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.

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.

"Dear Mr. Fred Lynn"

Ah, 5th grade! King of the Hill. Top of the Heap. A Number One. Life was good at Latimer Lane School in Simsbury, CT. I had a cool teacher, Mr. Cashman who, along with the other 5th grade teacher, Mr. Stepanian, used to play kick ball with us at recess. We had a "bubble hockey" table in the classroom, a bunch of us boys formed an informal club that, all these years later, I can't recall if it revolved around yo-yo's or cool erasers on the ends of our pencils. Or maybe both. I discovered that it was OK to like girls. I acquired the nickname Wiggy. We got to listen to some kid's 45 record of "Brass Bonanza," aka the New England Whalers fight song, which on the B-side had an epic fight between the Whalers and the Minnesota Fighting Saints called by broadcaster Bob Neumeier.

Outside of school, I played Little League, on the Yankees. I was (and remain) a huge Red Sox fan, so I wasn't initially too excited to play on the namesake of my team's hated rivals. But all that really mattered was playing my favorite sport with so many of my friends. I also played baseball with my older brother, Steve, and my best friend, Pat, and his brothers. We played on the school's field, and used a tennis ball instead of a hardball, so none of us younger kids would get hurt when the older guys batted. I loved to play shortstop, imagining that I was Rick Burleson, aka Rooster, my favorite Sox player.

At some point during the 1975/76 school year, we were given an assignment to write a letter to somebody famous and request a signature or token of some sort. Although Burleson was my favorite Red Sox, I chose to write to Fred Lynn, who in 1975 became the first player to win the Rookie of the Year and Most Valuable Player awards in the same season, as center fielder for the Sox.

I don't recall how we obtained addresses for the people we wished to contact. These days, of course, it's easy to look up people and organizations online. Through some sort of educational sorcery, the teachers and librarians accessed the information. Wasn't hard to find the Red Sox front office address, I'm sure.

Let's pretend I have a copy of the letter that I mailed to Fred Lynn....

Dear Mr. Fred Lynn:

My name is Dave Brigham. I'm a 5th grader at Latimer Lane School in Simsbury, Connecticut. I have loved the Red Sox since I was born, because my brother and father like them. I play second base in Little League on the Yankees, but it's OK, because we're not very good. I watch your games whenever I can, which isn't often enough, because although cable TV has been around since the late 1940's, I have never heard of it and won't know of its glories and magnificence until the early '80s. In the meantime, I catch the occasional game on Channel 38, a UHF channel out of Boston that, through the miracle of science, arrives on my parents' black-and-white TV set in our rec room. But I digress.

A lot of times I listen to Sox games with my dad and/or brother, either at home or in the car as we travel around town or to such exotic vacation destinations as Cape Cod, New Hampshire's Flume Gorge and some YMCA camp in Torrington, CT, where some of my family got sick. Throw-up sick. Funny side story: once while we were at a swimming hole (do they have swimming holes where you're from?) in my town, my brother asked my dad if he could have the car keys so he could turn on the car radio and get the score of the Sox game. He turned the key to the right spot on the steering column and turned on the game, but somehow managed to bump the shifter into "neutral" and the car started rolling. Here's the funny part: I don't remember how this story ends, but everybody lives.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, can I have an autographed picture? You're awesome, you won the Rookie of the Year and Most Valuable Player awards. Sure, you and your teammates lost in one of the greatest World Series of all time, and taught me my first lesson in professional sports heartbreak, a lesson that I have a feeling I will learn again in 1978, 1986 and 2003, although I suspect at least two of those years won't be your fault.

So whatta ya say, Freddy Boy?

Sincerely,

Dave Brigham

I waited approximately 8,000 years for a reply from the Great Mister Lynn. In the meantime, I played hockey in the classroom, flag football outside (we had a league -- a LEAGUE! -- and I was on the champion Rams, which was QB'd by my buddy Tyler Brown), day-dreamed about Cathy Ruddy and found myself wondering whether the United States Bicentennial celebration in July would live up to the hype. I mean, think about it? How do you honor 200 years of revolution, industry, slavery, repugnant race relations, the likes of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Henry Ford, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the Greatest Generation, George Carlin, the guy who invented the beer ball and so many other things?

Finally, the day arrived! The postman strutted into Mr. Cashman's classroom like he owned the place, and started flinging envelopes at kids' heads and yelling, "Mail, suckah!"

I ripped open the delivery, wondering how Mr. Fred Lynn had managed to fit a glossy 8x11, signed photo of his famous face into such a small envelope. I quickly scanned the boilerplate mumbo-jumbo typed neatly on Red Sox letterhead.

Dear [Insert fan name here]:

Thank you for your correspondence.

Sincerely, [Insert name of sports organization].

At least there was a picture...of the whole team. With Fred Lynn's autograph...stamped on the lower right corner.

Despite being let down somewhat, I knew that Mr. Fred Lynn surely hand-picked the team photo -- heck, maybe he even TOOK the picture -- and no doubt would have signed it by hand if he wasn't concerned with injuring his throwing arm, but surely he flipped open the stamp pad, grasped the autograph stamp firmly in his left hand, firmly pressed it into the ink and brought it down with authority on the picture that was destined to travel the Mass. Pike from Boston all the way to my school in little old Simsbury, CT.

So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

Going On the DL

I'm having arthroscopic hip surgery tomorrow, and will be on crutches for as many as six weeks. I will also need physical therapy for roughly the same amount of time. So that translates to perhaps three months of being on the disabled list.

Yesterday I went for a four-mile walk, something I will miss in the next few months. I haven't been able to run in a long time, and my surgeon told me that since I'm not an elite 48-year-old runner, I shouldn't return to that activity. So I've been enjoying walking over the last several months, two or three times a week.

I walk along a path that for much of the time is adjacent to the Charles River. I really enjoy hearing the birds, seeing other walkers, runners, cyclists and kids playing along the banks. I've been monitoring the progress of a new apartment development behind the Stop & Shop.

Simple things like walking up and down the stairs, going to the grocery store and hanging out in the neighborhood will be much more difficult for the next several weeks. I won't be able to amble about taking photos as much, either, which is why I went out today and snapped a bunch of pictures in Chelsea, a small, blue collar city just north of Boston. I'll be posting pictures broken out into a few series on my other blog, The Backside of America, in the near future.

My brother and his family, along with my sister, will be visiting here two weeks after my operation. We plan on doing some things in Boston, but I'll have to take it easy, unfortunately. I'm hoping we can do a duck boat tour and a few other things that won't tax me too much.

I'm going to miss the annual golf tournament in my hometown that I attend every year -- another bummer. I'm going to miss going to a Red Sox game with Owen on August 1st.

And I have no idea how much better I'll feel after the surgery, recovery and therapy. At this point, I'm not even sure exactly what the surgeon will do. I know he'll be cleaning out some torn cartilage that's gumming up my hip. I don't believe he's repairing the tear, but it's conceivable that he will.

The doctor told me I won't be back to 100% at any point, so I don't know what that means. Will I be able to do four-mile walks, three times a week, and not feel the discomfort in my groin, hip and lower back that I often feel? Will I be able to play softball and run the bases a bit?

Only time will tell. What I do know, is that I'm gonna have plenty of time on my hands to post updates here, and to read books, and to write a short story that I promised my buddy Jim Corrigan for his next anthology. Stay tuned....

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.

Well, I Almost Got On the Field

I reported yesterday that I'd be stepping onto the Fenway Park diamond before today's Sox game, but alas only Owen and Beth got that opportunity (see August 15, 2011, "Chance of a Lifetime").

I hung out with Amelia while the two of them were on the field for a pre-game ceremony involving Beth's company. It was Amelia's first time at Fenway, which she enjoyed, especially the chocolate ice cream.



Owen had fun hanging with a few other kids while Beth did her corporate duty. He even got to meet Wally.






As for Beth, she made it to the big screen.

We all had fun, and our decision to leave after the 6th inning was a good one, as the score remained the same, Sox up 3-1, from that point on.

Chance of a Lifetime

Tomorrow, August 16, marks the the second time that I will set foot on the field at Fenway Park. The first time was in October 2002, during the Emerald Necklace Half Marathon. That was the first half marathon I ran, and certainly the most memorable. The race starts near Boston's Museum of Fine Arts and continues near Fenway. Because the Red Sox weren't in the playoffs that year, the course ran down Lansdowne Street, under Fenway's center field bleachers, and onto the warning track. We then ran all around the park on the track, including next to the Green Monstah. It was very cool.

Still, not as cool as I expect tomorrow's experience to be.

More details will follow, but in a nutshell, Beth is going to be the on-field representative for her company in a pre-game ceremony, and the kids and I get to tag along, and then stick around the for game. We'll be there for the first game, which starts at 1:35. Jon Lester (see above) will be pitching.

More details and pictures to follow.