Men in Tights: A Clusterf*cked Midweek

Much like this post, Coghlan's celebration did not end well.

This is the first in a never-ending series of posts designed to turn SC into a real blog, as opposed to the incendiary web mag it is as heart. Scroll until you find a headline that interests you.

Because coherent ideas are a lot like Andre Dawson seasons (the couple good ones mask the fact that most suck), but incoherent ideas are more prevalent than pigeon sh*t at a Kings of Leon concert, I’ve decided to forego the typical thousand-word, single topic rant in favor of a grab-bag approach to the single dullest week in recent memory. Evidence of boredom: I was actually forced to watch men’s softball on Saturday. This is true.

Men’s slow-pitch softball actually exists.

And if such a “sport” wasn’t already [sexually] confusing enough, it turns out that the home runs actually count as outs after each team goes yard ten times. The game then turns into a finesse contest wherein our weekend warriors showcase bunting skills, poke opposite field singles, and discuss not having girlfriends. Insert your own joke about small ball(s) here.

Said kind of dink-’n-dunk offensive strategy does little to prevent these seven-inning exercises in overcompensation from lasting a short eternity and, in fact, the game I was watching produced no fewer than 59 runs and some dozen opportunities to partake in solitary scotch drinking.

Now I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you about the afternoon’s undisputed highlight – the solitary scotch drinking one Rusty Bumgardener’s towering 400-plus foot, scoreboard-clearing shot to centerfield. You probably know Bumgardener as the expansion Florida Marlins’ very first American signee. I know him as a 6’6″, 30-something mongoloid in tights. Walking hormone or not, the man can rake, and his awe-inspiring home run was nothing to scoff at… to his face. He’d break you in two, and then probably offer you a pair of tickets to an off-Broadway showing of “Cats” as restitution.

Bumgardener showing off for the ladies.

In the interest of journalistic integrity (right…), I should probably mention that all this happened in the second-annual “Border Battle” between USA and Canada. The latter country prevailed 30-29 in the neighbors’ most riveting confrontation since The Great One dropped gloves with Neal Broten.

Broten: Got 99 problems but 99 ain’t one.

While looking back on the chain of events that had turned my weekend into something out of a Bravo marathon, I got to thinking about other depressing things – namely, former Marlins great Andre Dawson’s Hall induction – at which point, I asked myself

Why the hell is Andre Dawson in the Hall of Fame?

When I heard last year’s news of his election, I just assumed some attention-whoring prankster had thought up a Hall of Fame (for Surly Pricks), pitched the idea to Ashton Kutcher, and then tipped off an embittered former teammate.

Greatest. Punk’d. Ever.

But the Hall of Fame? Cooperstown? I had no idea. So needless to say, Sunday’s induction ceremony offered fresh fodder for fans of common sense to pick apart Dawson’s yawner of a career. My father, for one, writes:

“While his stats are impressive and probably legit, what is the HOF thinking putting Mr. Sunshine in with 438/.277? Don’t 500/.300 mean anything anymore?”

He then suggested I quote him more often, amid veiled threats to “cut me off.”

Just kidding.

They weren’t veiled.

But the elder Hilson raised several good questions and his use of “Mr. Sunshine” perfectly describes a man who mysteriously parlayed his OJ-like charm into a Marlins public relations job. Add Hawk to the “Jim Gray Memorial List of People Who Probably Have Pictures of High Ranking Officials with Farm Animals.”

Only known smile.

Personal distaste aside, I can’t find many numbers – career or otherwise – that validate The Hawk’s inclusion. That historians cite injury problems in rebuttal doesn’t help matters. The man was hurt all the time – in his 17 starting Big League seasons, he failed to reach 140 games seven times.

He was a regular Ichiro when it comes to walks, never topping 44 in a season (for a power hitter!). Likewise, his career .323 on-base % ranks him in a tie for 146th among all other HOFers with Al Spalding.

Spalding was a pitcher.

Dawson’s career totals impress [upon you the fact that he shouldn't be in the Hall of Fame]. Over 21 seasons, he managed 438 HR, 1591 RBI, 2774 hits, a .279 BA, and an .806 OPS, Hall ranks of 21st, 25th, 40th, t-118th and t-95, respectively.

For perspective’s sake, there are roughly 130 position players in Cooperstown and Harold Baines, not in Cooperstown, finished with more RBI and hits and posted a higher batting average, OBP and OPS. He’s also a nicer guy.

On a random note… Bert Blyleven, everybody!

As for my dad’s “legit” assumption… Let’s play Spot The MVP Year

1984 (Age 29): 17 HR, 86 RBI, .248 BA in 533 AB

1985 (Age 30): 23 HR, 91 RBI, .255 BA in 529 AB

1986 (Age 31): 20 HR, 78 RBI, .284 BA in 496 AB

1987 (Age 32, contract year): 49 HR, 137 RBI, .287 BA in 621 AB

1988 (Age 33): 24 HR, 79 RBI, .303 BA in 591 AB

1989 (Age 34): 21 HR, 77 RBI, .252 BA in 416 AB

1990 (Age 35): 27 HR, 100 RBI, .310 BA in 529 AB

Hawk never topped 32 HR in any year before or after ’87. But hey, I’m not accusing him of anything. It’s quite possible the Wrigley wind was blowing out the entire season.

Dawson did lead the league in hit-by-pitches four times, though, which reminds me

Baseball players invent new ways to hurt themselves.

I’m looking at you, Marlins outfielder Chris Coghlan of “Tearing MCL While Celebratorily Pieing Teammate in Face” fame. In case you missed it, Coghlan blew out his knee while planting a plate of shaving cream in the mug of walk-off hero Wes Helms Sunday. Though worthy of a dozen “Humble Pie” headlines, Coghlan’s 6 to 8 week injury doesn’t even qualify as this season’s most flukily embarrassing injury. That honor belongs to Anaheim’s Kendry Morales, who broke a leg overzealously stepping on home.

"Walk off" averted

For your sadistic pleasure, I ranked my other favorite freak injuries, taking into account A) stupidity B) severity C) flukiness and D) humiliation factor… 1-10 scale (scores in parentheses).

10) John Smoltz, Atlanta Braves: Not much to see here. SC favorite Smoltz burnt himself ironing. We’ve all done it. Not while wearing the shirt. But we’ve all done it. Smoltz vehemently denies the incident, adding yet another wrinkle… (S9/SE2/F3/H8)

9) Joel Zumaya, Detroit Tigers: 6-foot-3, 210-pounds, fragile enough to strain his forearm playing video games. “Guitar Hero” strikes again. Now some kid in his mother’s basement thinks he’s athletic enough to play pro baseball. He’s probably right… Scores big humiliation points for its extended stay in the news. (S6/SE4/F7/H8)

8) Tom Glavine, Atlanta Braves: My Bravos had multiple contenders for this very spot (Ryan Klesko once hurt himself picking up a lunch tray), but this one just sounds really funny. Glavine broke a rib yacking up airplane food, prompting the following exchange. Trainer: “Tom what happened?” Tom: “I barfed too hard.” Don’t lie. You’re in tears right now. (S7/SE2/F8/H7)

7) Terry Mulholland, Minnesota Twins: Hey Terry, watch out for that sharp pillow feather. It could poke you in the eye. You could miss your next start. (S4/SE5/F10/H6)

6) Ken Griffey Jr., Seattle Mariners: The competition heats up. Junior got himself into a pinch back in the day when he, um, pinched his testicle putting his jock strap on. The rogue cup cost him a game. Insert “balls of steel” joke here. (S6/SE4/F8/H9)

5) Carlos Perez, Montreal Expos: In a rush to get to the stadium on time, Carlos broke his nose after crashing his car trying to pass a bus… The team bus. (S9 SE7 F7 H8)

4) Vince Coleman, St. Louis Cardinals: VC stole 110 bases during the ’85 season, but couldn’t outrun the Busch Stadium tarp machine prior to game 4 of the NLCS. Vince was doing warm-up stretches. Tarp snuck up on him. Swallowed his leg. Never saw it coming. Missed the ’85 World Series. (S5/SE8/F10/H8)

3) Steve Sparks, Milwaukee Brewers: In a scene straight out of “Major League,” the knuckleballer tried to tear a phonebook in half in imitation of a motivational speech he saw hours before. Steve dislocated his shoulder. (S10/SE8/F7/H8)

2) Kevin Mitchell, NY Mets/SF Giants: The only man who garnered consideration for two separate incidents, Mitchell deserves the 2 spot as a sort of Career Achievement Award. As a Met, he paved the way for Glavine by straining a rib vomiting. But it was his donut mishap back in 1990 on which he built a legend. Kevin missed four days of spring training when he bit down on a rock-hard Krispy Kreme he’d over-microwaved. Conflicting reports cite a cupcake culprit. (S10/SE6/F8/H10)

Svelte.

1) Glenallen Hill, Toronto Blue Jays: Anybody who’s seen “Arachnophobia” as a 5-year-old can relate to a frightening spider dream, but Hill got so worked up over an 8-legged nightmare that he smashed through a glass table before falling down a flight of stairs. Lands the top spot on logistics alone. (S2/SE7/F10/H10)

Bonus) Milton Bradley, San Diego Padres: As if it’s not bad enough having “Milton Bradley” on your birth certificate, the journeyman outfielder was also born with the stupid gene. Milton tore his ACL while being restrained by manager Bud Black during a heated argument with first base umpire Mike Winters. The lesson here: respect your authorities. (S10/SE10/F10/H10)

Have a safe Wednesday.

- Robbie