Shallow | Center

Shameless Self-Promotion

My capsule preview of the 2005 Phillies has been posted at All-Baseball.com. I hope to expand those thoughts here in the next few days.

Psychos & Syrup

What to make of Donald Antrim's slim, curious novel The Verificationist? With its smartly designed cover, its academic overtones, and its restless, dysfunctional characters, it has many of the trappings of literary fiction. At the same time the damn thing is set almost entirely in a pancake house, and the book's central plot device, an out-of-body experience that enables the fractured narrator to peer into the lives of his colleagues and sundry other people scattered about the restaurant, splatters the book with a cockeyed, fantastical bent that removes it from the quiet, introverted realm of more traditional works.

Antrim earned a great deal of praise for The Verificationist, and on one level it's not hard to see why. His dark, piercing insights into the lives of the desperate psychoanalysts who populate the novel are the kind of things that book critics love, and the dense, weaving sentences, swirled with endless tangents and diversions, give the prose some heft. But the glowing reviews are peppered with phrases like "cheerfully cruel" and "sorry indignities"; as one reviewer allowed, "Antrim is an acquired taste." Indeed, I found the author's gleeful meanness toward his characters to be tremendously off-putting, and I could have done without many of the tangents; too often Antrim relies on them to prove his cleverness. Rather than being satisfied to use his talent to say something interesting about the human condition, he also chooses here to pull the wings off flies. I don't deny that Antrim does this well, but it wasn't something I particularly enjoyed witnessing.

Rating: **1/2 (of 5)

Is There an Echo in Here? (Echo in Here? ... Echo in Here? ...)

And we wonder why the Phillies never seem to be able to figure it out. For two straight years, players, coaches, the front office, and the manager told us they were ready. With expanded payrolls, bolstered rosters, and boundless optimism, they told us that the Phillies of the past -- marked by laughable stopgap measures (Lance Parrish, anyone?), a deplorable farm system (Pat Combs, anyone?), baseball's worst ballpark (Veterans Stadium, anyone?), and so much more -- would be a dim memory, replaced by a vivid legacy of success. Anybody remember "Now is the Time"?

And we all know how that ended up. Turned off by their hardass, incompetent manager, the Phils choked twice, failing to make the playoffs and convincing many of us that the people who run this franchise are stunningly clueless. Spend a little, and the Phils finish last. Spend a lot, and the Phils finish last.

Comes now a former hardass Phillies manager to tell Jim Salisbury, No, really, now is the time:

A week before opening day, [Dallas] Green issued a mild challenge to the high-priced club which hasn't gotten over the 86-win hump the last two seasons.

"It's time for them to look in the mirror and recognize that they're the ones who have to perform," Green said. "It's not the manager that has to perform. They can blame [Larry] Bowa for last year, but now there's no one to blame.

"I think they're smart enough to realize that the onus is on them. Quit barking and whining. Stop worrying about the ballpark, the manager and the pitching coach and play ball. And win."

Green, a lifetime sub-.500 manager, is a legend in Philadelphia, and always will be, because he did something no one else has done in more than 120 years of baseball in this city. But the success he enjoyed is a quarter-century in the rear-view mirror. The game and its players have changed, yet he's still spouting the same tough-guy blather that went in one year and out the other each of the last two years when it was spit out by someone else. Why on earth does he think things will be different this time around?

Dallas Green says, "This team has been together for a good amount of time now. It's time it played up to its capabilities."

I say, I've heard it all before.

The Fast and the Curious

If you've ever wondered what it's like to hunker down behind the plate and try to catch Billy Wagner's heater, the Inquirer's Jim Salisbury offers an answer today:

Fastballs came like machine-gun fire, each seemingly accelerating, or exploding, as they reached the mitt. ...

After nine fastballs, Wagner wanted to work on location.

"Away," he said, meaning he wanted to throw a fastball away from a righthanded hitter.

The target went up. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Four perfect on-the-black strikes. ...

My eyes picked up the pitch out of his hand. I had it all the way... and then... whoosh! As the pitch reached the plate, it broke severely, laterally and downward, and caught the inside corner. The chain-link fence behind me rattled.

The onlookers howled.

You get the idea. Salisbury writes that his stint catching Wagner "was no stunt," but his piece has the whiff of a bad local-TV report in which the blow-dried empty suit skydives or drag-races or wind-surfs to give viewers a critical inside look at an entirely meaningless activity. Regardless, kudos to the Phillies and to Wagner for converting on a golden PR opportunity:

Earlier this spring, I pitched it to Wagner and was amazed at how receptive he was.

Why did he go for it?

"I think it's a good idea for people to see that what we do isn't easy," he said. "It's easy for someone to say or write something stupid if they've never done it. I thought it could give some insights into how hard it is to do what we do."

In just 11 minutes, Billy Wagner provided plenty of insight. He inspired fear with his fastball and awe with his slider. He impressed with his work ethic, his professionalism and his dedication to his craft.

He does something that many dream about, but few can do. We should never forget that.

'Mix' Up; 'Ben' In

Another day, another radio-station format change. Yesterday the bland, inoffensive, top 40 station Mix 95.7 gave way to Ben-FM, which thus far has delivered a scattered, all-over-the-place playlist that's a bit, well, jarring. We're talking Guns 'n' Roses and Rick James back-to-back. Then Jewel followed by Hall and Oates. Then ... well, you get the idea. The thing is, the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach, as scattered as it may seem, is by design. Referring to the new station's "anything-goes format," the Inquirer's Michael Klein writes:

"We have the freedom to play anything we want," said John Fullam, v.p. and market manager of station owner Greater Media. ...

Ben is similar to the growing "Jack" and "Bob" formats, which use an expansive song list.

Ben promises familiar songs spanning 30 years by artists as diverse as No Doubt, Men at Work, Jimmy Buffett, Boston and the Bee Gees.

Uh, the "'Bob' format"?

The Forecast Calls for Pain

Writing in today's Daily News, Bill Conlin weighs in -- okay, bad choice of words -- on the Phillies' 2005 prospects. In a nutshell: manager, competent; hitting, outstanding; starting pitching, lacking. Conclusion:

I don't like to curb my enthusiasm over a team with an offense this explosive. But the unsettled rotation will doom the 2005 Phillies to third place behind the Marlins and Braves. Be happy with 88 victories and pray that total and another postseason shutout is enough to set in motion the obvious changes.

Conlin's been around enough South Philly blocks to know that mediocrity and failure have never been enough to foster obvious changes, at least under the current Phillies regime. If the Phils spend their October golfing, the most we'll get is a measured Ed Wade intoning that injuries killed us this season, and that it'll all be better in 2006 when everyone plays to his capabilities.

Elsewhere around the blogosphere as well as the MSM, the predictions are starting to pop up like spring daisies. For Balls, Sticks, & Stuff, the future's so bright, he's gotta wear shades. Likewise, Phillies Foul Balls is inspired by Manuel labor. The Baseball Crank sees the Phightin's as "probably the real class of the division," while Fox Sports' Dayn Perry puts the Phils in first place.

My forecast is somewhere between Conlin's and those of the true optimists. I'll offer more expansive thoughts as the season draws closer, but for now I see a second-place finish and contention for a wild-card slot.

Finger Food for Thought

There is bad luck, then there is Phillies luck. It was bad luck that put centerfielder Kenny Lofton, one of the team's "big" off-season acquisitions, on the shelf for a while with a hamstring injury. It was Phillies luck that caused his replacement, the suddenly resurgent Marlon Byrd, to dislocate a finger diving into first during a meaningless Grapefruit League game, putting his status for Opening Day in jeopardy.

Even worse than reading about Byrd's injury in today's papers were all the stories about how hunky-dory everything is between Kevin Millwood and the Indians. Apparently 20 million bucks over two years wasn't enough to convince Mr. Former 18-Game Winner that coming to camp in shape and pitching as if he gave a damn during the season were worthy goals. No, Millwood needed to get away from Joe Kerrigan first. If he wins more than 12 games this year he should send Ed Wade a refund check.

Putting the 'Up' in 'Upset'

What in the name of Bill Raftery is going on here? It's such a cliche that I really, really hate to repeat it, but last night's action really does represent what the NCAA Tournament is all about. After watching Thursday's TiVoed episode of The O.C. (shut up -- it's better than you think), Mrs. SC and I switched over to CBS in time to see the Vermont-Syracuse game go into overtime. And even though I had the Orange in my pool, of course I immediately began rooting for UVM -- anytime a hallowed Big East program can stub its toe on a bunch of tall, less talented white guys with bad haircuts is a good night in my book. And damned if the 13-seeded Catamounts didn't pull it out, sending No. 4 'Cuse back to New York.

And then I wake up this morning, open up my browser, and find that No. 14 Bucknell -- Bucknell! -- had toppled third-seeded Kansas. Years ago, when I was freelancing for the Blue Ribbon College Basketball Yearbook, I covered the Patriot League, and those programs were so appealing that I continue to root for them to this day. The kids are real students, the coaches are actual parts of their institutions' communities, the venues are real gyms and not sterile arenas -- there's just a ton to love. And so, yes, even though the Jayhawks made it to the Elite Eight in my bracket, I was thrilled to see the Bison had advanced. They'll almost certainly get waxed by Wisconsin, as Vermont is likely to be pummeled by Michigan State, but for two golden days, their fans can legitimately claim to be on top of the basketball world.

Spring Forward

The signs are increasingly evident. We've had a couple of days in the mid-50s this week; nearly all of the winter's snow is gone; the equinox is this weekend. And then the topper: Driving home from work last night, I passed a local high school and spied, to my left, the long dormant baseball field suddenly in use. A dozen and a half kids clad in sweats, clearly engaged in batting practice, stood scattered across the field, warding off the late-afternoon chill and trying to stay interested while the pitcher worked out his early-season kinks.

If you ever played organized baseball, you remember the scene. Those March days just as the season was getting underway were filled with dreadful practices at which not freezing was the primary concern. And when it was your turn to hit, you prayed for each swing to connect on the sweet spot of the bat; the further away you strayed from that goal, the worse the buzzing pain in your frigid hands. In the field, you tried like hell to catch the ball in the webbing of your glove; if it hit the pocket, you felt as if you were snaring it in your bare hand.

And through it all, in the back of your mind, was the realization that glorious spring afternoons and delightfully warm summer nights weren't far behind. Such is the promise of March baseball, a promise that settled comfortably onto me as I cruised past batting practice on my way home.

Pool Report

For what it's worth, here are my Final Four picks from the NCAA Tournament pools I submitted at my wife's and my offices: Duke, North Carolina, Oklahoma State, and Louisville, with the Cardinals over the Tar Heels in the championship game.

While the vast majority of media reports will focus on Cinderellas to root for as the tourney swings into action this afternoon, Slate offers a highly amusing piece on teams to hate. That list includes local teams Villanova, for the Faustian bargain which allowed the Wildcats to pull off their "Satan-fueled upset" of Georgetown in the 1985 national title game, and Penn, for being, along with Princeton, merely a couple of "invasive quas-Ivies" whose style of play "is the perfect scheme for losing first-round nail biters."