Joe Mauer, Michael Bradley, and The Problem With Artistic Athletes

So I've been more or less completely consumed with the World Cup this month. Watching every match I can, reading interviews, reports, reviewing highlights, and writing like a maniac. But I still think of baseball, perhaps never more clearly than when I was watching a World Cup match with some friends last Thursday.

We needed a point against Germany, or some good fortune in another match. Being Minnesota sports fans, we fully anticipated that everything would turn against us at any given moment. As a result, every flaw, every foul, every mistake increased our anxiety and our ire, and nobody got under our skin as much as Michael Bradley.

Bradley--mid-mistake. (From Slate.com)

For those who don't know, Bradley is widely believed to be the best American player. A creating midfielder he basically serves as the point guard, distributing, defending, inventing and supporting every aspect of the game. A favorite in European leagues, bigwigs and pundits think that Bradley could easily make every one of the other 31 teams at the World Cup (even intimidating German and Brazilian squads).

But that didn't excuse Bradley's lackluster play. He was nowhere in the first match. He gave away the ball that became the equalizing goal against Portugal. And in the final match versus Germany he was sloppy: losing the ball frequently, making clumsy/ineffectual challenges. Suddenly my friends were out for blood.

"Bradley, what is wrong with you?!?!"
"Bradley gives it away every time, I'm telling you!!!"
"God, Bradley, just stop! STOP!!"

I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard so many people, so upset, with such a talented athlete. Until I remembered my last trip to Target Field and the shouts at #7...Joe Mauer.

Joe Mauer Misses the Cheers (From CBS Sports)

"Mauer, what is wrong with you?!?!?"
"Mauer grounds out every time, I'm telling you!!!"
"God, Mauer, just stop! STOP!!"


I sort of assumed it just revolved around the old story: big name, big expectations, minimal delivery, maximum reaction. But there's a little something more to it than that I think. After all, we seem perpetually enamored of other players, even though they certainly have down moments too...why be enraged by Mauer and Bradley and not the others?

I think the reason might lie in our selection of heroes. We love the strong, the powerful, the mighty men who never cease to amaze with their offensive exploits: think Harmon Killebrew, Jim Thome and, in the soccer world, Clint Dempsey. We also love the daring, the bold, the unbelievable save-the-day types: Kirby Puckett at the wall, Johan Santana at the end of a losing streak, Tim Howard any time of day.

But those two styles of heroes do not match well with either Bradley or Mauer. They won't win things single handedly (either with goals or home runs). They won't save the day (either with sparkling defense/pitching or miraculous goal keeping). They are more like artists than heroes. Doing things that seem unusually beautiful and nearly impossible to quantify. They distribute the ball where it's least expected (either with passes or with spray singles hitting through defensive shifts). They provide a team with a reliable pillar requires opponents to develop specific plans. They are lauded by many--particularly those who see them at a distance and know their reputation. Sure some artists can also be powerful or save the day (Magic Johnson comes to mind), but if you can't you drop in stature rapidly (looking in your direction Ricky Rubio)

Of course there's one big gap between an artistic athlete and a straight forward artist: artists don't need to win anything, athletes always do. So, when an artistic athlete goes from great to average, it's easier to abandon them than hold on to the quietly valuable work of the past. And if they have a run of bad form while the team succeeds in spite of them, fans can get down right angry at the waste of talent who should be making a good team great rather than holding them back.

What the hell Strathairn?!!

Those who hate on Mauer and Bradley would be rather like if art fans got pissed when Monet refused to change style when Seurat and Van Gogh got more experimental, or if movie goers whined about David Strathairn never getting back to his Oscar nominated potential.

Of course, that hate doesn't have to last forever. Every World Cup match brings a new slate of heroes and raft of scapegoats. In the last week alone, Joe Mauer went from washed-up to offensive lynchpin. A weak bit of artistry inspires nothing but frustration, but even the weakest artist is still an artist, and capable of transcendent moments.

When those moment comes, I look forward to hearing all the jeers and frustration die away, and for one word to supplant them. One word when Bradley hits Clint Dempsey in perfect stride. One word when Mauer knocks in two with a single to the opposite field. One word, in city/state/nationwide chorus: "YES!"

A Letter to My New Hero

Dear Brian Duensing,

I have just finished reading this recent news article from the Minneapolis Star Tribune, and let me begin by saying: my deepest condolences to you and your friends, family and neighbors in Omaha. I can't imagine the trauma of the incident described, and I hope that your community can continue to come together in this time of need.

However, I learned many other things from this article. For instance: You totally despise the Yankees...so do I. You graduated from high school in 2001...so did I. You majored in English Literature and expressed an interest in teaching high school if baseball didn't work out...so did I! (Only I could tell baseball wouldn't work out for me around age 9.)

Because you're so much like me Brian, I now feel terrible about constantly linking blog posts about you to silly you tube clips and giving you the nickname: "Brian "You Make Me Feel Like" Duensing ". I would not have made such a lame joke if I had known how alike we are. I will also resist, for the moment, the temptation to ask you for lesson plan opinions and making silly comments about Vygotsky's "Strike Zone of Proximal Development" [Education Nerd Joke! HIYO--!!!!!]

I will simply wish you best of luck on the coming season...because when one English Lit/Education Major wins...WE ALL WIN!!

Warmest Regards,

The Scruffy Rube

P.s. Nerds FOREVER!!

JJ Hardy and the Mystery of The Dirty Sox

So apparently April was part of Spring, and May is part of Fall, and I'm sitting here humming "rain rain go away" before tonight's game. What is behind this sudden shift in our weatherly fortunes? Perhaps JJ Hardy Shortstop/Detective can find out in this latest edition of the JJ Hardy MYSTERIES!!

While recovering from his wrist injury, JJ Hardy, shortstop/detective ,did what he always does

in his spare time: he checked his surroundings to make sure there were no diamond smugglers in the Twin Cities. But being new to town, he wanted to have a friend join him.

"C'mon guys!" said JJ in his most eager-beaver voice, "there's always a diamond smuggler, or an art thief or an escaped criminal posing as a wealthy dowager! You just have to look for them!"

"I don't know, JJ" said Joe Mauer "wouldn't it be more fun to just free-style in my massive mansion?"

"Yeah, I mean why fight crime when you can just make it...disappear!!!" shouted Michael Cuddyer as he vanished little Wilson Ramos' bats.

Then Jesse "Ze Ubermensch" Crain suggested that, "better yet, we could ponder the the intense complexity of nature's synchronous relationship with one's soul and whether this confirms the intervention of the divine in the daily world or purely the power of biological forces elemental in the Darwinian undertones of evolution!" Then crickets chirped and everyone on the team ran away from Jesse Crain.

JJ's feet took him to the banks of the mighty Mississip, as he patrolled the caves searching for smugglers and other villains, but all he could see were stalactites, stalagmites and the city's one remaining Timberwolves fan. "Maybe, Milwaukee's the only smuggler saturated city in America." BUT JUST THEN he heard a monstrous laugh reverberating down the banks of the river. With each syllable of the "MWAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA!!!" the goosebumps on JJ's arms multiplied, and he knew from the "Big Book of Mystery Words" that this was what his idols would call "a clue"

Tip toeing towards the sinister cackle he peeked inside a cave and was overwhelmed with the fetid stank of unwashed sox. "Whoever is inside here, sure doesn't like laundry! What a silly billy!" Just then he turned the corner and saw a mad man with long white hair pulling levers and spinning dials and cackling, my goodness, the cackling.

"Purple Pig Great Food good choice Todd Stein Jajajajajajajja!" said the madman. And JJ knew immediately that this man had lost all contact with reality, but with each twist of the knob and each pull of the lever rain and storms persisted outside. Then JJ did what he always did in situations like this, he stated the obvious to guide the plot.

"He's controlling the weather! I must stop him!" and so JJ used the only thing guaranteed to overwhelm any critically deranged pseudo wizardish being: cable television. As it's ethereal glow burned in the dark smelly underbelly of the Dirty Sox cave, the wild man turned and began to ramble "I love bull fight, oh my god too much, I watching one in this moment. Watch that movie matador you see big nuts man. Very very awesome thanks comcast!"

With the madman distracted, JJ fiddled with the machinery until the rain and snow abated and it was safe to play baseball again. As he left the cave he looked back at the madman in front of the telvision and quipped "Talk about an idiot box..."

But little did JJ know that though the tv was on, the madman's brain was still hard at work, imagining more diabolical schemes. If he appears again, to bend the weather to his will, to smuggle diamonds or to pose as a wealthy dowager, he will be met by the ingenuity and passion of JJ HARDY Shortstop/Detective!!

JJ Hardy and the Mystery of The Tiggers

Want to know why I'm so excited to come back to Minnesota?

1--There are people I love there

2--There is a pretty new ballpark I've not yet seen

3--Living in the black hole of Northwest Ohio has deprived me of watching the last 8 games in a row on MLB.tv, driving me closer and closer to the brink of insanity. Add to this the fact that after tearing my hair out over an extremely tense episode of LOST I came home to find that a thin lead had shrunk and shrunk until at the very moment I turn on Jon Gordon and Danny Gladden Brennan Boesch hit the ball very very far. And, being the good Minnesota Twins fan I am, I began to despair.

But no one told a particular short stop/mystery enthusiast, one JJ Hardy--BASEBALL BOY DETECTIVE! In the latest installment of his popular series: "JJ Hardy and the Mystery of the Tiggers"--The climactic excerpt is quoted here

Chapter 9

...With a crash, the peace of the deep dark night in Targetville was shattered and JJ Hardy, baseball boy detective, knew that he would have to act fast to solve this mystery.

"Hmmm," said JJ, "I better act fast in order to solve this mystery! I'd hate it if Dr. Cakeburn's Red Velvet Laboratory were ruined by these messy messy Tiggers. After all, like Gardy always says, a clean Laboratory is a SAFE laboratory!!"

Just then, Detroit catcher Alex Avila kaboing-ga-boinged his way to second base with a double while singing the Tiger theme song. which gave JJ an idea.

"HEY! I have an idea!" said JJ. "Tiggers are bouncy, trouncy, pouncy, flouncy and quite a bit of fun, but the most wonderful thing about tiggers, is that they're the only ones! So if I behave like a Tigger...they won't know what's happening!! I may need to get messy, I hope Gardy forgives me."

And so when Ramon Santiago hit a grounder loaded with vim and with vigor, JJ flung himself after the ball, and, doing his best Tigger impression bounced up to surprise Alex Avila and catch him off guard near third base causing Little Nicky Punto to yell: "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY TIGGERS ARE FUN!!!"

Nick may have been right, but JJ still had work to do, to solve the mystery of the Tiggers he'd have to keep thinking like a Tigger until the game was over. And so when he came to bat he hit a jumpy bumpy ball to left center field and ran his clumpy thumpy way to third base. And poised on top of third base he sang out the magical words sure to solve the mystery.

"Boy this sure has been fun fun fun fun and so forth, but the most wonderful thing about Tiggers is I'M the only one...YES I'm the only ONE!!!!"

It's not a good idea, dear child, to ever intentionally exacerbate another person, but for the sake of Targetville, for the safety of Dr. Cakeburn's Baking Laboratory and for Twins fans everywhere it was a good thing that JJ irritated the Tiger's pitcher. Because that led to the pitcher, through big salty tears to cry out, "nu-uh!!!!" and throw a slider whose top was made out of rubber and whose bottom was made out of springs to go bouncy flouncy past the catcher and allow JJ and all the Twins to snatch victory from the Jaws of defeat and solve the mystery of the Tiggers.

THE END

P.s. Before the game tonight came news that Ernie Harwell, former Tiger's announcer had passed away. The last in a line of legendary announcers, his poetry unites all fans, not just those who agree with him. He will be missed

The Thrilling/Self-Evident Conclusion

The time has come to conclude our inaugural faux radio/podcast serial.* And as always the time has come for me to post the links one more time.

For Interweb users, click here, for all the cool kids with iTunes, click here.

And for everyone here now...the final photoshop artwork to accompany this series

*(Sidenote: It will become the "only faux radio/podcast serial if people didn't like it...and since no one has said anything in the comments for the last SEVERAL months...I'm going to assume that the approximately 97 people who have visited this blog think that it is SO INCREDIBLY AWESOME that they are unworthy of posting a comment. But believe me, if you have found this site, even by accident you are beautiful, remarkable unique human snowflake--and you are heartily encouraged/begged to write a comment.)

My dream...

I had this dream last night. It was bizarre and wonderful. Forces of darkness and evil were converging on the horizon. There was Benedict Arnold, and the Wicked Witch of the West, about a zillion orcs, and my 7th grade English teacher. It was awfully frightening.

But all around me were heroes and superheroes. Hercules, the Green Lantern, G.O.B Bluth, Hermione Granger and John Locke (both the bald hunter from Lost, and the eminent philosopher).

When my alarm finally went off, I thought that the final battle had been joined. But no, my brain was just sleepy, and an epic week of serious work lay ahead of me. And to make matters worse...the Yankees are back in the World Series...

Then again, maybe my dream is an allegory for the World Series to come...Maybe it was a sign that I should cheer nonstop for the Phillies and their Hercules (Ryan Howard), Green Lantern (Jimmy Rollins), GOB Bluth (Chase Utley), Hermione Granger (Pedro Martinez) and John Locke (Raul Ibanez--who is not as cool as our John Locke (Ron Gardenhire) but still, pretty awesome). Maybe the forces of Goodness and Light might yet triumph and the Yankpires will be vanquished and I'll get through my homework and actually manage to squeeze in 8 hours of sleep at some point this week!

(Probably not...but sometimes you have to be wildly irrational...just because it's more fun that way)

C'MON PHILLIES!!!!

WOO! We beat a team that everybody beats!!

This is the only cause for excitement we have had in recent weeks--the first series we have won since..July 29th...and yet this is all TOTALLY sincere.

Unfortunately I have no idea who to thank for this win:

I spent three innings singing "You Make Me Feel Like Duensing"--but I failed to be this falsetto...and Brian Duensing failed to be as awesome as Leo Sayer's yellow cardigan (much like almost everything else in this world)

Bobby "K-Zone" Keppel--ran away from the strike zone

Jesse "Ze Ubermensch" Crain was great--for a couple minutes

Pretty Princess Jose Mijares succeeded as long as I mumered the words: "Yo Soy una pretty pretty princessa" before he pitched...leading to the understanding that we all have a little princess inside us.

Matt Gurrier survived...but barely.

And the offense--oh the offense--the multi-headed beast of our offense sighed, shrugged it's multi shouldered shoulders and kept right on hitting--getting just enough done to win the game.

So, rather than thanking the Twins return to mediocrity (as opposed to it's previous wallowing in crapitude) I will credit this win to the return of my blogging compatriate: Kristinka Gorder. Without my partner in peanutty goodness--there is no joy in Twins Territory.

Thank you Stinky. And thank you Twins

Weekend Recap

We at Peanuts from Heaven do realize that we are creating a rather nasty habit of failing to blog during the weekend. But, given that during a glorious Minnesota summer we would much rather be listening to the game on a radio whilst basking in the sun near a crystal clear lake, we hope that you are like us and not feverishly checking for recaps every day.

This series was important, because, as if it wasn't bad enough that we had just faced the organization that must not be named, we now had to face the Dark Forces from Chicago led by the evil Sorcerer Ozzie Guilluman. How would Gardydalf and his fellowship of the bat respond? How much dorkier could we become?

Answer: This much

In the end the series was better than we expected, we were in every game, we got to attend one, we nearly won the second and today we welcomed back a devastatingly secret weapon.

After Gardydalf the White-haired endured the oh-so-narrow-defeat last night, there was only one solution, he ventured deep into the bowels of the Metrodome, to unleash a magic that can destroy everything in its path. A swirling dervish of magic.

There was fear and trepidation throughout the dugout. "Gardydalf," asked Bilbo Punto, "why must we unleash the beast?"

"Yes," said Mauer the Sideburn-ed, "I have sideburns, I am powerful, You do not need to unleash that ferocious magic. I offer you my bat."

"And my glove, " said Crede the Greedy

"And my pitching," said Scott the UnNicknamed

"And my...wait...is bat already taken?" inquired Justin the Maple Leafed.

"You are brave men," said Gardydalf, "and true-men all. But after we the devestating devouring from Bobby "Caveman" Jenks last night, we must use every weapon we have to defeat the cunning Pale Hosers.

"I don't like it any more than you do...but what must be done...must be done..." And so with solemnity of purpose, and downcast eyes. Gardydalf did open the chest of magic, which swirled and elevated an otherwise mildly amusing centerfielder and turned him into

MOJO GOGO!

The rest--was easy. So you are our hero Mojo Gogo, you and your running, leaping, home run swatting ways. Happy all star break...don't be afraid to remain magical after the vacation.

Happy Birthday America!

There were some not so good things that happened yesterday. Early in the morning we lost in the 16th inning. Our knuckleball expert/uber-nerd extraordinaire RA Dickey took the loss. Our resident pitcher/superhero Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey went on the DL. And we had seats near a guy who claimed that he had to "get in their heads" by screaming out the names of Tigers players, which did nothing more than give us a headache and inspire Magglio Ordonez to hit a 3-run home run.

But still, it was the 4th of July, it was the chance to celebrate America, and no matter how bad things were, there was no better way to celebrate America than to remember the words of one of our greatest founding fathers.

"It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shows, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."

Those are the words of John Adams. Diplomat. Patriot. Powdered Wig Enthusiast. And the inspiration for the annual brilliance of Little Nicky Punto. As it was last year, so it is this year, and so, while he is not as well known as the home-run hitting big name founding fathers (Morneau=George Washington, Cuddyer=Thomas Jefferson), Nick "John Adams" Punto--you are our hero.

Wow.

That is why you never leave a game early.
To everyone who left in the 7th: ppppppppbbbbbbbbbbbbbbttttttttt.

That one half inning makes suffering through the Blue Jays worthwhile. It makes seeing Torii rob Brendan Harris of a double worthwhile. It makes enduring Mike Socia's interminable visits to the mound worthwhile. It makes surviving the most annoying teenage girl in the universe (who sat right behind us, talked about everything that was not baseball, screamed at a deafening pitch and sang off key) worthwhile.

Seeing the Angels walk Morneau to pitch to Jason Ku-dubel, who, in addition to hitting a ku-dingle, a ku-double, and a ku-driple, then promptlly hit a ku-drand ku-dam ku-dome ku-dun to hit for the ku-dycle makes life totally worthwhile. I mean...just look at these happy people, don't you want to be like them?



Any game that can make us go from burying our heads in our hands in total despair to screaming, jumping up and down and accidentally knocking our rally caps onto the guy three rows ahead of us (sorry!) has to be the greatest thing ever. And it was.

Welcome back Awesome Twins. We've missed you.

Hero of the game: Do I even need to say it?

YAAAAAYYY!!!

I've always been of the opinion that crappy things aren't really crappy, they just help us appreciate the good things more. Monday's loss, while sucktastic and depressing, made last night's victory even sweeter. Especially since it was my favorite kind of win - the bottom of the 9th, 2 out come from behind kind.

Disclaimer: I did not actually watch this game - I was in choir rehearsal for 2 hours and 45 minutes...from the hours of 7pm to 9:45pm. Trying to hide my blackberry discreetly behind my Mozart Requiem score so I could see the play by play got a little cumbersome after a while, so I reluctantly gave up.

After the game I immediately called Scruffy, who was watching the game with his family. At this point, we were down 5-3 in the bottom of the 9th. Scruffy related to me the following events:
- Gomez walks. ("Really? He didn't just...swing at everything?" "Apparently not.")
- Kubel walks and is promptly replaced by Brendan Harris as pinch runner (good call. Watching Kubel trying to outrun a wild pitch to first on Monday was one of the more mystifying moments of my life).
- Buscher walks.
- Excitement mounts.
- Denard gets a hit! Excitement mounts further.
- Casilla comes to the plate.
- Lots of yelling from the other end of the phone. I assume this either means we've won or the Metrodome just exploded.
- Turns out we won. YAAAAAAAAYYY!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm mostly impressed by Carlos Gomez's ability to draw a walk. I'm also cool with the Cuddyer-Gomez-Span outfield selection. Gomez kind of rocks. He reminds me of Torii the way he crashes into walls trying to make impossible catches. It warms the cockles of my heart and fills me with nostalgic images of Torii being carried out on a stretcher after whamming into a pole with his entire body. And plus, Cuddyer seems to be handling Supraction(TM) just fine by himself. So even though Casilla hit in the winning run, my hero of the game is Carlos Gomez, for his patience. :)

Um. OK.

So....we lost the opener. To the Mariners.
Not quite the glorious comeback we were all hoping for, but, as Scruffy so wisely said "You can't' win 'em all."

It's less depressing when I think of it this way:
It was one game, out of 162. Last year, our boys went 88-74, meaning that if we were going to equal last season's record, we still had a 45% chance of losing this game.


It's more depressing when I think of it this way:
We lost the opener. To the Mariners.


To make up for this extreme depression, I got a hot dog and covered it with ridiculous ammounts of various condiments, such that I could hardly hold it in my hands to eat it.

I also happened to notice that it was very cold last night. I began to ponder exactly how many layers I would have to wear in order to not freeze while sitting outdoors for 2-3 hours in this weather. Answer: enough to make me look like a small waddly marshmallow. So, there's that.

OK on to the important things. Analysis of our loss. Here is my assessment of the more significant problems we ran into last night:
- Squandered opportunities with buddies on base.
- Too much grounding out to first.
- Not enough base hits.
- Ken Griffey Jr.

If we can fix these smiple problems, we're good to go.

...ok so it might not be as easy as I make it sound, but C'mon guys! We can do it!!!!

I'd also like to give a shoutout to my official hero of the game: Mike Redmond. Right after getting beaned in the neck with a broken bat, he promptly hits a double - our only non-single hit of the game. Well done. Just...please don't be injured. We don't have another catcher. This is my plea to you Mike Redmond - please, please feel better. We cannot lose you.