Sometimes I wonder what my bossmen make me out to be.
They obviously don’t think I’m an old fogey, else I wouldn’t be typing this dreck. But Tom the Red Sox co-owner, Tom the Tigers utility infielder-turned-first base coach, and Igor the failed Mets prospect must believe I’m a Rip Van Winkle at the least, a Luddite at the best. I exist out of my time.
I wasn’t an active social media user. I wouldn’t post all my movements, including in the bathroom, on Facebook like some folks. Tom the coach urged me to tweet, so I entered a brave new world and actually got some more readership. I don’t know a lot of the software of the laptop on which I type this. A dutiful worker bee, I simply originated files, 300 or 10,000 words, as Word documents and responded to e-mails 1997-style, albeit via Wi-Fi instead of dial-up as in Clinton’s second term. No one asked me to do anything else until recently. I don’t text. It’s technologically sexy, but actually slower than picking up a phone and speaking. Time both communication methods – I dare you. Plus, can you sell and sway someone via text as well as via the inflections and emotions of a live voice?
Even entering a Fantasy Baseball League escaped my gaze until the last week. Another editor needed a 16th team to fill out his league. Being a good Joe and wanting to keep harmony in the newsroom, I decided to play GM. But unlike most Fantasy players, I didn’t drown myself in sabermetrics and ratings and hyper-analysis of the many outlets, including this esteemed site, that provide such services.
Two bits of logic: I took the minimum required math courses as possible to graduate high school, figuring you don’t need algebra, geometry, and calculus to write sports, other than figuring out batting averages and ERAs (old-school numbers, eh?). Why get lost in contrived numbers and artificial stats? And I actually have the chance to talk to some of these players, take their measure and get the story behind the numbers. Or simply use the powers of observation and experience, combined with a few hunches. Isn’t that like a scout, going far deeper than dispassionate analytics?
Tom, Tom, and Igor, New Era Men all, are no doubt scratching their heads looking at this throwback. But, guys, try out some logic as I explain how I put my team together.
My first pick was Bryce Harper. Sure, I would have loved Mike Trout or Miggy Cabrera, but I was picking eighth. Harper is a toolsy guy, for sure, and a legit star prospect. He went through his second-year adjustment period and has survived injuries. Graft on that trial-by-fire with his left-handed hitting skills and his other base talents, and he should put up some big numbers. Remember, he’s got that extra step to first base.
My first pitcher was Justin Verlander. The sheen might be off the Verlander gloss last year with a dip in numbers and core surgery in the off-season. But I’ve got a feeling Verlander will do more with less work in 2014. New manager Brad Ausmus, a former catcher, might just cut his workload a bit in handling pitchers with better TLC than crusty predecessor Jim Leyland. Instead of letting Verlander finish a slew of 120-pitch outings, Ausmus might excuse his ace after seven or eight to preserve his arm. Knowing this, Verlander-the-velocity-calibrator will be able to ramp it up sooner to finish with a flourish. He’s noted for saving his best fastball for a late “game” situation. For the sake of Verlander’s endurance, better that moment of truth in the seventh than the ninth.
When filling out my outfield, I snared Carlos Beltran. I figured Yankee Stadium’s right-field dimensions will boost Beltran’s numbers. And going back to the American League is no adjustment at all.
Adam Eaton completes the outfield. A gamble? Sure. But meeting Eaton close-up, he’s a gritty type, a self-described “dirtbag,” who will risk life and limb to compete with the White Sox giving him 500 to 600 plate appearances in center. This is an old-fashioned hustler who will make the most of a playing opportunity that he thought he’d get in Arizona.
Dustin Pedroia was my first infielder. He’s a centerpiece player and a leader of a World Series winner going into the prime of his career. That’s a no-brainer. Increased numbers are a very good bet.
I really craved Victor Martinez. A year away from severe injury, the Tigers DH can hit with his eyes closed. I’ve watched him single-handedly destroy the White Sox for a decade, not leaving town without hitting a homer in his Cleveland days. Alas, the luck of the draw. I had my finger on the draft trigger for Victor about the 10th round to play first. The team in front of me snared him. I settled for Mike Napoli at first. Not a bad consolation choice, but he’s no Victor Martinez.
I don’t know why Greg Holland lasted into the middle rounds. But the Royals closer was my third pitcher picked, after Zack Greinke. Forget metrics and just watch hitters swing and miss at Holland in the ninth. It’s as simple as that.
Similarly, I picked Nate Jones of the White Sox for the bullpen. Jones throws up to 100 mph. He’s the likely closer, a position the Sox have had success in developing from within. Put him down for some good numbers.
And I went beyond raw stats for sentimentality. Paul Konerko won’t be a 30-homer, 100-RBI man in his final season. But he merited my final pick for the bench simply because he’s a master of preparation, and in his part-timer/mentor job he’ll be ready. Plus, I’ve got a hunch he’ll play a little more than he projects, boosting the numbers. Just a hunch.
I’m permitted, bossmen.
