1989 Topps #343

This is the most punk rock Baseball card ever, and a bit of a reminder of why people hate Gary Sheffield to begin with. Here, the then-19 year old shortstop's arrogance is already apparent; he shows up for his first Topps card portrait with bling around his neck and enough of a smile to show off the "G" and the "S" inscribed in his two front teeth. A Future Star, indeed. Of course, dressing like an extra from an N.W.A. video probably doesn't endear yourself to the white Baseball-watching public, especially if you've already gained enough notoriety just by existing as Dwight Gooden's nephew. It would be sufficient to say that Gary Antonian Sheffield has not had the best relationship with media and the fans, and the latest thing that he has to say certainly hasn't helped.

It's really too bad that everyone is a little too busy responding by calling Gary Sheffield a "raving racist" or recounting the ways they hate him instead of acknowledging that his opinion about an issue that should be taken seriously should be taken seriously. There was nothing racist about what Sheffield said. He was asked his opinion on an issue and gave it. Instead of thinking about the reasons behind his response and contribute our own thoughts to the discussion like a good little roundtable should, we all decide to just yell HAY U RAAVING RACIST STOP SPEAKING OUT OF TURN THAT'S WHY YOU GOT TRADED TO SEVEN DIFFERENT TEAMS BC NO ONE LIKES U U RAVVING RASICT.

So I guess I'll just be alone in all this and add my own three cents.

Why American Black Kids Don't Play Baseball by Phenomenal Smith

MONEY

There are precious few spaces in urban areas where kids can play a respectable game of Baseball. If there are, there's very little chance that there's even any kind of consistent groundskeeping, like cutting the grass once a summer or something, because many cities can't (or won't) put (much) money into them. In addition to the community's lack of funds, many individual urban black kids (and their friends) don't have money for the gloves, bats and balls, leaving very little Baseball in the streets and alleys of urban areas. Furthermore, they usually don't have the money to play organized Baseball if their neighborhood Little League requires a registration fee, which brings us to:

THE LEARNING CURVE

Many middle-class white kids growing up in the suburbs have been playing some kind of organized Baseball from a very young age, from t-ball to that one league where everybody bats .689 because the only thing the pitching machine spits out is 65 mph fastballs to Little League. If they never gain any athletic maturity and learn nothing else, middle-class white kids at least know the fundamentals of the game because every spring, there's a new coach to scream at them until they learn. By the time they reach high school, they've already have up to 10 more years of polished experience than most black kids who decide to try out for Baseball for the first time. If they decide to try out, which brings us to:

NIKE

In what could very well be the most successful advertisement campaign in media history, Nike spent untold millions of dollars telling untold millions of kids to Be Like Mike. And untold thousands of kids earned college scholarships doing their best imitation of Mike. American black kids in urban areas were drawn to the instant gratification of Basketball and many young black urban males (perhaps in part without elder male figures in their lives to romanticize it for them) didn't really play all that much Baseball. Tying back to money, Basketball is also inexpensive; all you need is a basketball. It's also a lot more accessible in urban areas; hoops and pick-up games can be found everywhere. It isn't hard to imagine that perhaps a generation ago, Allen Iverson would've turned out to be a shortstop instead, or Dwayne Wade a centerfielder, but they're not and neither are their contemporaries. As evidenced by the 8.4% of Black Americans playing Baseball today, black kids just aren't growing up playing Baseball. While it's certainly a shame and there are things that can be done about it, it is what it is. The individuals that make up the system may not exactly all be racists but many of the factors that created the system has resulted in a certain socio-economical demographic's exclusion from Baseball. It isn't anybody's fault, really. It's just what happened.

But what the hell do I know, right? I'm just talking out of my ass like Sheffield did and writing it out on an anonymous blog, as if Jon Heyman is going to write in and be all, HAY PEHNOMENAL U SHOULD SHUTUP U RAVING RACISST THATS WHY NO ONE READS JOOR BLOG BC NO ONE LIKES TO TALK TO U BC UR NOT WHATS PURE ABOUT BASEBALL.

A Fanasty Player's Best Trade.

For the 3rd time this season, after spending most of a weekend with my girlfriend and away from my 6 fantasy teams, I arrive home to discover that I had benched Johan Santana again out of neglect. Each time, my first reaction is to literally slap myself in the forehead. My second reaction, however, is to remind myself that as a manager of 6 fantasy teams, I should consider myself very lucky to even be getting laid on a consistent basis to begin with. So then my forehead-slap turns into a shoulder-shrug and I go about the rest of my day and never think of it again.

1987 Topps #227

On April 12, 2007, Jamie Moyer dueled Tommy Glavine as the two elder statesmen combined to be the oldest left-handed starters to face each other in Baseball's history, totaling 85 years and 163 days between the two. Several weeks later, on May 9, Moyer would break that record again facing the Arizona Diamondbacks and Randy Johnson. The two lefties combined were 88 years and 48 days old. Two starts later, Moyer beat the Atlanta Braves for the first time in exactly 20 years and 2 days, leading to a heightened appreciation of the crafty southpaw's distinguished career, which spans 21 years and 7 franchises.

In what has turned out to be a rare astute move of the Pat Gillick regime in Philadelphia, he traded a couple of minor-league warm bodies to employ Moyer's services to shore up the rotation for a run at the playoffs. As with most Philadelphian runs at the playoffs, it was, of course, ill-fated, but not without Jamie doing exactly what was expected of him, going 5-2 with a 4.03 ERA the rest of the way. Gillick, already having convinced Moyer to waive his no-trade clause to switch to the National League, promptly signed the 43 year-old to a $10.5 million two-year extension after the season. So far, Jamie has been reliable, if not exciting, posting an 4.18 ERA in a hitter's park and making a contract issued to a pitcher through his Age 45 season an unusual bargain.

I'd like to think that Jamie approved the move to Philadelphia because after 122 career starts and nearly 10 years of owning Safeco Field, he had long mastered the confines of his home park, how American League hitters hit there and grew a bit bored of it. Though it may be a bit insulting to call Jamie Moyer a poor man's Greg Maddux, the comparison is certainly apt. Both spend countless hours studying the flaws of opposing hitters and keep copious notes on their tendencies and weaknesses, using their intelligence, outstanding control and secondary pitches, rather than blazing fastballs, to exploit those flaws. Although Maddux will retire with 5 Cy Young awards and a first-ballot invitation to Cooperstown, Moyer will have to settle for just one All Star appearance, and an invitation to the Baseball Hall of the Pretty Good, if such a shrine should ever be built. Which, if you've ever seen Jamie Moyer pitch, should be just fine for a man who has survived in the big leagues for 21 seasons almost by sheer virtue of being the second-smartest pitcher to ever play Baseball.

Above is a portrait of the control artist as a young man, probably looking off to the distance to then-teammate Greg Maddux and almost (almost) biting his bottom lip, as if in anticipation of how he'll measure up to the first-smartest pitcher to ever play Baseball.

1989 Topps #291

Darryl Strawberry: Here you go, rook.

Kevin McReynolds: Hey, Darryl, look, man, I appreciate your being discreet about this, what with you incorporating hand-offs after three-run home runs and all, but I don't want any drugs. Also, I'm not a rookie.

Keith Hernandez: Cut the crap, rook and shut up and take the drugs.

Kevin McReynolds: But I already told you a million times, no. I mean, I don't care if you guys do but please, man, just leave me out of it. I just want to play ball. And for the last time, I'm not a rookie. I've been in the league since '83.

Keith Hernandez: Bullshit. We have The Baseball Encyclopedia in the dugout and you're not in it yet.

Kevin McReynolds: Yeah, but that's from 1982. Neither is Darryl.

Darryl Strawberry: ssh! don't say my name, man. c'mon, take it! 48,000 people are watching, rook.

Kevin McReynolds: I'm not a rookie! I led the team in hits and doubles last year!

Keith Hernandez: Bullshit, rook. Darryl lead the team in everything last year.

Darryl Strawberry: What he said.

Kevin McReynolds: Look on the back of this card if you don't believe me!

Keith Hernandez: I'm not going to let facts get in the way of this, rook. Now fill me and Dwight and Darryl's vials and put them in our back pants pockets for tomorrow's game. And Lenny Dykstra wants a fistful of beer and a six-pack of amphetamines.

Kevin McReynolds: W...?

Keith Hernandez: And wash out my moustache comb; it's too coked up with cake to brush my moustache with. And Roger McDowell needs matches to set Kevin Mitchell's jheri curl on fire. And Davey Johnson wants the new The New Yorker.

Kevin McReynolds: This is crap.

Keith Hernandez: Let's go, rook!

Kevin McReynolds: Goddammit, I'm not a rookie! I set a record last year stealing 21 bases without getting caught! I led the league in outfield assists! I was 3rd in the MVP voting last year!

Darryl Strawberry: F'real, rook? I was 2nd! Let's do drugs together!

Kevin McReynolds: sigh. No.

Keith Hernandez: Fuck'm Darryl. Let's go back to the dugout. Rookies can't come because they don't belong there.

Darryl Strawberry: ?

Keith Hernandez: I mean women.

1982 Topps #527

I told you already, Horshack, I can't skip the math test with you and Epstein to egg Mr. Kotter's car cuz if I don't pass, Coach says I can't pitch against the Orioles tonight.

1987 Topps #320

Barry Bonds hit a home run today.

"The hell do you mean 'Where have I gone?' I just did a Mr. Coffee commercial."

So said Joltin' Joey DiMaggio to Paul Simon. I was reminded of the second-best DiMaggio quote when it was reported that the highest-priced autographed baseball ever sold, signed by Giuseppe Paolo DiMaggio himself along Norma Jean Mortensen, just went for $191,200 at a Dallas auction. When Marilyn visited the troops during the Korean War in 1954, she returned to report to her new husband:

"It was so wonderful, Joe. You never heard such cheering."

To which he stoically replied:

"Yes I have."

Man, what a wonderful thing to be able to say.

What Keith Said Just Now.

Right now, in the second inning of the Braves-Mets contest, there was a shot of a little boy in his Little League uniform and sitting with his grandmother. She was shaking a carton of Goldfish crackers into his cupped hands, whereupon Keith Hernandez said,

"Are those Goldfish crackers? At the ballpark?"

And then his play-by-play partner, Gary Cohen, goes,

"Well, they have sushi at the ballpark in Anaheim, I understand."

And then Keith goes,

"Yeah, that I understand. But Goldfish?"

Has he been saying stupid shit like this all this time and we should be taking whatever he says with a grain of salt? Or maybe an entire salt shaker? Or did Keith run out of blow and he's been using the foul lines and the batter's box as a poor substitute?

1982 Topps #210

Keith Hernandez was a terrific first baseman back in his day. He was an 11-time Gold Glove winner, the 1979 National League co-MVP with Pops Stargell and a 5-time All-Star who smacked a shitload of doubles and took a shitload of walks, the kind of player the Lyle Overbays and J.T. Snows of the world aspire to be. But when Mike Piazza high-fived some chick in the dugout after a home-run during the Mets-Padres game last Saturday night, broadcaster Keith broadcasted:

"Who is the girl in the dugout, with the long hair? What's going on here? You have got to be kidding me. Only player personnel in the dugout."

When he was informed that the chick was the massage therapist for the Padres and a member of the training staff since 2004 and therefore, was player personnel, Keith was unfazed, saying,

"I won't say that women belong in the kitchen, but they don't belong in the dugout."

But then he tried to laugh it off and be all like,

"You know I am only teasing. I love you gals out there - always have."

Naturally, this kind of cements his already-cemented reputation of being a dickhead blowhard, pun intended of the "blow" part of the word "blowhard." He famously feuded with Cardinals manager Whitey Herzog over his coke habit, which presumably led to being traded to the Mets for some guy named Neil Allen and some other guy named Rick Ownbey, where Keith would top even Doc and The Straw by setting a team record in 1986 for Most Blow Blown in a Single Season. He was also nicknamed "Mex" despite his non-Mexican heritage, is a spokesman for Just for Men hair products (which, it should go without saying, women are not allowed to use) and once put Jerry Seinfeld in a very uncomfortable position by asking him to help him move even though they barely knew each other.

As of blog time, the team has reprimanded Blowhard Hernandez but has yet to officially fine or punish him for his remarks and I'm also pretty disturbed by the 39% of Espn.com readers who actually agree with him. Padres manager Bruce Bochy, who expressed incredulity that her gender was even an issue, certainly isn't one of them and really, it should go without saying that so is the rest of the free-thinking free world. I mean, it's not that he crossed the line because there really isn't even one to begin with, although that's probably because Keith already snorted it.

You can't just turn on Ichiro like that and leave him unsatisfied.

Schilling leaves Mariners all wet.

Red Sox Nation is also creaming their jeans after his 3-0 start with a 1.64 ERA and 1.44 BAA.

1971 Topps #2

In an era that was full of them, Dock Ellis was the ultimate counter-culture athlete. To retaliate for a moonshot home run at the All-Star game five years earlier, he beaned the great Reggie Jackson in the face, resulting in Mr. October being carried off the field on a stretcher. He wore curlers in his hair during pre-game warm-ups, which infuriated Baseball commissioner Bowie Kuhn to no end. On May 1, 1974, because he refused to be intimidated by The Big Red Machine like the rest of the National League, he set a Major League record for consecutive hits batsmen to start the game by pelting Pete Rose, Joe Morgan and Dan Dreissen in the top of the first inning. The next batter, Tony Perez, managed to dodge Ellis's headhunting and draw a walk, scoring The Gambler, and Dock would throw two more pitches directly at Johnny Bench before being lifted by his manager. But for all his antics, that doesn't even come close to what he once accomplished to begin a doubleheader one afternoon in 1970.

The most significant events in the history of Man, in chronological order as well as more or less in the order of its importance are:

1. The Birth of Christ - December 25, 0000
2. The Death of Christ - Friday, 0033
3. Man Walks on the Moon - 1968 or '69 or so.
4. Ellis throws a no-hitter under the influence of LSD - June 12, 1970.

I'm not sure if people can really understand and appreciate the difficulty of accomplishing something like that under those circumstances. Hell, when I'm under the influence, I forget how to watch TV, let alone pitch a ballgame. To clarify, remember back when us kids used to stuff our faces with hallucinogenic substances during Little League practice and then proceed to shag flies and play pepper? Wasn't that absolutely difficult as hell? Now try picture doing the exact same thing only during an actual major league game. Against actual major league hitters. And then you end up throwing a no-hitter. Granted, it was one of the more sloppy no-hitters in Baseball history, with 8 walks and a HBP. But still. Throwing a no-hitter while tripping your ass off? I wish I could eloquently explain just how Dock found himself in such a position but others have beaten me to it, like this terrific piece that appeared in the Dallas Observer last year, or, if you're the illiterate type that can only handle a couple simple paragraphs, these guys also have an effective, abbreviated version. Either way, I, for one, simply cannot fathom the exhilaration Dock must've felt on the mound that day.

Look, I don't want to seem like I'm promoting recreational drug use but everybody knows that parties are more fun when you're drunk, the love you feel for your friends when you're on estasty can literally make you weep with joy and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band is actually tolerable when you're stoned. Delivering a no-hitter on acid? I'm sorry, but next to literally walking on the moon, that has to be among the single greatest feelings any human has ever felt in civilized civilization, however artificial.

Dock Ellis claims to have never pitched a major league game without the aid of substances, mostly amphetamines. But in a day and age when all a player has to do is grow out a grizzly beard to be considered a rock star, Dock's punk rock aesthetic and brutal honesty about the sociological nature of Baseball is severely missed. And because Fate sometimes appreciates irony more than Irony herself, Dock Ellis now works as a drug counselor for the Victor Valley Penitentary in California.

What Alex Said the Other Day.

The Yankees are in last place at 2-4 right now as Boston's dashing and brilliant decision to hand the closer's job to Jonathan Papelbon (who has already saved 3 games) over Keith Foulke has contributed to a quick 5-1 start. It's worth noting that Foulke's contract calls for a $7.5 million option for 2007 to automatically vest if he finishes 53 games this year so this move might have every bit to do with cash as it does with winning baseball games. It's also worth noting that the Yankee pitching and hitting, Pythagorean-wise, is on pace with Boston so far but anyway, whatever, did you hear what Alex said the other day in the New York Times?

When they give you lemons, you’ve got to make lemonade, and when they give you oranges, you’ve got to make orange juice. Tonight, we tried to make tomato juice out of lemon juice or something. It just didn’t work out. I don’t know if that’s a good quote.

Actually, Alex, yeah, that's a great quote.

I had no idea civil rights leaders were nostalgic for Jeff Kent.

Jesse Jackson: Bonds needs protection.

Well, of course. Opposing pitchers will just keep walking Barry unless he has a good hitter behind him.

1976 Topps #101

Or as the French are wont to say, "Pierre the Penis."

Philadelphia is still Phtupid: The Sequel.

It really oughta be the third installment, since I was too caught up in catching Coco's train to Boston to discuss its byproduct, the Jason Michaels-for-Arthur Rhodes deal.

But 28 year-old Jon Daniels, the new Texas Ranger wunderkind GM, has masterminded some sweet deals this off-season, trading overrated hacktastic malcontent Alfonsoriano for run-producing machine Brad Wilkerson, which is already starting to gray some hairs on Jim Bowden's crown, now that Alfonsoriano has rightfully bitched about having to learn a new position so close to Opening Day. Daniels managed to convince Philadelphia to give him Vincente Padilla for nothing more than a PTBNL. Granted, Padilla is no Pedro Martinez. He's barely Pedro Astacio. But he is a useful pitcher for a team that has little choice but to throw shit against a canvas, see what sticks and hopefully get lucky enough that some of the shit won't stink. This time Jon Daniels has sucker-punched the Phillies once again by giving up outfielder David Dellucci for Robinson Tejada, plus nepotic prospect Jake Blalock.

What's especially curious is that the Phillie's starting pitching is a mess and Tejada was a rare bright spot for them last year. After Jon Leiber and Brett Myers, really, who's left? Can they count on Gavin Floyd? Or Ryan Madson? Or Cory Lidle? Or, God forbid, Ryan Franklin? Now, I like Dellucci. I like Dellucci a lot. But if the Phillies wanted a fourth outfielder, then why didn't they just keep Jason Michaels instead of giving up a much-needed arm for Dellucci? Not to mention that A) J-Mikey can hit lefties unlike Dellucci, giving Chuckie Manuel less reason to play him and B) with recent acquire Aaron Rowand, a center field platoon is far, far less necessary than it was last year. Where is Dellucci going to find at-bats? It just seems like such a waste of a good bat, a decent arm and a bench spot, especially when they already have International League MVP Shane Victorino. It's just all so phtupid. Phtupid phtupid phtupid phtupid. By the way, if you haven't already, you may as well get used to me busting on Philadelphia because it's going to go on all season long.

Oh, hey, look, a dead horse. I'm going to go beat it.

50 x up the ass - Cy Young = 0.

I don't mean to start a trend with consecutive posts about the love lives of New York (or recently-formerly New York) pitchers but Anna Benson just filed for divorce from her husband, Orioles pitcher Mr. Anna Benson. Why is this noteworthy to me at all? Well, if you've seen the recent baseball "preview" issue of FHM (which is a lesser version of Stuff, which, in turn, is a lesser version of Maxim, which is still a shitty, if guilty-pleasuresque magazine), there's something of a frank interview between the soon-to-be-ex-spouses Benson where he and she discuss his potential reward if he should ever win a Cy Young. Anna says:

If you win one, you can do anything you want to me. I'll do anything...That's 50 free times up the ass for real. I'm just saying.

To which Kris replies:

Jesus.

Which is kind of exactly what I thought. But I find it especially curious that this should occur right after being traded to Baltimore, who recently hired Leo Mazzone, probably the best pitching coach the game has seen. He's squeezed great years (well, great for them) out of the likes of Kevin Millwood, Denny Neagle, Jaret Wright, John Burkett and Damian Moss, to say nothing of the Maddux/Glavine/Smoltz trifeca, all whom have at least a rational Hall of Fame argument. While I don't expect Benson to win any Cy Youngs, if anyone can push him above the averageness he's been mired in, it's Mazzone. I actually expect a step or three forward for the guy who usually hands in a BABIP that's better than the rest of his numbers suggest. I just hope for his sake that the advantages of bachelorhood and living up to the potential that made him the #1 overall pick in 1996 is more of a motivation to improve than fucking Anna Benson 50 times up the ass.

1989 Topps #647

Because everybody knows that celebrities are better people than the rest of us, they deserve to have the most mundane details of their lives broadcasted for public consumption. Furthermore, if you have any kind of chink in your celebrity armory, your shortcomings will be exposed and magnified in such a way that the reporting of such shortcomings will be given front-page treatment by media members who suddenly get a Woodward & Bernstein complex and act as if their discovery were the second coming of Watergate. This is especially true in New York City, where the New York Daily News published a story on the bastard love child of celebrity fireballer Randy Johnson. If you'll forgive such indulgence in criticizing the private lives of people better than me, what I don't understand is why Johnson, who will have made not a penny less than $143,687,500 by season's end in his career, is suing his baby momma for a paltry 97 grand for back day care payments plus interest. Granted, I don't purport to know all the ins-and-outs of this case but let's go over the facts. First off, checking in at 6'11", he's the tallest player in Baseball's history. Add that with his freakish ability to hurl 100 mph fastballs and statistically speaking, he's literally a freak of nature. Not to overuse a baseball cliche, but that's strike one. Second, scroll back up and look at what he looked like in 1989, around the time this child was conceived. Dude is ugly (and let's not even get into his pre-Yankee mullet years. On second thought, let's.). Plus he still hasn't learned how to shave, which doesn't bode well for potential post-coital snuggling and spooning. Strike two. Now, it's 1989 and RJ has yet to learn how to harness that fastball into becoming The Greatest Left-Hander Who Ever Walked the Planet. He's an ugly-ass 6'11" nobody who's not yet famous enough to get laid. Strike three. Who in the hell is going to sleep with him? Let's be honest. This woman, whoever she is, has done him a giant favor just by giving it up. And now Randy is suing her for being goodly enough to sleep with him? For 97 grand?

Apparently, this all started when his baby momma asked him to front the cash for his daughter's car and to pay her tuition for community college. I supposed Big Unit (by the way, let's ask her to verify that nickname) is trying to make a larger point by proving that she shouldn't be allowed to get away with extorting him. But is this really extortion? Depending on the kind of car they were trying to get their hands on, I guess this could be construed as being a bit extravagant. But he can't cough up the $87.42 it costs for his daughter to take algebra classes at the local community college? Even putting aside the obvious moral and legal obligation to be financially responsible for passing on your freak-of-nature genes, shouldn't he be more than happy to write out a check just to have her shut the fuck up and not be on the front page of every paper in the city?

Oh, by the way: George Clooney was totes seen at 57th and Madison likeohmigodforrealnowayshutthefuckupseriously!

The end of the arroyo.

What an interesting week for the Red Sockings.

First, two-time MVP Juan Gone Gonzalez signed a minor league contract to shore up the lack of outfield depth. He's a kind of no-risk, high-reward signing, as his last two seasons have been something beneath sad and pathetic. Unhealthy since 2001, he found no takers for his services in 2004 until the lowly Royals came calling, which lasted all of 138 plate appearances. Last year, his season lasted literally three pitches, as he re-aggravated his strained hamstring grounding out.

Also, Hee Seop Choi was snagged off the waiver wire after he was discarded by the new and dumber Dodger regime. This was especially irresponsible on L.A.'s part because really, does anyone expect Hamon to play all 162 games at first? How much Choi will play is anybody's guess, especially with Jack Thomas Snow sharing first base duties with The Greek God of Walks. But he's the best kind of player that you can get for free and even if his tenure in Boston ends up like Roberto Petagine's, it's better to have him and not need him than to need him and not have him.

But the big splash they made was trading Bronson Arroyo (plus cash) straight up for Wily Mo Pena. I don't want to say I already predicted this, but he did go against his agent's advice but signing too cheaply and thus making him that much more appealing to crappy teams with no real hope for contending. Needing a platoon mate for Trot Nixon's crappy performance against left-handed pitching and realizing that the likes of Juan Gone, Dustan Mohr, Adam Stern and Fleet Willie Harris will only help so much, Prince Theo went out and scored 24 year-old lefty-murderer Pena, whose power is about as raw and unrefined as it comes. Still, as young and cheap as he is, he could make a very apt replacement for Trot once he lives via free-agency after this season. The Fenway Faithful are likely to mourn the loss of a fan favorite and bitch about the front office but it's easy to forget that Theo is largely responsible for Bronson having a major-league career at all. If he hadn't been astute enough to pluck him from the waiver wire in 2003 (when none of the other 29 wanted him), Bronson would've been exiled to journeyman purgatory or worse yet, out of baseball completely. Now he's a pseudo-rock star multi-millionaire and with the rotation seven deep (eight, if you count Jon Lester), he was the most expendable of the 40. Personally, I think being traded out of Boston is punishment for putting out that cringingly embarrassing grunge cover album. I mean, c'mon, Bronson, really. The Verve Pipe?

1988 Topps #18 (error), #18 (corrected)

Al Leiter handed the ball off for the last time in his storied career in spring training last week, capping a...Oh, wait, hold on.

Haha. Whoopsie. See what I did? Silly me. I made the same mistake Topps made in 1988 when they put the picture of some guy named Steve George and called him a future star. I'm sure Stevie was pretty stoked until they also started calling him Al Leiter. But there are far more insulting things to be mistaken for than Al Leiter, who ended his major league career by getting Eduardo Perez to ground out to third in a spring trainging game. I'm sure he had thought of much more romantic endings to his life's work but the two World Series rings (Toronto in 1993 and Florida in 1997), his no-hitter against the Rockies on May 11, 1996, the two trips to the All-Star Game and topping 200 strikeouts a year twice is a career Baseball should be toasting to. Though he played much of his prime in a pitcher's park, any team in the game would've found a place for Al Leiter in their rotation. He was better at throwing a baseball than most of us will ever be at anything and he'll be the only reason not to turn the channel when he's articulately describing the physics of a slider in the booth while Timmy McCarver is sticking the sharp end of pencils up his nose and Joey Buck is coloring pictures of ligers on the back of his placemat.

As if apartheid wasn't embarassing enough.

A phenomenal congratulations is in order for the United States. Facing elimination from the WBC after being defeated by Canada, the U.S. and A rallied and showed South Africa the true meaning of oppression by bitching-slapping them 17-0 in yesterday's contest. Of course, this is very much consistent with the history of Canada doing something better than the United States and the United States responds by beating up a country much, much smaller than them. Nevertheless, Johnny Damon, Derek Jeter, Junior Griffey, Alex Rodriguez, Chipper Jones, Derrek Lee, and Chase Utley did their country proud by doing away with those pesky Afrikaners. Roger Clemens, 7-time Cy Young winner and arguably the greatest pitcher who ever lived lead the way by pitching 4 1/3 innings of shutout ball against a bunch of 19 year-old kids who have almost no professional experience playing baseball and didn't even know the sport existed until about eight days ago. Way to go, Rocket!

17 cheers for the red, white and bleu!