Listen, friends, it's time to cut the griping about big corporations sticking their names on ballparks.  "U.S. Cellular Field" sounds as tin to my ear as the next fellow, but let's take a closer look at this before we go off all stupid-like.

Wrigley Field, an ancient and beautiful park, takes its name from the CEO of the company that owned the majority share in the company in 1918: William Wrigley, Jr., the chewing gum baron.  Such is the tradition with most of the parks from this "golden age" of stadium names: Comiskey Park, Shibe Park, Griffith Stadium, etc.  These sacred houses were just as much of a blight as Network Associates Coliseum, Tropicana Field, Safeco Field, Qualcomm Field, and 3Com Park supposedly are today.  People and corporations buy controlling interests in baseball teams, and then demand their name be on the ballpark.  As corporations consolidate more and more influence in American culture, it's only natural and predictable that the names of stadiums would begin to reflect the trend. 

To regard baseball today with a curled lip of scorn, denouncing the proliferation of steroids and free agency, does a disservice to the incorruptible, fundamental beauty of the game, and reveals a selective understanding of its history.  Baseball has, from its inception, celebrated the imperfect nature of the American psyche.  It has brought bigots, drug addicts, gamblers, idiots, geniuses, goofballs, and scholars together on an idiosyncratically-shaped field to play a game with endless complexities, and its overall popularity has proved remarkably resilient in the face of endless challenges to its viability.  Through it all, good pitching still beats good hitting, the fans would always rather see a home run than a no-hitter, and Bud Light, a vile and disgusting beverage, still tastes delicious in a sweaty, twenty-ounce paper cup on a Thursday night in the bleachers.  So teams will continue to spend more and more ludicrous amounts of money on strange, dubiously-educated men with wicked curveballs, Budweiser will continue its curious domination of the beer market, and Americans will continue to flock to the stands for their most tried-and-true means of escapism--a game which, ironically, mirrors their own imperfections more than it shields them.

P.S. Those who would point to Yankee Stadium as an example of an exception to the stadium-naming trend forget that the Yankees are, always have been, and always will be a uniquely evil conglomerate of psychopathic vultures, and will be judged accordingly on the Eternal Scorecard, along with their fans.

That's IT!

Well, maybe that's not quite It, but's it's as damn near to It as I've yet got in fifteen long, lonely, laborious years as a Baltimore Orioles fan.

Today, according to this report, sent along by alert reader (and much-read Yankees blogger) BK, the Birds dealt perennial all-star and fan favorite Miguel Tejada to the Houston Astros for Tweedle-Dee, Tweedle-Dum, Jimmy Punkface, Junknose McGee, and Mike "No Stats Available" Costanzo.

Why?  By which I mean...

WHYYYYYYYYY????!!!???!!?

We Orioles fans are used to idiotic trades.  Our usual specialty is acquiring washed-up sluggers from other teams who, by the time they arrive in Baltimore to lumber about the outfield dropping things and nod off during press conferences, have long since passed their prime.  Going as far back as 1990, we committed this error no less than 5 times, from Dwight Evans to Glenn Davis to Joe Carter to Bobby Bonilla to Albert Belle to Sammy "Goddamn-You-You-Fucking-Putz" Sosa.  Would you like to know the names of two players we lost in those transactions?  Curt Schilling and Craig Biggio.  Apparently it was determined they weren't really going anywhere.  Except, possibly, Cooperstown.  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

There was, in the mid-90's, a flicker of hope, albeit brief.  Fireplug Davey Johnson was hired as manager, and Roberto Alomar and Rafael Palmeiro were landed from the free agent market.  Guess what happened?  In 1996 we won the wild-card, and in 1997 we spent every day of the regular season in first place, and made it to the American League Championship Series.  During those seasons, Roberto Alomar hit .330, stole 30-40 bases, hit around 20 home runs, and provided sparkling defense at second base.  Rafael Palmeiro provided similarly nimble defense, hit close to 40 home runs a season, and drove in literally hundreds of runs.  In the offseason following these successes, the Orioles proceeded to do the only sane thing: trade Alomar and fire Davey Johnson.  In the case of Alomar, it was on the grounds that he spit in an umpire's face.  I'd like to point out at this juncture that MICHAEL VICK MURDERS DOGS.  Should we go around spitting in the faces of the brave men who squat behind home plate and arbitrate balls and strikes, who rule without oversight and are accountable to no one even if subsequent review proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that they've done so in error?  No.  We should not.  Should we, on the other hand, disassemble the makings of a dynasty for this petty crime?  Jesus Christ!  Some will hasten to point out that Rafael Palmeiro's career has been disgraced by the revelation that he used steroids.  My feeling on the entire steroid flap is this: wait, we're SURPRISED that professional athletes are cheating bastards?  People have been cheating since baseball was invented; scuffing the ball, corking bats, sliding with cleats up, stealing signs from the opposing dugout, betting on game outcomes.  It's part of the charm.  Michael Vick murders dogs!  So what if Rafael Palmeiro shoots a little happy juice and wins one for the home team?  Fine by me!  Especially if said home team is my damn Orioles!

Let me be clear: I am not under any delusion that the Orioles were headed for glory anytime soon.  I recognize that the real criminal here is Peter Angelos, and until the glorious day when he is mauled by zombie pterodactyls, we Oriole fans will have a tough road to hoe.  This will not stop me from betting Masten a steak dinner that the O's will finish ahead of the Yankees every season from now until they do (by the way Ben, today's as good a day as ever to renew the bet for next year).  It will not stop me from wearing my Orioles hat to Yankee games, no matter how many North Jersey goombas in Yankee sweatpants and wrist bands heckle me to get a haircut.  I have high hopes for Nick Markakis, Brian Roberts, and Erik Bedard, young, home-grown talents who truly exemplify what used to be called "Orioles Magic" in the 70's and 80's.   Yes, I will continue to love and root for the Orioles until they trade all three of those men, until Camden Yards is converted into a multiplex and my childhood is pronounced dead at the scene.

But as long as Tejada was around, that particular scenario seemed a hell of a lot less likely.

If you haven't seen it yet, here's a leaked copy of Geroge Mitchell's list of major league juiceheads:

·   Brady Anderson

·   Manny Alexander

·   Rick Ankiel

·   Jeff Bagwell

·   Barry Bonds

·   Aaron Boone

·   Rafael Bettancourt

·   Bret Boone

·   Milton Bradley

·   David Bell

·   Dante Bichette

·   Albert Belle

·   Paul Byrd

·   Wil Cordero

·   Ken Caminiti

·   Mike Cameron

·   Ramon Castro

·   Jose Canseco

·   Ozzie Canseco

·   Roger Clemens

·   Paxton Crawford

·   Wilson Delgado

·   Lenny Dykstra

·   Johnny Damon

·   Carl Everett

·   Kyle Farnsworth

·   Ryan Franklin

·   Troy Glaus

·   Rich Garces

·   Jason Grimsley

·   Juan Gonzalez

·   Eric Gagne

·   Nomar Garciaparra

·   Jason Giambi

·   Jeremy Giambi

·   Jose Guillen

·   Jay Gibbons

·   Juan Gonzalez

·   Clay Hensley

·   Jerry Hairston

·   Felix Heredia, Jr.

·   Darren Holmes

·   Wally Joyner

·   Darryl Kile

·   Matt Lawton

·   Raul Mondesi

·   Mark McGwire

·   Guillermo Mota

·   Robert Machado

·   Damian Moss

·   Abraham Nunez

·   Trot Nixon

·   Jose Offerman

·   Andy Pettitte

·   Mark Prior

·   Neifi Perez

·   Rafael Palmiero

·   Albert Pujols

·   Brian Roberts

·   Juan Rincon

·   John Rocker

·   Pudge Rodriguez

·   Sammy Sosa

·   Scott Sc hoenweiis

·   David Segui

·   Alex Sanchez

·   Gary Sheffield

·   Miguel Tejada

·   Julian Tavarez

·   Fernando Tatis

·   Maurice Vaughn

·   Jason Varitek

·   Ismael Valdez

·   Matt Williams

·   Kerry Wood

We'll have more on this once the official list comes out at 2.  Big ups to DZ for sending this along.

So, ESPN has a revised list of players named in the Mitchell report, which is 409 pages long, very dense, and tough to get through here at the office, where people keep having the audacity to ask me to do job-related things.  Here are the official names...  

There are some notable changes from the original unofficial list we posted, which now strikes me as somewhat mean-spirited.  Everyone already knows Ken Caminiti used steroids, and his death at a young age was likely related to it.  There's no need to sully his memory by dragging it back into the public eye when he has no apparent connection to the Mitchell Report. 

So, now what?

I for one, regret being so short-sighted in my look at the Tejada deal yesterday that I didn't surmise that the Mitchell Report must have had something to do with it.  I must now re-examine my condemnation of the Oriole front office, for it would seem they've taken a hefty gamble that may pay off handsomely. 

It remains to be seen what the fallout from this whole shebang will be, but you have to figure there's a good chance that Major League Baseball, fearing a PR crisis which could cost them the majority of the fans they've won back since the 1994 players' strike, will ban the active players on the list from playing in the 2008 season.  At the very least, there will be massive stormclouds hanging over them.  It's a good gamble to get rid of the guy who will be causing that stormcloud, and bet that the negative publicity will follow the player and not remain with the team.  Of course, getting rid of him the day before the news makes it look suspiciously like they've known all along and only moved him once it looked like they could get busted.  And it doesn't change the fact that there are a disturbing number of players on the list who have played at least part of their careers in Baltimore (denoted by asterisks above). 

Which brings me to my main point, unchanged from yesterday: so what?  In the case of a number of these players, we knew already.  In the case of others, their already unspectacular legacy is hardly tarnished.  Bart Miadich?  Cody McKay?  Ron Villone?  This isn't exactly going to keep these guys out of the Hall of Fame.  In Baltimore, we don't need anybody to tell us Jay Gibbons is a dud.  His inconsistent numbers and outsized salary the last few years have taken care of that.  The Mitchell report is not a new blight on Jay Gibbons record, in my view.  Same goes for Jerry Hairston, Jr.  He was a washout when he came up through our farm system, and now I know he actually sucked so much he couldn't even distinguish himself with artificial advantages.  Brian Roberts?  Still love the guy.  He's been the only bright spot we've had the last several years.  This does nothing to change that.  Shit, man, in Baltimore, we take what we can get.

I said it before, I'll say it again: people cheat in baseball.  From the sandlot to Fenway, steroids and HGH are completely consistent with every scuffed ball, sharpened spike, and crooked umpire that's been part of the game since Doubleday.  It's well-documented that Manny Ramirez's secret weapon ain't steroids--it's the Wacky T.  We should all take a page out of his book and chill the fuck out.

Two august bodies, the Baseball Hall of Fame and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, have announced new inductees into their ranks in recent weeks. I have been to both halls, in Cooperstown, NY, and Cleveland, OH, respectively, and really enjoyed myself each time. But there's no question which one is a greater institution.

Let's compare the numbers. The Baseball Hall of Fame opened its doors in 1939, and has been inducting members since 1936. As of today, 285 individuals have been elected into the Hall. This includes players, managers, umpires, executives, and other pioneers. Some of these men were involved with baseball as early as the 1860s and 1870s. There are of course disputes about who should and shouldn't be there, but baseball's greatest honor has retained its prestige by severely restricting the number who receive it.

Compare that with the Rock Hall, which inducted its first class in 1986, 50 years after the Baseball Hall. By my count, there are now 234 Rock inductees (you can see the list yourself to verify). This is counting groups with multiple members as one inductee, so the actual numbers of individuals enshrined there is much higher. All this for a musical genre that started a little over fifty years ago! The latest crop includes such gems as the Dave Clark Five and the Ventures, marginal acts at best. If the Cleveland Hall wants to be something more than one more way for baby boomers to relive the past through their favorite songs from decades ago, it should restrict its membership to those who truly deserve it.

Awright, so here is some junktabulous fiddlesticks madness: there is a social-networking site for high school athletes. 

What?!?!!!?

If my real-life high school experiences and endless hours of watching movies about fake high-school experiences have taught me anything, it's that the LAST people who need a social crutch are high school athletes.  Everyone loves high school athletes, and acts like they are the best examples of American youth, even though many of them are lame-o douchenozzles who grow up to become Regional Managers of annoying corporations. 

High school band members, for example, don't have a prayer.  They are portrayed as either cringe-inducing dorks or completely unrealistic maverick anti-heroes (I mean, come on!  He's holding the drumsticks in the shape of a crucifix on the poster!).   Same goes for artists and drama kids.  If my high school was any indication, there is the triple the casual sex of all the varsity teams combined going on in drama club.  Seriously.  I mean, did you ever wander away from the crowd in search of a refill on your Dr. Pepper at a high school cast party and accidentally walk into the Necking Room?  YouPorn be damned!  That shit was intense!  The Anscombe Society would have wet their collective pad-locked bed.  And yet pop culture continues to revere the athlete and presume that artsy kids are somehow "weird" or "random."

However, I think there's a more subtle game (pun intended, bitches) at work here.  It's a well-documented corollary to the Popular High School Athlete Trope that the social prowess of athletic teams is often based on deep insecurity; athletics often become a proxy for self-identity.  When I was on the varsity baseball team in high school, my teammates were fond of deriding me for skipping their every-weekend ragers.  It wasn't so much a moral revulsion to what I knew went on at the parties.  Though I didn't drink at the time, I had no problem with the fact that others did.  Rather, I couldn't stand spending more hours with them than I already had that week.  It wasn't personal; I just needed to be around people who wanted to talk about something other than tits and curveballs.  Even if those topics came up with my other friends, I wanted to be around people whose opinions about such matters were more complex than "So-and-so's curveball/tits are awesome/totally suck." 

This made no sense to my teammates, who eventually resolved that I was a "band fag," and laid the matter to rest at that. 

My point is this: there are no such sites for high school artists or drama kids or band members (to my knowledge, at least) because kids who participate in such activities are less likely to designate them as the sum total of their human identity.  They view these activities as necessary outlets for an identity in the process of being forged, rather than as manifest proof that such an identity exists. 

Now, let me be clear: I'm not saying all athletes are this way.  But in my anecdotal experience throughout high school, a fair number of them are.  Also, lest you presume that my holier-than-thou attitude somehow translated into improved baseball statistics, it didn't.  The annals of T.C. Williams sporting history  make little mention of the 11 home runs allowed by an earnest-but-overweight pitcher named Dingman during the 1999 season, and that is as it should be.  And I am not arguing that high school athletes should not be held in high esteem for their accomplishments.   All I'm saying is, let's not do more than has already been done to convince them that  that one night in 11th grade is the zenith of their young lives, lest they grow up to make stupid decisions based on this notion.

I'll leave any commentary on the New Hampshire primary to my fellow 2loggers, but I did want to throw in my 28 about another election whose results were announced today. The Baseball Writers' Association of America today chose Goose Gossage as the only new player to join the Hall of Fame.

As I've commented before, I admire the Baseball Hall of Fame because it is so selective when it comes to new inductees. It was interesting this year to see who didn't make it. I borrowed this chart from MLB.com:

Player	Total Votes	Percentage
Rich Gossage	466	85.8%
Jim Rice	392	72.2%
Andre Dawson	358	65.9%
Bert Blyleven	336	61.9%
Lee Smith	235	43.3%
Jack Morris	233	42.9%
Tommy John	158	29.1%
Tim Raines	132	24.3%
Mark McGwire	128	23.6%
Alan Trammell	99	18.2%
Dave Concepcion	88	16.2%
Don Mattingly	86	15.8%
Dave Parker	82	15.1%
Dale Murphy	75	13.8%
Harold Baines	28	5.2%
Rod Beck	2	0.4%
Travis Fryman	2	0.4%
Robb Nen	2	0.4%
Shawon Dunston	1	0.2%
Chuck Finley	1	0.2%
David Justice	1	0.2%
Chuck Knoblauch	1	0.2%
Todd Stottlemyre	1	0.2%
Jose Rijo	0	0%
Brady Anderson	0	0%

Jim Rice, Andre Dawson, and probably Bert Blyleven stand a good chance of being inducted in the next few years (they would need to be selected on 75% of ballots). But further down the list, the hopes have to be much slimmer. Growing up, I regarded many of these players as "future Hall-of-Famers": Don Mattingly, David Justice, and Dale Murphy, not to mention Mark McGwire. These are not exactly the Dave Clark Fives and the Ventures of the baseball world.

The first article I linked to has an interesting discussion of the way the role of relief pitchers has changed in recent years. Goose Gossage, as a closer, pitched many more innings than just about anyone in his role does today, because bullpens have gotten so specialized. At the end of the Phillies' run last season, manager Charlie Manuel had perfected a late-inning pitching strategy: J.C. Romero in the 7th, Tom Gordon in the 8th, and Brett Myers in the 9th. The three of these guys together did the same job that Gossage did during his career: take the game from the starting pitcher up to the end of the game. Lee Smith, who was named on just 43.3% of ballots, was the premier closer of his day, and held the all-time saves record until Trevor Hoffman broke it a couple years ago. Does Smith deserve to be in the Hall? Just as for McGwire, I don't think the choice is clear, but for different reasons. McGwire is suspected of using steroids, ergo cheating; without those suspicions, his career statistics surely merit him a place in Cooperstown. Smith's fault is that he was the best at a position that hadn't fully evolved yet.

Among players who may deserve to be in the Hall, there's of course another name that's not even on the ballot. I believe Pete Rose (and Shoeless Joe Jackson, for that matter) should be inducted. Pete Rose played baseball the way I think it should be played--hustle, blood and guts, creating plays through sheer effort where they had no right to be. As a manager, though, he bet on games that his team was playing, and for this he was banned from baseball for life. I am no expert, but can't compulsive gambling be considered a mental illness? If so, I think this sort of ethical transgression is different from the one McGwire is suspected of committing; whereas Rose was arguably not fully in control of his actions, (*allegedly) McGwire deliberately sought an unfair advantage through steroids. Besides which, Rose only bet for the Reds, never against them.

Does Pete Rose belong in Cooperstown, or do I belong in the Cooper State Mental Institution?

YOU DECIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With the revelation that Peter Angelos is a Hillary Clinton supporter comes yet another reason to vote for Barack Obama:

If Hillary Clinton loses the election, the Orioles will win the World Series.

Mark my words, fools!

(In case any of you noobs require proof of this irrefutable assertion, I would refer you to the fact that Obama has stated that his favorite TV show is The Wire, which is set in Baltimore.  This ain't no Transitive Proper-tease!)

Thanks to TiVo and NPR, I am able to go through life without encountering much in the way of commercial advertisements. The major exception, from spring to fall, is Phillies games. The 2uandary I leave to you this weekend is:

Who made the rule that every single commercial during a baseball game--be it for bank services, hot dog buns, or mufflers--has to be baseball-themed, no matter how far-fetched the connection?

1) The Phillies (25-22) and Nationals (20-27) have both played 47 games this season. The Braves (24-21) have played 45, the Marlins (25-19) have played 44, and the Mets (22-21) have played only 43. And yet on Monday, while the Phils and Nats played the first game of their series, the other slacker teams had the day off. What gives?

2) The Braves (24-21) have an astoundingly unbalanced record of 18-5 at home and 6-16 on the road. There's something fishy going on at Turner Field.

Kabak, get on this.