May I Recommend a Book About Book Recommendations? - by Scott Goldberg

I am fortunate both in real life and on Facebook (for I know what is on Facebook is not real) to be friends with book readers.  Having never actually witnessed a friend reading, I know this mainly from requests on Facebook for book recommendations.

Responding to book recommendation requests has never been easy for me.  Does this person have the same tastes as me?  For instance, I recently read and enjoyed Lives in Ruins: Archeologists and the Seductive Lure of Human Rubble by Marilyn Johnson.  Now if I knew you, or more likely your kid, was considering a career in archeology I would say this is a must read.  Otherwise, this book is only for those curious about what a different career path might look like---spoiler alert, the grass is not always greener.  

Just as important  (ok, actually more important, especially on-line) is how I will be perceived by making this recommendation.  I want to come across as thoughtful and literate and hip and well it’s difficult when I am really not any of those things.  So I found a book that allows me to seem to be all of those things, because the author is.  And the whole book is about books the author has read.

I found this treasure meandering the shelves of the Lane Road Library.  I love libraries.  I love the ideas of borrowing and returning.  I love that it’s basically free.  I love that it provides access to just about anyone and caters to all sorts of tastes and interests.  I guess it’s sort of like the internet, but infinitely more pleasant.  Having said that, it doesn’t take long to meander all of Lane Road’s first floor book collection.  Probably 70% of the space is devoted to computers and DVDs and CDs---stuff that are not books.   And if you eliminate self-improvement, how-to, cook books and romance novels, you are left with about three shelves from which to brouse.

Anyways, there among the remaining books this spine caught my eye. Read from top to bottom: Hornby Ten Years In The Tub A Decade Soaking In Great Books. I’ve read most of Nick Hornby’s books, so this spine caught my eye.  If you like witty, concise writing often with pop culture references pick up High Fidelity by Nick Hornby.  It includes discussions of creating the perfect mix tape (remember those pre-Spotify as if I know what I am talking about having never once used Spotify, although I do get billed monthly for it for my daughter).   The book was later made into a movie starring John Cusack (although Jack Black steals it)which I enjoyed as well.

Ten Years in the Tub is a compilation of essays that ran in a magazine called The Believer which I never heard of but sounds if it might be passed out for free by folks either in free-flowing robes or in neat suits knocking at your door at inopportune times.  His mandate was to write only positive book reviews (although he often humorously complains about this limitation).  The book spans 10 years from 2003 to 2013. Each month ( a few months are combined others are skipped) Hornby lists the books he bought/acquired (he buys/gets a lot) and the books he has read.  Although there is often some overlap between the two lists, just as often they have nothing in common.  Warning—the dude reads a lot.  At any one time, I am reading one or two books and I would say I rarely read more than one book a month.   Hornby knocks out four and five books a month consistently.  And he has many of the same excuses I have for not reading more—kids, work, alcohol, kids, watching sports, alcohol and kids.  His essays sprinkle in pop culture, sports (much of it English soccer—he might call it football) and small personal events from his life.  The essays read part book review and part scenes from a really good sit-com.

Currently, I am half way through 2006 and I have compiled a list of about eight books I want to read.  At my pace that is about 8 months of reading or basically how long Trump has been our President which seems like a really long time.  I am hoping many of these recommendations will lead me to new authors and additional books by them.  To be honest, some of the most fun in reading Hornby’s essays is when you come across a book you have already read.  It sort of validates your own taste in books and who couldn’t use a little validation now and again.

So next time you are looking for a good book, get Hornby’s book and read an essay or two (they are short and addictive—insert potato chip metaphor).  Just don’t run over to Lane Road Library to grab it, I still have that copy, sucker.

I just want to briefly address my only other contribution to this fine endeavor? blogosphere? black hole? When last I wrote, the Indians had just lost the World Series and we had elected our new President.  My emotions were a little raw.

9 months or so later, the Indians are once again perched atop the AL Central and look better than last year.  If everyone gets healthy…and the starting pitching is consistent…they are primed to break my heart and crush my dreams again this Fall—hope springs eternal.  

I will say one controversial thing about the Indians.  I know this player is a fan and team favorite, but the Indians best lineup does not include Jason Kipnis.  To me eye, Jose Ramirez is a better second baseman.  With Ramirez at second, Chisenhall can play third, and then the outfield is Brantley in left, Zimmer/Jackson in center, and Jay Bruce in right.  That team is a beast.

Sorry I got off track, but last Fall I wrote that if I could change only the outcome of the World Series or the presidential election, I choose the World Series.  In my defense, I have waited my whole life for the Indians to win a World Series.  I have not waited my whole life for Hilary Clinton or any woman to be President.  Even so, looking back I can see my words were a little self-centered veering towards self-absorbed.  Which makes me think I am more like this President, that I can barely stomach, than I care to admit.  

When you don’t like someone, and if it isn’t clear I don’t like Trump, almost everything they say or do can get under your skin.  His trip to Texas in the aftermath of the flooding was a perfect example.  Does he emphasize the devastation, the human tragedy? No he focuses on the size of the crowd that came out to see him.  If he were my son (a teenager), I would smile and shake my head at his utter self-absorption.   But this guy (who acts like a child all the time) is our President.  It got me to thinking about what book I would recommend our President read—not that I believe it would change him or make a bit of difference.  The Diary of Anne Frank comes to mind as does To Kill a Mockingbird.  But the first book I would give our President is The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss.  Happy reading Mr. President. 

Scott Goldberg also wrote It's Been a Tough Month for this Indians Fan in 2016. As of this posting the Tribe have won 19 straight games. 

It's Been a Tough Month for this Tribe Fan - by Scott Goldberg

It’s been a tough month.  The World Series didn’t end the way I hoped.  Neither did the presidential election.  If I could choose to change the outcome of one, the Indians would be World Champs.  Call me irrational, a fanatic, or even unpatriotic, but I wanted this more.

As an Indians fan I go pretty far back.  Back to cavernous Municipal Stadium.  The only constant to today’s team is John Adams whacking his drum at the top of the centerfield bleachers.  Back then he was louder; perhaps it was because the sound reverberated off more hard surfaces as most of the time 68,000 or so seats were empty.

I go back to Charlie Spikes, No-Neck Williams, Frank Duffy, Buddy Bell, Super Joe Charbaneau, Rick Manning, Len Barker and Gaylord Perry.  Not a lot of Hall of Famers in that group.  I think Gaylord and his spitter might have snuck in?  I remember the Spring of 1987 getting the Sports Illustrated baseball preview issue with Cory Snyder and Joe Carter on the cover.  SI jinx at its finest.  Carter went on to be a World Series hero—for the Toronto Blue Jays and Cory faded away like so many promising players and teams before and after him.

And then we had the 90’s a baseball renaissance in Cleveland.  Beautiful new ballpark and so many great players fitting of the cathedral they now played in.  Thome, Ramirez, Belle, Baerga, Lofton and Omar.  And just enough strong starting pitching.  The only time I have witnessed a World Series game in person was Game 5 in Cleveland against the Braves.  Albert Belle of the corked bat and probably corked biceps took Greg Maddux deep in the first.  Eddie Murray stepped into the batter’s box next.  Maddux with his pinpoint control threw high and tight.  Murray didn’t like it and glared out at Maddux and Maddux glared right back.  Murray took a step toward the mound, both benches rose to the top step of the dugout.  Nothing more happened, but the moment was as electric as I have ever witnessed as a sports fan.  

Nothing provides more sustained tension than playoff baseball.  It is simply the best, unless your team is involved and then it is just a form of Chinese water torture—if that actually exists, if not it is just plain torture.  Like the 2016 Cubs, the 1995 Indians were down 3-1 and won Game 5 at home.  No one left Jacobs (now Progressive) Field at the end of the game.  We cheered and danced and then took the feeling and party to the streets.  The Indians headed back to Atlanta for the final two games.  But unlike the Cubs , we never got to a Game 7 as Atlanta closed out the series in Game 6.  Glavine pitched eight innings of one-hit baseball and the Tribe lost 1-0.

It wouldn’t take these Indians long to get back to the promised land.  I won’t spend a lot of time revisiting the 1997 World Series other than to say the Indians broke our hearts.  A strike and out away from being World Champs, Jose Mesa couldn’t close it out and the Indians fell in extra innings.  Omar publicly blames Mesa for losing that World Series.  I loved Omar—best fielding shortstop I ever saw.  But he threw a teammate (not a great guy, but a teammate nonetheless) under the bus.  Both Mesa and Omar eventually left the Indians.  And to Mesa’s credit every time he faced Omar after that he threw at him.  I didn’t blame him one bit.

A generation later, the Indians found themselves back in the World Series.  This time with fewer stars except for its manager against a team with an even more pathetic World Series history and drought.  America’s darlings and loveable losers, the Chicago Cubs.  After splitting the first two games in Cleveland, the Indians won the next two in Chicago.  Those fans waited generations to witness a World Series at Wrigley.  Tickets were being sold for the price of a pretty nice mid-sized sedan.  I guess there was some pent up demand in Chi-Town.  And to see their sullen faces as the Tribe took Games 3 and 4 and a commanding 3-1 lead in the Series, was pure joy.  I had no sympathy for them.  This was our time—my time—to finally celebrate a World Series.

Yeah, yeah, I know the Cavs just won.  I love what LeBron has done for Cleveland, but this is different.  This is bigger.  This is Baseball.  It would be great to win the Series in Cleveland in front of its long-suffering fans in our own beautiful park.  But you win a World Series where and when you can.  In all sports and all elections for that matter, you let up at your own peril.  It is better to step on your opponents neck, give them no chance or thought that the outcome can be any different, because if you give them a glimmer of hope---shit happens.

As I replay the Series in my mind, one at bat stands out.  Game 5, eighth inning Indians down 3-2.  Chapman is on the mound with one out and Jason Kipnis at the plate.  Chapman had already gotten the last two outs in the seventh.  Rajai Davis—we wouldn’t know how clutch Rajai was until Game 7-- had singled ahead of Kipnis in the eighth.  Chapman’s first two pitches were close, but both called balls.  Rajai advanced to second with a steal on one of those pitches.  Tying run on second, one out, 2-0 count.  Chapman’s next two pitches were wildly outside, but inexplicably Kipnis swung at both.  Instead of walking, tightening the screws against Chapman with Lindor and Napoli to follow, the count is 2-2.  Kipnis continues to battle.  The count eventually goes full.  Kipnis fouls out.  Chapman settles back in and gets the next four outs with little more drama and gets an eight out, 2 2/3 inning save.  Chapman saved not just the game, but the Cubs season.
        

Back to Cleveland for Games 6 and 7.  If asked after Game 2 any Cleveland fan would have gladly taken coming back to Cleveland up 3-2.  But we are Cleveland fans and there was an uneasiness, even though we had home field advantage.  Except it wasn’t an advantage.  Using the DH was a distinct advantage for the Cubs.  But complaining about the DH or even that home field was decided by an exhibition game in July (coincidently the winning pitcher of which happened to be the Indians starting pitcher in Games 1, 4 and 7 of this World Series), is like complaining about the electoral college after your candidate loses.  Dem’s da rules.

Even worse was the fact that Progressive Field was not filled with just rabid Indians fans.  But somehow a good third of the crowd happened to rooting loudly for the Cubbies.  By Games 6 and 7 you could no longer trade in your well-appointed Toyota Camry for a pair of good seats.   Cubs fans had raised the ante, now you were looking at a year’s tuition at a pretty fine academic institution in order to get a pair of tix.  Cubs fans threw around cash and bought up the best seats acting like a greedy New York real estate developer.

The Cubs started hitting when they got back to Cleveland.  Zobrist may have been MVP of the Series, but it was Bryant and Rizzo who the Indians feared.  And rightfully so.  Rizzo—something about him reminds me of Phil Mickelson.  They both have just a hint of dimples that might be more pronounced if their faces were a little thinner.  Both have this smirk that seems to say-- even when things are going bad—I am so much better off than you it really doesn’t matter.

The Tribe moved most of its team to the right side of second base when Rizzo batted.  Yet, when he wasn’t sending laser foul balls that made fans scatter, the fair balls improbably reached the outfield wall slicing between all those well-placed defenders, the way a pinball slides between your flippers before disappearing down that hole.  To my eye, Kris Bryant was the Cubs MVP.  His stats may not bear that out, but to me his hits and home runs either set the tone for the game or slammed the door shut on any hope the Indians had for a comeback.  He did make some errors, but as the last ball of the Series rolled his way, you could see in his face that the Cubs were World Champs.  The bastard was smiling even before the ball met his glove.  As I watched my hopes fade, I knew this was not a guy about to choke.  And he didn’t.      

Other than that Game 5 at bat, I don’t look back at the Series with regret.  We didn’t get out-managed, or out-played, or out-pitched.  Almost everyone did their job.  Some exceeded expectations—Rajai Davis’ game tying homer sent me sprinting around the house in which all other inhabitants had gone peacefully to sleep.  “He tied the game, he tied it up,” I screamed in utter disbelief.

Some disappointed. Mike Napoli didn’t hit, but that happens.  I know Tyler Naquin is only a rookie, but he is also a big league (bigly?) outfielder.  Go get the ball and take charge. That is your job in centerfield.  Game 7 was too big for him.  I hope he will have a chance to redeem himself, but he was the Game 7 goat and I mean that in the old-school sense.  Just a few thoughts on Francisco Lindor.  Omar Vizquel is certainly the best Indians shortstop of my lifetime and perhaps a Hall of Famer soon.  But if I could have the 2016 Lindor or Omar in his prime, I choose Lindor.  He’s no Omar in the field, but he is a Gold Glover.  And the kid can hit.  Solid at bat after solid at bat all Series.  But all that pales in relation to his temperament.  I know we have all heard more than we care to about temperament.  But Francisco plays with such joy, his smile is so infectious, he just pulls you in.  He keeps his teammates loose; he is a reminder that this is just a game and it’s supposed to be fun.  He gets thrown out trying to steal second and he smiles as if to say—“you got me, but I’ll be back.”  He jokes with the Cubs at second base like it’s a spring training game.  And even though I have been waiting a lifetime to win this thing, the kid puts things in perspective.  He enjoyed every minute of it---I love and envy him for it.

In four years we will have another election.  I hope by then I will view those with opposing perspectives from my own with the same good will that Francisco Lindor brings to the ballpark every day.  I hope by then, the Indians will have won a World Series, but I am a Cleveland sports fan and am prepared for disappointment.  In the meantime, I’ll root for our Country and President Trump (that is hard to type) to do well.  But the truth is he is not a likeable guy.  Trump is a thin-skinned jerk—in short, he is a nasty man.  I hope he proves me wrong and does great things for our Country.  He is everything our current President is not.  And for those who voted for him that may be the point.  

It’s been a tough month.  I am ready to move on.  The Browns have me thinking about spring training and the start of next season.  Now if Brantley is healthy and they get another bat and the pitching holds up… this could be the year.

What Francona Can Learn from Buck's Britton Blunder - by Colin Gawel

I recently finished the book "Ahead of the Curve - Inside the Baseball Revolution" by Brian Kenny. It was one of the best books on baseball I have ever read. It lays waste to old school baseball thinking - that in light of new information - just doesn't make sense anymore. I could go on and on, and if you have had the misfortune of sitting next to me in the past month, chances are I have gone on and on about dispelling one baseball myth after another. But for the purposes of this tidy essay, let's focus on just two ways "conventional" baseball wisdom hurts a team's chance to win: bullpen use and the preference of "Starting Pitchers" to "Bullpenning." 

Tuesday night, Orioles manager Buck Showalter left his best pitcher - the top relief pitcher in all of baseball, Zach Britton - on the bench to watch inferior O's pitcher Ubaldo Jimenez give up a game-winning 3 run HR in the bottom of the 13th inning. The Orioles season was over and their best pitcher never even got in the game. Or - to put it another way - Jimenez gave up 3 runs in that one inning, Britton only gave up 4 runs ALL SEASON. 

Now, Showalter is a fine manager and fairly progressive-thinking one at that, so I apologize for singling him out, but he fell victim to the myth of saving his best pitcher to close out the game once they had a lead. I won't bore you with numbers, but it is a fact that the moment when the game is on the line could be the 4th inning or 9th or 13th. The situation dictates the level of importance. Somehow, it has become conventional thinking that you save your closer for the end. Managers rarely take heat for this poor strategy (or bunting for that matter) so they continue to do it. This time, at least people are questioning Buck's decision, which shows a little progress from the sports media concerning baseball analytics.

In fact, one day, in the not too distant future, the baseball dugout will have an "Analytics" coach that simply runs the numbers and tells the manager, "the computer says now is the best time to put in Britton", no matter what the inning.  This not only will increase the team's chances for victory but provide a scapegoat for the manager if the move backfires. "I went with the nerd on that decision so why don't you ask him?" It's sort of like an offensive coordinator in football, a little fire wall between the head coach and unemployment line. 

Kenny points out in his book that using relievers in such a narrow fashion is unique to the past twenty years. In the '70's teams like the Yankees, Dodgers, and A's would regularly insert their "Closers": Sparky Lyle, Mike Marshall and Rollie Fingers as early as the 4th inning. It's called the "Fireman Of the Year" award because these guys would put out fires. Not just pitch the 9th with a three-run lead and nobody on base. The top relief pitchers in baseball as recently as the '80's all pitched around 120 innings a year. Now it's down to about 70. Do the math, that's a lot of innings thrown by inferior pitchers. But easy saves make for big money and both players and agents get behind that. Less work and less stress for more pay? Sign me up. 

So what does this have to do with Terry Francona and the Cleveland Indians? With injuries to their pitching staff, the Tribe have turned to their own "Nuke LaLoosh," Trevor Bauer to start Game One against the far superior line-up of the Boston Red Sox. Trevor has good stuff but often comes unglued if he feels an umpire has missed a call. (Which happens all too often and can be fixed, but that's another story for a different time.) With Indians ace Corey Kluber set to pitch Game Two at home in Cleveland, a game one win would be huge. 

What we know for sure: every time a pitcher goes through a line-up, the next time around batters have more success; a third time even more. Once again, I'm not going to trot out numbers, it's just math. "Bullpenning" is a concept where no pitcher throws more than 75 innings and you make the opposing line-up face a new pitcher each time they bat around. In a perfect world, the Tribe would start their 3rd best reliever, bring in Baurer in the 4th and then go straight to their best pitcher, Andrew Miller, to close out the game from the 7th on. 

I know that scenario is too mind blowing for the 2016 baseball fan so I would suggest this. I would let Bauer go through the line-up one time and after that he would be on a very short leash. At the first sign of real trouble, go immediately to your best arm, Andrew Miller. Then work it out from there. If the Tribe can bullpen their way to a win in game one, you hand the ball to a true starting pitcher in game two. And Francona better tell Miller to plan on pitching both days. He is a grown man. He can handle it. The series takes an off day on Saturday.

Terry Francona is a smart cookie himself and has already been using Miller to get the important outs while using league average closer Cody Reed to mop up in the 9th inning. (click here to read the story) But sometimes, in the post season spotlight, progressive-thinking managers revert to conservative ways and in the blink of an eye, the season is lost. Look no further than Buck Showalter for proof of that. 

Colin Gawel wrote this at Colin's Coffee when he probably should have been cleaning. He loves playoff baseball but rarely sees the end of the games because they start and end too late.