitta was 46 years young and one of only 14 drivers to win in both NHRA Nitro classes, Funny Car and Top Fuel.

The two-time NHRA Champion did not have to continue racing...he needed to.

After two aborted attempts at retirement in the '90s, Scott returned in 2003 to the sport he loved as part of his family-owned four car team with his father, Connie Kalitta, as crew chief and cousin Doug Kalitta running in the Top Fuel class.

It was a family matter.

Conrad "Connie" Kalitta, drag racing pioneer and NHRA Top Fuel winner, was famous as the "The Bounty Hunter" and car owner of drag racing's first queen Shirley Muldowney "The Bounty Huntress." The pair were immortalized in the movie "Heart Like A Wheel" the biopic of Muldowney's life.

Doug Kalitta drives the family-owned, MAC Tools-sponsored Top Fuel dragster that sits eighth in the 2008 points race. Earlier in his racing career, Doug Kalitta was the 1994 USAC National Sprint Car champion.

This was the racing legacy that Scott Kalitta was born to inherit. The quintessential family man, the family team, the family mission, to compete for the win. The genes were too dominant for Scott Kalitta to walk away from drag racing.

Kalitta's career tragically ended at the same track where he made his professional debut in 1986. Old Bridge Raceway Park in Englishtown, N.J., has been a legendary stop on the NHRA calendar since it was sanctioned in the mid '60s and has been the permanent home of the Summernationals since 1993.

Scott's career progressed to the top tiers of nitro classes in the late '80s and he took his first win in the Funny Car class in 1989. After tasting success in Funny Cars, Kalitta moved to the Top Fuel class and took his maiden win at Topeka while setting the national top speed record in 1993.

It was balls to the wall for Scott for the next three years, as he conquered and dominated the top NHRA Nitro class with 11 wins and back-to-back championships in 1994 and 1995. One year later, he finished a hard-fought second place in the Top Fuel class and abruptly retired at the top of his profession.

His first comeback in 1999 was tentative at best, and Scott retired once more. In 2003 the nitro bug bit again. Returning to the Top Fuel ranks, it took only one season for Kalitta to return to form with a top five points finish in 2004 and two wins in 2005.

In 2006, Kalitta returned to his roots in the nitro Funny Car class but struggled in the family owned Kalitta Airlines sponsored Monte Carlo flopper and finished 13 in the points after a switch to Toyota late in the season.

The Funny Car team's difficulties continued in the 2007 season despite substantial sponsorship from DHL Carriers and Toyota for the season with six missed races and only one semi-final appearance.

The team's 2008 performance was mixed but showed some improvement over the previous two campaigns with a season-best second-place finish in Topeka the week before Scott Kalitta's final run in Englishtown, N.J.

On the eve of his tragic last run, Scott Kalitta was 18th in points, 215 points behind Funny Car points leader Tom Wilkerson.

The entire racing community, the NHRA organization, motorsports fans worldwide and especially his family, have lost a family man and lifelong motorsports competitor who could not comprehend the word "quit".

Kalitta Team drivers, cousin Doug Kalitta, Dave Grubnic and Hillary Will, and members of Scott's team have withdrawn from the Lucas Oil NHRA Supernational finals on Sunday.

Scott Kalitta is survived by his wife Cathy, sons Colin and Corey and father Conrad Kalitta.

We send our condolences to his family and friends. We are all diminished by his loss.

Go here: Kalitta Racing

photo credit: ISI Photo

NHRA Funny Car Class Suffers Another Loss: R.I.P. Scott Kalitta

L.J. Burgess — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 15:59:33 -0400

Saturday, June 21, 2008 Englishtown, N.J.

Tragedy struck the NHRA racing community again today. Scott Kalitta's Toyota burst into flames and crashed at the end of his final qualifying round for the Lucas Oil NHRA Supernationals at Old Bridge Township Raceway Park in Englishtown, N.J.

The DHL-sponsored Solara was traveling an estimated 300 mph when its nitro fuel system exploded and Kalitta lost control of the car. The Toyota plowed through the runoff area, through a sand trap, vaulted a catch fence and exploded against the retaining wall at the end of the course.

Kalitta was rushed to Raritan Bay Medical Center, where he was treated for traumatic injuries but declared dead a short time after arrival. Scott Kalitta was 46 years old.

Scott Kalitta is survived by his wife, Cathy, and sons, Colin and Corey.

This is the second tragedy to visit top tier drag racing in the past year. In 2007, NHRA Funny Car driver Eric Medlin died from injuries sustained in a testing accident in Gainesville, Florida.

Ironically, Scott Kalitta died at the same track where he ran his maiden race in 1982.

Kalitta was born into a drag-racing family. Sired by the famous NHRA Top Fuel racer and commercial airline owner Conrad "Connie" Kalitta "The Bounty Hunter" and cousin and teammate of Top Fuel driver and USAC Sprint Car Champion Doug Kalitta, Scott Kalitta was raised in the rarified air of the sport's pioneers.

Scott Kallita began his Top Fuel professional racing career in 1982 and went full time in Funny Car class in 1986 before moving back to the Top Fuel class. He was the NHRA Top Fuel Champion in 1994 and 1995, finished second in points in 1996 and retired at the top of his game in 1997.

Scott was one of only 14 NHRA drivers to score wins in both top Nitro classes.

After a short-lived comeback in 1999 Scott Kalitta returned to Top Fuel in 2003 and regained his place in the NHRA's top tier with a Top Five in points in 2004 and two wins in 2005.

After a switch to the Funny Car class for 2006, Kalitta struggled to find success in his family-sponsored Chevrolet Monte Carlo and had recently switched to a Toyota Solara with cargo delivery service DHL as his sponsor.

Condolences go out to his family, friends and the entire NHRA organization and competitors.

Scott will be missed.

photo credit : Associated Press