Baseball place No. 68: Tiger Stadium

The famous flag pole that was in play out in centerfield was the only thing remaining of Tiger Stadium when I drove past the site along I-75 last month.

Detroit started tearing down the glorious stadium last season, leaving the portion stretching from dugout to dugout. But the plans to save even that part were, like so much of Detroit, cast aside.

Josh Pahigian taps the stadium at thet corner of Michigan and Trumbull as place No. 68 in his "101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out."

Tiger Stadium was my baseball home away from home, second only to Shea in terms of games attended. Adventures there have been all over these places.

Rather than recount those, I thought it would be more fun to share some photos from the vault. Back in 1990 and 1991 BC -- before children -- I'd make it to a game each homestand, arrive early and take photos. The bullpens were open, near the stands and fans could get within 10 feet of pitchers warming up.

I'd also try to snag some autographs, but got tried of the professional collectors pushing in and being rude.


One of my favorite shots. Rock Raines and Frank Thomas were posing for someone else, and I started snapping away.

Nolan Ryan and Goose Gossage came to town with the Rangers.


Roger Clemens in pre-bat-chucking days.



Brett Saberhagen


I'm not sure who is in the middle, but that's Dave Henderson -- another favorite -- and Reggie Jackson. Henderson always seemed to have fun with fans. I remember once yelled out, "Dave, you're on my Rotisserie team!" and he smiled and said, "I know! That's why I'm doing so well!"
George Brett

Cecil Fielder was chatting with Dave Stewart -- who shot me the evil eye.


Bob Welch

Mike Moore
Julio Franco

Ron Karkovice and Milt Cuyler were favorite players even though they weren't stars.

Willie Randolph gets fired in LA, we round up replacements

The Subway Ad Curse is born. Ain't nobody gonna pose with a sandwich next year.

As we all know by now, the Mets axed Willie Randolph at 3 a.m. this morning and named Jerry Manuel as his interim replacement.

Let’s waste no time in picking the Mets new manager. Here are some potential candidates, as well as their pluses and minuses:

Hillary Clinton:
Upside: Boasted she’d be the best one to handle bad news at 3 a.m.
Downside: Bill becomes the bench coach.

Moises Alou:
Upside: Gives him something to do while he’s on the disabled list.
Downside: Will pull a hammy walking to home plate to exchange lineup cards.

Mr. Met:
Upside: Could throw hot dogs into the stands with that launcher on the way to the mound to change pitchers.
Downside: Head already is pretty big.

Mike Francesa:
He’s a baseball genius. Just ask him.
Downside: Will obsess over entrance songs, making sure no Yankees are offended.

Derek F. Jeter
Upside: His intangibles make everything better. Joe Morgan will finally praise Mets.
Downside: Clubhouse will have stench of "Driven," Jeter’s cologne.

Rachael Ray
Upside: Duh. She’s Rachael Ray.
Downside: None whatsoever.

Pat Burrell:
Upside: At least he’ll stop killing us on the field.
Downside: Phillie taint.

Roger Clemens:
Upside: It’s not like anything worse could happen to him at this point.

Downside: Would make Carlos Beltran change name to Karlos.

Mets Guy in Michigan:
Upside: I coach a coed softball team, and we have a better winning percentage than the Mets.
Downside: I think I pissed off Tony Bernazard ages ago when he was on my fantasy team.

Gary Carter:
Upside: We already know he wants the job. Really, really wants the job.
Downside: You have to be crazy to want this job.

Bush, Bugs and other babes Clemens has NOT had affairs with.

Been a pretty crazy week, with the college class ending, softball starting and school board election controversies taking whatever time was left – and that made blogging difficult.

So I’ve been busy. But not as busy as Roger Clemens, it seems. The Daily News says Clemens has had, um, unauthorized relations with country singer Mindy McCready – starting when she was just 15, ick! – and then golfer John Daly’s ex-wife.

In the past, I have been rough on Clemens. I resented the whole trying to kill Mike Piazza thing. But friends, I now say, “Enough!” It’s just piling on at this point. In fact, it is time to say nice things about Roger Clemens.

So, in the spirit of a belated Deezo Friday Five, I present to you five women Roger Clemens has NOT had an affair with.

1) Barbara Bush. Clemens certainly had motive and opportunity. The Bushes are known Houston Astros fans and frequent guests at Minute Maid Park when he was pitching there. And she’s related to people who can issue presidential pardons. Rocket might be in the market for one of those before too long. But there have been no stories about Roger getting cozy with the first mother. Granted, the Secret Service might have had something to do with that. But we’ll give Roger the benefit of the doubt here.

2) Bugs Bunny when he’s dressed like a woman. Clemens isn’t the smartest guy around. A congressman asked him if he was a vegan, and Clemens didn’t know what the word meant. Look it up. OK, so he’s “The Rocket” and not “The Rocket Scientist.” But dense as he is, I think Clemens is smart enough to know that the bunny is really a guy rabbit in drag.

3) Hannah Montana. Well, the age is about right.

4) Emmy Lou Harris. Oh, sure. Roger tried. We know he likes country singers. He even gave her the World Series ring from 2000 that he didn’t deserve. But we have no proof of a liaison beyond this photo op. Maybe she wasn’t buff enough for Roger. Maybe Emmy Lou has standards.

5) University of Texas cheerleaders. It looks bad when you see a photo like this. But we know what really happened. UT Alumni Rocket introduced himself to these five lovelies, and they acted all happy see him, especially after they found out that he was older than 21. After the game, they walked Roger down to the 7-Eleven so he could run in to buy a couple cases of Busch Lite for the party with the Beta Sigs. Once they got to the party, the Lady Longhorns dispersed – with the beer – to go nuzzle up to some Biff, leaving Roger surrounded by a bunch of hero-worshipping pledges eager to hear him tell time and again how he struck out 20 Tigers in a game, as if that was hard to do.

So there you go, Roger. For one week, we had you back. Next week, things are back to normal.

Clemens is not fighting like a caged wombat

Crazy week here, and I'm going to see if I can avoid getting hurt while hitting the slopes with the youth group this weekend. So let's jump right into the Deezo Friday Five.

1) Costco. Costco rocks! I’m renaming the store Costco BSE! for Best Store Ever! My son bought his iPod in 2005. It died this week. I brought it back to Costco, and they gave me store credit to go buy a new one. He replaced a 20-gig black-and-white version with an 80-gig model with the full-color screen and video – for about $70 less than the first one. And I ate some awesome samples, too.

2) I finally got my hands on the Topps limited edition Mets team set from the end of last year. The Mr. Met card and coaches cards alone make this a worthy addition. But there is some disappointment.

At 55 cards, I was hoping to see everybody in there. But there are 31 cards of players and coaches – and the mascot – then the rest are pretty much the same players on personal highlights and “classic combos.”

Glavine’s 300^th win and Maine’s near-no-no aren’t included, but Jorge Sosa’s brilliant performance against the Tigers is there – put with a photo that obviously wasn’t from that game.

But I’m bummed because the set is missing most of the bullpen. No Pedro Feliciano, no Scott Schoenweis, no Guillermo Mota. Mr. Met has a card, Guillermo Mota doesn't. Granted, there were games where I would rather have seen Mr. Met on the mound than Mota. But in a card set, I want to see all the players, even the bad ones.

3) This week I described both Hillary Clinton and a local union as fighting like caged wombats. Then my wife pointed out that wombats are actually cuddly furballs that might lick your hand if provoked. I really need to start watching Animal Planet some more.

Greg

Me

4) People keep telling me I look like Greg Grunberg, who plays Matt Parkman on “Heroes.” I don’t see the resemblance. Decide for yourself.

5) It is wrong to take pleasure in another person's problems -- unless that person is Roger Clemens.

Best valentine ever!

Got this sweet valentine from Mrs. Met Guy today. It's nice to know that she feels this way, because I was a little worried. (Click on it to get a bigger view)

Reps. Burton and Waxman looked to be pretty rough, and it's a great relief that, say, unlike Roger, my spouse won't roll over when the subpoena arrives .

So I got that going for me.

Clemens, Congress and the conversation with Debbie

I can imagine the awkward conversation in the Clemens household today.


Rocket: Hello, honey. I was talking to some folks today. They asked about you.

Debbie: Roger, you were talking to congressmen about steroids. You didn’t tell them about me, did you?

Rocket: Me? Sweetheart! Never. I’ll tell you what, though. That Andy Pettitte sure does have a big mouth.

Debbie: Oh great. You are in so much trouble.

Rocket: Well, there’s more. Remember the 2000 World Series?

Debbie: Sure. That’s the one you won, unlike that disaster against the White Sox.

Rocket: Yeah, that’s the one. They had all kinds of questions. But I was pretty smart. I told them that you said, “Wow, how about that Mike Piazza!” and I got all confused and thought you said, “Now, throw a bat at Mike Piazza!”

The Debbie made him do it!

Debbie: You didn’t! Now that’s my fault, too? Am I on the hook for the 2004 All-Star Game meltdown, too?

Rocket: I thought....I thought....

Debbie: See that’s the problem, Roger. You know you’re not supposed to go thinking for yourself. Why didn’t you listen to Rusty? What has he doing when all this was happening?

Rocket: He kept muttering, “I have a blockhead for a client.” And that’s just not true because Chuck Knoblauch has a different lawyer.

Debbie: Roger. Just stop talking.

Rocket: By the way, the Astros, Blue Jays and Red Sox all called. They said it’s OK with them if I want to wear a Yankee cap on the Hall of Fame plaque. That's just swell of them because I have so much on my mind right now and can't make big decisions like that.

Debbie: I don't think that's gonna be a problem.

Good week, bad week

Nice week of contrast for the two teams that call New York home. Pretty much shows where each team is headed.

Let’s review.

Player acquisitions:

Mets: With great fanfare the Mets showed off Johan Santana, winner of two Cy Young awards and the well-earned reputation as the best left-hander on the planet.

It was all smiles after the Mets showed dramatic video highlights of Santana’s past glories. He then donned the classic pinstriped jersey and solid blue cap.

Santana then posed around the stadium, with beautiful Citi Field rising in the background – a spot where Johan expects to win more Cy Young Awards, along with an MVP and possibly a Nobel Prize and a Grammy.

There is no proof that John McCain then called and asked him to be his running mate.

Yankees: With no fanfare, the Yankees announced their two main acquisitions: Morgan Ensberg and Chris Woodward.

Ensberg split last season between the Houston Astros and San Diego Padres. The Yankees would be looking at him as a first baseman, where he played just one game with San Diego last August. Note to existing first baseman Jason Giambi. If they’re handing the job to a guy who played one game at that spot, that would be a vote of no confidence in your ability to field a ground ball.

Then you have Woodward, who had two somewhat productive seasons with the Mets before starting down a path of playing for the team’s arch enemies. He hit a robust .216 with the vile Braves last year. He must not have read the post about what happens when Mets go bad and join the Yankees.

There was no press conference, no jersey donning and no posing.

Former employees linked to steroids:

Mets: Former clubhouse attendant Kirk Radomski was sentenced to five years probation after cooperating with baseball's investigation. Radomski admitted selling steroids, human growth hormone and speed to dozens of current and former major leaguers.

Not good. But it is rarely noted that he did all this after – not while – he was on the Mets payroll. I’m sure he had other jobs, too, but all we hear about is the one with the Mets. It’s not like he has been accused of giving roids to Mets players while he was there.

Yankees: Former Yankee Bat-Chucker trainer Brian McNamee was making the rounds on Capitol Hill on Thursday in preparation for next week's House hearing.

McNamee allegedly handed over vials with traces of steroids and human growth hormone, as well as blood-stained syringes and gauze pads that might contain Bat-Chucker's DNA.

Then things got crazy. There were reports that McNamee not only injected Bat-Chucker, but Lady Bat-Chucker, too! Allegedly she wanted to look buff before posing with her husband in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.

His wife?

Stadium issues:

Mets: Announced that Long Islander Billy Joel would perform the final concert at Shea Stadium.

I have to say that I love Billy, despite some nasty Yankee taint. One of his buds is wearing a Yankee shirt of shame, err, jersey on the back of “The Stranger.” He filmed a video performing in the Bronx. And he mentions the Yankees, by name, in at least three songs.

But Billy’s been saying all the right things.”Shea Stadium is one of the most hallowed venues in rock 'n' roll history and it's an honor to help throw Shea the ultimate concert farewell party," he said in a prepared statement. "As a sports fan and a music lover, I will always have a place for Shea Stadium in my heart. I thank the Mets for giving me and my fans a chance to rock Shea Stadium one last time for the ages."

Joel expressed his thanks at the press conference, where he was given a Mets jersey with "JOEL O8" on the back.

Joel apparently said used to be a Dodgers fan – which makes him a legacy Mets fan – and was distressed that the Dodgers left Brooklyn. He even noted watching Mets pitcher Wilmer "Vinegar Bend" Mizell in the 1960s.

"I've been to more Mets games than Yankees games," he said Joel.

Joel also indicated he would have written more songs about the Mets had he known more words that rhyme with "Mets." I know plenty, but it’s not like we require our rock singers to be great scholars.

Friends, I think what we have here is a convert. I can accept that Billy was sucked into the Yankee vortex in those hazy days when he was driving around the Hamptons like Toonces.

It’s also very possible that Christie Brinkley was a Yankee fan, and she led him to the dark side. But the Uptown Girl is gone and Bill has dried up. Let’s face it, we’ve all seen people who look back at their time in the bottle and realized they did some things they regret. In Billy’s case, it was rooting for the Yankees.

Mets fans are forgiving. Our tent is big. We can welcome Billy back – and ask that he let Twisted Sister open the show for him!

Yankees: The Yankees are closing out their dingy playpen this year – and apparently can’t get anyone for a farewell concert.

But this week the team discussed its new stadium. According to one report I read the new “stadium will have party suites, a members-only restaurant, a martini bar and a price tag to match all the luxury -- $1.3 billion, up from a $1 billion estimate last year.

"We tried to reflect a five-star hotel and put a ballfield in the middle," Yankees Chief Operating Officer Lonn Trost said.

Yikes. I don’t know about you guys, but if I wanted to go to a five-star hotel, I’d go to a five-star hotel – not a baseball stadium.

Kind of makes you wonder who the Yankees think their target audience is. I’m a pretty typical baseball fan. I stay at places I can afford, like the Hampton Inn and its breakfast bar with the cool waffle-makers.

And when I go to a ballgame, I like to watch a ballgame, not wander around pricy martini bars.
It’s almost like the Yankees are trying to distract you from watching the game.

Then again, if I was a Yankees exec and I’m looking at the field and seeing Morgan Ensberg at first, Jason Giambi trying to figure out how to wear his glove and whether the people seated in the family box are a little too buff, I’d try distracting the fans, too.

Luckily, we get to see Johan Santana and Billy Joel instead.

Bat-chucker's rampant butt talk

Roger Clemens' butt, the source of so much attention, before he apparently worked it off and put it on the line.

I’m worried about Roger Clemens.

Oh, not about his alleged steroid use. I don’t think too many people are surprised by those stories.

No, I’m worried about his apparent obsession with butts -- both his own, and those belonging to rodents.

I’ve worked with middle school youth groups, and I’m painfully aware that boys of a certain age develop a fascination with the hind quarters and all of its assorted functions. Backsides become a frequent source of humor a handy insult.

Now that I work with high school youth groups, I sense that the boys have outgrown ass antics and have moved on to other obsessions, mainly dodge ball.

But Clemens, for all his riches and accolades, appears to have been unable to take his attention away from butts.

Let’s look at the record.

The real fornt page of the Trentonion. You just can't make this stuff up.

Former strength and conditioning coach Brian McNamee told George Mitchell that he injected Clemens at least 16 times with steroids and human growth hormone in 1998, 2000 and 2001.

Clemens acknowledged receiving injections from McNamee, however, he said they were vitamin B-12 and the painkiller lidocaine.

Where did he get these shots? You guessed it, in the butt. I don’t know about you, but I like my vitamins in pill form. Never once did I ask to have my Flintstones chewable ground up and loaded into a syringe.

And when I get a shot, I generally try to take it in the arm. It doesn’t hurt that much.

"Dude, keep your hand off the butt. It's sore."

I would note that the list of people I would allow to inject me with anything anywhere is pretty short and limited to doctors and nurses. A strength and conditioning coach doesn’t meet that criteria. But I digress.

Then we have Clemens’ unusual press conference-meltdown show Monday evening.

Forget for a moment the surreal 17-minute phone call where Clemens called McNamee and didn’t once say something like, "Brian, why did you lie?" One could argue that would be because he knew that McNamee didn’t, but we can discuss that later.

Because the more frightening thing happened after the phone call. The topic of conversation quickly turned to, you guessed it, butts.

Silly sports writers. They wanted to talk about steroids. Clemens would have no part of it.

"Do you think I played my career because I’m worried about the damn Hall of Fame?" he said, according to a published report. "You keep your vote. I don’t need the Hall of Fame to justify that I put my butt on the line and I worked my tail off, and I defy anybody to say I did it by cheating or taking any shortcuts, OK?"

So Roger both put his butt on the line, and then worked it off? If he worked it off, where did it go? And what if he needed to put it on the line again? I realize it would be sore from all those vitamin and pain-killer injections, but to go through life buttless would be tragic.

Then the silly writers again wanted to talk about steroids, when whether the allegations would harm the legacy for which Clemens so dramatically sacrificed his butt. Having surrendered that behind, Clemens then turned his attention to varmint heinies.

"This is not about records or heroes or numbers. I could give a rat’s ass about that."

All this butt talk was apparently too much, because Clemens then ended the show and huffed out.

All this gives me a new appreciation for Shawn Estes, the former Mets pitcher. Actually. I previously had no appreciation at all for Estes, considering the 4-9 record and 4.55 ERA he gave us during his one year with the team.

But Estes was on the hill when Clemens made his return to Shea in 2002. Clemens, of course, by that time had drawn the wrath of Mets fans for his beaning of St. Mike Piazza, and hurling the broken bat Piazza’s way in Game 2 of the ill-fated 2000 World Series.

Joe Torre made sure that in subsequent interleague games, Clemens only faced the Mets at Yankee Stadium, where American League rules allow pitchers to avoid facing retribution for their head-hunting.

But Clemens finally had no choice but to pitch at Shea in 2002, and Mets fans — mostly me — wanted Estes to deliver a high hard one that would knock some sense into Clemens’ dome.

Estes apparently was under orders from Bobby Valentine to do just that. He didn’t, angering all of Mets fandom.

Today I give Estes credit. He wanted to nail Clemens where it would really hurt him, the spot apparently so important to Bat-chucker that it dominates his every thought and is the target for his fortifying vitamins.

Yup, Estes threw at Clemens’ butt.

Sadly, he missed. He is, after all, Shawn Estes. Maybe he should habe taken some B-12.

Watching the Yankee Death Star explode

"Today will be a day long remembered. It has seen the end of Kenobi, it will soon see the end of the Rebellion."
-- Darth Vader

Allow me to paraphrase.

"Today will be a day long remembered. It has seen the end of the bat-chucker Clemens, it will soon see the end of the reign of Torre."

I’m not gloating. Gloating is bad, especially after our own team stumbled somewhat down the stretch.

So these are just observations after watching the Cleveland Indians dismantle the Evil Empire in four games.

1) I sure hope we’ve finally seen the end of the vile Roger Clemens. Something tells me that a 6-6 record and 4.18 ERA was not what the Skanks were hoping for when they paid Bat-Chucker $20 million or so for four months work. And that’s not even including the 2.1-inning performance in the ALDS with that nice, plump 11.57 ERA.

Clemens return did nothing but tack an ugly epilogue to the end of his career. From Suzyn Waldman’s hysterics announcing his arrival, to gimping off the mound in shame in his final appearance, this was an unqualified disaster.

Even his departure left a trail of sleaze. The Yanks bumped him from the roster — claiming an "injury" — and replaced him with Ron Villone, a journeyman middle reliever. The Indians howled, correctly pointing out that Clemens wasn’t going to pitch again in the series anyway, and Villone appeared in the next game, this effectively giving the Skanks a 26-man roster.

Posada's going to need more than one can of Raid to get rid of that pest.

2) Much was made about the "Joba rules" during the season. I bet next year there’s a new one: No pitching when there are bugs present.

I don’t know who on the Indians can command insects to swarm and attack like that. It was pretty amazing.

Makes you wonder what other animals are at their disposal. If we see hundreds of squirrels come out of nowhere and pounce on Curt Schilling during the ALCS, I’m going to be really impressed.

3) Is there anything more tiring than the Joe Torre deathwatch? I mean besides the "Frank TV" ads.

Some of the Yankee-hacks on the radio today were actually hyping Old Joe for manager of the year. Outrageous!

Let’s see.

He manages a team with a $195 million payroll. The next highest is $143 million. That’s a difference of about $60 million, a figure more than the entire payroll of seven teams.

He has a team with an All-Star at most positions.

Yet this team at one point was 14 games behind the Red Sox and eight games back in the wild card. We’re supposed to give him manager of the year because his team finally played the way it was supposed to play?

Once Joe gets the boot, if he wants to return to his managing roots and serve as Willie Randolph's bench coach, we might be able to make room for him.


4) For a guy who enjoys a reputation as being Mr. Clutch, Derek F. Jeter didn’t look too good hitting into a double play with two men on base when his team needed runs late in the game -- agruably his most important at-bat of the season.

Nor did he look too tough hitting a harmless infield pop-up even later when his team was mounting another charge.

Nevertheless, I have no doubt Tom Verducci will write something like, "Even when failing spectacularly when his team needed him most, Derek Jeter showed greatness."

5) The TBS announcers at times sounded like they were trying out for the a spot in the Yankee booth next year instead of calling the game properly.

After the Tribe finished off the Skanks, one of them — I think it was Chip Caray — said something like, "And the Indians shock the Yankees."

Well, the Indians had the best record in the league and the Yankees didn’t even win their division, sneaking in as the wild card. So I’d say the only thing shocking was that the Indians allowed one game to get away and didn’t sweep the Yanks.

Heck, sending former Mets castoff Paul Byrd to pitch Game 4 made me wonder if the Indians weren’t throwing the game so they could head back to Cleveland and win before their own fans. And the Yanks still couldn’t win.

I’m not saying that Yankee shame eases the pain of the Mets debacle. And don’t think that every moment of the NLCS I won’t be lamenting that the Mets are not there.

But there’s nothing wrong with watching the Death Star in the Bronx explode.

Bat-chuckers, moles and knowing the enemy

Moles are the Yankees of suburban lawn pests.

My community college newspaper adviser once suggested that I had a problem recognizing gray areas.

He said I quickly decided that someone was either good or bad. And once a person was deemed one or the other I was either fiercely loyal or an enemy until death.

He was correct. And he was quickly dispatched to the “bad” side of the ledger, where he remains until death.

Truth be told, it’s important to identify the enemy and move on. And this summer there are two.

1) Moles

No matter what you’ve heard, I’m not one of those suburban lawn maniacs who obsess about the quality of their grass.

I like to keep it tidy and trimmed to be a good neighbor, but I’m not out there every day dumping expensive chemicals and manicuring the spots around the flowerbeds.

And I tend not to care about what’s living under the lawn as long as it doesn’t upset what’s on top.

But for each of the last three days I’ve pulled out of the driveway and discovered massive dirt piles, evidence of the most vile lawn vandals there are – moles.

We have some small mole battles every year. I caught one alive several years ago and set him free on the soccer field next door. At least I assume he landed safely.

This year the buggers seem to have declared war. And the one in the front yard seems intent on destruction.

It is SO on!

I consulted a co-worker who prides himself on mole slaying. He recommends two types of traps. The first one is called a “strangler” where Lawnwrecker T. Mole climbs on through then hits a paddle that releases spring-loaded device that squeezes him toward the bright lights.

The other is more gruesome, with the paddle releasing spikes of death from above, leaving little time for his miserable life to flash before his eyes.

The thing looks like one of the elaborate machines used by the celebrity villains on the Batman television show.


You know, the ones where they’d knock out the Dynamic Duo, place them in the device then leave before seeing if the thing actually worked. Except that they’d never remove the utility belts with the convenient Bat-tools that allowed the Caped Crusaders to wiggle free – every week.

Note to celebrity villains: Use a gun.

I tried the strangler for the couple years and the only things that got caught were my fingers and one hapless vole, sort of a skinnier, less destructive cousin of a mole.

Note to voles: Don’t crawl into traps set for other animals.

As for the other trap, I figured if I had that much trouble setting up the strangler, anything with spikes of death would only be more difficult and too embarrassing to explain at the inevitable visit to the convenience clinic for stitches.

And don’t think every mole in the yard would not be laughing his furry ass off as I get that tetanus shot.

So this year I’ve opted for some less mechanical methods, poking holes in their trails and inserting poison pellets that are supposed to be as irresistible as Ring Dings. We’ll see.

2) Roger Clemens

OK, Bat-Chucker rolled over to the “bad” list around the time he forced the Blue Jays to trade him to the Yankees so he could pocket an elusive championship ring.

His subsequent beaning and near bat-pelting of Mike Piazza pretty much bought him legendary status on the all-time punk list.

But I must admit that I softened my stance on Clemens over the past several seasons.

I was surprised that he turned his back on the vile Yanks to come out of retirement to play for the hometown Astros.

I bought into the whole story that he wanted to play close to home to spend time with his family, and loved the whole yarn about joyfully playing in the same organization as his son.

And it was nice when he led the team to its only World Series appearance.

I dismissed all the talk this spring about whether he would return to the Astros or play for the Red Sox or Yankees. The whole point about coming out of retirement was to be near home, and the Bronx is pretty far from Houston according to most maps.

There is no forgiving Clemens for trying to impale Piazza, even if his post-game excuse – “I thought it was the ball” – was good for a chuckle.

But maybe, just maybe, there is good in him after all. Maybe the world is a little more complicated than my black-and-white vision allows.

Perhaps the college adviser was correct, and that there is a gray area where a person can exist with both flaws and strengths, and that we can tolerate the bad while hoping the good can rise to the top.

But I was watching SportsCenter Sunday night when they showed the Yankees stopping their game in the seventh inning so Clemens could announce his return from Steinbrenner’s private box.

So the bat-chucking bastard wants to remain home near his family unless the Evil Empire wants to lay out a check or $20 million to bail out their rotation of the living dead for two-thirds of a season.

There is no gray area! He is bad!

He’s probably sharpening broken bats as we speak so he can hurl them at Jose Reyes during the inter-league games next month.

All the same, Clemens being exposed for the punk we knew he was is somewhat comforting. I was right all along.

And there will be no apology sent to former college advisers 20 years later.

Mariano's cleats and a long drive with WFAN

This week I was on an assignment that sent me on a long drive to a small town in northern Michigan. I wouldn’t get home until well after midnight, but that was fine with me – I knew it would be one of those rare occasions I’d get to listen to WFAN.

Yup, radios here in the Midwest can pick up the Mets’ 50,000-watt flagship station, but only when the conditions are just right.

It’s got to be a crystal-clear night and you have to be far from any city where a crowded dial can turn 660-AM to static.

Thursday was cloudless, and my journey home from Gaylord took me through remote places like Grayling, Lake City and Cadillac. Note to Kiss fans: Yes, that Cadillac.

Loaded up with enough Diet Coke to keep me awake and on the road, I prepared to revel in the glory of New York accents and news of my first-place Mets for most of my three-hour trip.

Instead I was forced to hear about Mariano Rivera’s spikes.

Yes, that was the day that the Yankee closer somehow hurt his back tying his shoes. That injury prevented the Cyborg from taking the bump in the last inning in the series finale against Detroit.

And with Kyle Farnesworth dealing his hittable heat, the Tigers mounted a rally, pushed two runs across the plate for a walk-off win and avoided a sweep.

It also was the day that Gary “I didn’t know they were steroids” Sheffield went back on the disabled list and is likely headed for season-ending surgery.

If I can’t hear about a Mets victory, then the next best thing is hearing despondent Yankee fans whine. I heard more angst coming over their airwaves than I did at the middle school youth group lock-in I chaperoned the next night.

How does an athlete – especially one whose action is limited to one inning every couple nights – get hurt tying his shoe, one caller wondered.

Where was Jeter, the great Yankee captain, asked another? Derek F. Jeter was on the bench, nursing his own injury.

“Those shouldn’t be NYs on the Yankees caps, they should be Red Crosses,” opined on-air personality Steve Somers.

Plus, he commented, The Big Unit has been getting rocked and there would be no help from Roger Clemens, who opted to stay home in Houston rather than return to the scene of his bat-chucking.

Perhaps, Somers wondered, the Yankees are getting a little too old and brittle, and the farm system was a little thin, which is why a well-past-his-prime Terrance Long was called up from Columbus to patrol the ground once manned by Mantle and Maris.

Somers was then bereted by a caller named Carlos from the Bronx, accusing the host of having a Mets bias. Apparently Mike & the Mad Dog and their Yankee-lovin’ don’t phase Carlos as much as someone suggesting that a $194 million payroll is misspent on players whose best days are behind them.

Perhaps Yankee fans can't handle the truth?

As for my story, you might have heard about the case of mistaken identity involving two college students involved in a crash that killed five people in April. One was pronounced dead at the scene, the other airlifted to a hospital.

One was buried in Gaylord a month ago, the other recovering in a Grand Rapids hospital, surrounded by family.

Except, as it turned out, it’s the wrong family.

If you want to read something inspiring, here is a blog that was created by the family of the dead student who was presumed to be alive, and has since been updated by both families. They are remarkable people.

In other words:

If you’d like to learn a little more about the guy typing this, Greg of Faith and Fear in Flushing interviewed me for the Crane Pool Forum. You can find it about mid-way down on this entry: this entry.

If you liked the post about the Scott Kazmir trade, you’ll like this: An entire blog about the deal.

Booing Chipper and other responsibilities

If you are going to wear a jersey, do it properly!

Bill Simmons, ESPN’s Sports Guy, recently posted what he said are the only responsibilities for baseball fans.

Not bad. But not that good, either.

Here’s what Bill had to say:

“You only have eight responsibilities during a baseball game: Take your hat off for the National Anthem; don't take your shirt off; don't bring your baseball glove if you're over 13; don't wear a jersey with your own name on it; don't run onto the field; don't reach into the field of play to grab a pop-up or ground ball if it could adversely affect your team; don't boo one of your own players unless it's absolutely warranted; and don't throw up. That's it. Everything else is up to you.”

Bill got some things right, some things wrong and left out some things that must be said. Let’s break this down:

1) Take your hat off for the National Anthem.

Well, that’s just a given. I took my 9-year-old daughter to a West Michigan Whitecaps game on Sunday, looked over during the anthem and there she was, standing at attention with her cap over her heart. Sometimes a parent needs to be reassured that he’s doing some things correctly.

2) Don’t take your shirt off.

Another given. We were sitting in the Tiger Stadium bleachers one year and a guy took off his shirt and exposed a back that was so hairy it looked like was wearing a bearskin tank top. The entire centerfield bleachers started chanting “Shave your back!” Don’t let that happen to you.

3) Don’t bring your baseball glove if you are over 13.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Ideally, you are getting there early enough for batting practice, and it’s fun to hang out in the outfield sections and catch the homers.

4) Don’t wear a jersey with your own name on it.

I have mixed emotions about this. I work around it by having some jerseys of players named Murray. And yes, it was a very happy day when Eddie Murray signed with the Mets, and it wasn’t just for his playing ability. I also have a game-worn jersey from Matt Murray, who had a cup of coffee with the Braves. I also have a couple jerseys with teams that don’t put names on the backs, which allows me to avoid the whole debate. There are actually more rules for jerseys, which we’ll get to later.

In any place other than Hollywood, Drew would have been tackled, cuffed and pepper-sprayed.

5) Don’t run on the field.

No kidding. There’s no better way to demonstrate to the whole world that you are both drunk and an idiot. And the most unrealistic scene in “Fever Pitch” is when Drew Barrymore drops down out of “the triangle” at Fenway and eludes security to run across the field all the way to the box seats, where she is allowed to have a conversation with Jimmy Fallon. No woman that pretty would be seen with a goofball like Jimmy Fallon. Oh, and security would have pounced on her butt within 10 steps.

6) Don't reach into the field of play to grab a pop-up or ground ball if it could adversely affect your team.

Another no-brainer. There’s a reason Steve Bartman lives in seclusion. The only place where such people are not vilified is Yankee Stadium, where a guy like Jeffery Maier becomes a folk hero. That speaks volumes.

7) Don't boo one of your own players unless it's absolutely warranted.

This will stir some controversy, but I have to agree. I’m just not much of a booer in general, especially of our own. We as fans need to supportive. I do not for the life of me understand the people booing Carlos Beltran in that opening series. That said, I would have booed Billy Wagner on Saturday. But I cheered him wildly on Sunday.

8) Don’t throw up.

And don’t die in the seat in front of me, either. I know what I'm talking about. Dead Cubs fan in my lap.

Clearly, Simmons rattled these off in a hurry because he forgot some things. Here are eight more.

1) Get a program, keep score.

It’s a fun way to keep in the game. Plus, you don’t have to rely on the scoreboard to tell you who is having a good day. And do it in pencil. We used to pencil in a “K” every time Rob Deer started walking out of the on-deck circle. But occasionally Rob would surprise us – we’d need a backward K instead of a swinging K. You want your book to be neat.

2) Boo Chipper Jones, Derek Jeter and Roger Clemens every time, use discretion for everyone else.

For those first three, it’s just the right thing to do. For anyone else, be selective. You want your boos to mean something. It’s best to greet someone like ARod or Sheffield with indifference or silence. It’s more damaging to their egos. Mess with their heads.

3) Heckle no one.

You are not funny. OK, Metstradamus is funny. But the rest of you are not. And when you are drunk, you are even less funny. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard someone yell something that was actually decent. And most drunken hecklers can’t come up with anything more creative than “Chipper, you suck!” Well, we already knows that and so does he. That just makes you loud and annoying. Most of these people are just trying to call attention to themselves, and they are just a shade less offensive than Drew Barrymore and the other morons who run on the field.

4) If you’re going to wear a jersey, wear a proper one.

I’m a stickler. You’ve got to have the real thing. I know they’re expensive, but so are the cheesy replicas. If you’re going to spend that much, then go all the way. Then, if you are going to have numbers and letters on your jersey, make sure it is the authentic lettering. Nothing makes me sadder than to see a proper jersey with the wrong lettering. Then, if your team doesn’t use names on the back, don’t you go putting a name on there. One way to tell the stupid Yankee fans from the really, really stupid Yankee fans is to find the ones with “JETER” across the backs of their jerseys. I’m a jersey guy, which is very different from a Jersey guy. We’re like a cult. When jersey guys see other jersey guys with a properly lettered authentic, we tip our caps.

Yet another way to tell if a Yankee fan is stupid.

5) Do not yell “balk” when a pitcher fakes a pick-off to second.

The balk rule is so complex that then only people who understand it are the umpires, some of the managers and a handful of the players. You do not. My buddy John used to say that anytime someone yells “balk,” they need to be escorted out of the stadium, read the rule and not be allowed back until they can prove they understand it.

6) If you catch a foul ball, you do not have to give it to a kid.

Kids an get their own damn ball. But if you trample a kid or senior citizen to get the ball, you are a loser. And when you catch a ball, do not hold it up so you can be on television. No one cares.

7) If you catch an opposing team's home run ball, you do not have to throw it back.

Throwing such a ball back on the field is like declaring "I am drunk and stupid." Note that people who didn't catch a ball are the ones telling you to throw it back. My buddy Will notes that if he ever catches a home run ball, and you see it thrown on the field, look closely and notice that his hand will still be attached to it.

8) Do not for any reason leave a game early.

One of the many reasons why baseball is the best game is that no game is over until it really is over. Yogi knew exactly what he was saying. The only joyful thing about Saturday’s debacle was that countless stupid Yankee fans missed the comeback because they had already headed to their cars. And even on a horrible, rainy night, something magical can happen.

There you go! Let me know if you think I missed anything.

In other words...

Greg's recent take on Mike and the Mad Dog taking over the Mets radio booth is perfect! And while he's joking, you can imagine those two knuckleheads exactly saying the things Greg attributes to them. You can read it here.