Velcro Vernacular

Last night, Bobby and the crew left Colorado with a mission:

Selling some robots.

I imagine it went a little something . . . like this:

Bob Geren: Huston! Huston!!

Huston Street: Yah, coach?

Bob Geren: Tell Billy that if he gets a centerfielder to be sure it speaks Stoner.

Huston Street: It looks like we don’t have much of a choice, but I’ll remind him.

(Huston walks over to Billy, who is examining a motley crew of our expendable players, lined up in front of our sandcrawler private jet.)

Billy Beane: (Glances at Langerhans) I have no need for an outfielder who can’t hit.

Langerhans: Sir — not in an environment such as this — that’s why I’ve also been programmed for over thirty defensive functions that . . .

Billy Beane: What I really need is a centerfielder who understands the language of the stoners I’ve got in my outfield.

Langerhans: Sir, my first major league job was working alongside Andruw Jones!

Billy Beane: And that relates how?

Langerhans: Why do you think he’s smiling all the time?

Billy Beane: Maybe he’s just happy.

Langerhans: He’s also afraid of frogs.

Billy Beane: I see. (turns to Bobby) I’ll take this one. And that one, too (points to Woodward). Huston, take these two down to the clubhouse. I want both of them greasy and unshaven before Tuesday’s game.

Huston: But I was going to drive down to San Francisco to go to yoga class with Zito!!

Billy Beane: You can waste time with the other hippies when your chores are done! Now come on, get to it!

(Bobby and Billy begin to negotiate. Billy takes a few bucks out of his pocket, and Huston walks toward the homestead Coliseum with Langerhans and Woodward. Smoke starts pouring out of Woodward.)

Huston: Billy!! This utility infielder . . . sucks!! Look!

Billy Beane: (To Bobby) Hey, what are you trying to push on me??

Bobby: (Incomprehensible fussing)

Langerhans: (Points to Orr) Excuse me, sir, but that utility infielder is in prime condition! A real bargain.

Orr: (Whistles and beeps in excitement)

Billy Beane: Uh. No thanks.

And so Langerhans heads off into the night, toward his new home:

Who knew Langerhans could ride a camel? I guess that’s how it works out in California. Don’t worry, Langy, your new home looks a lot more hospitable in the light of day:

Well, sort of. Enjoy starting in centerfield and trying to figure out American League pitching — should be interesting! I think a change of atmosphere can only do him good.

Someone has got to please please please make me a video of Heap’s reaction to Frenchy’s catch. That sucker is going right into the Heap & Frenchy’s All Time Greatest Hits library. Which is basically my hard drive. I could just kiss whoever decided to include that in the broadcast, I swear.

Otherwise, shit. Time to go out for a drink, I’ll tell you what.

This quote about Scooter is the most I’ve ever heard from Rent, in post-game or otherwise:

“He’s getting more fastballs to hit because of me,” joked Renteria. “He always had a good swing. And me and Chipper and the guys behind him get to see more pitches because Kelly takes a lot of them. It helps us a lot when a leadoff guy does that, lets us see what the pitcher’s got.

“Kelly and me are getting on base for Chipper, that’s what we try to do. It’s a lot different when Chipper [is in the lineup]. When he’s in there, pitchers know if they try to [mess] with me, Chipper’s going to get them.”

I would kill to hear the uncensored audio. Fuck with the top of our order and you’ll be hearing from Larry. Damn straight.

Now we get to see how Davies fares in Colorado. And it’s Sunday, and I only have one beer left. Could be a long game — here’s hoping our offense shows up for him. Everyone looked good last night, with the exception of Thor and Heap. Maybe slumping along with Heap will help inspire Thor to eventual greatness. As for Langerhans, I’ve got nothing more to say. Astound me, Ryan.

Pretty enjoyable game last night, despite the tense ninth inning. Interesting how Wicky knew he didn’t have his stuff, looked into the dugout and swiped a hand across his neck like a signal that he needed to come out. At least he’s conscious of it, I guess.

Why did the trainer run out to Chuckie right before he started giving up hits in the sixth? That made me a little nervous, but it seemed like everything turned out alright. Thank God for Frenchy’s catch, anyway. Here’s a delightful image from the official site’s writeup:

As Jeff Francoeur sat on a couch in the Braves clubhouse after his game-saving catch preserved a 9-7 victory over the Colorado Rockies on Friday, Tim Hudson squeezed his way through a cluster of reporters, bestowed a bottled water and a spare rib on the young right fielder, and posed a question of his own:

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir, while you sit on your throne?”

I’d love to think that this is how Frenchy typically conducts his post-game press, or at least that this is how he gets when he’s feeling especially proud of himself: feet propped up, sitting back on a couch, eating spare ribs, picking his teeth, grinning smugly, and saying things like:

“Considering the situation — the way things ended the other night, and now [this game], yeah, that was one of my better catches. You like to do something to help out.”

Then he winks at Katy Temple and snaps his fingers at Huddy, asking for more ribs.

Oh, and hey! Wilson got three hits! I guess that’s what happens when you’re basically playing ball in an alien atmosphere on another planet, or maybe he’s actually coming around. That would certainly be nice.

The news that Smoltz signed a contract extension is not exactly surprising, but it’s definitely a comfort. I really admire him for staying with one team throughout his entire career, and I admire the Braves for being the type of organization that makes players want to stay. I hope it starts happening more often. Smoltzy’s final contract makes me wonder why he stayed while Maddux and Glavine didn’t. Did the move to the bullpen have something to do with it? Was it just a money thing for Glavine, just a Cubs thing for Maddux? Why don’t more players stay loyal to teams who treat them well? Money, obviously, but is there anything major league baseball could do to change that, and should they even want to?

There was a post about this in Alyssa Milano’s baseball blog recently (shut up, it was linked from Fire Joe Morgan). She talks specifically about how losing a free agent to another team can hurt a team’s female fan base. Are women that much more player-oriented? I hate to make a blanket statement, but a lot of the female fans I’ve encountered do seem to get more attached to specific players than male fans do. I personally became a baseball fan by watching my brother’s little league games, and grew up caring more about those games than major league baseball, though I followed that, too. I learned about and came to love the game while watching people I cared about playing it, so I’ve always needed to be invested in players’ personal struggles and victories in order to really care about a team.

Seeing free agents leave teams has affected my interest in the past. Maddux was the one who really killed me. I didn’t watch much baseball in 2004 or most of 2005, but it wasn’t some conscious decision I made out of anger, I just lost that obsessive interest I’d once had. I continued to follow the Braves casually, and didn’t really get back into it until the end of 2005 when the Heap and Frenchy era began. My loyalty has really always been to teams first, though I do get wistful when I hear the names of guys who’ve left the Braves mentioned. And there are some players I’ve always liked regardless of team; I still love Moises Alou, even as a Met, though I can’t really root for him anymore. It’s complicated.

Milano wonders if less free agent team-jumping would bring in more female fans. I’m not sure, but I do think women approach the game differently as fans. If something (God forbid) happened to Heap (GOD FORBID) and Salty came up in his place and was amazing . . . I’d still be heartbroken as all hell. Guys might feel bad for him, but would it really bother them to see a favorite player replaced by someone who ends up being just as good?

The difference with losing someone I liked to free agency would be that I’d initially be a little pissed. I think both male and female fans would eventually say “to hell with him” if a player abandoned their team for more money. If Andruw leaves, he will basically become what Maddux has become for me now: someone I once really liked (though I never liked Andruw as well as Maddux, sorry, Druwski) who I will still be glad to see doing well if I hear his name on Sportscenter, but I won’t search for news about him or really care all that much. I won’t be hateful — it’s fine, it’s part of the business — but I won’t respect him as much as Smoltz, who stayed. I expect male and female fans would have identical reactions to a free agent leaving: brief annoyance followed by hopes that we can find someone good to replace him.

Anyway, just in case your Friday afternoon hasn’t been weird enough, please enjoy a video of Frenchy speaking to a church group (thanks to Leah for the link). Doesn’t sound all that weird? Well, he’s also pacing furiously and talking fast enough to be almost incomprehensible, though he does talk about the dangers of looking at “pictures that aren’t right” at one point. Also, the stage he’s on is taken like, directly from the set of Saved!, and I was so waiting for him to pick up one of the many guitars lying around and start rocking out. Maybe next time.

I’m so frustrated over that game last night, I’m sitting here having to tell myself to calm down. I was already in an overemotional baseball place after coming across a documentary about Cubs fans during lunch yesterday, which somehow had me in near tears for an hour. And now this happens, with no baseball tonight to erase it.

First of all, why in the fucking hell was Wilson taking up space in the lineup last night? Bobby’s really that much of a slave to lefty-righty, when Thor finally gets going and has some momentum, he sits him just in case Wilson has the slightest chance of doing anything, ever? Which he does not? Have? At all? And why did Matty come out of the game when he finally started hitting, including a homer? Why is Langerhans anywhere near the batter’s box, even when it looks like we have the game in the bag? I know these two things might not have made a difference, but we had a better chance with Thor and Matty than with Guaranteed Outs Number One and Two, and I’m just so tired of lefty-righty every night, I’m going to start blaming it for everything, even losses like this.

Not really, but God, that game was infuriating. Scooter homered in his first at-bat, which had me laughing out loud with delight — that is so Scooter, it’s like his signature move — then Chipper, and Huddy was amazing, and Cabrera was limping around uselessly, and if Huddy couldn’t do the complete game, we had three guys who could save it, no problem. Even when Bobby left Huddy in to finish it, no alarm bells really went off for me — he looked fine in the eighth. He should have come out after giving up back to back hits, but what the hell are you gonna do. That one just really hurt.

To make us all feel better, here’s the picture of Smoltz with little Heap (and his brother, on the far left), with thanks to Dave for sending it to me:

Alright, even that didn’t really cheer me up. We’d better sweep the mother ‘effin Rockies this weekend. And if I even catch sight of Wilson or Langerhans during any of the games (and, let’s face it, I definitely will: ending rallies, hitting into double plays — they’ll be around, doing their thing, no matter what), well, I’ll . . . rant at my TV. Sigh.

This is probably obvious, but I’m ridiculously fond of ballplayers’ quotes in throwaway articles about their performances. The whole exercise is a little insane when you really think about it, and reminds me of an old episode of Dr. Katz where a Conan O’Brien-type late night host is interviewing a model and says, “So, you’re very beautiful. How do you do that?” Post-game interviews aren’t quite that absurd, but they’re always funny, and can be a little excruciating when players have to come up with an explanation for a horrible game. I can’t fault the players for offering stupid sound bytes, or the beat reporters for collecting them, because as a fan I certainly look forward to them. Last night’s crop was rather excellent:

“Geesh … whiz … I don’t know what to tell you,” Cox said, trying to find words to evaluate Redman’s performance. “Balls were hit hard. He’s got to get inside [with pitches] more. … I still have confidence in him.”

I like how Dave included that “sh” to save Bobby the humiliation of a literal “gee whiz,” and yet, with the “geesh,” does the “whiz” really make sense? Anyway, “balls were hit hard” is a great response to a horrible outing for a starter, and Bobby is so good about sticking up for his guys in the press, even when you know he’s giving them hell in the clubhouse.

“Some nights you’re going to have pitching, some nights you’re going to have hitting,” said catcher Brian McCann, whose sacrifice fly in the sixth provided a 7-6 lead the Braves wouldn’t relinquish. “Tonight we scored a lot of runs.”

Heap usually sticks with the obvious. Good strategy. Sometimes there is pitching, sometimes there is hitting, sometimes you score runs. You can just picture Heap smiling politely and walking away during these quotes.

Redman has faced the Marlins twice in 12 days — and given up 13 runs and 13 hits in 5-2/3 innings. “They have my number,” he said.

Well, yeah. Who doesn’t? I think someone in major league baseball has been writing your number on bathroom stalls, Redman.

Speaking of ballplayers and the press: just in case I’m not the only one who is fascinated by lengthy Christian media interviews with Frenchy, here’s a good one. This is the second one I’ve seen where he tells the interviewer that his biggest temptation as a professional athlete is cursing. Oh, Frenchy. You’re so good at this it’s scary. Though actually, while his solo interviews are charming works of art, if you’ve ever seen him interviewed alongside Heap (hopefully everyone saw the Katy Temple one last year, with the nachos and the cheese fries? If not, I’ve got it transcribed and can post a link), he becomes a hyperactive five year old and interrupts everyone constantly. Which is also charming, in a way.

How predictable was Chip’s mention that Frenchy got advice from Heap in the batting cage just before he went on his four hit tear on Monday? You tell him, Heap. Keep him in line! And please work on Diaz while you’re at it.

So yesterday was Andruw’s birthday, and it was also the birthday of that one poor Marlins reliever who had his entire family sitting behind home plate and watching while he almost singlehandedly blew the game there at the end. I thought something significant might happen when they faced each other, some kind of cosmic event, but Andruw just hit a double, which is nearly a major cosmic event itself so far this year, but it looks like he might be coming out of his early slump, so maybe not.

Yesterday was also the day Dontrelle’s first child was scheduled to be born. He was in usual Dontrelle form, unfazed. I think it may have freaked Davies out, though. That, or not having Heap catch him. I’m not sure what Davies’ problem is, but I’m glad to know that Cormier is doing alright and will hopefully be back soon. It will be interesting if Bobby lets Heap catch Redman tonight, to see if that has any effect (though actually Redman looked okay with Pena catching him in his last outing). I know Heap can’t keep Davies from missing the spots he sets down for him, but when I heard Heap was sitting last night, my first thought was, “Davies will be awful,” and what do you know, he sure was.

Kelly was also sitting last night, because apparently Bobby’s real mission this season is to get Woodward some more at-bats, consequences be damned. Or maybe there’s some other motivation . . .

Looks like Woody’s real purpose in this game was to go all velociraptor and re-enact the kitchen scene from Jurassic Park at the right moment. A creative plan of attack, Bobby, but ultimately not really effective, though it may have scarred Willingham there for life.

Best image of the day comes from the AJC notes:

Jeff Francoeur was rummaging through Andruw Jones’ personal case of sunglasses Monday, trying to find a pair the center fielder loaned him for Sunday’s game at New York. Jones spotted him from across the clubhouse.

“Get out of there,” Jones said with mock seriousness. “Have some respect.”

Just the phrase “Andruw Jones’ personal case of sunglasses” is rather excellent, and c’mon, Dave, mock seriousness? I doubt it.

We had our windows open yesterday afternoon, which was probably not a great idea, because that game had me screaming and jumping around the room. I’m surprised our neighbors didn’t call the cops. And the best part, as pictured in the background here:

The pissed off Mets fans! Ah, whenever I hear “and the fans start streaming toward the exits” in the 8th, I always feel so proud of our guys (and glad Reitsma isn’t around to reliably make it interesting). I’m so glad that they’re leaving that godawful stadium with another series victory, and in first place. After the clowns tried to blind us and all, it only seems fair. And how obnoxious were their loudspeaker announcements? I tried to listen to the TBS broadcast yesterday, because I was in a Joe kind of mood (he was going off on Langerhans pretty good, even though he didn’t start in left), but after Chip said Reyes was the “most exciting player in the game!” for the eighteenth time, I switched over to his dad on the radio. It was a good choice, as usual. At one point Skip said that if we had to play a four game series in Shea Stadium he would “jump out of the booth and be done with it.”

There is really nothing better than being surprised by a player you don’t have the highest expectations for, and I just love the hell out of Kelly right now, as I’m sure everyone does. And I’ve loved Rent since his Marlins days, so it’s always great to see him be the hero. What a fun game . . . Bobby getting tossed just made it perfect. The only thing that worries me is poor Heap’s hand. As Chipper said, don’t be broke, Heap. Chipper also had a memorable quote about Kelly’s great performance:

“I told you that sucker was gonna hit,” third baseman Chipper Jones said of Johnson, whose .423 on-base percentage ranks near the top among major-league leadoff men. “He’s got all the fundamentals and the mental side of it down.”

That mental side bit seems right — Kelly always looks almost eerily calm. It’s quite a contrast to old Gilly, and I appreciate it — keep up the good work, Scooter.

For some reason, we bring out the competent side of goofy ass (that jumping thing? I wanted to trip him pretty badly by the seventh), walk-happy Oliver Perez. Still, he wasn’t that spectacular, and we wasted a lot of scoring opportunities (so did the Mets, strangely, even though they well outscored us. Bases loaded situations seem to bring out the best in Chuckie, even when he’s having an off day). Personally I think the Braves all went out and got drunk Friday night. I wouldn’t blame them — they had a great game, they’re in the big city, why not. I was joking that they would be hungover on Saturday, but was hoping Chuckie would be exempt. Certainly pitchers don’t get trashed the night before they pitch? But that may have been a factor — this is “broke both my wrists jumping off the roof of a pool house the day before a scout came out to see me pitch” Chuckie, after all. Hopefully they were repentantly sober last night, and we can take the series with Smoltzy on the mound.

The Aybar situation has gone from bad to worse, meanwhile. For some reason the bit about Vlad trying in vain to get involved broke my heart more than the image of his mother crying. This is starting to sound like it might end badly; I hope someone can reach him soon.