If I were a sought-after major league baseball free agent deciding which club to sign with, there would be four factors to consider:
1. Contract quality (how many years, how much money, club/player options, no-trade clauses, incentives)
2. Club's potency and likelihood of making the playoffs
3. Location
4. Existing relationships with other players or management staff
Today, the San Francisco Giants signed Barry Zito and his loopalicious curveball to a 7-year, $126 million contract. If you are Zito, here is how those factors line up with the Giants:
1. Incredibly, friggingly awesome. He gets amazing job security with 7-years and a full no-trade clause, and becomes the highest-paid pitcher in the history of the game. Even if he begins to decline (a likely prospect) it is Zito and Zito alone who will determine if he remains in Halloween colors.
2. Iffy. While the NL West is no longer the worst division in baseball (that honor belongs to the Senior Circuit's Central Division), it remains decidedly weak. The top three teams in the division (the Dodgers, Padres and Giants) have all made their share of moves this offseason. The Rockies and Diamondbacks have yet to make the drastic roster changes they require to be legitimate playoff contenders.
However, out of those three teams, you have to see the division as a race between the Dodgers and the Padres. Those two teams have either stayed the course (the Dodgers) or made marginal improvements (the Padres). Those two teams ended the 2006 season tied, and while the Giants found themselves 11.5 games behind Los Angeles and San Diego. The Giants have about broke even this offseason--they lost a good pitcher in Jason Schmidt, but gained another (albeit one who is lung-tighteningly expensive) in Barry Zito. They resigned the “other” Barry in baseball, keeping the steroid-enhanced cap on their bottled elixir of veteran ineptitude in place.
3. After spending six years in Oakland, Zito is already familiar with the frigid and moist Bay Area, and does not have to find a new place to live. He reportedly enjoys living in a large city, and while San Francisco is not the first- or second-largest media market in the country, it likely provides the glitz and glamour the quirky Zito desires.
4. None that I know of.
With that in mind, it appears that Zito’s priorities fell in the following order:
1, 3, 2, 4.
If winning a World Series were his primary priority, he would have signed with the Mets or my Angels. The Mets made it to the ALCS last year, and the Angels have a decent shot of making up for the embarrassing second-place finish of last season. The Texas Rangers, while an improved club, still lack the pitching to seriously contend in the AL West. Seattle? They won’t have a shot at the division while GM Bill Bavasi continues to shatter the hopes and dreams of M’s fans.
Location would have been a wash—the Mets (it’s New York, duh) and Angels (Zito is from Southern California and his family still lives here) are as attractive as the Giants in that regard. This was the Texas Rangers’ greatest drawback—Arlington? I’m sorry. Seattle would have been a decent city for Zito to live and find his spiritual center. It worked for Kurt Cobain.
So it his eventual choice is any indication, Barry Zito cares most about location and money. While his addition to the San Francisco rotation makes that club more potent, it is unlikely that they’ll make another run for the World Series in the near future.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
a quandry
If you asked me if I'd rather have the Angels win the World Series or have a Democrat elected to the presidency, I'd have to think about it for a second.
If the Democrat were Hillary Clinton, get your rally monkeys ready.
What does this say about me?
If the Democrat were Hillary Clinton, get your rally monkeys ready.
What does this say about me?
Monday, December 25, 2006
from the latest story
Socks turned to the next page in his calculus book, gripping a mechanical pencil in his other hand. The fundamental theorem of calculus, it told him, states that the two central operations of calculus, integration and differentiation, are inverse operations. His eyelids grew heavy as he flew past these lines of text in fifties-era typeface. Per his father’s orders, he had been studying in his room for hours, and his heart sank as he looked out the window and saw the sun begin to straddle the distant horizon with a pastel glow. The time on his watch indicated it was just about time for the weekly ballgame at the sandlot, and at school he had promised Johnny that he would pitch that day. He closed the textbook, keeping his page with a legal pad filled with equations, and went to his father’s study downstairs.
His father’s angled face was partially hidden behind a pile of faded books resting on his desk. “Yes, Socrates. What do you want?”
“Well, um, I’ve been studying for awhile now, and I wanted to know if I could take a short break from my studies. Maybe walk to the creek to study the effects of small rocks and other obstructions on water flow.”
“Really? When did you gain an interest in such things?” His father stood, searching for a book among the dozens in the behemoth of a bookshelf behind him. “I suppose you may want to read this on the way. It may have some relevance to your task.” He turned back to his son, his eyes flashing in sudden comprehension. “Wait. I can predict your motives with some accuracy. You want to play that damned game again, don’t you?”
Socks sighed. There was no use hiding what he wanted from his father now. “Father, we’re playing the guys from Front Street, and I—”
“Enough, Socrates. A boy blessed with your talents shan’t waste his time with such infantile pursuits.”
“But, Father—”
His father stood up from behind his desk, and the color in his cheeks rose as he raised his voice fiercely. “In this house, my word is final, and I say no. Go back to your room and continue your studies. Don’t back come down until you reach the section on differential equations.”
Socks huffed and puffed his way up the stairs as a dark gloom set over him. He opened the page of his calculus book in resignation. If a continuous function is integrated and then differentiated, the original function will be retrieved. He could no longer concentrate on tedious things like math and physics; only his pitch selection preoccupied his thoughts: fastball inside, low curve, finish him off with a changeup outside the zone. His mind was so agile that he could easily stand on the mound and rush back and finish the work his father demanded of him. He grabbed a faded baseball glove from beneath his bed, and lowered from his window a rope of bed sheets that he kept hidden in his closet. Staying inside with dusty textbooks—while the wide world waited outside—was no way for a ten year-old boy to spend his days.
His father’s angled face was partially hidden behind a pile of faded books resting on his desk. “Yes, Socrates. What do you want?”
“Well, um, I’ve been studying for awhile now, and I wanted to know if I could take a short break from my studies. Maybe walk to the creek to study the effects of small rocks and other obstructions on water flow.”
“Really? When did you gain an interest in such things?” His father stood, searching for a book among the dozens in the behemoth of a bookshelf behind him. “I suppose you may want to read this on the way. It may have some relevance to your task.” He turned back to his son, his eyes flashing in sudden comprehension. “Wait. I can predict your motives with some accuracy. You want to play that damned game again, don’t you?”
Socks sighed. There was no use hiding what he wanted from his father now. “Father, we’re playing the guys from Front Street, and I—”
“Enough, Socrates. A boy blessed with your talents shan’t waste his time with such infantile pursuits.”
“But, Father—”
His father stood up from behind his desk, and the color in his cheeks rose as he raised his voice fiercely. “In this house, my word is final, and I say no. Go back to your room and continue your studies. Don’t back come down until you reach the section on differential equations.”
Socks huffed and puffed his way up the stairs as a dark gloom set over him. He opened the page of his calculus book in resignation. If a continuous function is integrated and then differentiated, the original function will be retrieved. He could no longer concentrate on tedious things like math and physics; only his pitch selection preoccupied his thoughts: fastball inside, low curve, finish him off with a changeup outside the zone. His mind was so agile that he could easily stand on the mound and rush back and finish the work his father demanded of him. He grabbed a faded baseball glove from beneath his bed, and lowered from his window a rope of bed sheets that he kept hidden in his closet. Staying inside with dusty textbooks—while the wide world waited outside—was no way for a ten year-old boy to spend his days.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
the schedules among us
Not to be too post-happy, lest I look like Britney Spears at a Vegas drive-through wedding chapel, but my schedule for next quarter looks pretty sweet:
M: Poetry and Prose in Conversation, 315-505
T:
W: Poetry and Prose in Conversation, 315-505
Th: Term Limits in American Democracy, 315-505
F:
The rest of my units will be occupied by my thesis, which may or may not be finished by the end of the quarter (someone please send some good vibes and good luck charms my way). It won't be an easy quarter though, as that thesis deadline is starting to look larger and larger in my rear view mirror.
M: Poetry and Prose in Conversation, 315-505
T:
W: Poetry and Prose in Conversation, 315-505
Th: Term Limits in American Democracy, 315-505
F:
The rest of my units will be occupied by my thesis, which may or may not be finished by the end of the quarter (someone please send some good vibes and good luck charms my way). It won't be an easy quarter though, as that thesis deadline is starting to look larger and larger in my rear view mirror.
Obama-rama and others
Robert Novak, he of the sharp-tongued right, is reporting that Barack Obama has all but decided to run for president:
Would it be too presumptuous to say that the senator has shades of 24's David Palmer? An African-American senator running for president? Fear for his safety because of his race? Hopefully Jack Bauer isn't needed in this universe.
Much much more to say on Obama in the future, I'm sure.
In other news, Juan Rivera, the likely starting left fielder for the Angels, has broken his left tibia playing winter ball in Venezuela. I don't know what to say. I think this is badbadbadbadbadbad. Hopefully this is an incentive for Stoneman to bite the bullet, sign Barry Zito and trade Santana or Saunders for a bat.
Merry Christmas (and Happy Holidays), everyone.
Contrary to reports that Barack Obama is still trying to make up his mind whether to seek the 2008 Democratic presidential nomination, sources close to the first-term senator say he is unequivocally committed to making the race.
The word has spread through political circles that Obama's wife, Michelle, is resisting the campaign out of fear for her husband's physical safety as an African-American candidate for president. But an Obama insider dismissed that as a problem. "We took care of that last summer," he told this column.
Would it be too presumptuous to say that the senator has shades of 24's David Palmer? An African-American senator running for president? Fear for his safety because of his race? Hopefully Jack Bauer isn't needed in this universe.
Much much more to say on Obama in the future, I'm sure.
In other news, Juan Rivera, the likely starting left fielder for the Angels, has broken his left tibia playing winter ball in Venezuela. I don't know what to say. I think this is badbadbadbadbadbad. Hopefully this is an incentive for Stoneman to bite the bullet, sign Barry Zito and trade Santana or Saunders for a bat.
Merry Christmas (and Happy Holidays), everyone.
Friday, December 22, 2006
network interactivity in the new world
A few months ago when the media sensation caused by Senator Ted Stevens's (R-AL) gaffe on the floor (in which he called the internet a "set of tubes") caught fire on YouTube, Jon Stewart joked on "The Daily Show" that he thought this internet thing was "a keeper." The audience's laughter was an acknowledgment of both Stewart's sarcasm and the reality that the internet has become an irreplaceable part of American life.
While Stewart and his Comedy Central bosom buddy, Stephen Colbert (he of the famous Report, pronounced like "rapport") have gotten a lot of press recently about their nimbleness on the web--Colbert's green screen challenge even got George Lucas involved--network television cannot be counted out from adaption.
A few weeks ago, in a sketch creating faux college mascots, Conan O'Brien (a giant among men--literally and figuratively) suggested that Florida State University's new mascot should be the "Webcam Manatee." As is Late Night's usual MO, cue the cut to a man in a manatee costume and a webcam. I'll let Conan express the rest:
While Stewart and his Comedy Central bosom buddy, Stephen Colbert (he of the famous Report, pronounced like "rapport") have gotten a lot of press recently about their nimbleness on the web--Colbert's green screen challenge even got George Lucas involved--network television cannot be counted out from adaption.
A few weeks ago, in a sketch creating faux college mascots, Conan O'Brien (a giant among men--literally and figuratively) suggested that Florida State University's new mascot should be the "Webcam Manatee." As is Late Night's usual MO, cue the cut to a man in a manatee costume and a webcam. I'll let Conan express the rest:
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
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