Baseball in the Breaktime: The Hit Versus the Homerun

Editor's Note: With so little head-to-head baseball, yet so much ado about the game in general going on this week, it's time Cecil and I talk baseball again. This exchange bounces around the notion of Bud Selig's perpetual flailing, conspiracies surrounding A. Bartlett Giamatti, Barry Bonds stealing bases, and of course, Pete Rose.

Bankmeister: I figured our House of Georges project was kicking so much ass that I'd create another one, the sole purpose of which would be to monitor the actual letters I'm sending to baseball's handsome commissioner every week day. It's a very young project, but one I enjoy and firmly believe in, as Pete Rose's contributions to the game had a remarkable impression on my young baseball-oriented mind. Old No. 7 says he's squarely on the fence about Rose's situation/debacle. He says there's no doubt he's Hall material, but he's made a small business (with income) for himself by showering the world of baseball with propaganda regarding his non-election to Cooperstown, not to mention he's acted like an ass for most of his post-baseball adult life. What's your stance on Rose, the ban, the Hall? How does it compare to the Barry Bonds dilemna of today?

Cecil: I'm not gonna lie, Chief, I think you've bitten off a massive hunk with these letters to Bud. Soon, the reading public will start demanding that you live up to the missive-per-day conceit, and you're not gonna have any time to ogle internet boobies, dodge the chores your lovely new bride is assuredly laying on you or even shut your eyes for a few blessed minutes of that sweet, sweet darkness. But I see that you're serious.



And serious for a good cause. Unlike our pal Ol' No. 7, I'm with you on Rose. To my mind, the only thing keeping Rose out of the Hall is his own unendurably crappy personality. Baseball writers and executives loved Bart Giamatti. Rose lying to St. Bart was enough by itself to make a lot of those minds up, and he's only made his own case worse since. That hamfisted semi-mea culpa was just embarrassing.

Betting on the game is serious business, for sure, and I'm not suggesting that Rose be allowed back into the league -- which, ironically enough, is what he really cares about, so he can get another managerial job -- just that a Baseball Hall of Fame without Pete Rose in it is a sham, a piece of revisionist history.

I've said it before on the House: Ty Cobb stabbed a night watchman, climbed into the seats to assault fans, slept with a black orphan under his bed for "luck." Tris Speaker not only bet on baseball but likely consciously affected the outcome of games he played. Both are in the Hall.

I could be wrong, but I doubt that there's any evidence Rose ever tanked anything. He did lie about his original statements, yes, and the resultant miasma surrounding the situation is pretty effin' gamey--but call me naive. Tanking doesn't seem to be in his nature. This is, after all, the guy who earned the sarcastic sobriquet "Charlie Hustle" from Whitey Ford and Mickey Mantle because he ran out groundouts in spring training. Even a hardcore gambler bets with his own innate prejudices. My gut feeling is that Pete Rose would not ever have bet against himself, and thus, his team.

Bonds' situation is a tad different, for two reasons: his cheating is rooted in substance abuse and it took place on the field. While gamblers and gambling abuses have been present in baseball for decades -- and who knows what 1880s-1920s stats are whacked out because of it? -- the notion of our game and its sacred records being vulnerable to Better Athletics Through Chemistry jabs us in a different place. It feels more dishonest, even if, when it's all counted, it really isn't.

I know, it's a hell of a hair to split, but for Christ's sake, this is baseball. Not everything has to make sense. And, even though I feel what Barry (and Sammy and Mark and Rafael) did is a bigger affront to the integrity of the sport, there's no way The Head ain't going to the Hall. He was bound for a bust long before he took his first 'roid...and now that I think about it, that almost pisses me off more than anything. He could have broken Aaron's record without any of it, but did anyway, supposedly because a simple case of professional jealousy. Jesus. What a waste.

B: You bring up some awesome points. Bart Giamatti was quite a figure. He got Rose to "agree" on the lifetime ban. Here's what's odd to me: Giamatti sets up the ban, and Rose allegedly agrees to it. Nine days later, the commish's ticker explodes and he croaks in office, opening the path for his newly appointed deputy commissioner (a previously non-existent job) Fay Vincent, Jr. to step in, continue his pivotal role in crucifying Rose, then resign three years later. In comes Bud Selig, who gets appointed to some random title that might as well be called interim commissioner and he just hangs out for six years until he's finally elected to the actual position.

I mean, talk about crazy. If Jesus hates Cleveland, then God must loathe things that rhyme with "she a hotty." It's a scam. I can't point out exactly how, but it's got scandal written all over it. If Rose agreed, he was probably scared. We've all done that when the cops come knockin'. Nobody's trying to defend his assiness, and yes, the things you've said are, to an undecided degree, worse than Rose's baseball-related flounderings.

I say it doesn't matter. He's the freaking hit king. His record-breaking single left him on first base alone for nine solid minutes. The world of baseball actually stopped functioning to recognize this milestone. The press was different back then, but I wonder if Barry'd hit 756 on that same day, instead of Rose hitting 4192, would, in your opinion, the baseball world've celebrated that feat to the same degree? It's hard to imagine without the InterNets, the masses of media, etc. that we have today. And of course the juice clouds everything, too. But I also am curious about Dan Patrick's interview of Selig Monday.

I didn't hear it, but Old No. 7 re-capped it for me, and basically it sounds like Patrick went off on Selig for not having a stance on celebrating Bonds' upcoming record breaker. Patrick had just announced he'd be leaving ESPN and, therefore, in ONS' estimation, he was free to call it as he saw it. Selig allegedly said he hadn't decided on whether or not he would be there. Patrick pressed the issue, trying to squeeze hints out of Selig that might reveal on which side of the fence he sits. Seven claims that it was ultra-apparent that Selig was pissed and didn't want to be there. Thus, my other question to you is this: How can MLB's commissioner, a guy who floated into the job 15 years ago, a guy who has "no decided opinion" on Bonds/steroids -- yet has been in office for all of the steroids upheaval --, uphold the ban on Rose, a ruling that almost immediately killed the guy that made it and left the dead guy's successor feeling squrimish enough that he resigns?

C: Well, I think the biggest issue is that Selig is a nematode.

How can he, in good conscience -- hell, even bad conscience -- not just nut the fuck up and be there for Barry? He rode shotgun throughout the Steroid era, he colluded in Fehr's strike, he looks like a cross between Stephen Hawking and Hitler.

Everything Selig does, he does wrong: The tie at the All-Star game; pussyfooting around the obvious performance-enhancing drug issues in the sport he's supposedly watchdoggin'; making mealy-mouthed excuses about the same; installing a toothless drug enforcement plan and then preening about it -- everything. He is, as I said recently about Bernie Bickerstaff in an extraordinarily well-read HoG post, the anti-Midas. Whatever his leprositic mitts grab goes fecal.

And what's up with bitching about Giambi's big mouth and then pushing him to testify? I am at a serious loss to understand the inner workings of MLB's management. It's all reactive. They let problems fester until they're huge, pustulent boils and then try lancing 'em with a grapefruit spoon.

Oh, and yeah -- I think there's some Warren Commission shit going on with mysterious croaking of A. Bartlett. I hadn't really even ever thought about it until now...and suddenly...it just seems so reasonable...or maybe that's the ether.

B: Right. Ether will do that. Interesting Warren Commission reference. I dig it. What about the Rose celebration versus the upcoming Bonds one? Which is bigger, from the global baseball fan perspective?

C: Globally? Barry. He's a bigger "star," as it were. It's tough to compare because the era is so different. Who's to say Petey wouldn't have had his own reality show? But even as sport-crazy as we have been in this past century, we're at a place now where people are famous simply because they're famous, ala Paris Hilton. Barry's outsized melon is probably the most recognizable feature of American baseball to a worldwide audience, with a few specific exceptions in Japan and the Caribbean.

And the home run mark is seen as a bigger deal, I think. I personally don't think it is, by any stretch, but I think the roundball cognoscenti tend to believe in 755 as THE record. Eh. Sure, it's only been reached by two guys -- three, if you count Josh Gibson, which you should, even if no one does -- but as I've said before on the House, I think what Rose and Cobb did is more impressive overall.

Of course, since Hank Aaron also had something on the order of 3,800 hits -- exact number I'm too lazy to Google -- it's not hard to put The Hammer at the top of the all-time slugger pack, right ahead of Ted Williams and Willie Mays.

B: You touched on the exact point I was hoping you might. You're definitely right about Bonds being a bigger global baseball figure. From a nuts-and-bolts baseball fan perspective, though, the hit record is way huger. I know from our exchange here you didn't play a lot of baseball. I'm curious how much of the fundamentals -- the actual focus/vision, stance, grip, swing, feet positioning, weight shifting, follow through, etc. -- of hitting a baseball are stored in your noggin.

In 11 years of playing ball, no coach ever told me to go up there and crush one to deep left-center. No coach ever told any kid on any of my teams that. It was all about practicing good technique, seeing the bat hit the ball, making contact, and getting base hits. Now, if you're good at all of those things, homeruns will happen on occasion. Homerun, however, happens to start with the letter "h," as does hype, an idea we're cramming down the throats of all our sports and athletes. The NHL recently changed some of their rules to allow for more scoring. The NFL is constantly altering things like pass interference, which allows for big plays. The NBA has turned into an atrocious no-defense-playing dunk fest, and MLB prays that chicks will continue digging the long ball.

I say fooey on it all. The two-line pass in hockey meant you had to pass crisply and cleanly, not score more breakaway goals. In football, smash-mouth, nose-to-nose grinding was how guys like Dick Butkus and Larry Csonka became legends. Look at Magic, Kareem and Bird. They busted their buns up and down that court every night, and in baseball, getting on base was the fundamental to winning games. Thus, the accomplishments of Williams, Mays and company are always bigger than those of some Head that can't run.



C: And the shame of it is that the Head could run. He actually stole more than 50 bases on at least one occasion when he was with Pittsburgh, but let that all go for the bulk. As far as myself, I wasn't much of a hitter ever, even in my -- let's see, 7 years? 8 years? something like that -- of playing organized ball. I was a pretty good baserunner/stealer, but that had a lot more to do with the fact that catchers could barely reach second base with their throws at that age. In any case, swingin' for the fences was hardly my thing. I was all about contact. Frankly, it was usually all I could do to make contact. I haven't been to a batting cage in years. I should go and see how bad it's gotten.

Besides, in my experience, chicks often dig a shorter, more easily ignored ball.

B: Indeed they do. Keep us posted on those cage results.

Note: This post appeared previously on Letters to Bud. Since Old No. 7 already broke the recycled-posts cherry, we figured, hey, what the hell.