Horsehide Hang-ups

There's trouble in the world of baseball, my favorite bailiwick. The institution is giving me a hard time this spring, erecting roadblocks to my usual enjoyment, and that doesn't even include the continued presence of Arod on the Yankees. First, Major League Baseball has signed an exclusive deal for televising their baseball package tthrough Direct TV, leaving leaves poor cable fiends like myself out in the cold. Then, when I studied the possibility of subscribing to the web cast program, I ran into weird problems accessing the video feed--problems someone with a limited technical prowess such as myself can find overwhelmingly frustrating. And then the owner of the Dodgers decided to raise parking fees at Dodger Stadium commensurate with ticket price hikes, and they didn't even get a good free agent to justify the new costs. Phooey, and shit.

Although it would seem a good time to ignore the entire institution, hey, I'm still hooked, and this is the week preceding the Rotisserie Auction and the Opening Game, both occurring on April Fool's Day. Accordingly I have been doing a substantial amount of poring over team rosters and statistics from magazines and baseball web sites and acquainting myself with the likes of Chris Ianetta and Akinora Owamura. My Roto partner and I are intent, for our own pride at least, to be more competitive in the Auction and Fantasy season than we were last year, when we overspent on a few good players and ended up throwing darts at a board of eight or nine one-dollar misfits, none of whom panned out. Since we tend to do well in alternate years, I am guardedly optimistic about our chances.

But as a fan of The Real Game, as I study the rosters, I am becoming convinced that this will likely be the year that the Yankees will be dethroned as perennial division champs, as the Braves were last year (though their collapse won't be as catastrophic with that lineup). Brian Cashman did a good job restocking the team's farm system with young arms, but I'm afraid that what remains this season, after the departure of the disappointing Randy Johnson, the trading of Jaret Wright, and the plane crash of Cory Lidle, are several injury risks and a second-choice Japanese import. Mussina and Pettitte are stalwarts but beyond their prime; Pavano is a cry-baby, Wang and Karstens are injured already and Kei Igawa has command problems.

Yeah, Phil Hughes and Roger Clemens remain in the wings, and they will be summoned, but I think this is the season the Yank's championship hopes fall between the cracks of the Old pitching Guard and the New. The beneficiaries will be, sigh, Boston, who also has some aged pitching but will get enough out of Beckett, Matsusake and Schilling--with Papelbon back in the pen--to win the title. Toronto has a talented team as well, and Baltimore's pitching is about to blossom (unfortunately as their line-up--Markakis excepted--begins to fade). Tampa Bay has too much flux to cope with the powerhouses in this division.

The AL Central is also stocked with capable teams, anyone of which could leap to the top as the Tigers did last year. Okay, maybe not Kansas City, but with young stars like Alex Gordon, Ryan Shealy and Mark Teahen, they will not embarrass themselves. The Twins' loss of Francisco Liriano may prove fatal in this competitive mix. Cleveland is underrated after some of their sophs slumped last year, but they should perform well, as should the White Sox with their potent sluggers. But I am willing to pick the Tigers to repeat; their pitching is still strong, and they've added Gary Sheffield and subtracted Dmitri Young from a youthful line-up that could still improve.

If Rich Harden pitches an entire season, the Oakland team ought to be able to squeak by again the West, though the usual suspects, the Angels, could surge if their young players like Kendrick and Kotchman fulfill their potential. Texas is still trying to find the right formula, and Sammy Sosa could surprise as a comeback candidate, but their pitching is still suspect. And the Mariners are sorely in need of punch; their line-up is almost as listless as that of the Nationals or the Giants in the Inferior--I mean, National--League.

Speaking of which, the Opening Game of the season pits the Mets against the Cardinals, as did the last (and thrilling) game of the National League in 2006. Both teams now are suffering from the same problem that nettled them in October, a dearth of reliable starting pitching. The Mets won't have Pedro until sometime in July at best, and dull but reliable Steve Trachsel is gone (to the Orioles!). Unless ancient El Duque and young 'uns Mike Pelfrey and John Maine can perform, that wonderful offense, led by the amazing Jose Reyes, might be insufficient for another October ticket. Conventional wisdom--or whatever comes out of the mouthes of web site pundits--has picked the Phillies to win, thanks to their Rollins/Utley/Howard beefcake and some good young arms. It's hard to argue with that, since neither the Braves, in a rebuilding year, and the Nationals, a sad sack of a team, will provide no competition. Only the unpredictable Marlins, with fine young pitchers and a nucleus of hungry day players, could change the dynamics of the division. Hard call, but I'll go with the Phillies too, since they are due for some good luck.

I suppose the Cardinals will make a good run again, but will really need the help of Adam Wainwright and Anthony Reyes to fend off the other challengers. The Brewers are intriguing, but I think their offense is a year away, and despite some good front-line pitching, they are questionable in the relief area. Houston has some nice punch now that they've added Carlos Lee, but the bottom half of their line-up blows, and they'll have neither Pettitte nor Clemens to help lead a second-half surge as in previous seasons. The Cubs will be hitting a lot of homers and will be the funnest team in the league, with addition Soriano, a healthy Derek Lee, and underrated star Aramis Ramirez. But Prior and Kerry Wood are hobbling and only Rich Hill seems capable of backing up Zambrano in the rotation. Pittsburgh is the Kansas City of this group. Which is why, against all logic, I am selecting Cincinnati to win.

Finally there is the NL West, which many have conceded to the Dodgers, thanks to a good starting five and a shitload of promising rookies like Loney and Kemp. I find the Rockies perhaps the most intriguing of dark horses, with some very fine hitters, but that weird Coors air has a habit of discouraging pitchers, and Colorado does not have so great a staff to begin with. Arizona does have good pitching (hi, Terry), and Tall Ugly Lefty may have a little left in his tank--but they'll need more pop from the likes of Chad Tracy and Conor Jackson. The offense cannot rely solely on Erich Byrnes. As for the Giants, no one wants to see Barry Bonds break Hank Aaron's record. There's a pall over the entire ballpark this season, and even a revived AT&T will not lighten the murk. Barry has no one to protect him, and I'm not just talking about whoever is batting fourth. They've a lame offense and, although the addition of Barry Zito will help, it probably won't enable them to move higher than fourth in a rather mediocre race. I'll go with the Dodgers, since I'm only allowed one irreverent pick.

So there you go, with my choices--Boston, Detroit, Oakland, Philadelphia, Cincinnati and the Dodgers. The Yanks may sneak into the Wild Card (which might do them good), and so will St. Louis. As for the Bronx Cheers--well they haven't been constructed yet, but a top-four finish is likely.

From the Mailbox

Letters, we get letters, we get stacks and stacks of letters. Well, maybe not, but good Ol' Terry is still paying attention, so I shall respond to his latest inquiry as to my opinions on the Jesus Ossuary Special. Well, I did watch it, sans the commercials thanks to my DVR, and have not emerged with a different opinion than when I started. The very insistent filmmakers did make an interesting case, maybe even compelling, though there were holes in their arguments. Even today the controversy continues with criticism that the interpretation of the Mary Magdalene ossuary was flawed, that it did not refer to the mysterious "Mariamne," but to another person, Mara (a variant of "Martha") as an additional occupant of the bone box. If Mary Magdalene cannot be identified, it undermines the statistical probability that this is the Mary/Joseph/Jesus family's remains, as well as the shocking suggestion that Jesus may have been married and had a son.

To which I send a resounding "So what?" Let's try to put it all in an historical context. I know to do so would be apostasy to the True Believers, but since I'm a secular atheistic Jew, I don't really give a damn. If this is not the Jesus family tomb, the conclusions are either 1) the Jesus family tomb is elsewhere, or 2) the Jesus family didn't exist. Christians should be pretty excited to have historical evidence of their Leading Man beyond the witnessing found in the Gospels. And if indeed the tomb was discovered, and Jesus's bones and DNA were left around, this does nothing to undermine the belief in the Resurrection, which is the most powerful "miracle" upon which Christianity gains its traction.

The diehards, though, insist that if the bones remained below, Jesus did not, in fact, bodily ascend into heaven. Now my faithless skepticism intrudes. Who said that Jesus flew up bodily? Did anyone actually witness this? Couldn't his disembodied spirit have ascended? I don't believe in Heaven, or certainly one that exists somewhere in the stratosphere or perhaps in the center of the Milky Way galaxy, but let's suppose it does. Why would one assume Jesus goes up in that battered mortal form, while the rest of those deserving only go up as weightless spiritual energy while their bones remain in coffins or in ashes scattered in some river?

I believe those espousing this particular faith ought to pay a lot more attention to the social benefits of his teachings, and less to the fanciful mythology. The teaching are useful and real; the mythology bullshit and damaging. Buddha and Confucius contributed useful ideas to mankind, and neither of them had to fly up to the Pearly Gates in a robe to establish their credentials. Get over it!

I'm much more excited over the fact that Rob and Amber were defeated by a midget in "The Amazing Race;" that another Bush appointee, Alberto Gonzalez, is getting his ass kicked; and that the idiotic "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" is being reconsidered as the stupid, counterproductive and utterly undemocratic policy that is the greatest shame of the Clinton Administration.

And of course--Terry, if you are still with me, you will agree--that the baseball season is 18 days away.

The New Reality

"American Idol" has become such a successful phenomenon, financially if not culturally, that its producers have (ostentatiously) decided to promote a charity initiative to help the poor little kids in Nigeria, or something. Ryan Seacrest announced the new concept, which said little about what percentage of the show's profits would be channeled to worthy causes, and a lot about the high-concept, star-studded event that should bring the show an even bigger audience and wads of advertisement dollars (and the opportunity for the audience to contribute). Apparently, Bono has approved. We are the World, yada yada yada.

Lost in all the hoopla is the fact that the show itself is gradually becoming a pale copy of itself, and after 200 episodes, the robotic performances and reactions of the contestants as well as the byplay of the judging triumverate have become tediously predictable. This is a phenomenon that seems to be happening to many of the early stalwarts of the Reality genre, of which "American Idol" is the most prominent, if least original (Ted Mack anbd Major Bowes are still rolling in their respective graves).

I've been subjecting myself to "AI" this season, aided by the blessed editing device of the DVR, but that hasn't spared me from observing many of the sorry performances of a less-than-stellar cast. Only a few girls have merited the stardom that they may garner. The best is clearly Melinda Doolittle, a true professional in the best sense, whose performance I actually anticipate, rather than dread. She may lose to the sympathetic Lakisha or the pretty and enticing Jordin Sparks (great name), but none of the guys will challenge. It is a pretty weak field overall, and I wouldn't be watching at all if I didn't have a relative blogging for her newspaper about the show, with whom I can trade commentary. I think the "AI" phenomenon, now in Season 6, is peaking. It used to be that many of the finalists would receive enough exposure to earn cushy contracts. But as the population of finalist continues to grow, the distinction diminishes. Who can name the 58th astronaut, or all the winners of "The Amazing Race?"

That program, to which I came late, is also beginning to pall, despite its travelogue appeal and educational value. It has done a "family" edition (which sucked) and is now engaged in its "All-Star edition," which seems one more lame excuse to put poor Rob andf Amber back on the Reality map. Yeah, we all love to hate that pair, but after a while even the antipathy palls. You know, they are really very good at what they do, even if it is not a very transferrable job skill. My interest in the program, though, has waned, since I have become overly familiar with the characters, and there is little novelty left.

"Survivor," the granddaddy of all the unscripted adventure shows, is also struggling with familiarity, andcreator Mark Burnett has been fiddling with rules to try to keep some freshness. The appeal of this show, as ever, is the character mix, and how well the editors create the conflicts and manipulate our sympathies. This season's players represent the exact same ethnic grouping as last season's but without any self-aware mention of the fact, and that is fine. The wrinkle that has not worked is giving one team a cushy camp and the other a rattrap with no food. Unsurprisingly, the well-fed crew is winning every challenge, further decimating the losing tribe. I believe Burnett realized this by the fifth week, and will be mixing up the tribes as of the next session. There is smugness among the leading tribe (which only has a one-person advantage), and I have a feeling that they will rue their overconfidence. But if it weren't for the abrasive personalities this program would also be a snore. Too much time is spent on the Rube Goldbergesque challenges, none of which has ever been memorable. It's only the whining and the finger-pointing, and the occasional medical emergency, that keep the show intriguing.

Mark Burnett is very fortunate to have a new sensation, a rather silly game show called "Are You as Smart as a Fifth Grader?", to which FOX has given the best time slot imaginable (after "American Idol"). Now Burnett can concentrate on other projects and finally put to rest "The Apprentice," which has not beneiftted from its desperate move to Los Angeles. This version also incorporated the new wrinkle of the winning team getting the luxury digs while the losers sulk in poverty (or in this case, the patio of a Holmby Hills mansion). One of the features I always appreciated about "The Apprentice" is that it values intelligence and resourcefulness above all (along with skullduggery and betrayal). The other side of that coin is that the contestants are not especially sympathetic. All of them will return to their fabulous jobs and their independence, and only the "winner" will be stuck working for the egomaniacal Trump. The program continues as mostly a shill for whatever company is sponsoring the weekly challenge. The loss of Carolyn and George is unfortunate, and the gimmick of including the winning Porject Manager in the Boardroom has not panned out interestingly. It also seems foolish to keep a winning manager on the next week's teams. This will by necessity exclude a lot of contestants from displaying their managerial skills, which seems a very important consideration in the final judging.

The survival chances of this program seem pretty iffy, and depend less on the Nielsen rating than on the relatonships among NBC, Burnett and Trump. To be truthful, even Trump seems a little bored by the whole experience. He seems to be flying off every other week to fuck his pretty Melania, which makes sense, but is not televisable, at least not on netowrk TV. HBO take note--that could be interesting to watch--or better, maybe a foursome with Rob and Amber.

Five Good Years

I made the mistake of DVRing a potentially interesting program on the History Channel last night, and now I'm wondering if it may change my life. The show was about the confluence of ancient prophecies, and you'd think it would give me the same chuckles as all the "Left Behind" and Y2K foolishness of the recent past. I am, as is evident in my volumninous rantings, a dedicated and irreligious skeptic, bound to observance of natural phenomena and documentary evidence.

But there was something particularly disturbing about this "documentary," which described several sources of ancient forecasting such as the Mayan calendar, the Chinese I Ching, the (ho-hum) Book of Revelations, and the purported writings of mystics of antiquity like the Roman Sibyl, the Oracle of Delphi, and Merlin (who knew he was sort of real?). That old-time crackpots would speculate about the End of Days is nothing new, but there was an eerie coincidence that more than one source pinpointed the exact Day of Destruction--December 21, 2012.

The Mayan calendar mention hit home in the most literal way, since I actually have a painted clay version of said calendar, purchased somewhere and some time ago, hanging in my den. Apparently it is a complex creation with some precise astronomical imbedded so that it can foreell accurately lunar eclipses and such. The documentary states that the projected dating on the calendar ends precisely on December 21, 2012. The I Ching, according to Chingists, also suggests this exact date as a termination point for current civilization.

I could pooh-pooh these findings by suggesting that a day of a solstice is hardly an arbitrary choice for an era-ending time frame. Yet (again, according to the documentary) that date is one in which the earth will be in a particularly precarious astral position vis-a-vis the sun, an orbital oddity that occurs every 25,000 years or so. Could this be a time when the magnetic poles shift or do some sort of weird dance, as they have in the past? The result could be massive seismic shifts and tidal disasters.

Well I live atop a seismic time bomb in Los Angeles, so I am intellectually, if not emotionally, prepared for some sort of upheaval. The San Andreas is so precarious (and overdue) that a little nudge by solar gravity could be very damaging to my abode, as well as my continent. And if nature does not take its inevitable toll, there is always the human factor, the Bush-instigated Middle East wars, the potential for nuclear terrorism, and the Bird Flu, to round out the Apocalypse.

After all the dire warnings, the program ended with a slightly reassuring reminder that end-of-the-world predictions are a mainstay of human blathering, and none of them have come to fruition yet. This did not help me sleep easier, or wonder whether I ought to consider maximizing my experiences on Earth just in case I (we) only have five years to go. To live life to its fullest is never a bad idea, but I now look at my IRA investments as possibly a tremendous waste of good funds I could use in Vegas.