Mike of Mike's Baseball Rants has been on a quest ever since the brothers Benes--Cardinal Andy and Cub Alan--faced each other as starting pitchers last week. According to several news reports, the Benes boys are the seventh pair in major league history to square off, with the most recent duo being Ramon and Pedro Martinez in 1996. None of the reports listed the other five pairs of pitching brothers, and so Mike made an incomplete list of possibilities where two brothers were in the same league but not on the same team:
I was able to offer one addition to Mike's list, recalling that back in 1979, the brothers Underwood--Tiger Pat and Blue Jay Tom--faced off against each other. Both pitched well, but Pat pitched a three-hitter and won 1-0, thanks to a Jerry Manuel solo HR in the 8th inning off of Tom. Thank you, Retrosheet.
I also confirmed that Phil and Joe Niekro, who combined for 546 wins in the big leagues, had faced off several times, with Joe holding a career 5-4 edge on Phil. On May 29, 1976, Joe connected for his only big-league homer off of Phil. Oh, brother...
A reader of Mike's page confirmed that the Madduxes faced each other as rookies in 1986, bringing our list to 5. Initial reports that the Leiter brothers have faced each other are thus far unsubstantiated. I did find that Mel Stottlemyre Jr, who started only 2 games in the big leagues for the Kansas City Royals in 1990, faced the Tornoto Blue Jays in one of those games, but brother Todd wasn't on the mound that day. Close, but no cigar.
Even closer without the cigar were the brothers Coveleski (Harry and Hall of Famer Stan), who missed each other by a day twice and by two days once in 1916. Further digging in Retrosheet crossed off the Forsches (Bob and Ken), the Deans (Dizzy and Daffy) and the Perezes (Pascual, Melido, and Carlos). But I did find that the Perrys (Jim and Gaylord) met: on July 3, 1973, Jim and the Tigers faced Gaylord and the Indians. Alas, no box score of the game is available via Retrosheet.
Still, we're up to 6. Does anybody know (and have confirmation of) the seventh duo? Bloggers are standing by.
I just returned from Tuesday night's Yankees-Orioles ballgame, a mercifully short, virtually split-squad affair for the Yanks. This, the second game of a day-night doubleheader against the Orioles clocked in at 2 hours, 12 minutes and was won by the Yanks 3-1, despite Enrique Wilson and Alex Arias (the middle infield of a future nightmare) batting 1-2 in the lineup. Most of the Yankee payroll--Alfonso Soriano, Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams, Jason Giambi, Jorge Posada, and Robin Ventura--rested, and those who played didn't work too many counts; John Vander Wal drew the game's first walk in the bottom of the 7th. Jeff Weaver scattered four hits over 8 innings, retiring 20 out of the last 21 batters (8 4 1 1 0 5) and threw only 102 pitches. Sidney Ponson went the distance for the Orioles, pitching like a man who deserved better than a team that had lost 15 of 16 playing behind him.
A year ago, September 10, 2001, I was at Yankee Stadium, snarfing down soggy hot dogs from under a rickety umbrella during a pregame thunderstorm. That game, against the Red Sox, was rained out before it even started, and my friend Nick and I merely wanted to finish our dinners before disembarking. We ate watching a young woman in a rain-sodden Nomar Garciaparra jersey dance in the six inches of water which accumlated in the front row Yankee Stadium's upper deck. Full of nitrates, I went home to write about Andy Pettitte.
The indelible image of Dancing Nomar Girl came back to mind the next morning, as I was surprised to be greeted by sunshine and clear blue sky leaving my apartment. Heading for the deli just down Second Avenue where I get my coffee, I saw thick, black smoke rising from downtown. In puzzlement, I listened as a man at the deli babbled something about "seeing the second plane hit" while a transistor radio broke news that the World Trade Center was on fire. It was 9:05 AM.
It's been a long year since then. The occasion of this anniversary provides us a moment to pause and remember those who lost their lives, to reflect on our own lives, and hopefully, to offer some closure as well. I was lucky enough not to have any friends or family directly affected by the 9/11 attacks, but everyone I know has been affected on some level. My own response has been to count my blessings on a routine basis, to remind those close to me of their importance in my life, to partake in a markedly more civil city than prior to 9/11, and to make an effort to savor each and every day. It's a simple prescription that has kept me upbeat, busy, and relatively happy in the face of my own anxieties--which, I'll wager, are pretty light compared to what some people in this city have faced.
Besides longer lines and heightened security at the airport, I notice the difference the most at sporting events. My trip to a World Series game (Game 3, the one where G.W. Bush threw out the first pitch) was a paranoid, disorganized fiasco which took two and a half hours to get from the subway entrance to my seat in Yankee Stadium. The Winter Olympics, only five months removed from 9/11, were an adventure in quelling a public's collective anxiety via a rather byzantine (but nonetheless effective) process. Everything since then is a joke, with the Yankees' ham-fistedness towards allowing certain items in the park while cracking down on others (those dangerous umbrellas, opaque plastic bags, and whatever will fit under a baseball cap!).
But what really galls me at Yankee Stadium is the Seventh Inning Stretch. The Yanks' entry in the mandatory patriotism sweepstakes is Kate Smith's war-horse rendition of "God Bless America, which is fine in and of itself. But it's juxtaposed with Eddie Layton's whimsical organ run through "Take Me Out To the Ballgame," which follows a mere 30 seconds later, and the sonic horror of "Cotton-Eyed Joe," which follows that, rendering the summoned patriotism banal and ridiculous.
For reason I've only just begun to fathom, I went to work the morning of September 11 (a more complete acccounting of my day up to a certain point is here). Fifteen minutes of watching the breaking news on CNN (no mention of terrorists yet), half my cup of coffee, and I was out the door, passing ambulances and fire trucks rushing downtown to the scene. No, there was no stopping me; I had appointments, I had deadlines, and I was on autopilot. The stupidity of what I was doing didn't hit me about halfway into my subway ride, when I noticed that several of the women on the train had been crying. People were scared. Why wasn't I?
In the several times I've recounted the day's events--to myself on the printed page or to anybody else who's listened--I've never come up with a satisfactory explanation for why I still went to work. But in retrospect, I think it was just a subconscious way of reminding myself that I was strong enough to keep going, and that my best contribution in the coming days would be to do just that. I had to summon a somewhat clinical resolve in the days shortly after, faced with deadlines for the 2002 World Almanac which involved designing layouts around photos of the tragedy and revising the book's cover (which I'd designed and delivered as final on Monday the 10th) to reflect events. That ordeal I've already written about.
Writing, both for this space and for myself, has helped me immensly in dealing with 9/11. By providing myself with a forum in which I could openly come to terms with it (in however roundabout a way), I allowed myself the space to process the day's events, and found the opportunity to remind myself of how lucky I'd been. I'm grateful for that, as I've been grateful for every single one of the past 365 days. Thank you for tuning in.
• The Twins Geek, John Bonnes, has a good little piece about the statistic OPS, a handy stat which stands for On Base Percentage + Slugging Percentage. OPS has over the past few years penetrated the consciousness of the baseball world, thanks mostly to the work of ESPN's Rob Neyer. It's to the point that even TV analysts and GMs (both generally much more resistant to new ways of thinking than the average baseball fan) even use it. OPS has found favor asmong statheads because it correlates very well with scoring--much better than simple Batting Average. Bonnes runs the numbers using runs per game over the past 10 years; OPS comes in at .956, which beats Batting Average's .824. Anyway, worth checking out.
• Baseball Prospectus' Gary Huckabay has a piece on how missing games due to strikes has had an impact on several players' Hall of Fame credentials. Among those significantly affected are Harold Baines, who probably would have topped 400 HRs and may have stuck around for a run at 3,000 hits; Bert Blyleven, who would have edged ever-closer to 300 wins and 5,000 strikeouts, Barry Bonds, for whom 70 games might mean the difference between catching Hank Aaron; and Ken Griffey Jr., who along with Matt Williams lost a shot at breaking Roger Maris' hallowed 61 HR record when 1994 went black. Also considered is Tim Raines' missing month in 1987 due to collusion (he wasn't offered a contract by any team at a time when he was possibly the best player in the National League, and so was prohibited from re-signing with the Expos until May 1). I still remember watching his mind-blowing May 2 debut that year--without the benefit of spring training, Raines went 4-for-5, tripling off of the Mets' David Cone on his first pitch and hitting a game-winning grand slam off of Jesse Orosco in the 10th.
• Unless you've been on another planet, you know that the A's have been on a roll. Not just with their recent 20-game winning streak, but everything they've accomplished over the past three seasons. Even we hard-hearted Yankee fans have admired them as they've pushed our team to the brink twice in the postseason. Avowed Yank fan Cecilia Tan writes of her own flirtation with the A's, consummated when she attended their AL-record tying 19th win in a row on Labor Day. "Yankees loyalists may call me Hester Prynne," writes Tan,"but I will wear my A proudly. At least until October."
• Speaking of winning streaks and record-tying, the A's brought back memories of the night I attented the Class A Pioneer League Salt Lake Trappers' 27th consecutive win in 1987, which tied the professional baseball record. The Trappers were an independent team partially owned by actor Bill Murray, who would occasionally show up and coach third base, much to the crowd's delight. They broke the 85-year-old record the night after I was there, and won one more before the streak ended at 29. So far as I know, the record still stands. The Salt Lake Tribune has a fond remembrance of the streak featuring a visit with then-Trappers' manager Jim Gilligan, who finds a parallel with Oakland's streak: "[T]he A's are doing it without a big budget, which is kind of how we did it in Salt Lake." Thanks to my Mom for the link.
