October 6th, 2015

Sometimes, I pinch myself. Figuratively though, never literally. Fifteen years ago, I sat in the ballpark across the street and called a Red Sox-Yankees game into my tape recorder. The game was sold out; I rested my scorebook and notes on my right thigh and the tape recorder on my left thigh all while trying not to invade the personal space of those sitting next to me. A good chunk of my play-by-play from that game – Luis Sojo hit a walkoff RBI single in the bottom of ninth off Rod Beck to win it for the Yankees – wound up on my first baseball demo tape. That tape landed me my first baseball play-by-play job. Fifteen years later, I’m on the opposite side of 161^st Street at the new Yankee Stadium, eight subway stops from where I grew up, being paid to call a playoff game featuring my surprising Houston Astros squad against the New York Yankees. Sure, it’s “just” a winner-take-all American League Wild Card Game but, in many ways, that raises the stakes. In a seven- or five-game series, losing the first game isn’t the end. However, losing the Wild Card Game is the end. Play six months to get into the postseason and it could be gone – Poof! – after one game, in which anything can happen; if you lose, it’s almost like you were never in the playoffs, the moment so fleeting.

The first pitch from Masahiro Tanaka to Jose Altuve is a ball.

*          *          *

The 2015 season is my 14^th year broadcasting baseball – seven years in the minors, seven in the Majors, a play-by-play guy in 10 of those seasons – and I’ve never been involved in a postseason game. As a matter of fact, in only one of the previous 13 seasons had a team I covered finished over .500; the 2004 Kalamazoo Kings of the independent Frontier League. The Kings were in the playoff hunt until the season’s final week. The next year, the Kings won the league title, but I wasn’t there to see it; I’d moved on to the Binghamton Mets of the Double-A Eastern League by then. The B-Mets were in the playoff hunt until the season’s final day in 2006, but they split a doubleheader on that day to finish 70-70 & out of the playoffs.

What I learned this year was that, in the playoffs, the waiting is the hardest part. And the Astros had to wait longer than most to find out what was next for them. Going into the final day of the season on Sunday, there were four possible scenarios involving potential playoff or tiebreaker games in three different cities. After that day’s games concluded, the Astros were locked into the Wild Card Game in New York in two days, on Tuesday. Which meant a cross-country flight from Phoenix, arriving in New York – our third city on what was now at least a 9-day road trip – in the wee hours of Monday morning with a game scheduled for shortly after 8 pm local time on Tuesday. Being exhausted and sleeping through much of Monday morning did make the waiting any easier.

*          *          *

I was in the restroom when I heard it.

Colby Rasmus homered leading off the top of the second, a high, majestic shot to right; that appeared to be more than enough run support for Astros ace, and Yankees killer, Dallas Keuchel. I took my customary break when the top of the fourth inning began, turning the play-by-play over to Steve Sparks – my broadcast partner – which always mean a stop at the facilities. I’d just parked at a urinal when I heard the smooth, but booming, voice of Yankees radio broadcaster John Sterling over the restroom speakers announce that Carlos Gomez hit Tanaka’s first pitch of the fourth for a home run. Astros 2, Yankees 0. I’ve been in baseball long enough to know the game isn’t won until the last out is recorded, but I was confident the Astros were going to advance.

*          *          *

I woke up Tuesday morning feeling refreshed. The off-day Monday was needed to get over the grogginess associated with a late cross-country flight from Phoenix and to recharge my batteries after a 162-game regular season which included tension-filled games for most of the season’s final month. Monday was a great day to relax, go for a long walk & visit some friends & relatives in my hometown. Tuesday, it was time to get down to business.

I huddled at the desk in front of my laptop & iPad much of the morning. I updated my notes on the Yankees & made sure I had all the information I needed & wanted. Notes on the Astros’ postseason history and regular-season history against the Yankees were typed. This was my first time preparing for a playoff game, so I was learning as I went. Sure, I’d prepared for plenty of regular-season games, but this was different. How much work should I do for just one game? What information do I absolutely need & what information can be put on the back burner? By the time I closed my laptop & iPad, I felt pretty good about my preparation. I never get nervous for a broadcast if I know I’m prepared. I wasn’t nervous.

*          *          *

A two-run lead with Dallas Keuchel on the mound against the Yankees felt like a 10-run lead. Keuchel – who hadn’t allowed a run to the Yankees in the regular season – didn’t even allow many hard-hit outs. Alex Rodriguez did punish a pitch that George Springer ran down in the rightfield corner. The three hits Keuchel allowed – all singles – were harmless. He walked Astros nemesis Chris Young in the first inning, but that was the only free pass Keuchel allowed. The Astros got Keuchel another run in the seventh, when Jose Altuve poked a low-and-away pitch – a pitcher’s pitch – from Yankees reliever Dellin Betances into leftfield, scoring Jonathan Villar from second base. Keuchel handed a 3-0 lead to the bullpen – good most of the year, but shaky in September – when he departed after six innings.

*          *          *

I really wanted Caribbean food.

Houston is a great city with fantastic restaurants & plenty of ethnic food options, but finding good Caribbean food has proven to be difficult. Since moving to Houston, I’d heard of one Puerto Rican restaurant, which I tried & found lacking. Another Jamaican restaurant I read about on the Internet wasn’t up to snuff, at least not to me. A second Jamaican restaurant recommended to me by a friend had proven to be the real deal. So, Houston was 1 for 3 in the Caribbean restaurant department – a great ratio for a hitter, but not for my taste buds.

Growing up in the Bronx in a neighborhood filled with people from all over the Caribbean, I developed an appreciation for their food & culture. And I was confident I’d be able to find a good Caribbean restaurant near my Midtown Manhattan hotel for lunch before heading to Yankee Stadium for the game. A search on Yelp turned up a Puerto Rican restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen across town. Probably a 15-minute cab ride. Google Maps said it was a 30-minute walk. I was confident I could walk there in 20 minutes.

*          *          *

I felt a sense of calm when I saw Tony Sipp enter the game from the bullpen for the bottom of the seventh. The southpaw finished the regular season strong & matched up well against a Yankees lineup laden with lefthanded hitters and switch hitters. My calm was justified when Sipp worked around a one-out walk to Chase Headley, retiring the other three Yankees he faced in the inning. I was thrilled to see Will Harris enter the game in the eighth. Harris would’ve probably started the year in the minor leagues if it hadn’t been for injuries to other pitchers, but he never saw the minors in 2015, pitching well all year & earning the right to be the eighth-inning setup man in a winner-take-all playoff game. The Yankees went down in order against Harris, the ball not leaving the infield.

One more inning.

*          *          *

I haven’t been a full-time resident of New York City in over 13 years. Yet, getting back into The City’s routine, the hustle & bustle, is never an adjustment for me. As a matter of fact, I look forward to it. The streets were packed, as they always are around lunchtime in Midtown Manhattan. Office workers flood outside in the afternoons, seeking food. Many use their afternoon lunch breaks to smoke a cigarette or two, either in front of their office building or on their way to & from lunch (New York City has the most stringent non-smoking laws in the country, & public sidewalks are just about the only place where it’s legal to smoke outside of one’s private residence. For now).

The City’s geography is always in my head as I traverse Manhattan. For a New Yorker, memorizing the north-south avenues in order is tantamount to knowing your multiplication tables. The Puerto Rican restaurant was on 51^st Street, between 9^th & 10^th Avenues. I left the Astros’ hotel, on 42^nd Street, just east of Third Avenue, & quickly made my way to Lexington Avenue, before briskly walking uptown. I use the traffic lights to determine my moves. A red light at 44^th Street meant making a left turn & walking west to Park Avenue, where I barely made the light before a red at Madison Avenue forced me back uptown. I made it through the pedestrian plaza that’s become Times Square before shooting up 8^th Avenue for a few blocks. Construction on 9^th Avenue forced me uptown again. I finally made it to 51^st Street, a residential block with one storefront – the Puerto Rican restaurant. The beautiful fall weather meant my walk across town at light speed didn’t cause me to break a sweat or to be out of breath.

*          *          *

Yankees closer Andrew Miller was his usual dominant self in the top of the ninth, retiring the Astros on a harmless fly ball & two strikeouts. As Astros closer Luke Gregerson made his way from the visitor’s bullpen to the mound, the Yankee Stadium crowd was trying to summon up the strength to cheer their team to a rally, but it was obvious their heart wasn’t in it. Sparks pulled out the t-shirt & shorts he wore when he covered the Astros’ Champagne-fueled celebration from the clubhouse in Phoenix just two days prior; it was his job to get post-game interviews with players & coaches during every Astros clinching celebration. I’d just gotten back on the air when Sparks motioned to me that he was heading downstairs to prepare for another postgame party.

*          *          *

I stood behind four other patrons waiting to place their order; there was barely enough room for the short line. The restaurant was dominated by the kitchen & food prep area on the right. On the left was a narrow area with three sets of tables & chairs. One table was occupied by two women who were finishing their lunch. It quickly became obvious I was the only person in the restaurant who wasn’t fluent in Spanish. I felt right at home.

I was in line for a few minutes when a restaurant employee approached me.

“You eat here?” He asked me in a thick accent.

“Yes, I’m going to have lunch here. Not to go.”

“Sit! Sit!” He implored, waving toward a table. “I take care of you. Gimme 5 minutes. You want soda?”

I answered in the affirmative as I followed his instructions. Five minutes later, he asked me what I wanted to eat. I never saw a menu, but I didn’t need one. I settled on baked chicken with yellow rice (arroz con pollo) with plantains. “Maduros,” I told him, meaning I wanted the soft, sweet plantains, rather than the hard, salty ones. The food came quickly & in the large portions typical of a Caribbean restaurant. When I finished, I walked to the counter, which separated me from a short, raven-haired woman. After glancing at the chicken bones & stray pieces of rice remaining on my plate, she asked me if I had a soda. I told her I had. “Eight dollars,” she said. An eight dollar lunch in Manhattan? It’s a miracle!

The walk back to the hotel was a little longer than the walk to the restaurant. A full stomach will do that to you.

*          *          *

When he was with the Astros in 2004, Carlos Beltran turned in one of the greatest postseason performances in baseball history. However, he spurned the Astros for the Mets in free agency that winter & many Astros fans still boo him whenever he returns to Minute Maid Park. So, I’m sure many Astros fans took an extra bit of satisfaction in seeing him strike out swinging to begin the bottom of the ninth. The next hitter, Rodriguez, also struck out.

One out remaining.

*          *          *

I always try to take a 20-30 minute nap before I head to the ballpark. Even if I just close my eyes & don’t fall asleep, I feel refreshed & am less likely to get tired later in the day. Given how excited I was, it was a little surprising to me that I was able to doze off so easily after I slipped out of my shoes, packed my briefcase, fluffed up two pillows & laid face up on top of the bedspread.

Whenever I wake up from my early afternoon naps, I’m like a bucking bronco when the gate opens, & today was no exception. I bolted out of bed, quickly slipped on my shoes & grabbed my briefcase before storming out of the hotel room. After checking out at the front desk, I expertly wheeled my briefcase through the endless pedestrian traffic on my way to the subway station. I happened to arrive on the platform just as the 4 train was entering the station, which, to many New Yorkers, is tantamount to winning the lottery.

After arriving at my stop, I briskly walked to Yankee Stadium. I couldn’t wait to unpack, get settled in & to start my day.

*          *          *

One of the things I love about doing play-by-play is the unpredictability & spontaneity; you never know what you’re going to see & you usually don’t know exactly how you’re going to call something until it happens. I rarely think about what I’m going to say before it comes out of my mouth. Even when I give speeches, I never write them down verbatim; maybe I’ll jot down some brief notes or bullet points if I write anything down at all. However, when the final out was recorded, I knew exactly what I was going to say long before I said it, a rarity for me.

I’d been thinking about Frank Sinatra’s version of “Theme from New York, New York,” which is played after every Yankees home game, win or lose. I used to work in Kansas City, where I covered the Royals; after their wins, they play Wilbert Harrison’s version of “Kansas City” at Kauffman Stadium. The winner of this game was going to play the Royals in the American League Division Series, with the first two games in Kansas City. If the Astros won, I knew what I wanted to say, & it would incorporate elements from both songs.

Brian McCann stood in for the Yankees, their final chance to extend the game. The drama was quickly extinguished when Gregerson got him to swing at the first pitch.

“Ground ball, right into the shift! Fielded by Correa to the left of second. Throws to first, in time! And that is the ball game! Start spreadin’ the news, the Houston Astros win the AL Wild Card Game, beating the New York Yankees three to nothing! Kansas City, here they come!”

A perfect ending to a perfect day.

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Only God Knows

By any measure, Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez is one of the greatest catchers in baseball history. Over his 21-year career, Rodriguez set Major League Baseball records for games caught, putouts by a catcher and assists by a catcher. He threw out 46% of attempted base stealers, the highest percentage by any catcher in 40 years. Rodriguez was the rare great defensive catcher who could also hit, setting the doubles record for catchers – he had 572 of them – to go along with 311 home runs and a .296 batting average. Rodriguez was also a 14-time All Star, 13-time Gold Glove winner, the 1999 American League Most Valuable Player and the 2003 National League Championship Series Most Valuable Player.

After an injury-plagued 2011 season with the Washington Nationals, Rodriguez wasn’t invited to spring training by any Major League team this year and decided to retire. Given his superb play, Rodriguez would seem to be a shoo-in for enshrinement in the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2017, the first year he’s eligible. However, it’s very likely Rodriguez won’t get into the Hall of Fame in 2017 and it’s possible he’ll never get a plaque in Cooperstown.

Why? Only God knows.

Those three words were uttered by Rodriguez in 2006, when a reporter asked him if he tested positive for steroids in 2003, the first year Major League Baseball tested for the drug (the tests were meant to be an anonymous survey and the names of the players who tested positive have never been released publicly). In his 2005 book Juiced, admitted steroids user Jose Canseco claimed he injected Rodriguez with steroids when they were teammates with the Texas Rangers in the early 1990s, a claim Rodriguez has denied.

A cryptic answer to a question and a book passage not backed by corroborating evidence are circumstantial evidence, at best. However, such evidence is enough for many of the Baseball Writers Association of America writers with Hall of Fame votes to keep Rodriguez off their ballots. Heck, players have been kept out of the Hall of Fame based on even less; Jeff Bagwell, who had an outstanding 15-year career as the Houston Astros first baseman, has been eligible for Hall of Fame enshrinement for two years and has yet to come close to getting the required 75% of the vote because of “whispers” that he may have used steroids. In other words, I could make up a rumor about a great player using steroids and, if that rumor gains enough steam, it could be enough to keep that player out of the Hall of Fame.

Rodriguez and Bagwell both played during the 1990s and early 2000s, a stretch of time that will forever be known as the Steroid Era in baseball; testing was nonexistent and fans, media and Major League Baseball looked the other way, deciding to ignore the rapidly changing physiques that hinted at the use of steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs. Without question, Major League Baseball should have instituted mandatory drug testing sooner and the media should have paid more attention to why muscles were bulging and home run records were falling at an unheard-of pace. But, history can’t be rewritten. Just as we don’t look down on all of the great Major League ballplayers who competed before integration or pitchers who achieved success largely by scuffing and doctoring baseballs with foreign substances before the practice was banned, we shouldn’t shun those who played in the Steroid Era. Indeed, steroids are illegal in the United States, but that’s immaterial; since baseball didn’t test for steroids, they were implicitly permitting their use. Some believe the Major League Baseball powers that be knew what they was doing; the rise in home runs – especially the legendary pursuit of the single-season home run record by Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa in 1998 – helped increase attendance after a debilitating strike that created ill will and wiped out the 1994 postseason and shortened the 1994 and 1995 regular seasons. So, why attempt to curtail an activity that may be one of the principal reasons business is booming?

This is different from Pete Rose, Major League Baseball’s all time leader in hits, being excluded from the Hall of Fame. Rose, who was banned from the sport for life after it was found he violated a long-standing rule by betting on baseball games, isn’t even allowed on the ballot. A year before he was eligible for enshrinement for the first time, the Hall of Fame passed a rule prohibiting anyone on baseball’s ineligible list from being considered for election. Whether Rose should be in the Hall of Fame has been taken out of the voters’ hands. However, it would be impossible and/or unfair to unilaterally ban all Steroid Era players from being considered for enshrinement, because it’s difficult to know for certain who did and didn’t take steroids during that era and many of that era’s deserving players who never took a performance enhancing drug would be shut out because of the misdeeds of their peers.

I kind of understand BBWAA members not voting for McGwire, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens or Rafael Palmeiro; all those players have either admitted using steroids, were found to have used steroids after an extensive investigation or tested positive for steroids, so there is more than just hearsay or circumstantial evidence that they juiced. But, I’d even vote for those players; why penalize anyone simply because of the era in which he played? If a player was one of the best in his era, he should be in the Hall of Fame, regardless. Baseball players have been looking for a competitive edge over the game’s entire history and can’t be expected to regulate themselves, especially when millions of dollars are at stake. It’s up to those in charge to make decisions that level the playing field and account for player safety in a reasonable fashion, and those in charge dropped the ball during the Steroid Era. Therefore, players who achieved success during that era shouldn’t be punished because of their bosses’ lack of oversight when it comes to performance enhancing drugs. It shouldn’t be up to the BBWAA’s Hall of Fame-voting members to determine who did the right things off the field and who didn’t. It shouldn’t be up to the baseball writers to determine what’s morally and ethically acceptable in the game.

After all, they’re writers. Not God.

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