STICKY DOORKNOBS

Johnny Damon and my daughter: Progress, success in life is measured in different ways

Success in life is measured in different ways with different people. Since our oldest daughter and I are baseball fans, we'll work with that perspective for this story.

Jennifer (top right in photo at left) graduates from Texas Tech this month with a Masters Degree in Occupational Therapy. Save for my brother's son who is a preacher in Maine, it's the only Master's ever bestowed upon anyone in the family and for that my chest is, admittedly, about to burst.

Before Jennifer was a master's candidate, she was a baseball fan; has been since she hit an inside-the-park groundball homer in her first at bat in t-ball.

A couple of weeks ago, she mentioned again that before long she would be moving from West Texas and would be forced to attend -- gasp! -- Astros games. "But I'll never be a fan," she insisted.

And then she said, "Daddy, could we go to one more Ranger game together before I move?"

What's a daddy to do?

So we loaded up the car, just the two of us, and set out on a father-daughter trip to Rangers Ballpark in Arlington. She told me on the way there that she gets excited about going to the Ballpark the way most young people get excited about going to Disney World. (She was saying all the right things).

We were fortunate to choose what might have been the Rangers' best game of the season -- a 10-1 schooling of Oakland Wednesday during which Texas knocked out five home runs and saw a gem of a game pitched by one of their up-and-comers. It was a huge treat for us, that we were able to watch such a good game, and also that we could do it together.

She only yelled at the umpire a couple of times, and for that I was relieved because we had really nice, close-in seats. As the game progressed and Jennifer kept to a vocal dull roar, I thought to myself how proud I was at how far she had come in the last five years.

And I'm not talking about her studies or her accomplishments at Tech. I'm talking about her behavior at Major League Baseball games. I refer specifically to the time the whole family was together in the outfield in May of 2005 (that's the game in the photo above), as the Rangers hosted the New York Yankees. It was Johnny Damon's first trip to Arlington as a Yankee, after having bolted the Boston Red Sox. Months earlier, he had helped lead the Red Sox to their first World Series title in 86 years. Jennifer felt it was wrong for Damon to be pulling on a uniform for the Evil Empire after all he had done for Boston, her second favorite team behind the Rangers. And so she let him know about it.

My late father sat and watched with a mixture of horror, fascination and humor as his grand-daughter gave baseball's newest Yankee superstar 'what for' every time he occupied centerfield.

"Damon! You stink!"

"Go back to Boston you bum."

"TRAITOR!"

"Go home, Damon!"

Jennifer was blessed with a strong vocal ability and her verbal assault on the Yankee outfielder continued throughout much of the game. At one point -- no lie, no embellishment here -- Damon even turned around and looked in our direction as Jennifer gave it to him with all she had. I could imagine him thinking to himself "What sort of nut would be this mad at me in Arlington, Texas?" And I imagined my response to him would be, "Well sir, that nut is my daughter."

My dad chuckled uncomfortably as he squirmed in his chair for much of that night. He likely hadn't seen an outburst like this since he'd enjoyed one of former Baltimore manager Earl Weaver's back-hatted tirades in the 1970s.

Jennifer's display Wednesday night in Arlington was somewhat more subdued than the one we witnessed in 2005, although there was the occasional tasteful (in comparison) outburst aimed at the direction of the umpires and the opposing A's. Had he been alive to see it, dad would have felt much more at ease with his grand-daughter's new-found dignified behavior at the ballpark.

It took her five years to get where she is. At least where her studies are concerned. I'm not quite sure she'll ever completely behave herself at a ballgame. At least not one in which Johnny Damon plays.

Little boy voice says believe, but grown-up voice pushes aside dream world

There is a voice that lives inside of me. It is the voice of a small boy. And it says to me "Believe him." It says don't question his motives and only trust in his word when he says "I wish I would have never taken steroids" and "I wish I would never have had to play during the steroid era." The little boy in me says believe his tears, they're real. Believe the emotion in his voice. It's genuine.

But alongside the voice of the little boy lives the voice of a grown man, soiled by years of mistrust, cheating, filthy amounts of money that lead to the total absence of player loyalty, and the rampant disconnect between sport and fan. Those factors convince the grown man voice inside of me that Mark McGwire has a motive for finally coming clean about his steroid use.

Although I was 39 at the time, the little boy inside of me remembers 1998 and how when it was happening it felt like baseball when I was that little boy. The kid in me is convinced of McGwire's sincerity this week, especially after word came that before his public confession he phoned Roger Maris' widow to apologize for tainting her husband's feat of 61 home runs in 1961.

The voice of the grown man is louder than the voice of the child now, though. The grown man believes no more in the lure of the romance of the game, a nostalgia absent for as long as the little boy voice has yielded to the grown up.

Yesterday, I told The Boy that the Rangers had signed Anaheim slugger Vlad Guerrero to a one-year deal. His response amounted to little more than a polite 'who cares?' What's that have to do with Mark McGwire? Only everything. Years of piled high disappointment at the dirty stories that come out of the sport have tarnished the love of the game for thousands of young boys across the country, regardless their age. Why get behind something you can't believe in?

The Boy was 4 when McGwire and Sammy Sosa went on their 'magical' summer journey to be the first to top the single season home run mark, a race ultimately 'won' by McGwire and later further tainted by the unrepentant Barry Bonds. I wanted desperately for my son to enjoy that home run race as much as I was enjoying it so we could share it together. In hindsight, what a blessing that his age prevented him from drinking in the lie that was unfolding before our wondrous eyes.

The forgiving voice inside of me would like to think Mark McGwire's admission is a sort of 21st century retelling of the Return of the Prodigal Son. He has confessed his sins and should be forgiven and welcome with love and open arms. The pragmatic voice in me, the one molded and shaped by one major league disappointment after another, says don't believe it. Not for a minute.

I don't know which voice will ultimately win out. But I have a pretty good idea. Why get behind something you can't believe in?

Midland RockHounds: What a championship looks like

Congratulations to the Midland RockHounds, 2009 Texas League Champions, and the impressive piece of hardware you can see at the team's front office ...

Fenway Park: The way baseball should be played and enjoyed

BOSTON -- With apologies to my Cub friends, assuming I still have Cub friends after today, and with indulgences requested of anyone who happens to drop in on this appreciation (Hey wanna see my vacation photos sure you do have a seat?) allow me to say this: If you ever want to know how baseball should be played, where it should be played, what it should look like, and what fans should be like, score yourself some tickets to Fenway Park.

If it isn't already, Fenway should be in the National Historical Registry designated as the official Shrine of Baseball. Were it not so big maybe they'd have already moved this place to Cooperstown for its impact on the game. Babe Ruth. Ted Williams. Johnny Pesky. Carton Fisk. Carl Yastrzemski. The ghosts and memories of some of baseball's best still walk these basepaths; their spirits still enshroud these grand stands.

The Park

It's hard to see the Green Monster and not recall Carlton Fisk willing his home run over the wall in Game 6 of the 1975 series, and impossible to forget light-hitting shortstop Bucky Bleepin' Dent, perhaps the most hated of all former Yankees, powering a homer over the left field wall in 1978 which would lead to another Sox elimination.

So much baseball history is packed into such a little place, and that's the beauty of it all, really: Not just the history, but the size of the yard on Yawkey Way. It was standing room only last Friday when the Mets beat the Sox 5-3 in the first interleague game of the year for both teams. SRO and only 38,000-plus in attendance ... a tiny ballpark by today's standards, but one so beloved that there appears no immediate plans to ever build a bigger and better Fenway. Those notions went away after a fan upheaval occurred in the late 1990s when the suggestion was made to move the Sox into a more modern, exact replica of the park. No way, Bostonians screamed, and it was believed even Paul Revere and John Hancock, from their permanent residences in a graveyard near the Commons, cast a negative vote for that lousy bum of an idea.

The Fans

When I walked up to the top of the concourse during the game, I heard one fan interrupt another in the standing room only section. "Shh!" the guy said, "Sheffield's up." Two pitches later, the Mets' outfielder knocked one out over the Monster. The people here know and love and appreciate the game. They're not here for the beer and conversation. They're here for the baseball -- and then the beer -- and if the conversation turns to baseball, then a few words will be traded along the way, too.

It's easy to see why Fenway is so beloved. Aside from the history and quaintness of the place, fans here feel a part of the action because they're almost on the field. When Boston catcher Jason Veritek hit a home run and rounded the bases last Friday, fans in the first base stands could actually see the emotion on his face as he stepped into the dugout. Phenomenal. And there are no nosebleed seats here. You can almost see the faces of the fans in the upper deck from the playing field.

Baseball here is a rich experience, made even more so because in just three years, Fenway turns 100. And in a greeting that may not have changed since 1912, present-day public address announcer Carl Bean still welcomes fans to the game shortly after 7 p.m. by proclaiming, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Fenway Park."

One story encapsulated the mood here last Friday night. It told the story of the passion people have for baseball as well as the mores, values and attitudes of those who live and love the game. I was walking down the main concourse about the fourth inning and I came upon a young woman walking in front of me, in the same direction. She had long auburn hair and was well tanned. She was, frankly, very attractive. And she was wearing a New York Mets jersey. She walked past a man seated behind third base and when she did the man greeted her. "Hey sweetheart," he yelled out in his finest Boston brogue. "You'd be a lot better lookin' if you was in a Sox jersey."

In one moment, the heart of Red Sox baseball and the passion of its fans was captured.

If the season ended today, Rangers would be playoff bound!

The Rangers have won five in a row and are one up in the American League West. For Texas fans, this IS playoff season. Everyone else just holds their post-season games, well, after the season. We go ahead and do ours now before it gets too hot and our pitching shrivels.

Go Rangers.

Lest you think there are no more good guys ...

... here are a couple:

Respectable types in baseball are just harder to spot these days, especially with news that A-Rod injected a substance that increased strength but not body mass.

Rick Helling, far left, and Mike Mussina, retired a year apart, Helling in November 2007, Mussina last November. Still, they played recently enough to keep our hopes alive that there are still good, natural-ability athletes who are of good character in the game, and it hasn't become a profession strictly for junkies, liars and cheats.

Discussion of the steroid problem begins early in the book "The Yankee Years," by former New York manager Joe Torre and Sports Illustrated baseball writer Tom Verducci. Reading the book's revelations, we might have to give a lot of credit to former Ranger pitcher Rick Helling for at least trying to shine a lot of early light on the epidemic. Here's what Helling had to say in Torre's book:

"I can look back on my career and whether it was good or bad, I know that everything I did, I did myself. I didn't do any form of cheating. It's unfortunate that there were a lot of people I knew who thought 'I need to do something to keep up.' The way I looked at it, when I wasn't good enough to do it myself, it was time to move on. A lot of players didn't think like that. That's not what I was all about. I can look back and know it was all me. That's the most important thing. I have my name and my reputation. Anybody who knows me knows there was no doubt that I played it the right way. And that's what I wanted to leave the game with. I couldn't care less if I made one million dollars or one hundred millions dollars, whether I won one game or whether I won three hundred games. I was in it to be honest to myself and my teammates and to be a good father and husband. For me, it was just the way I was brought up."

With a 93-81 career record, Rick Helling will not be inducted into Baseball's Hall of Fame. Maybe more importantly, though, was that, according to the Torre book, on four different occasions, for four years in a row -- 1998-2001 -- Helling made the same speech at the player's association board meeting warning about steroids and their rampant use. Each year, it fell on deaf ears. No one wanted to hear it. There was too much money to be made by owners who sat idly by and watched players and statistics alike balloon freakishly and would only years later say they felt betrayed and disappointed, like Ranger owner Tom Hicks did last week upon "hearing the news" of A-Rod's steroid problem when he was with the Rangers.

When Moose retired, he did so following a 20-win season and a respectable ERA of 3.37. When he left the game, he did so because he said he wanted to walk away at the height of his career and not toil around for the next five years or so trying to cross the 300-win plateau, of which he fell 30 shy. Mussina said he wanted to go home while he still had time to spend with his wife and teenage sons.

Mussina was never linked to steroids. People of his sort of character rarely are. The jury will be out for awhile, debating on his hall worthiness. He is considered borderline. But tipping the scale in his favor is that in an age of steroids, he won 270 games against batters who were fully roided up and pitchers twice his bulk. Yes, he deserves ensrhinement.

Clearly, the top of the baseball pedestal is become increasingly roomier these days. But Helling and Mussina show us that there may in fact be more like them still in the game. We can only hope.

A-Rod proves once again: Idolizing athletes dangerous

Alex Rodriguez did the only thing he could when he issued an apology Monday for having used performance enhancing drugs from 2001-2003 as a member of the mostly last place Texas Rangers. I had to chuckle a little when he apologized to his fans in Texas. I'm not sure that group represents a significant number of people, or even an insignificant number of people. You could probably fit Ranger fans who also consider themselves A-Rod fans into an hgh prescription bottle. A-Rod didn't leave too many weeping groupies upon his final departure from The Ballpark in Arlington and if you want proof of that, try to get tickets to this season's Yankees-Ranger series. See who receives the biggest crowd response when he comes to the plate.

A-Rod knows if he ever hopes to have a halfway decent chance of being properly immortalized he had to come out with a quick apology. (Only thing he forgot is that the Baseball Writers of America, the powder-wigged group responsible for populating the Hall of Fame, have long memories.) If there was sincerity in his apology, I'm glad he came forth with it. As a long-standing member of the American Society of Cynics, I found myself reviewing the tapes of the interview repeatedly, attempting to determine if A-Rod's repeated lip biting during one intense period of questioning was an attempt to stumble away from oncoming emotion or if he was trying to find the right word so he could avoid a legal pickle. It was inconclusive to me.

The Boy and I talked about A-Rod's admission of guilt briefly last night.

"A-Rod admitted doing steroids," I said.

"Oh," he said and smirked.

And that was it.

Another inconclusive moment, this from a kid who once idolized baseball and Major Leaguers but has since given that up for higher and more honorable pursuits. The Boy never much cared for A-Rod, and when he bolted Texas for New York, any lingering interest in the superstar vanished completely.

How much will A-Rod's apology mean to Americans? Finicky as we are, an 'I'm sorry' coming from a superstar ballplayer who is the biggest and richest at what he does yet still finds time to step out on his wife and young family and end up in the arms of one Madonna is understandably suspect. Forgiveness from the American baseball fans may be as common an occurrence as a box score with Mario Mendoza hitting for the cycle. Personally, I can't judge A-Rod, nor should I, nor should any of us, but human nature often wins out over how we should react in cases involving rich sports stars who screw up big time. We don't pity them much.

We tend to pick and choose who we want to forgive. By and large, we have no intention of ever forgiving Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens unless they personally knock on our front door, get on their knees and beg and plead with us one by one. Even still ...

On the other hand, we have shown a remarkable amount of tolerance and acceptance for Andy Pettitte, who is far more likable in the public eye than Clemens or Bonds or A-Rod.

I have been impassioned about the sport since I was 9 years old, when I was a member of a YMCA team in Irving. I struck out and got stuck in left field in what I recall was my only appearance of the season. I was not good. But I loved it and my clear inability to excel did not vanquish that love. I have loved the game so long that I recently determined the only way for that love to continue in spite of the people who play it would mean I would have to consider the athletes mere pawns put there only to make my life better. Nameless, faceless entertainers who are there to make life more enjoyable and nothing more other than for me to get my $499 worth out of my Lazy Boy. Jesters in my court all.

ESPN talker Collin Cowherd said yesterday that sports is nothing more than entertainment with a score and A-Rod will continue to be a major gate draw wherever he goes simply because people always go to the circus to see the elephant. Ironically, at another event I attended last weekend not having anything to do with baseball, an Indian priest told me there's an old saying in his homeland: Always stay far away from the elephant.

A great day to be a Ranger fan

Gee whiz, it is fun being a Ranger fan today. Seeing an end to the Rangers' 10-game home losing streak to the Evil Empire in such dramatic fashion. Watching everyone in Arlington having such an unabashed good time. Watching Marlon Byrd redeem himself after being "too short" to catch Robinson Cano's HR in the eighth and then coming back for a walk off grand slam in the bottom of the ninth. Can it get any better? Really fun stuff. To see so many guys who were playing in Frisco a year or two ago now stepping up, to hear Gerald Laird avoid a trade almost by wishing himself to remain on the team, it is very gratifying to watch these guys playing with the joy of little boys.

Make your day: Watch this video. Like a good Lays potato chip ... it's hard to watch just once.

Texas has now had three bottom-of-the-ninth, come-from-behind wins in just THIS homestand, and 11 this year. They are nothing if not never-say-die, and for the die-hards, the 2008 edition ranks right up their with the most entertaining team that's ever been put on the field in Arlington.

Chances are Texas won't move deep into the playoffs with pitching being a perennial concern again. But if the Yankees continue to falter because of their injury-riddled pitching staff, and if Tampa Bay ever returns to earth, perhaps the Rangers can snag the wild card spot and win two games in the first round this year.

Baby steps. These guys, as Laird said last week, "have what it takes to be good for a long time."

Minute Maid Park heightens complete game-watching experience

HOUSTON. It was a welcome break from watching ball in the torrid heat of Arlington where when the air is still in the middle of August or July it is almost indescribable.

Minute Maid Ballpark, home to the 4th place National League Central Houston Astros, is tucked into downtown Houston across the street from a historic Catholic mission complete with a bell tower, and within easy walking distance of any number of downtown hotels.

Once known as Enron Field (changed for obvious reasons), Minute Maid is one of the cleanest parks I've ever visited not to mention one of the easiest to get around in and quite fan friendly. The warmth of the place (not to mention the coolness of it, with the a.c.) heightened the game-watching experience: not just the action on the field, but everything that goes along with it: the different pockets of people, the casuals, the die-hards, and -- only in Houston -- a group of Hispanic males, all on the healthy side shall we say, wearing Carlos Lee jerseys, straw Cowboys hats and shouting "Go Astros" from their perch overlooking center field. A baseball-watching experience, to be fully enjoyed, is about much more than what is going on, on the field.

And while this is certainly not meant as any sort of complaint, it's an odd place to watch a game. With the configuration of the field, the design of the stadium and the windows on almost the entire northside exposing downtown, it can feel more like watching a game in a large airplane hangar, especially with its arced ceiling and exposed iron support beams overhead.

Still, the place is air conditioned, the concession lines short and the action good (Brian Moehler would nearly finish a complete game and the slugger Lee belted a two-out grand slam to put the 'Stros up 6-1 in what would end as a 6-2 Houston win.)

The Minute Maid atmosphere, which also included a saxman playing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" on the Houston streets before and after the game, was very family friendly and Minute Maid is a visual delight, and worth a visit by casual fans and purists alike.

Eleven Ignoble Moments That Will Live Forever in Texas Rangers History (not counting Wednesday night in Yankee Stadium)

Update: The Rangers' recent success, including taking two of three from the Yankees this week in the Bronx, came to a temporary crashing thud with an 18-7 loss Wednesday to NY).

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After yesterday's post about the Texas Rangers' sudden newfound success and today's morning-after glow of what will be at least a series win in Yankee Stadium on their last visit to the vaunted hall of athleticism, I stand accused of being somewhat of a bandwagon jumper-onner. But let me assure you, as I may have done in the past, I have never climbed off this turbulent ride, I have only changed seats a few times. I have sat at the front in the mid 1990s and late 1970s, and I have wallowed in the back in hopes of not being noticed for pretty much the remainder of the team's existence.

So if it appears I have jumped on while the gettin' is good, so be it. I have earned as much. Any fan that has stuck with this fiasco for all 36 seasons is entitled to criticize freely. And I have. And now the time has come again when I find my fist high in the air Tuesday night when Ian Kinsler steals third in as gutsy bit of base running as the Rangers may have ever been party to.

Being friends with a number of Chicago Cubs fans, including one who professes that his wife must be a fellow fan as a condition of their nuptials, I grow weary of the talk of the Cubs' curse. How they haven't won in 100 years. Boo hoo. Sure, there's Bartman, the curse of the goat, Ron Santo leaving for his final season to play with the White Sox, a three game sweep at the hands of the Padres in 1984, the first night game at Wrigley rained out, and other sordid and sorry tales, but below I submit to you a list of frustrations that would rival or better anything any team has to offer in three and a half decades. Maybe ever. Yes. Ever. Frustrations and low moments that no other team dare lay claim to. And I posit, therefore, that it is indeed more frustrating to call one's self a Ranger fan than a Cubs fan. Losing is not the only thing, after all. Not when you have a team history full of things like this:

In 1977, second baseman Lenny Randle slugged his own manager, Frank Lucchesi, breaking his jaw and leading to Randle's dismissal from the team. Lucchesi, who had called Randle a "$90,000 a year punk" to prompt Randle's outrage, was fired weeks later, after the Rangers continued to lose.

Succeeding Lucchesi was Eddy Stanky, who managed the Rangers for one game in 1977 before deciding he'd had enough. He called three of his players from an airport, on his way home, to tell them he would not be back.

The David Clyde experiment. Precisely the way how NOT to nurture and develop a pitcher straight out of high school. So desperate for pitching even in 1973 were the Rangers that Clyde, thought at one time to be the future of the franchise, was done at 26, his arm toast from overuse. Clyde had one decent season. Owner Bob Short said the fans wanted to see the young star and manager Whitey Herzog went along with it. Clyde was left in too long in too many games and flamed out far too quickly. According to Wikipedia, Clyde recently retired from the lumber business.

Ranger relief pitcher Frank Francisco was arrested (suspended and later sued) after throwing a chair into the stands, left, during a game against the Oakland A's in September 2004. Frank remains on the Rangers' 2008 active roster.

Kenny Rogers was not as lucky as Frank. Rogers achieved fame for shoving a television cameraman after a disappointing pitching performance in June 2005. Rogers was released by the team at the end of '05 and he remains with the Detroit Tigers.

On May 23, 1993, Former Cleveland Indians infielder Carlos Martinez hit a home run that bounced off the head of Ranger outfielder Jose Canseco. Three days later, Canseco convinced manager Kevin Kennedy (now an expert baseball analyst with Fox) to let him pitch the eighth inning of a blowout loss to the Red Sox. He would eventually retire the side, but not before walking three, allowing two hits and three runs. Injuries received through the pitching motions that Canseco was not accustomed to brought ligament surgery and an early end to his season.

On June 4, 1974, the Texas Rangers were the visiting team at Cleveland Municipal Stadium during the ill-fated 10-cent Beer Night promotion. The crowd drowned themselves in both teams' sorrows, tanked themselves up good, began a riot and forced the cancellation of the contest. Rangers players were pelted with hot dogs and other debris. An empty bottle of Thunderbird thrown from the stands narrowly missed Ranger first baseman Mike Hargrove, who would later enjoy his finest seasons in baseball as manager of the Tribe.

Although I've been unable to pinpoint the date I remember clearly that Doyle Alexander, who pitched for the Rangers from 1977-79, once threw a pitch that sailed into and rolled up the screen that protects fans from foul balls behind home plate.

The only historical book (excluding photo books and coffee table books) ever written about the Texas Rangers is entitled "Seasons in Hell With Billy Martin, Whitey Herzog and the Worst Baseball Team in History -- The 1973-75 Texas Rangers."

Chan Ho Park.

While it should be said that there is nothing funny about this, it must be included on the team's list of ignoble moments. In 1978, before a scheduled start, pitcher Roger Moret went into a catatonic trance, standing stark naked and holding a shower slipper at arm's length for more than an hour. The scene prompted manager Billy Hunter to respond, "I need a starter, not some *&^% statue."

With all that said, it's no wonder Ranger fans are riding such a wave of optimism of late. There is, however, much time left in the season.

And so, the gauntlet has been laid down: if you are a fan of a team with more humbling moments than these, please stumble forward.

And ... GO RANGERS!