Every spring is a scrambled egg of hopes, dreams and our worst fears all fighting for space in our baseball psyche. Continue Reading
The Cincinnati Reds’ rebuild is out of the batter’s box and finally in full stride. Brandon Phillips stands at the keystone, blocking the way. Or not.
Greatness has no expiration date
The Rebuild is a long slog. Don’t fight it.
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He reached the summit at 10:07pm on August 13, 2016. It was — and remains — a remarkable achievement, given that on May, 31st, a full two months into the season, he was still bivouacked at his own personal base camp, disoriented by muscles and memory rendered insufficient by opposing forces on the hill some sixty feet away. A .213 batting average, a .330 on-base percentage, not to mention a month of April that was the worst of his career weren’t just base camp for Joey Votto — this was the basement of a career that has seen him among the very best hitters in Major League Baseball.Continue Reading
One quarter of an hour didn’t just doom a season. It may have been opportunity lost for the Walt Jocketty Era in Cincinnati.
I’m thinking it can happen at any moment. Picture yourself standing on the dock, everything stretched out before you all the way to the horizon. One moment you have the key in your hand. The next, it’s slipping through your fingers, falling into the gap between the weatherbeaten planks. Before you know it, it’s gone, and everything the key represents rushing out to sea with it.Continue Reading
In a Forgotten Season, This Game Will Live On
This is the one you keep. As the season stretches on and the losses mount, this is the one you remember and hold close. Maybe you fold it up and put it away in that special place you reserve for such things because, after all, this is what makes Baseball special. 162 potential gifts waiting to be unwrapped.Continue Reading
Homer Bailey Returns
His National Hall of Fame dream over, Pete Rose comes home
He moved carefully, thoughtfully, this man I took to be in his late 80s or 90s. You wouldn’t measure his movement in steps, but more accurately in inches. The steps were excruciatingly slow, but purposeful, not plodding. He worked his body like a man summoning all his limited resources for the task ahead. As he came up the aisle, the standing room crowd behind the seats three deep parted to let him pass. A younger man, a friend or perhaps a son, shepherded him through the throng. The game was minutes away from beginning, but he appeared to be leaving, having already accomplished what he had come here to do.