Author: Graham Womack

Most people will probably screw up in one way or another at some point in their lives. It’s only human to wreck a car or a marriage, to fail a class, to get fired from a job, maybe even to have problems with drugs, alcohol or the law.  When most folks fall short, they do so quietly, hopefully learning from their mistakes and moving on.  If they suffer setbacks, it isn’t plastered across the news, unless it’s something particularly egregious or bizarre.  This is all to their benefit, as anonymity is generally thought to be indispensable to recovery.

Celebrities rarely get this consideration. For all the privileges famous people receive, they don’t enjoy the essential right most people might take for granted of getting to deal privately with personal issues. Every day, there’s some unfortunate (and yes, entertaining) gossip in the news about an entertainer or athlete.  The more lurid the tale, the farther it spreads.  I admit I read every last story sometimes, but when I stop and think about it, I must say it’s a little amazing the standards celebrities and other well-known figures are often held to.

ESPN and other outlets trumpeted news Wednesday that the manager of the Texas Rangers, Ron Washington, tested positive for cocaine last year, and after some reflection, I have to say: So what?  Granted, I don’t condone the use of cocaine or other illegal drugs, but assuming Washington truthfully claimed he used only once, it seems he could have committed far worse transgressions.  His use didn’t keep him from fulfilling the duties of his job, as the Rangers finished 87-75.  Far as I know, Washington didn’t become addicted or get behind the wheel of a car or commit any crimes when he used cocaine, short of breaking some drug laws.

I admit I have fairly radical views regarding America’s policies on drugs.  Basically, I’m against drug use for me and anyone I care about.  I think if somebody has a problem with drugs or alcohol, they should stop.  That being said, I think we as a country waste tremendous amounts of time, money and resources that could be better put to use elsewhere when we condemn and prosecute recreational drug use.  I don’t really buy into the idea that purchasing drugs supports things like terrorism, but I do believe that criminalizing use drives up prices exponentially, thus increasing drug-related thefts and violence.  Were it up to me, all drugs would be legal, and we’d quit pointing fingers about who was using and who wasn’t, unless the use started affecting other lives.

By all accounts it sounds like Washington will emerge relatively unscathed from all this. He entered a drug program, kept his job and received support Wednesday from his players. Now, he can hopefully put this weird, little story behind him and focus on what looks to be a competitive race in the American League West.  This of course doesn’t resolve questions of how a 57-year-old man even gets offered cocaine, and I imagine this will probably be the wildest story we hear about a manager for some time.  All the same, Washington faces an easier road ahead than any player who really has a problem with drugs or alcohol.  How any of them has a chance of staying sober in this current media environment, I don’t know.

I remember when the Fab Four pitching staff of Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, Steve Avery and John Smoltz ruled baseball in 1993.  Spearheaded by a Cy Young season from Maddux, the four went a combined 75-33, making the Atlanta Braves the first team in the 20th Century with four 15-game winners and wrecking an otherwise stellar season for my Giants.  San Francisco couldn’t have picked a worse year to go 103-59, which put them one game behind the first-place Braves in the NL West and thus kept them out of the postseason under the old format.  In a sense, the Fab Four was partially responsible for the subsequent advent of the divisional playoffs.

Avery came down injured that year at 23, a victim perhaps of overuse his first few seasons, and he was never the same thereafter.  However, Maddux, Glavine and Smoltz forged careers that will likely lead them all to the Hall of Fame, and for a time it seemed they might stay in the majors forever.  The three continued to thrive into their forties, Maddux and Glavine reaching 300 wins and Smoltz possibly only being kept from that plateau by a career-threatening injury some years before that relegated him to the bullpen for a few seasons and cost him at least 60 wins.  Age eventually caught up with each man, of course, and Maddux retired at the end of the 2008 season, while Glavine also last pitched that year before finally making his retirement official a month ago.  Now, it looks like Smoltz, the final link to a bygone era in Atlanta could be calling it quits, too.

ESPN is reporting that while the 42-year-old Smoltz has yet to file retirement papers, he is joining TBS as an announcer for the upcoming baseball season.  He sounded diffident about whether he wants to play again, telling the Associated Press today, “I know the question comes up: Does that mean you retired? Officially no. But in my life when I make a decision about something and I say something, my whole character is to live by it. At this point I’m not officially prepared to say I’m done. But that may not mean anything to the degree that makes me play either.”

That sounds like: I wanted a job, but no one would give it to me, and I don’t know if I really care all that much, all things considered.

Judging by Smoltz’s numbers with the St. Louis Cardinals the second half of last season, including 40 strikeouts in 38 innings, I think he could probably still come out of the bullpen for a contender, reprising that brief interlude in his career when he was a lights-out closer for the Braves.  He wasn’t happy in the role and eventually returned to being a starter, before flaming out with the Boston Red Sox at the beginning of last season.  I don’t know if he was insisting on another starting role for 2010 and this made teams skittish, but whatever the case may be, I’m interested to see if Smoltz is for sure done.

This hardly seems like a Fab end for him.

Currently on “This Week in Stupid Trade Rumors,” I saw a story this evening on ESPN that the Phillies discussed offering the Cardinals their slugger Ryan Howard for three-time National League Most Valuable Player (and St. Louis institution) Albert Pujols.  Not sure if the story is legit, since it quoted unnamed sources and featured a flat denial from Phillies general manager Ruben Amaro.  Either way, the proposed trade is, for lack of a better word, retarded.  If it did get discussed by Phillies’ brass, I’m going to assume it happened during some kind of drinking game or “Truth or Dare” contest.

The only thing more ridiculous than the Phillies soliciting the Cardinals for this sort of deal would be if St. Louis actually went for it.  If I’m St. Louis and I get this call, I assume it’s some kids pulling a prank.  You do not trade Albert Pujols, not under any circumstances.  Not for Joe Mauer, not for Tim Lincecum (if the Giants could do that deal, I’d tell them to sign off on it tonight, maybe throw in Pablo Sandoval if that’s what it took) and certainly not for Ryan Howard.

I could probably list ten players I’d want on my team before Howard, a rather ordinary, one-dimensional player who just happens to hit the ball a mile.  That’s really all he does, kind of like a left-handed version of Frank Thomas without the good batting average or career longevity. Howard didn’t get going until he was 25, is now 30 and with his large frame, I’d be surprised if he’s still going strong in five years.  And players like him are fairly replaceable, even if he does have the same name as one of the characters on The Office, which seems like it should be good for some kind of promotional tie-in.

The ESPN story discussed proposed trades of players at the top of their games, like a Ted Williams-for-Joe DiMaggio swap that was once actually discussed between New York and Boston.  Howard and Pujols are far less even, though.

I doubt Howard makes the Hall of Fame.  On the other hand, Pujols is almost certainly a first ballot selection.  He rates superior to Howard in pretty much every offensive category, notably career batting average (.334 to .279), on-base percentage (.427 to .360) and slugging percentage (.628 to .586, not that Howard suffers in this category, Pujols just happens to have the best slugging percentage of any active player, fourth best all-time, in fact.)  In addition, Pujols is two months younger than Howard and essentially a once-in-a-generation talent.  Unless a positive steroid test surfaces, count on Pujols eventually being classed with Hank Aaron, Ted Williams and Willie Mays.

Nomar Garciaparra retired yesterday, which prompted the following Google search for me: Was Nomar on steroids? It’s a question debated in the baseball world many times in recent years, something I continue to wonder about, even as the former Boston Red Sox shortstop has never failed a drug test or admitted use or been under federal investigation or had his name included in a book or told Congress that his wife did HGH, like so many fallen ballplayers before him.  My search returned an interesting NBC Sports article posted earlier today.

The piece, written by Craig Calcaterra, decries the fresh round of speculation brought on by the retirement.  Calcaterra writes:

For the second time today I have to say that I don’t know if a player ever took PEDs, but I know the writer making the accusation doesn’t know either, yet does it anyway. And though I’m certain the answer will be “never,” I ask again: when will anyone in the mainstream media call out guys like Steve Henson (or Rick Telander or Jon Heyman) for hurling such accusations the way they called out blogger Jerrod Morris for doing something far, far less irresponsible?

And no, “because we think Nomar did it and [Raul] Ibanez didn’t” is not an acceptable answer. At least not for people who like to lecture others about “journalistic integrity” all the time.

All the same, there are many red flags regarding Garciaparra.  The obvious ones include:

• A ripped physique, famously captured on this Sports Illustrated cover
• Gaudy numbers in the early part of his career followed by significant injuries
• Being a teammate of Jose Canseco
• And perhaps most importantly, being a Major League Baseball player of any renown in the last twenty years

Sadly, few ballplayers have much credibility these days regarding steroids.  I suspect most recent players of juicing just as I assume lots of people in the late 1970s and early 1980s tried cocaine and even more folks a decade before that smoked pot.  All those things simply went with their respective times.  Steroid use in baseball has been well-documented.  Thus, I think it’s fair to speculate, within reason, if a player has used.  The journalist in me took umbrage when Morris got attacked on ESPN last summer by a couple of sportswriters after his infamous blog post.

That being said, I don’t know if Garciaparra did or did not use steroids.  I also don’t know if I care all that much, because end of day, Garciaparra isn’t bound for the Hall of Fame.  But in Garciaparra’s defense, an ESPN article by Peter Gammons suggests various reasons he was clean, including bodybuilders saying Nomar had love handles in his SI cover photo (but didn’t Bob have bitch tits in Fight Club?)  Also on the Nomar Was Clean front, it can be argued that Garciaparra was a prominent enough ex-teammate that Canseco would have named him in either of his books if he had dirt.

Again though, I’m uncertain.  I wouldn’t be comfortable betting one way or the other on this, and I feel similarly right now as I do before Maury Povich announces paternity test results on his show.  Is Nomar the father, so to speak?  Is he not?  My guess is as good as the next guy’s.

I just read a Fox Sports article that said former three-time Gold Glove winner and two-time All Star outfielder Willie Davis died Tuesday at 69.

The story talked about how Davis never realized his potential, despite finishing with 2,561 hits, 82nd all-time and 398 stolen bases, 68th all-time.  He also scored 1217 runs, more than Cooperstown honorees Lloyd Waner, Joe Medwick and Willie Stargell.  None of this warrants a Hall of Fame plaque, of course, but it’s not too far removed, either.  Frankly, I’m surprised Davis never got any Hall of Fame votes, according to his Baseball Reference page.  The story I read included a quote from a late, former Dodger general manager, Buzzie Bavasi, who said of Davis, “He could have been a Hall of Famer, but he had million-dollar legs and a 10-cent head.”

This got me thinking.  Surely Davis is not the only player, before or since, worthy of that observation.  Here are a few players who could join Davis on some kind of Pinhead Dream Team:

• Mickey Mantle: The epitome of a legendary player who squandered his greatness.  With his hard drinking, carousing and generally poor self-care reined in, Mantle could have set the home run record or kept the Yankees great through the Sixties, perhaps both.  Instead, he was washed up by his early 30s, while New York went into decline.

• Kevin Mitchell: Mitchell set a standard for hair-brained antics that may never be matched.  First, he got traded off the most boozing, cocaine-addled team ever, the 1986-era New York Mets, because management feared his influence on other young players.  He missed games during his career because of injuring himself while eating a cupcake (happens to the best of us) and straining a muscle vomiting.  Mitchell once ran through a locker room wearing night-vision goggles and shouting, “Desert storm!  Desert storm!”  After leaving the major leagues, he was kicked off an independent league squad for brawling with his owner.  Snopes even investigated if Dwight Gooden correctly reported in his autobiography, Heat, that Mitchell decapitated his girlfriend’s cat.  The Web site couldn’t reach a conclusion.

• Elijah Dukes: Like Mitchell in terms of talent, but with a lengthy criminal record in place of funny stories.  Dukes came up with Tampa Bay, a highly-regarded outfield prospect with arrests dating back to his teenage years.  The Rays cut Dukes in June 2007, amidst reports a 17-year-old girl told police Dukes impregnated her.  Earlier that year, he was arrested with 2 grams of marijuana in his car and his ex-girlfriend got a one-year protective order, saying Dukes threatened to kill her and their children.  She also once told a radio station he was bipolar.  He’s with the Nationals now and has an ex-cop around to protect him.  Supposedly, he’s doing better, though one has to wonder.

• Bugs Raymond: A problem case before the days of counseling, Raymond had one fine season, 1909 when he went 18-12 with a 2.47 ERA. Raymond then drank himself off the New York Giants, when John McGraw’s attempts at reform didn’t take, and he was later killed in a bar fight in 1912 at age 30.  Raymond is certainly not the only ballplayer to die in a drunken mishap, though it’s sad to think what might have been.

• John Rocker: On the other hand, I offer no sympathy for Rocker, who essentially imploded his career a decade ago with dumb remarks to Sports Illustrated about gays, minorities and New York.  Rocker also should have inspired a generation of players never to wear camouflage or sit in a deer stand for their photo shoot with the magazine; Rocker looked more fit for a militia than the Atlanta Braves.

Brian Cashman can breathe a sigh of relief.  Working for George Steinbrenner is no longer the shittiest job in baseball.

I just read a story on ESPN where Bobby Valentine denied being offered a job as manager of the Florida Marlins this past fall.  The story said Marlins president David Samson refused to endorse manager Fredi Gonzalez after he guided the Marlins to 87 wins, third-best in club history, but missed the playoffs.  This got me thinking that as bad as my own employment situation was these past few months, I’m glad I didn’t have Gonzalez’s job.  It seems like the worst one in baseball at the moment.

Essentially, anyone who goes to manage in Florida is expected to produce with a skeleton payroll, Triple-A level talent at some positions and little fan support, while working for a nightmare owner in Jeffrey Loria.  Modest results aren’t tolerated like they are in other small market outposts like Kansas City or San Diego.  Joe Girardi was run out of town a few years ago after winning Manager of the Year; he subsequently won a World Series in New York.  On the chance Florida teams do succeed, they are promptly stripped down in fire sales.  I might go insane working for them.

This is to take nothing away from Valentine, of course.  He’s one of the best managers of this past generation and seems like one of the few managers who could thrive with any type of team, be it an established veteran club or a young team like the Marlins.  It’s regrettable Valentine’s name has been dragged into all this, because what’s happened to Gonzalez in recent months would have stained the names of anyone attached to it.  And it makes me think of some of the other shit jobs in baseball history.

Certainly, this isn’t the worst baseball job ever.  Not sure what takes the cake.  I wouldn’t have wanted to work for late Cincinnati Reds owner Marge Schott who, as Sports Illustrated once reported, didn’t pay her front office much, liked to turn off her employees’ computers when they weren’t looking in hopes of saving money, and made them walk her dogs and report back if they pissed or shit.  I also read that Ty Cobb used to force the mascot for his Detroit Tigers to sleep under his bed because he was black.  And I wouldn’t have wanted to be the guy whose job depended on ensuring Mickey Mantle made bed check.

All the same, Gonzalez isn’t in a much better boat.

Any of the positions described above belong in some kind of Hall of Fame for worst baseball jobs.  Creating that Hall of Fame may be a project for another time.  If anyone wants to have at it in the meanwhile, feel free.

(Editor’s note: I originally published this post on March 6, but it got automatically deleted due to technical difficulties.  Thus, I am re-posting.)

I just saw news that Anquan Boldin got traded by the Arizona Cardinals to the Baltimore Ravens, and — as I guessed before clicking the storylink — he went for a few mid-round draft picks.

It never ceases to amaze me, this phenomenon in football of trading Pro Bowl-caliber players for squat.  I don’t know what gets me more, how little the Cardinals received for Boldin, a perennial 80-reception, 1000-yard receiver or the fact that a team like my 49ers probably could have gotten involved but didn’t.  Boldin would have been worth a first or second-round pick, or both from San Francisco, a team that needs a star receiver until Michael Crabtree fully matures.  It would have been like getting a Lexus at a police auction had the Niners scored Boldin.  At the very least, it would have compensated somewhat for their own past ill-fated trades of Charles Haley and Terrell Owens.

The NFL Draft has become this annual monster where seven rounds of picks are given far greater importance than they should command.  I would venture half the players never make a dent in the league, minimum, and a sixth round pick has just as much chance of succeeding as a top choice.  For every Tom Brady, there is a Ryan Leaf.  Or an Akili Smith.  Or a Tim Couch.  Or a JaMarcus Russell.  And determining who will make it and who won’t is a crapshoot.  So again, I don’t get the idea of surrendering an established player for a few lottery tickets, even if it’s true Boldin wanted out of Arizona.

Basketball has its own over-hyped draft and while I certainly admit that I love each sport’s annual selection event, look forward to it and study the mock drafts ahead of time, the big day in hoops occasionally inspires its own share of dumb trades.  I am reminded of when the Bulls jettisoned Elton Brand for a not-yet-ready-for-the-pros Tyson Chandler.  Chandler eventually developed, but it took something like six years, and by that time, he’d been sent to New Orleans in another ill-conceived move by the Bulls’ brass.

I am thankful that no one ever gets traded for draft picks in baseball, because I don’t think anyone really cares about the baseball draft; I think most people recognize that the primary function of the MLB Draft is to stock the minor leagues.  Think about it, when’s the last time anything along the following lines was uttered: The Brewers traded Prince Fielder to the Yankees today for 1st and 3rd round picks in the 2011 MLB Draft, though Milwaukee reserved the right to swap picks with the Yankees pending the outcome of their regular season. Such sentences seemingly do not exist in the baseball lexicon, common as they are in football and basketball.

About the only way draft-related trades occur in baseball is that teams are recompensed with picks after they lose players to free agency.  I like that, it seems equitable and helps small-market teams.  And I prefer baseball’s trade system to basketball, where because of convoluted salary cap rules, teams rejoice anytime they manage to shed unwanted contracts.  In baseball, those players just go to the Giants or Orioles.

I logged into Twitter today after writing my last post and saw the latest Tweets from my friend Jose Canseco.  Apparently, he is renting himself out again.

In 2003 while on house arrest, Canseco offered to spend an afternoon at his South Florida mansion with anyone for $2,500.  He offered a poolside barbecue and power hitting lesson among a list of possible activities.  It seemed intriguing at the time, but I didn’t have the money, of course.  The price just got 60% cheaper, though.

Canseco Tweeted this afternoon:

Who is interested in spending the day with me and seeing what my life is about

He added shortly thereafter that it would be $1,000 a day, with all the money going to charity, and he provided his email address, which I will kindly not repeat here.  Granted, for anyone who cares, I’m sure this address has probably been widely distributed around the Internet by now and that as we speak, Canseco is being contacted for exciting work-from-home and Multi-Level Marketing opportunities.  Those people always hit me up 12 minutes after I post a resume on Craigslist.

I am still broke and due to start my new job on Monday, eating crock pot soup and waiting to get a haircut in the meantime– seriously, this job can’t start soon enough, I am shaggy.  Still, if I had my debts from the past few months repaid and a thousand extra dollars, I might be interested.  Here are some things I might like to do with Canseco:

1. Bring him to my softball practice.  I recently joined a team here in the Bay Area that practices by an expressway.  Besides seeing the looks on my teammates’ faces were I to show up with Canseco, I would be curious to see if he could hit that highway.  And maybe a little nervous.
2. Take him up on the hitting lesson.  My batting stance looks a bit like I’m blindfolded and attempting to fend off raccoons.  Perhaps the former All Star slugger could help with this.
3. Talk to women.  Imagine having the ultimate lead-in, “Hey, have you met my friend Jose Canseco?”  Since I was paying $1,000, we would have some nice things about me scripted out ahead of time.
4. Discuss my idea for the fight I think Canseco should focus on.  For all this talk of him wanting to fight Herschel Walker, I think a more even foe would be Mike Tyson.  Give me an afternoon and I think I could talk Canseco into this.
5. Record a rap single with him.  For the rest of my life whenever I was at a social function and there was a lull in the conversation, I could say, “Hey, would you like to hear the rap song I recorded with Jose Canseco?”  Everyone would be talking!  Since Canseco is socially conscious now, perhaps this could be a rap about the dangers of steroid abuse.

I wonder what Barry Bonds would charge.  Perhaps for $40, he comes to your house, punches you in the face and then angrily shouts he never did steroids.  It would still be more than that time Pete Rose sold kisses for a dollar or in 1924 when Ty Cobb offered to beat up any man in the state of Alabama for $12 plus expenses.  Okay, those last two things never happened, but you get the idea.

Postscript: Canseco has some ideas for the day, too. He Tweeted on March 8 that options include bowling, working out, MMA-style sparring or playing any other sport.  He added,

Well also maybe bredak the law and get arrested

You cannot make this up.