History Is A Liar

Once again, the Darling Asteroids are limping into the weekend, this time trailing Royalston Rumble 6-4.

Royalston Rumble's GM is my old BU friend Nate, who is one heck of a guy with one heck of a tragic flaw. In the John Rocker Invitational, Nate is The Guy Who Makes A Lot of Trade Offers.

Now, I'm all about trades. Anything that can upgrade the Darlings is welcome, and the chess match of offers and counter offers is downright exciting.

But Nate, buddy, you go a little overboard. Your offers are frequent, they are constantly one-sided, and they always prominently feature Dan Uggla. So let me say this, just for the record:

I do not want Dan Uggla and I never, ever will.

In real world news, Ubaldo Jimenez toes the rubber tonight, bringing his absurd 0.78 ERA and league-leading ten wins with him.

And, as is often the case, the historical whispers have begun.

Usually it's something like, "Hey, so and so is hitting .500 after one month...do you think he can hit .400 on the season?"

Or, even better, "Johnny Whats-His-Face has hit in 20 straight games. He's less than half way to 56! Can he do it?!"

These whispers are always premature and completely ridiculous, but hey, it keeps Tim Kurkjian out of trouble.

Don't do drugs, kids. Do baseball!

In Ubaldo's case, he appears to be chasing Bob Gibson's hollowed ERA mark of 1.12, set in 1968. And the whispers are all asking the same question:

"Is Jimenez's season more impressive than Big Bob's?"

Allow me to save you some time, whispers, and answer that question for you. It's a two-parter, so stay focused.

Part One: Yes.

Part Two: You are all idiots.

Why? Because Gibson season happened over forty freakin' years ago, when the game was much different.

Specifically, the pitcher's mound was higher. Five inches higher, to be exact, and this gave pitchers a big advantage.

So much so that 1968 is sometimes called "The Year of the Pitcher," and the mound was lowered from 15 to 10 inches the following season to give hitters a fighting chance.

Imagine if LeBron James set the single season record for points...but did so because they lowered the rim by one foot. Suddenly, this record seems a bit skewed, no?

The problem is that baseball historians try to play by their own rules.

Sports in general now operate in the realm of "Yeah, but..." with all its happenings being beaten to death and overanalyzed to the point that nothing is certain and no one is great.

Phil Jackson has won ten NBA titles as a coach.

Yeah, but...he got to coach Jordan, Shaq and Kobe. Anyone would have won with those guys!

Tom Brady has won three Super Bowls.

Yeah, but...he lost one Super Bowl to the Giants, and he's nothing without Bill Belichick!

The Undertaker is a perfect 18-0 at Wrestlemania, even though he's died a few times.

Yeah, but...wait, really? 18-0? That's amazing.

I knew you'd see it his way.

Yet for some reason, "Yeah, but..." doesn't apply to baseball.

Discrepancies like mound height, or the entire twenty years known as the "Dead Ball Era," don't get brought up because historians want to pretend that the game hasn't changed and the numbers transcend generations.

They'd like you to believe that you can compare players regardless of eras.

"Babe Ruth is obviously the best player ever. Just look at his stats!"

Give it a rest, whispers. Every aspect of humanity has progressed at a break-neck pace. Science, technology, travel and medicine have all made leaps and bounds in innovations, and the only thing that hasn't evolved over the last twenty years is my sense of humor.

Farts are still funny, and they always will be.

So if an athlete accomplishes a feat nowadays, it's safe to assume that it's more impressive than a similar feat achieved back in the '60s.

Modern ballplayers are much better conditioned, and they're playing against the best competition in the world. I feel very comfortable asserting that baseball today is much, much harder than it was in Don Draper's time.

If Ubaldo's ERA is even comparable to Gibson's by season's end, there is no doubt about which is better.

Just like there is no doubt that we are going to Hulk up, say our prayers, eat our vitamins, and hit Royalston Rumble with USA-powered leg drop this weekend.

Whatcha' gonna do, Nate, when the Darling Asteroids run wild on you?

Slump Busting

Apologies are in order to all of Warning Track Power's faithful readers for the Darling Asteroids' unexpected hiatus.

Sorry, Mom.

And a super sorry to our pal Keith, GM of last week's opponent, The Blouses. A lack of posts meant no one got to find out what a truly maniacal, annoying psychopath you really are. My bad, bro.

But our week and a half vacation was necessary. The Asteroids needed a little time to themselves. Needed to clear their collective heads.

Needed to watch our favorite Sandra Bullock movies on the couch with a gallon of Peanut Butter Ripple and figure out just what is going on.

Did we miss anything important? Not much, just...

-On Monday, Everyone's Favorite Man struck out a season-high 11 Diamondbacks and lowered his ERA to 3.74. He's won his last five decisions and has six wins total, good for fourth in the league but first in our hearts.

Chad didn't get the W on this night, but the Dodgers eventually emerged victorious on the 173rd most exciting play in baseball...the walk-off balk.

-King Felix finally showed glimmers of his true self, going eight strong against the Angels. He got a no-decision, though, and the Angels won on a walk-off grand slam from Kendry Morales, who broke his ankle in the ensuing celebration

Let that be a lesson to everyone out there: Never have fun.

Kendry eats a Failburger, extra failsauce.

-And of course, Mr. Roy Halladay fired a perfect game on Saturday, only the 20th in history. I missed the game but did receive several text messages from elated friends and family, none of who love baseball as much as I do, but who all still got to witness history with my favorite team.

I'm not bitter. Nope, not me. Not even a little.

A special shout-out to my sister, who sent me the following texts somewhere around the 7th inning...

Court: Hey, are you watching the Phils game?

Me: No, why?

Court: I'll tell you later.

Big ups to Little Sis for knowing and respecting the first rule of a perfect game...don't talk about a perfect game. You're the best, Court. Don't ever change.

Three homeruns by Albert Pujols capped off the week, and The Blouses beat the Asteroids 10-2.

Which brings us to the here and now, and the here and now is not pretty.

What's happening to the Darlings happens to a lot of great teams. Heck, it's happening to the Phillies even as we speak. It is often unavoidable and always inexplicable.

No, not the fact that David Spade keeps finding work. I'm talking about something worse (but just barely).

The Darling Asteroids are in a slump.

We started out the season with two straight ties followed by a three week winning streak. Everything was perfect. The sun shone brighter, and Placido Polanco's giant head bobbed happily. All was right with the world.

And then, quicker than a Rajai Davis triple, things went south.

A 8-4 loss to the Notorious Darlings. A 9-3 loss to Kenny Powers Mullet. Last week's 10-2 annihilation. Hanley Ramirez not hustling. Melky Cabrera sucking in general.

And Juan Pierre, picked up for his speed two weeks ago, has exactly two steals since joining the team. Thanks for nothing, JP.

If slumps are a mystery in the world of sports, the bigger mystery is...how do you bust out of one?

Some players try new socks. Others try new batting stances, new routines, not shaving...whatever. Humans are superstitious beings, and athletes in particular.

Anything that might give you that spark you're looking for can't be discounted.

Well, my friends, have I got great news for you. I know the secret for slump busting, and I'm going to share it with you.

His name is Stephen Strasburg, and he will save us all.

Come with me if you want to live.

Highly touted and anticipated, The Chosen One will make his professional debut on Tuesday, June 8th versus the Pittsburgh Pirates.

After blowing through the minor leagues, posting a 1.43 ERA and 60 strikeouts in 50.1 innings, it is time.

Mark you calendars, dear friends, for this is a day that will change everything. Not only the fate of the Washington Nationals but the fate of the Darling Asteroids themselves.

You will always remember where you were when you first saw Mr. Stephen's 100-MPH Wild Ride.

In fact, the Darling Asteroids' season is officially broken into two parts. The first era, Before Stephen Strasburg, was marked with inconsistent and disappointing play.

But the second era...oh, the second era will be magical.

Defined by greatness. Marked by triumph. Stamped by glory. The world is our oyster as we dive full-speed ahead into the second era...After Stephen Strasburg.

From here on out, it's all about A.S.S.

This guy knows what I'm talking about.

The Saddest Saturday Night Ever

Daisuke Matsuzaka almost no-hit the Phillies last night, and lucky for you, I was there (in my chair in my living room) to capture the entire almost-momentous occasion.

With all my roommates away for various reasons, what's a baseball fan to do?

This is my first time doing something like this. I probably won't last long, and it will be super awkward afterwards.

And yes, this is a complete ripoff of ESPN's Bill Simmons and probably many other Internet blogger people.

But on the other hand, now my roommates won't miss any of my trademark hilarious comments and brilliant insights.

No need to thank me, guys. Your friendship is enough.

7:05 FOX airs two American Idol finalists paying acoustic guitars and singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." I hate baseball now.

7:08 No Joe Buck or Tim McCarver for tonight's game. They are probably announcing the Yankees-Mets contest. Darn you, New York. You have all the luck.

7:15 I hate Dustin Pedroia. Why? Two reasons.

First, his MVP award was bogus. In 2008 he had 17 homeruns and 83 RBIs in a stacked Red Sox lineup. Justin Morneau had 23 homers and 129 RBIs (49 more than Petey) on a team that featured Justin Morneau, Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau. What a joke.

Secondly, that MVP award tricked people into believing that Pedroia was the best second baseman in baseball. Chase Utley hit 20 homeruns in two months that season before he tore a hip muscle. He never went on the DL, and the Phillies won the World Series that year.

Pedroia grounds out to short. Good.

7:23 Still not sure if it's pronounced "PLAH-ci-doe" Polanco or "pla-CEE-doe" Polanco. The world is full of mysteries.

7:43: Also on television right now: "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", a Star Wars marathon, and "The Godfather Part III." Oh, and it's lovely outside. What would Han Solo do?

"Get off my plane."

7:46 Jayson Werth and his beard strike out. Werth looks so much like the WWE's Edge now that he should use his music, too. Give it a listen. I just did and am so amped I want to kick something. Something named Jason Varitek.

8:04 This is the only sport where skinny, nerdy-looking dudes like Tom Glavine or Phillies pitcher Kyle Kendrick get to be called "professional athletes."

8:17 Jeremy Hermida's sacrifice fly to left scores David Ortiz. The Phillies obviously did not sign Raul Ibanez for his arm. 1-0, Boston.

8:26 It turns out, Jayson Werth comes out to The Who's "Baba O'Riley." Not bad, but my idea is better and involves more steel chairs.

Meanwhile, the Phillies offense has been replaced with my high school baseball team and Dice-K has held them hitless through four. I need a beer.

8:40 The jury on interleague is still out for me. On one hand, keeping the leagues separate (but equal) until the World Series is more traditional. On the other hand, I get to see great players that I normally wouldn't have a chance to see...like Marco Scutaro. It's a toss-up.

8:45 My television picture doesn't look as clear as it usually does. TV Land must be saving all the HD for the LOST finale.

8:50 JD Drew pokes an RBI single to shallow left, followed by an Ortiz RBI double. An RBI double by Adrian Beltre send Kendrick to the showers.

See? If it weren't for interleague, I never would have seen my favorite team's worst starter cough up five runs to an American League club.

This will make me feel better...

This is what a national treasure looks like.

9:05 No hits for the Phils through five. I need another beer.

(Drinking alone doesn't count as alcoholism if you're liveblogging about a possible no-hitter. Look it up)

9:20 Roommate Ginny is home. She claims she doesn't want to watch the baseball game, but I can tell she's lying.

9:26 The only thing missing from this potential no-no is that trademark web gem to let you know you're seeing something special. If Dustin Pedroia makes that web gem, I won't know what to do with myself.

9:32 Oh, no. It just happened. Jayson Werth sent a laser beam straight back up the middle, and Dice-K snatched it with ninja-like quickness. The Phillies are going to be no-hit. Six more outs to go. This is the worst night of my life.

9:35 FOX's Tune-In to Win Bonus Question: "How many hits will both teams combine for in the 8th inning?" They're just mocking me at this point.

9:38 Up until ten minutes ago, Ginny had no idea what a no-hitter was. All she knows is I'm rooting against one. She's loving this.

9:42 Of all the games in all the seasons in all of baseball, my roommates are away for this one, forcing me to witness this terrible event. You're the best, guys. Don't ever change.

9:48 Oh! Wow. Adrian Beltre just makes a great play, diving to his left to make the catch and then doubling Ibanez off first (who reached via walk). I'm not even mad. That was amazing.

9:50 Juan Castro bloops a single to left, the Phillies first hit of the night. Whew!

Easily the greatest moment of Castro's storied career. The crowd stands and applauds Dice-K's effort, as they should.

This was the best pitching performance ever by a player who once dressed up as a Teletubby while crossing the border into Canada.

One hour later, this is still funny.

That's it, we're done here. This has been more emotionally draining than I ever imagined going into it. The rest of the game isn't very exciting, and the Red Sox come away with a 5-0 victory.

Remind me never to do something like this again. Hopefully I can catch the tail end of "Return of the Jedi."

What? I should head out on this Saturday night and do something?

Don't be ridiculous.

Life Lessons for Future Son

It's moments like this that make me happy I'm not a father just yet. I just don't know how I would explain this to Future Son.

I suppose I'd sit him on his bed, adorned with Phillies blankets and matching Chase Utley pillowcases. My bed spread may or may not have the same design.

In a related story, I may or may not be a single father.

"Son, you know I love you, right?" I'll ask as I tussle his hair, a golden blonde, styled just enough to look presentable but with a certain "devil may care" attitude about it.

"Course I do, Pop," he'll say.

"Good. Which is why what I'm about to tell you might not make a lot of sense right now. But sometimes adults have to make difficult decisions. You'll understand when you're older."

He'll furrow his little brow. "Why, Pop, what's wrong?" he'll say.

I begin to choke up. I look around his bedroom for inspiration. He loves the game of baseball more than anything, just like his old man.

His walls are covered with posters of his favorite players. His desk is cluttered with all of his baseball trophies, as well as pictures of his multiple girlfriends.

He's only seven. I'm so proud.

And that's what makes all this so hard.

"Son..." I struggle to find the words as I stare into his piercing blue eyes. "Son, this isn't easy but...I had to bench Hanley Ramirez."

"But why, Pop? I know he's only hitting .293 but that's gonna change. He's the batting champ!"

"I know, I know, son. But you see, last night..." I trail off again. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

"Son...last night, Hanley didn't hustle."

That sound you just heard? That's the sound of a hypothetical seven-year-old's little heart breaking into a million pieces. He flings himself into my arms and cries harder than he ever has before. I shed a tear as well. This is too much.

"But why, Pop, why?! Why wouldn't Hanley hustle?!"

And I don't know what to tell him.

Future Son? Or a Google search of "blonde little boy"?

Not hustling is one of the game's ultimate sins, right up there with stealing signs, swinging on a 3-0 count or ever questioning Tony LaRussa. There are some things you just don't do.

And that's what I have to explain to Future Son, unfortunately...that his heroes are not perfect, that everyone has flaws and tragically, some men choose not to play the game the right way.

Last night against the Diamondbacks, Hanley booted a ball into the left field corner and lolly-gagged after it. You read that right.

Hanley Ramirez: All-Star, Franchise Player, Batting Champ, MVP Contender...Lolly-Gagger.

There are many things in this world that are a mystery to me. How anyone could think "Parks and Recreation" is funny, for one.

Women in general, for another, although my Shane Victorino slippers may hold a clue.

And how a baseball player of Hanley's caliber, with Hanley's speed, can so blatantly slack off like that. The ten Marlins fans in attendance must have been furious.

Hanley was benched the next inning, but how long he stays benched is the real question.

The Marlins have many reasons to play him: namely, he is very good and their baseball is real. The Darling Asteroids, on the other hand, are taking a firm stance.

Hanley, you're benched for the rest of the week. Alexei Ramirez, no relation in name or in heart, will man shortstop for the foreseeable future. After Sunday's games, we'll reassess.

Take this time to think about what you've done. Think about how you've disrespected the game and made Future Son cry.

How do you sleep at night?!

You should be on the field, raking in the hits, runs and steals like the Top-5 stud that you are. But instead, you're in fantasy purgatory with the likes of Carlos Quentin, he of the .180 batting average and stupid face.

Those two names should never be in the same sentence. It's a damn shame.

"Hey Pop, didn't Alex Rodriguez once tip pitches to other players, and yell at a third baseman as he tried to catch a pop-up, and cross Dallas Braden's mound on his way back to first one time, and also do steroids, too?" he asks. "Why don't we talk about that stuff anymore?"

Another thing I don't understand.

"That's OK, Pop. I'll always hustle," he says to me.

I've never been prouder. "I know you will, son. I know you will," I reply and kiss his forehead.

I tuck him in. "Hey, Pop?" he asks as I turn around in the doorway. "When's Mom coming home?"

"When I get rid of my Jimmy Rollins bathrobe," I tell him.

He thinks for a moment. Then, with a sly wink, says, "So...never?"

That's my boy.

You Must Not Know About The Asteroids

I am not a perfect person.

I talk too loud, have a terrible memory and am almost always wrong.

But by far, my biggest flaw---and the one that has hurt me the most over the years---is my disgusting sense of loyalty.

We could have gone the distance, Melky. You and me really could have been something. And damnit, I did my best.

But no more.

Oh, don't act surprised. I'm sick of this routine...I write about how awful you've been, you promise the next series will be different, I take you back, you go 0-for-5 in the first two games then ride pine for the finale.

For the last six weeks you have given me nothing but disappointment and a lousy on-base percentage. Don't look at me like that. You did this to yourself.

I've put up with it long enough. It's not me, it's you.

I'm tired of hoping for the old Melky to show up. The one who wanted to hit, wanted to be in big situations, not the one who stands at home plate with a blank look on his face and the bat on his shoulder.

If you liked it then you shoulda put a swing on it.

All your belongings are already packed in a box placed neatly to the left. Your uniform, which never needed cleaning.

The hand-crafted, mahogony pedestal you made, inscription reading, "2010 NL MVP: Melky Cabrera."

Our team photo from the Darling Asteroids picnic, the one where David Aardsma has cake smeared all over his face.

Those were great times. But they were few and far between, and I am a strong, independent black woman who don't need no Melk Man to support me. You had your chance. Don't come back.

Think you're irreplaceable? Please.

I could have another mediocre outfielder in a minute. Matter of fact, he'll be here any minute.

His name's Ryan Sweeney, and he knows how to treat a fantasy team. He can play all three outfield positions and is hitting .295 with 19 runs and 16 RBIs.

And while we're on the subject of terrible outfielders who need to be cut...will Julio Borbόn please report the the manager's office.

Now I'll admit to not knowing a lot about you, Julio, except that your incredible speed basically made you the lovechild of Usian Bolt and Sonic the Hedgehog.

Well, I'm sorry, it's just not going to work out.

You're hitting .213 with only five stolen bases and may literally be drunk every night. If the Asteroids wanted a guy with no power and a lousy average who could only steal bases, we would have drafted Juan Pierre.

So meet your replacement...Juan Pierre.

That's right. Just sitting on the waiver wire was good 'ole Juan and his MLB-leading 17 swipes. His .240 average, while uninspiring, is nearly 30 points higher than our dearly departed Julio.

Also, Pierre looks like JP, the little sidekick from "Angels in the Outfield," a classic which is also Adrien Brody's finest hour.

Start flapping your arms, kid. The Darlings need some magic.

The important thing is that the Asteroids are making fundamental changes. No one is safe from this new regime. You either perform, or you go the way of the Dodo bird. You win, or you're dead to me.

Even everyone's Favorite Man, Chad Billingsley, is not immune to being shopped around or cut if he doesn't deliver the goods.

Sike...I can't stay mad at you.

Our massive outfield shakeups come on the heels of a bit of a wasted week for the Asteroids. On the strength of five Saturday homeruns, Kyle took a 7-5 lead yesterday and most categories are all but decided.

But the Darlings are survivors, and we're not gonna give up.

Next week we tango with our friend Jason and his team, Kenny Powers Mullet. They currently sit in third place, so this figures to be a slugfest.

With two new outfielders to flank the perfect Matt Kemp, there's no way Kenny Powers Mullet is ready for this jelly.

Jason, leave your team at home.

It's Week 7 and the Darlings are jumpin', jumpin'.