Home Run Derby Final Result

I lost.

Now go read this.

Home Run Derby Final Result

Because I know you care, here's the wrap on my 2016 home run derby fantasy sports effort....

As I mentioned in July, my 15-man roster lost a man, Kyle Schwarber of the Chicago Cubs, just two games into the season (see July 5, 2016, "Home Run Derby Update"). Also this year, Lucas Duda of the New York Mets missed the lion's share of the season, and ended up with just 7 round-trippers.

So I essentially worked with a 13 1/4-man roster this year. But with one exception, the players I selected back in April turned out to be very good home run hitters. Whereas I'd taken some risks with my picks in 2015, this year I opted for more proven players, as I didn't want to finish in last place again (see April 3, 2016, "Picking a Winner").

Here's the breakdown of my team by division:

**American League East**

BALTIMORE ORIOLES:

ADAM JONES -- I like Jones; he's a solid power hitter. He hit 29 this year, two better than last season, which means, based on the rules of the derby, I can select him again next year, which I most likely will (you can't choose players who had 30 or more HR's the prior season).

MARK TRUMBO -- He hit more long balls than anyone in all of Major League Baseball, so I'm patting myself on the back for choosing him. His 47 is a career best, and more than twice as many as he hit last year. Can't take him in 2017, however.

BOSTON RED SOX

I'm embarrassed to say I made a big mistake not choosing anyone from my favorite team, the team I've loved since before I even knew what baseball was. Mookie Betts hit 18 last year, and was projected to hit only a few more this year. I don't recall what Hanley Ramirez and Jackie Bradley Jr. were predicted to hit, but I wasn't impressed enough to select them. As you know, Big Papi was ineligible due to having hit more than 30 long balls last year. Well, Betts ended up with 31; Bradley had 26 (so I'll pick him next year); Ramirez had 30, after hitting 19 last year in a miserable season. And the X Man, Xander Bogaerts, had 21, so I'll consider him in 2017 as well.

**American League Central**

DETROIT TIGERS:

MIGUEL CABRERA -- What a player Cabrera is: hits for power and average and only missed four games this year. His 38 homers tied his second-best output of his career.

JUSTIN UPTON -- He cranked it up in the second half to match his career-best at 31 big flies. He had only 8 back in July, and I've more or less written him off. With all the big hits that he and Cabrera had, though, they still couldn't blast the Tigers into the playoffs.

MINNESOTA TWINS:

MIGUEL SANO -- I wish he'd played in more than 116 games. With 25 home runs in 116 games, he was on pace to push the 30 mark. Still, I can't complain, other than about the fact that I didn't select his teammate, Brian Dozier, who belted 42 homers. He'll be in the running for my team next year.

**American League West**

HOUSTON ASTROS:

GEORGE SPRINGER -- He didn't hit for average all that well at .261, but with 29 homers, Springer just managed to beat the predicted 26-28. I'll probably choose him next year.

SEATTLE MARINERS:

KYLE SEAGER -- With a career high 30 home runs, Seager was a nice addition to my team.

**National League East**

MIAMI MARLINS:

GIANCARLO STANTON -- He played in 45 more games this year than last year, but hit the same number of homes runs: 27. I'm not complaining, but he was projected to hit between 40 and 45. OK, so I'm complaining. Next year? Maybe.

NEW YORK METS:

LUCAS DUDA -- He played only 47 games, and hit 7 home runs. Projections had him at 25-30. This was a big bummer.

PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES:

MAIKEL FRANCO -- He hit 25 long balls in his first full year, so there's a good chance I'll pick him next year.

**National League Central**

CHICAGO CUBS:

KRIS BRYANT -- He finished second in the National League, so I'm very happy.

KYLE SCHWARBER -- In 69 games in 2015, he hit 16 home runs. He was predicted to hit 25-27 this year. He suffered a season-ending injury in the second game this season. Thankfully, I was far from the only guy who picked him this year. In fact, the third place finisher in this year's derby was a fellow Schwarber-less team. Wait 'til next year....

CINCINNATI REDS:

JOEY VOTTO -- He had a somewhat slow start but ended up with 29, matching last year's total. He's 33, so I doubt I'll pick him next year, but I was pleasantly surprised with his production.

MILWAUKEE BREWERS:

CHRIS CARTER -- A career .218 hitter, he is nonetheless a big masher. He hit a career-high 41 this year, which put a big smile on his face.

**National League West**

LOS ANGELES DODGERS:

ADRIAN GONZALEZ -- At age 34, he can still hit (.285 this year/.290 career) for average, but his power dropped from 28 last year to 18 this year. He'll turn 35 shortly after the beginning of next season, so there's no way he's making my team.

BOTTOM LINE:

I finished either 11th or 12th, depending on whose numbers you believe. By my count, I came in 11th; by the tally of the league's commissioner, I finished in 12th. Somehow he misplaced three of my HR's, but of course he may have miscounted other competitors' numbers as well, so maybe I did come in 12th out of 45. Either way, it's way better than my last place finish in 2015.

For next year the commish is considering letting teams draft 16 players and using the top 15 results, to avoid a situation like this year when so many competitors lost a player -- Schwarber -- so early on and had in some cases little hope as the season progressed. I support that change. Until then....

If you've made it this far, here's your reward:

GO SOX!!!

Home Run Derby Update

The halfway point of the season seems like a good time to check in on my home run derby status. As regular readers will remember, back in the first week of April I posted my 15-man squad for the annual fantasy contest I take part in (see April 3, 2016, "Picking a Winner").

My wife's brother-in-law, Todd, runs the derby, and indicated at the outset that I had picked one of the most conservative teams, unlike in years past when I've gone with some risky picks and foregone obvious winners. Only the top three contenders finish in the money, and I knew I wasn't as geeky about analyzing my picks as some of the other guys are, but I felt confident I could finish in the Top 10. I'm thinking of my pride this year.

Three days into the season, however, one of my picks, the Cubs' Kyle Schwarber, was injured in an outfield collision. The next day, April 8, the team announced he had torn his ACL and LCL (and the heart out of my chest) and was done for the season. Great, I thought, I now have a 14-man roster. Of course, plenty of other guys in the derby also had Schwarber on their teams. I had to hope that the rest of my guys could out-perform the full rosters of those who hadn't picked the Cub outfielder/catcher, and that players on others' rosters whom I didn't have, would get injured (but not too badly, of course).

For most of the past 13 weeks I've stayed at or above the league average, ranging between 7 and 22 home runs per week. Let's break down my team:

**American League East**:

BALTIMORE ORIOLES:

ADAM JONES -- He was on my team last year and hit 27 home runs. After a slow start this year, he's ramped it up lately, with 16 round-trippers, putting him on pace to surpass last year, if he can stay healthy.

MARK TRUMBO -- Also on my team in 2015, he hit 22 big flies last year in 142 games. He has already passed that mark, with 24, leading the American League.

**American League Central**:

DETROIT TIGERS:

MIGUEL CABRERA -- Another returning player, Cabrera tallied 18 home runs last year while missing roughly a quarter of the season. He's at that number right now, which bodes well for the rest of the season.

JUSTIN UPTON -- Yet another guy from last year's squad, he's one of my biggest disappointments so far. He hit 26 taters last year and was projected to hit that many this year, but so far has only 8.

MINNESOTA TWINS:

MIGUEL SANO -- New to my team and only in his second year, Sano this week came off a long stint on the DL. His 18 home runs in 80 games last year were impressive; he was predicted to hit between 32 and 38 this year, but has only 12 so far.

**American League West**:

HOUSTON ASTROS:

GEORGE SPRINGER -- He was also on my team last year, but parked only 16, as he missed 60 games. He has 19 right now, which means he's got a great chance of surpassing the predicted 26-28 home runs this year.

SEATTLE MARINERS:

KYLE SEAGER -- I didn't know much about this guy, still don't, but he belted 26 homers last year. His 16 at this point means he could approach 30 this season.

**National League East**:

MIAMI MARLINS:

GIANCARLO STANTON -- So much talent here. He played in only 74 games last year, but still hit 27 dingers. He's young (26) and was projected to smash in the 40-45 range this season. If he's gonna do that, he's gotta ratchet it up, as he only has 15 right now, and is batting only .216.

NEW YORK METS:

LUCAS DUDA -- He missed 27 games last year and still hit 27 home runs. He's been on the DL for more than a month, and has 7 home runs. Predicted to hit 25-30 this year, Duda is more likely to be a 15-18 guy.

PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES:

MAIKEL FRANCO -- Never heard of this guy before this year, but I liked the fact that he hit 14 round-trippers last year in limited action. He's only 23, but hit 9 homers during spring training. He's cooled off a bit lately, but has lost 15 balls this season, so he's still on target to hit the two dozen or so that experts figured.

**National League Central**:

CHICAGO CUBS:

KRIS BRYANT -- Didn't choose him last year when just about everybody else did, and he hit 26 gopher balls. He's projected to hit at least 30, and with 24 already, I'd say he's likely to push 40.

KYLE SCHWARBER -- Out for the season. He's only 23 years old, but hit 16 round trippers last year in limited action. Baseball pundits had him in the 25-27 range this year. Wait 'til next year....

CINCINNATI REDS:

JOEY VOTTO -- He's not young --- 32 years old -- but hit 29 last year. After a somewhat slow start, he's picked up the pace lately and stands at 14 HR's. Still on target for two dozen or so.

MILWAUKEE BREWERS:

CHRIS CARTER He doesn't hit for average, but smashed 24 HR's last year. He has 20 this year, although he has slowed down of late. Likely to at least reach the 28-30 range predicted this season.

**National League West**:

LOS ANGELES DODGERS:

ADRIAN GONZALEZ -- Last, and also least, is the Cooler, so called by Dan Shaughnessy of the Boston Globe because "Gonzalez in [2010-2012 was] part of historic folds by the Padres, Red Sox, and Dodgers." I opted against him last year because of the bad taste in my mouth after his less-than-stellar tenure with the Red Sox. He hit 28 big flies last year, though, and was projected to hit 25-28 this year, so I chose him. Production to date: 6 home runs.

So, with 13 weeks down and 13 to go, I stand in 13th place out of 45, with 214 home runs. Unlucky 13? Perhaps. Maybe the second half of the year will fall apart for me; maybe one of my guys will take part in the home run derby and then see his numbers fall off in the second half.

I'm 20 home runs out of first place. Barring major injuries to players on the 12 teams in front of me that somehow don't affect me, I won't make up that distance. But I'm confident I won't drop all the way down either, as 35 round trippers separate me from the dungeon. Not bad for a guy who finished last in 2015, and who is fighting with one player tied behind my back. Stay tuned for another update or two the rest of the way.

Picking a Winner

I love baseball, and will root for the Red Sox this year even if they show signs of a bottom-of-the-American-League-East three-peat. I, however, declare that I won't finish in the basement for the second year in a row in the fantasy home run derby league I play in.

I was born and bred a baseball fan, specifically a Red Sox rooter. My older brother, Steve, and I played Little League and Babe Ruth ball. We also played a LOT of sandlot baseball with our friends. Pilgrimages to Fenway Park to see the Sox were always a special treat. We collected baseball cards; my brother modified many of them by stapling pieces of paper to the back documenting a player's current stats.

The legend in my family is that Steve learned to read at a young age by checking the Red Sox box scores in the Hartford Courant. He loved the team only a little bit more than he loved the statistics generated during a game. He used to play "finger baseball," in which he'd set up a field on the shag rug in our family room using little pieces of paper for bases, books laid on their sides for outfield walls, and a marble for a baseball. I believe he used Major League lineups right out of that day's newspaper. I, of course, set up my own field close by. I didn't have lineups or keep score, and usually got bored of the game long before he did.

When my brother got a little older, he started playing APBA Baseball with me and our friends. What's that? Never heard of APBA?

Watch this video and then come back.

While we're both still huge Sox fans, neither of us plays fantasy sports. I do, however, compete each year in a season-long home run derby. In this contest you choose 15 players from across both the American and National leagues who you believe will hit the most combined bombs. You can't select any player who had 30 or more round-trippers the prior year, and there are no replacements allowed due to injury, death or banishment.

Last year I had a few great performers (Chris Davis of the Orioles, 46; Josh Donaldson of the Blue Jays, 41; and the Diamondbacks' Paul Goldschmidt, 33), but too many mediocre guys (the Cardinals' Brandon Moss, 19; the Tigers' Miguel Cabrera, 18) and more duds than Wile E. Coyote (the Rockies' Corey Dickerson, 10; the White Sox' Adam LaRoche, 12; and the Cubs' Jorge Soler, 10).

Soler was a promising rookie, but not as highly regarded as Kris Bryant, who at the end of a terrific season was named National League Rookie of the Year. So why didn't I choose Bryant? Well, why don't you read what I wrote about this last year: September 15, 2015, "Dead Wrong."

This year I pledge, like George Costanza, to do The Opposite:

This means I won't choose a member of the Red Sox just because I love the team (*cough cough*, Mike Napoli). Mookie Betts is tempting, but I need someone projected to hit more than two dozen home runs, and he doesn't fit that bill. This also means being unafraid of jumping on somebody's bandwagon, such as Maikel Franco of the Phillies, who has hit eight home runs in 65 at-bats this spring, or the Twins' much-touted Byung Ho Park, an unproven big leaguer (in this country) who's projected to hit as many as 29 taters.

Doing The Opposite also stipulates that I shouldn't refuse to choose Adrian Gonzalez despite lingering feelings of his being a bad sport, and it means choosing Kris Bryant because he had 26 last year and I'm not above admitting I was an idiot in passing him over.

So who's on my list, the one that if nothing else, will keep me out of last place (I hope)?

**American League East**:

BALTIMORE ORIOLES:

ADAM JONES, who I chose last year and who paid off with 27 home runs. He missed 25 games last year with a back injury, so I have to hope he stays healthy.

MARK TRUMBO, who was also on my derby team in 2015. He hit 22 round trippers last year in 142 games. One projection has him hitting 30 this year.

**American League Central**:

DETROIT TIGERS:

MIGUEL CABRERA, who was on my team last year. He hit .338 but only tallied 18 home runs while missing roughly a quarter of the season. Projections are between 25 and 28 taters.

JUSTIN UPTON, yet another guy from last year's squad. He hit 26 and is projected to hit at least that many this year.

MINNESOTA TWINS:

MIGUEL SANO -- finally a new guy! He his 18 home runs in 80 games and is predicted to hit between 32 and 38.

**American League West**:

HOUSTON ASTROS:

GEORGE SPRINGER was also on my team last year, but parked only 16, as he missed 60 games. Predictions put him between 26 and 28 home runs this year.

SEATTLE MARINERS:

KYLE SEAGER, who hit 26 last year and is projected to hit roughly that amount this season.

**National League East**:

MIAMI MARLINS:

GIANCARLO STANTON played in only 74 games last year, but still hit 27 dingers. He's young (26) and is projected to smash in the 40-45 range.

NEW YORK METS:

LUCAS DUDA missed 27 games last year and hit 27 home runs. He could hit 25-30 this year.

PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES:

MAIKEL FRANCO is my dark horse. He's only 23 years old, and hit 14 homers last year in limited action. He hit 9 round trippers during spring training, and while he's only projected to hit in the 24 range, I'm banking on him surpassing that mark. Last year Kris Bryant nine bombs in spring training and I didn't choose him. I hope I chose right with Franco.

**National League Central**:

CHICAGO CUBS:

KRIS BRYANT, the guy I went against last year, hit 26 gopher balls. He's projected to hit at least 30.

KYLE SCHWARBER is only 23 years old, but hit 16 round trippers last year in limited action. Baseball pundits have him in the 25-27 range this year.

CINCINNATI REDS:

JOEY VOTTO is 32 years old, but hit 29 last year, and is seen as landing in the two dozen range this year.

MILWAUKEE BREWERS:

CHRIS CARTER smacked 24 taters last year and, if the numbers are right, will hit 28-30 this season.

**National League West**:

LOS ANGELES DODGERS:

ADRIAN GONZALEZ isn't young (34) but hit 28 big flies last year and is projected to hit 25-28 this year.

The season starts tonight. I'll update my progress occasionally, especially if I'm doing well.

Dead Wrong

Sometimes, I act a little too much like this guy:

Yes, Leonard "Lenny" Kosnowski, the Lone Wolf himself. Don't get me wrong: I like being alone to read and write, do crossword puzzles, listen to music and watch TV. I crave quietude. But too often I reject popular opinions or fads because I think I'm above such things. I'm not, but for some reason I like to give the impression that I can't be bothered with mania.

In high school, my good friend Andy was really into Elvis Costello. For a long period, whenever I was in his two-door Toyota station wagon (which looked sorta like this, and which on at least one occasion crossed north of the 100-m.p.h. mark on a late night in our sleepy hometown, but you couldn't prove it by me) he'd be cranking My Aim Is True, This Year's Model or Armed Forces. These albums were chock fulla great songs -- "(The Angels Wanna Wear) My Red Shoes," "Less Than Zero," "Pump It Up," "Lip Service," "Accidents Will Happen" and "Oliver's Army," to name just a few. Andy got our friend Bene (R.I.P.) into Costello and his band, the Attractions. So Bene would often blast the Artist Formerly Known as Declan Mcmanus as well.

And they'd sing along and rewind songs (yes, rewind, kids; this was the olden days) to hear favorite parts, and replay the same songs ad nauseam. They'd pound the steering wheel and dashboard, pretending they were Pete Thomas on the drums. I liked Elvis, sure, but I didn't want to hear his music so much. So, rather than join in the fun and just go with it, I'd give them shit about it.

"Why are you playing Elvis again? He's not even that good!"

Eventually we went to see him live, and he was terrific. And at some point, after their mania died down, I admitted to myself, and perhaps to my friends, that this Costello guy was pretty damn talented. I don't own a lot of his albums, but I have a few and really enjoy them.

I've had this contrarian reaction to plenty of other things in my life. My wife and her family decide to drink Dark 'n' Stormys during our annual Cape Cod vacation, and I opt for something, anything, different.

I bought a liter of Orange Crush and mixed it with vodka, dubbed it Orange Crash and pretended that it was just as good as their beverage.

At a family gathering, my family -- sister, brother, cousins, wife, kids -- were having a fantastic time playing Heads Up! on somebody's iPhone, howling with laughter as they acted out clues. Along with a few other folks, I was chilling in my sister's living room when the whole Heads Up! gang rushed into the room, insisting that I had to play.

I didn't react well. Not at all. I pulled the Grumpy Old Man and told them I didn't want to play, and that if I'd wanted to, I wouldn't have been hanging out in the quiet living room, would I?

They shrugged me off and went back to their fun. I felt like an idiot.

I'm an introvert, plain and simple. This doesn't mean that I don't like to have fun, but it does mean that I have a hard time joining large gatherings and being spontaneous. But my oppositional attitude is more than that. I want to be cool, to be the one who discovers an awesome thing, whether it's a band (I take at least a little credit, but none of the blame, for the popularity and longevity of the Flaming Lips) or a TV show ("American Gypsies," which turned out pretty stupid).

On those times when I follow the trends, I often get burned -- "Heroes," "Nashville" and the first season of "Glee," I'm talkin' 'bout you.

In the grand scheme of things, this quality of mine isn't a big deal. I joke about it. I'm comfortable with it for the most part.

This topic has been on mind a bit in the last few months, as I watch my fortunes fall in a fantasy home run derby contest run by my wife's brother-in-law.

The contest goes like this: before the MLB season starts, each person picks a team of 15 guys who he thinks will hit a ton of home runs during the season. You can't pick anyone who had 30 or more round-trippers the previous year. I've played three or four years now, and have never done all that well. I've had times during the season when I'm hanging in the Top 10 (there are usually between 25 and 40 competitors) but eventually I fade. I finished very close to the bottom a few years ago.

This year, like every year, I swore I was going to climb up the rankings by conducting exhaustive research into players, teams, power rankings, Fantasy Baseball listings, etc. I don't play regular Fantasy so I don't follow the game too much outside the Red Sox and the American League East.

But I put in the pre-season number crunching and scouting to see which older players might have some power left, which up-and-comers are gonna break out, and which superstars who were injured the prior year might be eligible this time around.

This year the big story of spring training across the league was Kris Bryant of the Chicago Cubs. A rookie, Bryant hit more home runs than anyone during pre-season. I had him on my radar, of course, but was also looking at one of his teammates, Jorge Soler. A rookie like Bryant, he was projected to do well and hit a fair number of home runs. But the odds-on favorite for biggest breakout star, and probably Rookie of the Year, was Bryant.

I went with Soler.

As of this writing, Soler has 7 long balls, and is injured. Bryant has 24 and is the awesome player everyone expected and most people, perhaps everyone, went with on their derby teams.

I thought I knew better. Just like I figured Mike Napoli's great spring training would translate over to the regular season, despite his being on the old side and never having hit more than 30 home runs, and that was four years ago.

With two and a half weeks in the season, I'm in last place. By a lot.

I was, as it turns out, dead wrong.

My Favorite Pastime

That's me up there, in 2009 before the last baseball game of my illustrious career. A teammate took that shot of me prior to our game in Cooperstown, aka the home of the Baseball Hall of Fame. I played in one game of a tournament on the same field where they filmed parts of "A League of Their Own." Known as Doubleday Field, the diamond was built in 1920 and has hosted games of all sorts, including some regular season Major League exhibition matches, throughout the years. I felt honored to play on the field, but bummed because my appearance there marked the end of a five-year period where I returned to hardball after 25 years away from my favorite sport.

I stopped playing because it just wasn't right for me to disappear for a summer's worth of Sundays when I had two young kids. When I returned to the game at age 40, my son, Owen, was three. Two years later, my daughter was born. After five years, I considered joining another league that played weeknights, but opted out after Owen decided he wanted to play Little League. I coached his team and didn't know if I could commit to night baseball while overseeing his team.

Prior to my five-year return to America's national pastime, I played softball for a few years with my wife, Beth, and her father, Rich. I really liked playing, but as I crept toward 40, I harkened back to my youth, and my favorite game: baseball. I played Little League and Babe Ruth for seven years, and sandlot baseball seemingly from birth until I went away to college. I was never much of a hitter, but I prided myself on my defense.

I made two All-Star teams, one in Little League and one in Babe Ruth. I have no problem telling you that the reason I made the Babe Ruth team was because my best friend's father coached the team.

All of this is a long way of telling you, my faithful follower(s?) that last night I got back on a softball field for the first time in more than a decade.

Recruited by a neighbor, I joined a team with the unfortunate name of Awesomesauce. The only time on a field I had before the game was a brief batting practice last weekend with two neighbors and one other teammate. Felt good to be out there, which made me excited for a game.

I had no idea how much I would play, or what position. Mostly, I thought about not hurting myself. Every season I played hardball I managed to tweak something: a hamstring, a quad, a groin. One year I got spiked and hobbled around for a few games afterward.

I went to the gym yesterday morning, focused on stretching, a bit of cardio and not too much strength work. And of course, I managed to tweak my left adductor muscle doing an exercise I should have been smart enough to avoid.

Last night was a cold one for softball, but I was happy to be at Hoyt Field in Cambridge, a diamond I never knew existed although it's only 15 minutes from home. My teammates are all nice, and the game started well with us scoring a bunch of runs. I knocked in a run with a single in my first at-bat. I made a few plays at shortstop, and knocked down a ball that prevented a run from scoring (although that run and a few others scored later in the inning).

Trouble came in my second time at the plate. I hit a grounder to third and had to hustle down the line. About halfway down the base path that tweaked muscle announced to me that I was perhaps a fool to be doing what I was doing. I limped across the bag a second after the ball hit the first baseman's mitt.

I played in the field again, and had one more at-bat, during which I hobbled around the bases and managed to score a run. By that time, however, our team was down by quite a few. We lost to a team with a lot of big hitters.

I'm bummed about the injury, but hoping I can nurse it along with stretching, Advil, whiskey and taking myself out of the action a bit more. I had surgery two years ago to clean out torn cartilage in my left hip. My hip/lower back/upper leg nexus are weak and aren't gonna get any better. My right hip has begun to feel sore lately. If I can't play more than a few games this season, that'll be it for me.

It sucks that the older we get, the harder we have to work to do something as simple and fun as play softball. Last night I watched balls fly over my head, deep into left field, and thought, "Man, five years ago I could've run that ball down." My father-in-law played softball well into his 60s, and many of the guys from my hardball team are still chugging along well into their 50s and 60s, so hope is alive in them.

I know, I know. Sounds like I'm making too much of an injury. But it's a nagging one that has plagued me off and on for quite some time, and there's nothing I can do to make it better. Rest, stretch, baby it a bit. Maybe look into hip replacement or bionic adductor surgery....

Baseball is back....

It's been a long winter, and although spring has sprung, it hasn't brought very warm temperatures to Boston this week. But that's OK, because it's Opening Day!

One of my favorite memories of going to Fenway Park is the game that Beth and I attended with Owen and my dad in 2009 (see picture above). A friend of mine from college handed over tickets (free of charge!) to the State Street Pavilion. We had great seats along the third base line, didn't have to deal with huge crowds for food and beer and honestly I don't remember if the Sox won (I think they did) but it was just so cool to be there with three generations of Sox lovers.

My dad passed away a year ago today, the day after my 49th birthday. Those few days in the hospital with him and my family were the toughest of my life. I'm thinking of him today and remembering all the times we played baseball, listened and watched the Sox, both on TV and in person, and just enjoyed the simplicity of soaking in our favorite sport.

Running on Empty

I ran all the time as a kid -- on the baseball diamond, the football field (which were the same patches of grass at the school next to my house), the street hockey rink (?), at recess. But it wasn't until I was in college that the thought occurred to me of running for no other reason than to stay fit.

Even then, I didn't stick with it. I would run occasionally during the summer, and lift some weights and do push-ups and sit-ups, but I never stuck with it during those years.

I always wanted to be one of those people who ran year-round, no matter what the weather, or how sick or hungover I was. I wanted to have those tight calves and the lung capacity of a horse.

After college, I hiked, went on walks or rode my mountain bike every so often, but I didn't run for many years. After I got married I did a little bit of running, but then in April 1998, seven months after my wedding, I ruptured my Achilles tendon.

Six months after undergoing surgery and rehab, I decided to try running again, but I decided to commit myself to it a little more. The first time I went out, I barely made it half a mile before I had to stop for fear my lungs were going to expel themselves out of the top of my head.

I kept at it, and before too long I was regularly going a few miles, a few times a week. I even had favorite running gear for the colder days: a white sweatshirt that my Uncle George had given me as a Secret Santa gift a few years before. It said "Be alert. The world needs more lerts" on it. I wore it inside-out.

I can't say I ran regularly through the winter, but I definitely stuck with it, on and off, for the longest I'd ever done it. In 2000, Beth and I bought our first house, in Boston's West Roxbury neighborhood, and I continued to run.

In April 2001, I ran my first road race, a 10K in Dedham, Mass., called the James Joyce Ramble. I ran with my buddy Dave, a seasoned runner. Along the course at random points, there were kids doing Irish step dancing, and people dressed in period costumes reading from James Joyce books. It was a great time. After the race, Dave took care of me, fetching me a beer and a donut.

I became enamored of running and doing races. I ran a few 5K's, and then decided to try a half marathon, slated for October 2002.

I ramped up my runs through the late summer and into the fall, and felt good. I knew I should do some sort of cross training or strength training, but I didn't. I finished the half marathon in just under two hours, which I was excited about.

I ran that same race, the BAA Half Marathon, the next two years, and did pretty well. I ran the Ramble and other, shorter races in the next few years.

In 2005, when I turned 40, I decided I'd had enough of the softball I'd been playing for a few years, and give baseball a shot. I'd played Little League and Babe Ruth for seven years, and really missed hardball action.

I played for four years and had a great time, but I managed to injure something each year. The first year it was my groin/abductor muscles. Over those few years I also had hamstring, quad and more groin issues.

I did some physical therapy after the first injury, and strength training on my own at the YMCA off and on during those years. I continued to run on a somewhat regular basis.

I stopped playing baseball in 2009 because it was taking too much time from my family on Sundays in the summer. I got into a more regular running groove, and decided that, after several years off, I would run another half marathon.

I heard about a new race, the Chilly Half Marathon, being run right in my town, Newton, in November. I decided to train for it.

Once again, I had little problem extending my runs. I got up to between 11 and 12 miles a few weeks before the race, then tapered off. I thought about strength training, but didn't do it.

My first Chilly went very well. The weather was cool and I ran a pretty good time, somewhere right around two hours, although I don't remember if it was just under or just over.

In 2011 I decided to run the race again. And once again I blew off any kind of cross training and strength work. The training went pretty well, although I began to feel the miles in my left quad.

I finished the race but was pretty sore and stiff by the end. The pain and discomfort lingered for a few weeks, so I took a break from running. In addition to my quad, I was feeling pain in my groin and weakness just above my left knee.

I found myself wishing that I'd done some strength training.

Over the next several months I alternated between resting or going for walks, and testing things out by going for runs of two or three miles. There were times when I didn't feel much, if any, pain during and after a run, and I was encouraged. Other times, however, I made it only a mile or so before I had to walk, with a bit of a limp.

Finally, last fall I went to my primary care doctor for a physical, which I was overdue for anyway. He said I was in good health, but that my running career was probably over.

I decided I needed a more informed opinion, so I contacted a sports medicine practice. The orthopedist didn't see anything in my x-ray, so he prescribed six weeks of physical therapy.

The therapist theorized that I had a hip condition, although my groin was giving me the most trouble. After six weeks, I realized that not only was my groin not improving, but my hip and back were feeling worse.

Back to the orthopedist, who said I needed to get an MRI. Two weeks after I did so, I returned to his office and he told me I had a tear in my left hip labrum, and that he was sending me to a surgeon.

That guy took a look at the MRI, concurred with the torn labrum, and gave me the low-down on surgery and recovery. Unfortunately, I'll be on crutches up to six weeks after the July 25th surgery. And then I'll need more PT. When I asked the doctor if I'd be able to return to running at some point, he said, "If you were an elite 48-year-old runner, I'd say yes. For the rest of us, however, we need to do something new."

I've been walking two or three times a week for a while now, and while I have some discomfort afterwards, it's manageable. So walking is a post-surgery option. But I don't get enough of a cardiac workout doing that. Swimming seems like a good option, but I know it'll take a long time to build up to a point where I don't hate it.

Biking? I'll have to talk to the doctor and therapist about it.

If you've made it this far, congratulations. Here's a Jackson Browne song that I don't like that much, but which is sorta appropriate:

Swing, Batter!

I love spring, especially when it's accompanied by a decent Red Sox team.

Baseball is my favorite sport. I played Little League and Babe Ruth as a kid, as well as countless pick-up games with my older brother and anywhere from one to six of the Keegan brothers who were our best friends growing up. The boys ranged in age from 3 years younger than me to 10 or 12 years older.

On the cusp of turning 40, I decided to try playing again, after 25 years away. I tried out for an over-40 league in Boston, got picked for a team based out of Quincy, and for the next five years had a great time reliving my youth. Sure, I got hurt a few times, and my team wasn't that good, but I had a blast.

I left baseball behind when my son, Owen, decided he might want to try Little League. He and I had been playing quite a bit of front-yard whiffle ball at that point, and I told him he should make the move to baseball.

He was unsure, though, until I told him I would help coach his team. So, in the spring of 2010, he made his debut on the diamond, and I made my debut behind the bench.

I co-coached with a great guy named Bruce, and between the two of us, along with a handful of helpful dads, we had a fun and somewhat productive season. I couldn't have been happier that Owen was playing alongside some of his friends. It just felt good to be out there on the field, teaching the game to a new generation.

Owen skipped summer ball that year, but played in the fall. There are fewer teams for fall ball, which meant there wasn't one for me to coach. Owen landed on a team helmed by the fathers of two of his classmates. I was more than happy to watch from the sidelines. Owen struggled at the plate, but made some plays in the field and had a good time.

He played again in the spring of 2011, once again coached by other dads. His interest was flagging, but he stuck with it. He and I continued to play whiffle ball in the yard.

He decided to try summer ball that year, and once again I offered that I would help coach. As it turned out, I ended up as head coach, which wasn't the position I was hoping for. I knew Owen's interest was a bit low, so I'd wanted to just help out, in case he decided to drop out.

Two dads whom I'd never met before coached the first two games, because we were on vacation. After that, either one or both of them showed up to help out. Our team was definitely a bit like the Bad News Bears. Some of the kids had never played baseball before; others, like Owen, weren't that into it. And a few enjoyed playing, but would whine and complain if they didn't get to pitch, or play the position they wanted.

We had one girl on our team, and like in "Bad News Bears," she was one of our best players. She only played half the season, however, before going away for the summer.

The season ended on a low note, as I couldn't get Owen to attend the final game with me, and we only had 6 or 7 players.

It's been almost two years since Owen last played baseball. But we have continued, somewhat regularly, to play whiffle ball in our front yard. This season, the dynamics have shifted.

Owen, who's almost 11, has gotten bigger and stronger, and can now pummel most of the pitches I throw. Granted, I'm not bringing my "A game" from the mound, but it's cool to see him getting better.

We've also been joined by a few neighborhood kids, which means that I often get to take a break and hang out with adults in the neighborhood.

A few weeks ago, after playing with a few of these kids, Owen said to me, "We should have a neighborhood whiffle ball game."

"What a great idea!" I told him. So we sent out an Evite, and this Sunday we'll gather on a field at a former school across the street from our neighborhood, and play with kids and grown-ups from our road and nearby streets.

I'll admit that I was bummed when Owen lost interest in playing baseball. I envisioned going to his games, eating snack shack burgers and commiserating with the other parents about how the team was doing. I imagined watching him develop into a better player, having loads of fun and learning about teamwork.

But that didn't happen.

He likes whiffle ball, and watching the Red Sox with me, both of which are great things, especially since I know it won't be long before he moves on from these as well.

I'm just so proud of him for coming up with the idea for a neighborhood game. He worked with me on picking an Evite template, and putting together the invite list. He's got ideas about how the game should go, and he's excited by all of it.

He's growing up, which I find both exciting and frightening (because it means I'm getting old). While baseball didn't turn out to be the sport he wants to play, he has been taking part in a youth track club at the YMCA, so maybe that's something he'll pursue.

No matter which direction he goes, I'll be right behind him. Just one more thing....

...PLAY BALL!

Play ball!

This is Owen at his first Red Sox game, in September 2009, when he was 7. The good guys beat the Orioles, 10-0, behind six home runs (five of which we saw before heading home late in the game). We went with Owen's friend Zoe and her dad, Dave, who had the tickets. It was a beautiful night and a great milestone in a kid's life.

I don't remember my first Sox game, but I know I was younger than 7. I'm pretty sure Jim Lonborg pitched, although honestly he might have pitched in another game (or two) that I attended. My family used to go to Fenway once or twice a season when I was a kid. Sometimes we'd go to a nearby Brigham's to get ice cream and branded drinking glasses, a few of which my parents still have.

To this day, the certain combination of freshly mown grass, grilled meats and cigar smoke takes me back to Fenway Park, circa 1972. Always has, always will.

There's nothing like the feeling of walking up the ramp from inside the park and getting your first view of the greener-than-green field, the Green Monster, Pesky's pole, the players SO CLOSE to the crowd. I still get a rush of adrenalin and excitement when I do it today, after countless games.

So here's to another Red Sox season. There will be frustrations, glories, heartbreaks, annoyances, thrills, chills, spills and no shortage of yelling at the TV. But I love it, no matter what.

Wish I could be there!

What's In a Nickname?

During my childhood, I had two favorite Red Sox players: George "Boomer" Scott and Rick "Rooster" Burleson. They couldn't have been less alike, both physically and attitudinally. A first baseman, Scott stood 6'2", weighed 200 lbs., and was known for his good sense of humor. He's black. Burleson, a shortstop, was 5'10", weighed 165 lbs., and was a very intense player. He's white.

What they had in common other than my loyalty and their service to the Sox, was terrific nicknames.

Other Sox players of the '70s had cool tags, as well. Carlton "Pudge" Fisk, Bill "The Spaceman" Lee, Dwight "Dewey" Evans. Of course, every team at that time, and going back to the start of baseball in this country, had players with colorful handles.

A quick, completely random rundown of nicknames: Edward "Whitey" Ford, Robert "Lefty" Grove, George "Babe" Ruth, Jay "Dizzy" Dean, Paul "Daffy" Dean, Elijah "Pumpsie" Green, Phil "Scooter" Rizzuto, Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd, James "Cool Papa" Bell, "Hammerin'" Hank Aaron, Lawrence "Yogi" Berra, Orlando "Baby Bull" Cepeda, Richard "Goose" Gossage, Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, Frank "Tug" McGraw, Johnny "Blue Moon" Odom.

There are many more, of course.

Many, although not all, of those nicknames date back at least 20 years. The heyday of baseball nicknames pretty much ended by the '80s.

Who do we have today?

There are players with nicknames today, and in recent years, but for the most part they pale when compared to the more colorful handles of the past.

Some pretty good nicknames in recent years: David "Big Papi" Ortiz, Covelli "Coco" Crisp, Charles "Chili" Davis, Randy "Big Unit" Johnson, Rich "El Guapo" Garces.

Largely, though, the names are unimaginative: Alex "A-Rod" Rodriguez, Larry "Chipper" Jones, (Insert First Name Here) "Gonzo" Gonzalez, Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, Carsten Charles "CC" Sabathia.

Take a look at this list of baseball nicknames. Plenty of guys playing today have nicknames, but for the most part they're not well known or part of the culture. While these names -- take, Dustin "Pedey" Pedroia, for example -- are used locally and by fellow players, they are unknown in the wider audience and the media. To national broadcasters, Pedroia is just "Pedroia."

I suspect the situation is the same in other sports. What happened to cool baseball nicknames?

I suspect the primary reason is that few players have loyalty to a team or city any more. Damn free agency! With a few notable exceptions -- recently retired Red Sox Tim "Wake" Wakefield and Jason "Tek" Varitek to name a few -- players don't spend more than a handful of years on the same team any more.

Instead, they travel from one team to the next, seeking out more money and "respect." Baseball is, of course, a business. So why shouldn't players get the most money they can during what for most of them is a brief career? I can't say I blame them. If some family dangled $15 million a year in front of me so I could be their stay-at-home dad...wait, that's not a good analogy.

I don't know who bestowed nicknames on players of yore. Probably sports writers were responsible for many of the colorful appellations. Lots of column inches to fill, no competition from radio, TV or the Internet. Go crazy and start naming guys!

It's definitely a guy thing to do even if you're not a sports writer. I had several nicknames from grade school on through college, all of them bestowed by male friends or acquaintances: Digem, Briggy, Wiggy, Blotto, Dietrich.

Even after college I had a few nicknames: some guys I worked with at a factory called me John Boy; the first year I played over-40 baseball a few guys called me Scoop.

I miss nicknames. Heck, there aren't even any good Mafia nicknames anymore. Where have all the good nicknames gone? The rap community (Wiz Khalifa), roller derby (Kiss 'n' Vinegar), drag queens (Isabel Ringin), reality TV (Snooki), electronic musicians (Skrillex), ranters on Internet message boards (a**hole1776). I bet Boomer Scott, who just turned 68 last week, could take on all of those guys and whip 'em all on the diamond, with one hand tied behind his back.

I'd like to watch him try.

Thanks to my buddy Ray for spurring me on with this idea. Check out his band, Powderhouse, here.

Planes, Trains & Automobiles

I found myself thinking about the John Candy/Steve Martin comedy vehicle "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" this past weekend during a quick trip to D.C. to see a Nationals game with my brother, Steve, and sister, Beth. No, I didn't have to share a room with a sweaty shower curtain ring salesman who had his hands between my "pillows."

But the trip didn't go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped.

The plan: leave Boston at 3:40, meet my sister at BWI Airport, hop in a rental car, drive to the Greenbelt Metro station and ride into D.C. to meet my brother, who lives in Maryland, and works in the capital. This is the third year that the three of us have gotten together for a siblings-only trip. Two years ago they met me in Cooperstown to tour the Baseball Hall of Fame. Unfortunately, they couldn't stick around the next day to watch me play on the Hall's field with my over-40 team.

Last year, to celebrate my sister's 50th birthday, we gathered at Fenway Park for a Sox game. We hung out during a rain delay and ate at the park, a fate that we feared we might face again this year, based on the D.C. forecast for last Friday.

The weather turned out fine, but unfortunately my sister and I didn't arrive at the park until the 4th inning. My flight was delayed nearly an hour, so I didn't arrive at BWI until nearly 6:00. By the time my sister and I rode the rental car shuttle, waited in line at Enterprise, filled out paper work and hit the road, it was about 6:30.

My brother had suggested we drive to Greenbelt and ride the train, instead of trying to find parking in D.C. near the park. The drive to the station went relatively smoothly. We parked, got our tickets and went up to the platform.

We had to wait close to 10 minutes for the train, but were happy once it arrived. By this time, the game had begun, but we figured we'd be on the train for about 30 minutes and be at the game by about 7:45 or so.

The train cruised to the College Park stop as my sister and I chatted about the Red Sox, the Nationals, what else we had planned for the weekend, blah blah blah. Then, between College Park and Prince George's Plaza, the train got all herky jerky.

Then it stopped completely. Several times, the driver tried to get it moving, but it wouldn't go far before it came to a halt again. Then we sat for a few minutes, having no idea what was going on. After a few minutes, we got going pretty well and pulled into the station. But then the driver announced we had to debark and wait for another train.

So we got off, and waited on the platform for a few minutes, glad the rain we'd been expecting was holding off. After a few more minutes, an announcement came over the P.A. telling us to cross up and over the tracks to the other side, where a train would arrive in a few minutes.

Everybody walked to the other side, where we waited a few more minutes before a train arrived. Finally, we were on our way, seemingly at super-sonic speed. I tell ya, those Metro trains can HAUL!

Still, we had 11 stops to go before Navy Yard. By the time we traveled through all those stations and got up and out of the station, it was almost 8:30. We got to the game, met my brother, stuffed our faces with hot dogs, fries, chili, ice cream and beer and watched the Nationals try, but fail, to overcome a 6-1 deficit.

The park is nice; our left-field bleachers seats afforded a pretty good view. The game was fun, even though I didn't know many players and had no concern of the outcome. I was glad to have finally arrived, and to be hanging out with my brother and sister. We had a lot of laughs during the game, and on the way back to Greenbelt and during the drive from the Metro station to my brother's house in Bowie.

We chatted for about an hour before hitting the hay around midnight. The next day I had a fun breakfast with my sister, and my brother and his family: his wife, Tonya, and my niece, Grace, and nephew, Isaiah. After breakfast, my sister and I gave Isaiah his presents for his third birthday, which was Sunday.

Shortly after that, I had to head back to the airport, while the rest of them were off to Grace and Isaiah's soccer games.

A short trip, made shorter by the failings of two transportation modes, but all in all, a good time.

Put Me In, Coach

(I love this picture. This is Owen's fall 2010 team, which I didn't coach, but which I enjoyed watching immensely.)

I love baseball. I loved playing as a kid and a teenager. I loved playing as a grown-up, from age 40 to 44. I love watching the Red Sox. I mourn baseball during the winter.

But I'm conflicted about coaching. In the first draft of this post (yes, I'm a journalist at heart), I went on about how coaching Owen's team this summer has been a bit of a pain in the ass. Then I read through it and thought I was being a bit of a drag, so I set to rewriting it.

Then, came the latest agonizing, I-need-a-beer-immediately-after-this-game kind of a game. And now I realize that if Owen continues to play baseball next spring (he's taking this fall off, after having played three seasons in a row), I won't be coaching. Over are my days of keeping score, telling kids repeatedly to keep their eyes on the batter, and reminding each and every kid that they won't get a hit if they don't swing the bat.

I tip my hat to those with the combination of patience, empathy and discipline to wrangle kids, teach them the basics, encourage them to have fun and let them know that the world won't end if they lose a game or don't get to pitch.

Don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed coaching. First of all, my presence behind the bench makes Owen feel more comfortable than if another coach is there. He's a shy kid on the bench, and I think my being there helps him relax a bit. I like being there with him, just as I felt good when my dad helped coach my Little League team.

Secondly, I enjoy watching a kid get his first hit, or make a really great play, or whoop it up when he (or she; we had a girl on the team for the first half of the season) scores a run. I make it a point to congratulate kids on all the good things they do, while also making sure I point out as best I can where they can do better. It's hard to get information into their heads during the game; that's what practices are for, but we don't have those in the summer.

Owen's teammates are good kids. Each one of them had at least a few good moments during this short season (we've played seven games; we've got one more next week). Sure, they lose focus more than I'd like, and they hector (I love that word) me about pitching or catching or batting first more than they should. But they're 7- to 9-year-olds and that's what they do.

And I signed up for this, so I can't complain (too much).

But it sure can be tedious. The kids have a hard time focusing, probably because most of them have been in camp all day. So when they're in the field, I spend a lot of time reminding them to keep their eyes on the batter, or to get their gloves off their heads. Because there aren't any practices, I'm constantly yelling out to them what the situation is, i.e., runner on first, one out, play it to second, tag the base. Two of the kids had never played organized baseball before this summer, so they don't always know what to do, or where to be.

I recruited two dads (Thank God!) from the team to help, so they take part in this, too.

When we're at bat, it's more of the same. Reminding each kid to keep his eye on the ball, swing hard, keep your back foot planted. When they're on base, we spend a lot of time telling them the number of outs, run if it's on the ground and go part way if it's in the air (unless there are two outs).

Yes, I know, this is what coaching is. And for the most part I enjoy it. But this is all done on two feet; there's no sitting down. God, I sound old, don't I? Anyway, the games are slow, because most of these kids (at least on our team) are just learning to pitch, so there are a lot of walks. In an effort to keep the free passes to a minimum, the league instituted a rule by which if a pitcher walks two kids in an inning, and throws four balls to a third kid, that batter is then pitched to by one of his coaches, until he gets a hit or strikes out.

Our penultimate game was a tough one. One of the kids refused to take the field if I didn't let him pitch. I told him I needed him in a different position, and then his mother and I spent about five minutes cajoling him into taking the field so the inning could start.

Later in the game, another kid got very upset because he hadn't pitched in as many games as his brother, and this was their last game, and it wasn't fair, in his view. I assured him he'd done a great job in the field, and that's where I needed him. His father is one of the assistant coaches, and helped smooth things over. Still, I never thought I'd be so exhausted and exasperated during a three-inning Little League game.

We've only got one more game, and Owen's not planning on playing in the fall, so before you know it I'll be complaining that I miss coaching Little League. Because I love baseball.