Baseballhead:
Week of Short Fuses

Michael Cox

Submitted for your approval, the unique arrangement of pixels that is Baseballhead, this week wondering why MTV would think anyone wants to hear Sugar Ray talk about anything.

Tell you what: we won't start off with the umpires this week. Stop that cheering. There'll be a final word, at least for now, at the bottom of the column.

Instead, let's go to lovely (cough cough) Anaheim, California, where all is not well at Disney's newest theme park. The player grumbling and minor clubhouse skirmishes which normally accompany large-scale losing came to a head in the Angels' series against Cleveland. Halo reliever Troy Percival gave up a homer, then plunked known pugilist David Justice, and the usual mosh pit (TM) ensued. Unfortunately, big-ticket big guy Mo Vaughn was clearly caught in the dugout by the TV cameras, and after Percival reviewed the videotape (to prepare for his next fight, apparently) Vaughn was summarily called out.

This didn't sit well with the round mound of pound, who not only explained that he had been in the clubhouse when the fight started, but took a shot back at Percy for starting the brawl in the first place. "You get rapped around, don't throw at a guy...Take a beating like a man and get the next out," Vaughn told his teammate. Percival subsequently called the spat "a non-issue," probably after Vaughn explained how little pressure it would take to snap his neck.

So who takes the fall for this? Why, manager Terry Collins, of course, resigning just a couple of days later. The tearful press conference that ensued left no doubt Collins did not jump, he had been pushed (albeit, likely with his three years of paychecks still arriving). The guy who put this bunch of guys together, however, still resides at Edison Field. Any "chemistry" issues (or more precisely, the blame for hiring a batch of players who believe more in "chemistry" than in playing good baseball) should not have fallen on Collins' shoulders, but on those of GM Bill Bavasi.

The rumors that Disney is ready to get out of the sports team business make perfect sense in this context: they can order up a hit movie at will and run "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" anytime they need a ratings bump, but you can't just expect to hire a batch of players and win trophies. A simple chat with George Steinbrenner about the '80s could have taught them that.

Item: Gold Glove Award-winning shortstop Rey Ordonez sported battle scars this past week, as he and infielder Luis Lopez mixed it up on the team bus. Funny, but Lopez suffered nary a scratch. I wonder how that happened?

LOPEZ: Mmm. This turkey jerky sure is good. That Ron Popeil is a genius.

ORDONEZ: Give that jerky up, benchie. Only starters eat on the bus.

LOPEZ: Of course, you know I could do your job cheaper and help the team more.

ORDONEZ: Shut up. People only think that because they're jealous.

LOPEZ: You suck, Rey.

ORDONEZ: Do not.

LOPEZ: Here's a Strikethree.com article to prove it.

(Ordonez swings wildly at Lopez, missing him completely)

ORDONEZ: D'oh.

LOPEZ: Eat fist, garden gnome.

ORDONEZ: Ow. Ouch. Stop.

Item: Still in the conflict department, an exchange in Toronto ended with Twins outfielder Matt Lawton spitting in the general direction of a young, but not quite so innocent, fan. Now, for the first time anywhere, our bullshit re-enactment (obscure references 'r' us) of the incident:

KID: Hey Lawton, you suck, eh? You suck, Lawton! Your mom was Pierre Trudeau!

(Lawton tracks down a foul ball, catching it right in front of the kid)

KID: Hey Lawton! You're a [bad, bad word deleted], eh!

(Kid gives Lawton a signal which would only be construed as a friendly gesture by "Stone Cold" Steve Austin)

(Lawton expectorates towards the kid, in the manner of Roberto Alomar)

KID: Your next paycheck is mine, Lawton! (Throws cup at Lawton)

If I were commissioner, I'd give Lawton a few games' suspension and send the kid to summer school, which we all know is considered worse than jail by incorrigible tykes. Lawton should be punished because he's old enough to know better, and the kid should be punished because if incidents like this are allowed to pass, he could grow up to be Stuttering John.

Item: Finally, 22 umpires are out of a job this week, after a federal court wouldn't grant them an injunction. Instead, the two warring sides made a "deal," the details of which state essentially that MLB gets what it wants, and the resigned umps just might be allowed to un-quit if an arbitrator agrees that Selig and Co. were planning on eventually not negotiating in good faith, should negotiations have actually been required to take place. G'luck now.

For one last time, the point of this whole cautionary tale is not pay, it's performance. It's not that MLB wants to pay less, or fire arbitrarily -- it's just that the job isn't being done right. Why should that be so damn hard to fix? The umpires' stupid pride (still a deadly sin, from what I understand) has allowed this all to happen. Their union is an anachronism -- an old-fashioned, seniority-based system perpetuated by an adversarial, just plain old labor boss. There isn't going to be a new deal with the union unless performance becomes the major criteria for movement and raises. But it's like the two sides are speaking completely different languages, and the umps' appears to be Urdu, so I don't hold out hope.

My suggestion if they want to continue their association with MLB? Simple -- change with the times. Even the players' union has recognized that busting a blood vessel every time one of its members is dissed is counterproductive. Work with the leagues to properly define a strike zone to everyone's satisfaction without making it a bargaining issue, or better yet, shut up and enforce the actual rules of baseball. Gee, there's a concept.

about the author

Michael Cox recently told Edgar Martinez to stop visualizing the pitcher in his underwear while at bat, and the rest is history. Let him know that you've noticed Edgar no longer breaks out laughing when David Wells is on the mound at mc@strikethree.com.