Sorry Tampa, But You Don't Need The Rays

There comes a time in life when you just have to put your foot down. I'm not talking about being like House Speaker John Boehner (that tan's gotta come out of a tube or a tanning bed) and his billionaire supporters who are against everything that doesn't include tax breaks for those with a net worth three times the GNP of Mexico. I'm talking about important stuff. Stuff like small market baseball teams.

Not long ago, in the days when Americans vacationed each Thursday on Gilligan's Island and each Saturday in Miami Beach with Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Frank Fontaine and the June Taylor Dancers, there were ten teams in the American League and ten in the National.

All for the most part, like Yogi might say, big time cities. New York, LA, Chicago, Philly, St. Louis, yada, yada, yada. Yeah you had Milwaukee but the Braves were a team that won back-to-back pennants in '57 and '58 and had a pretty rich history with players like Hank Aaron,Warren Spahn, Eddie Mathews to name a few. And even they got the boot (or they gave the boot to the city) in '65 and moved to Atlanta the following year.

189,241,798

No, that's not how many silk smoking jackets Rush Limbaugh has (he probably has more), but the number of people living in the U.S. in 1963. And it seemed like a good number of them thought baseball was the only thing goin'. I'm not going to do a full expose on life back then compared to now. But the quality of baseball was better back then. The main reason is that with only 20 teams, you didn't have Double A players filling out rosters. Today we see guys in the starting rotation who back then would be spending their summer night's throwing balls at a stuffed giraffe at the local carnival.

Guys like switch-hitter Jorge Posada, well past his prime and pushing 40, is batting close to .200 against lefthanders. If now was then, Jorge would have been well into his insurance-selling career.

So I decided to take a peek at small market baseball with my own eyes. On my day off I decided to take a ride to Tampa-St. Pete from my home in Port St. Lucie to see the rubber game of the Yankees vs. Rays. Good pitching match up with 13-5 CC Sabathia facing 8-8 James "Big Game" Shields. The ride isn't for the weak - 190 miles each way right through the middle of Florida. Large stretches of no where's land where if the car decides to stop rolling you're basically a pile of skeletal remains.

My first surprise was after I passed downtown Tampa. I know, they always say "Tampa-St. Pete" but I really never took it seriously. They really are two different places. And the Rays aren't really in Tampa, they're of course in St. Pete. To get there you have to cross a seven mile bridge that runs a few feet over the Bay. Visions of tsunami flashed before my eyes, but aside from the old man in the hat doing 50 in the left lane and the Goth chic in the Jeep doing 85 in the right, things were cool.

Finally, 3 1/2 later, I peeled off onto 8th avenue. There it is, the Trop, the place Johnny Damon now calls home. You can practically sense the ghosts of Scott Kazmir and Rocco Baldelli hovering over the white Hefty Bag roof.

Parking was a breeze and for ten bucks it was worth it instead of trying to find free spot on a side street. They sure got the big boys beat on that one. I remember outside of AT&T Park in San Francisco they were charging $30 four years ago. It's probably a
half-day's pay at Yankee Stadium.

Now it's a matter of getting a ticket. I did research and found the Rays averaged about 23,000 a game against the Yankees the first time they came into town this season. So, no sweat. Actually lots of sweat. The five block walk to the ballpark left me drenched. Now that I'm here, where the hell are the ticket windows? I walked halfway around the place and couldn't find one. I see a huge line, with most wearing some kind of Yankee stuff.  Sweating like a pig under my own Yankee hat I figured I'd ask a my Yankee brethren where the ticket booth was. And sure enough, they were very helpful. Probably would ignore me up north, but hey we're in this together on foreign soil!

I asked the ticket guy what happened to the $17 seats and he tells me that price ends five hours before the game so I'm bait-and-switched to a $20 seat way up top. No biggie, twenty bucks would barely get me a hot dog and soda at the House That Jeter Built. So chalk up another one for the small market guys. But five $7.50 bucks for hot dog and $5.00 for a small Pepsi? I'll take two and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for three days when I get home.

The first thing I noticed inside the place was the lack of a/c. I know they don't draw, but please at least keep the place cool. Then I look around to see hands down the ugliest ballpark ever. This IS the K-Mart of ballparks. I didn't think they still made AstroTurf, but sure enough it's here. The sagging Hefty Bag ceiling looked like something I'd expect to see at a stadium in Budapest.

Dim lights. And try finding out how many outs there are or out-of-town scores, forget-about-it. Bare cement where there should be stuff to cover it up. And the best yet - a maze of catwalks above the field.  I didn't see one person up there the whole game but I did see a ball bounce off it into Evan Longoria's glove and play continue like it was a do-over.
Now for the fans. My informal survey showed that six out of ten males looked like Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh. And about of ten females looked like WKRP's Loni Anderson (the other six like Roseanne Barr). I got the feeling though that if an eathquake suddenly hit and everbody was running for their lives, these people would at least say "excuse me" after stepping over you. Back in the Bronx they'd just step on you. And pick up any loose change. So I'll give points to Rays fans, but I'll take them back because they basically don't show up unless the Rays are playing the Yankees or Red Sox. And even then they're outnumbered.

As far as the game went, Tampa won 2-1 with Kyle Farnsworth getting the save. Funny, he couldn't do that with the Yankees. The big dude with the heat who always got beat. Oh well.

So now I'm in the car for the long ride home and I'm tuned into the Rays post-game. The host took phone calls but constantly complained about how the small market Rays have such a disadvantage against those big, bad guys from up north. I wanted to call and set him straight but I was too worried I'd weave out of my lane and get pulled over by old smokie. So I listened to his sarcastic rants. How the Yankees just buy their way to championships (did they win any from 2001-2008?) forgetting of course their home grown players like Jeter, Rivera, Pettitte, Posada, Cano, Gardner, et al. Not to mention the dozens of free agents they did sign who weren't worth a bag of balls. And not to mention the revenue sharing millions teams like Tampa Bay get to help them stay competitive that all to often end up in the owners pockets. I said to myself, it's time to put my foot down. A sunny, lazy, laid back place like Tampa-St. Pete doesn't have to have a major league team. If you can't run with the big dogs, don't run period. If you can't pay, don't play.

Just like in 1963 MLB would do just fine if the teams like the Rays, Marlins and A's would fold.

And just like Jackie Gleason used to say, "Good night everybody!"

Jose Can't You See, You're Just Not Worth It

Is Reyes worth Carl Crawford money? No. Carl Crawford's not worth Carl Crawford money. He put on a ski mask and robbed the Red Sox out of $142 million over seven years. He's going to be 30 next month and he's batting .243 with 6 home runs and 31 rbi's. Not to mention he's coming off the dl with a Rickey Henderson-like bad hammy. Now don't get me wrong, I love to see the Red Sox get robbed. I'm a Yankee fan. Boston's a nice little town, quaint, full of history. But the people there don't need a great baseball team. They should be eating lobster, drinking Sam Adams, strolling around Faneuil Hall for overpriced chachka's and reminiscing about Dom DiMaggio instead being an annoying fruit fly buzzing around the champagne bottle of Yankee greatness. But I digress.

Oh God, What Have I Done?

Jose Reyes reminds me of a guy just out of a mental institution getting ready for a date. First day back home, getting all dressed up like nothing happened. Puts on his best clothes, great cologne, shines up the car. Fresh haircut. Looks in the mirror all afternoon making sure the smile is perfect. Like nothing ever happened. Forget the past eight years spent in a straight jacket. But an hour into the date the voices in the head return and it all unravels. "Get me outta here" screams the date. And "Get me outta here" is what the Mets will scream if they sign Reyes to a long-term mega deal.

Thanks For The Cash, Now I Feel Sick

Jorge Posada comes to mind. In 2007, the last year of his last contract, Posada was a monster. Everything he hit seemed to either end up in the gap or in the seats. From both sides of the plate no less. Posada hit .338 with 20 home runs and 90 rbi's that season. What could the Yankees do? Even though he was 36, Posada was a key member of the "Core of Four" with Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera and Andy Pettitte, a clutch go-to guy in each of their four championship seasons ('96, '98, '99 and 2000). But sure enough after signing a four-year $52 million dollar deal, his numbers dried up faster than Newt Gingrich's presidential campaign. In mid-July Posada was placed on the dl with a bad shoulder. Then a week later the team said he would have season-ending surgery. In 51 games Posada batted just .268. He bounced back in 2009 to hit .285, but dropped to .248 last season, and got off to such a brutal start this year only his name and fond memories saved him from getting cut altogether. He even took himself out of the lineup for a game against the Mets of all people and told the front office to "get me out of here," but later apologized postponing for the time being a very ugly end to a great career in pinstripes.

But with Reyes things are even worse. Like a car with cheap tires, bad things seem to happen to his wheels. When he sneezes he blows a hamstring. Very bad for a player who's entire game revolves around his legs.

His rookie season in '03 was cut short by a month because of a sprained ankle. In '04, his season got off to a slow start as he suffered a strained hamstring and came off the dl on June 19th. Throw in a back problem and Reyes finished the year batting .255. But he managed to finally stay on his feet over the next four seasons showing Mets fans there was hope after all. Reyes played in 161 games in 2005, 153 in 2006, 160 in 2007 and 159 in 2008. He batted .273, .300, .280 and .297 respectively with a combined 258 stolen bases.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Luckily for Jose he's not a horse because if he were he would've been put down in 2009. In May he was back on the dl with a calf injury. But while rehabbing he tore the calf muscle keeping him out until August. And just when he was about to come back he tore his right hammy. Thirty-six games played and his HMO had the best year of anyone. Then last year looked like another lost cause when he was diagnosed with a hyperactive thyroid gland during spring training. That landed him back on the dl causing him to miss the start of the season. When he managed to actually play he did pretty well batting .282 with 30 stolen bases.

So now's his walk year. Just like Posada did in his walk year, Reyes looks like a man on a mission, not a man looking to spend the rest of his career on the trainer's table. He's been a combination of Ricky Henderson and Rod Carew - 30 stolen bases through July with a major-league leading .354 batting average.
Could this be the real Reyes? One prominent ESPN reporter even did a piece proclaiming Reyes as a guy the Yankees should jump at to replace Derek Jeter. Can you see Reyes running full speed into the 3rd base box seats smashing his face up like Jeter did in a July 2004 game against the Red Sox? Or running the bases like Johnny Damon against the Phillies in the 2009 World Series? I can't. I see a Jose Reyes running the bases like a freshman at Queensboro Community College and running after a foul ball and pulling up lame like-well like Jose Reyes.

And Guess What?

Yep, he's back on the dl. With another hamstring injury, this one suffered against the Yankees. He'll miss his third All-Star Game because of injury and who knows how many games after that. Shame. Turning it on like a madman in his walk year and ending up back where he started.

So if you're GM Sandy Alderson, do you tell owner Fred Wilpon to spend Carl Crawford money on Reyes or trade him to a contender for some hot prospects? Wilpon, who's facing a billion dollar lawsuit in connection with the Bernie Madoff mess will have one helluva time finding the cash for that. The real question is whether there's a sucker out there who will overlook Jose's medical chart and see the numbers he put up in the first half.

Just like the mental patient, the GM of that other team will overlook Reyes' past history. And just like the mental patients date will end up screaming, "Get me outta here!"