2012 NFL Pickery – Week #1

For the SEVENTH consecutive year, I'm teaming up with my good friend Joe Reid to pick NFL games. After the first three years, I was 3-0 against him. Honestly, you guys, I don't know why he even bothers to show up. He barely even beat me the past three years. And, his cheating was more rampant than ever.

Dallas at N.Y. Giants

Joe: It simultaneously feels way too long since we last had football and yet also I don't feel adequately prepared for it. It's yet another season with the Giants as our non-dominant defending Super Bowl champions. And yet, if the defense stays healthy and they can grow something of a running game, there's no reason they couldn't win again. As for Dallas ... where's the offseason controversy, 'Boys? Oh, Dez Bryant misbehaved a little -- that's it?! No QB controversy ginned-up by your tight-faced owner? No courting of an unobtainable head coach? Have they installed that rollercoaster in the new stadium yet? Snooze. Pick: NY Giants

Aaron: While America very much remains a nation divided by our ideologies, I hope we can all agree to assign meaningless "meanings" and lose our collective sh*t when this game trounces the second night of the Democratic National Convention in the overnight ratings. No? Then, can we all agree that the defending Super Bowl champion NEVER loses these mid-week season-opening coronations?  Don't look it up!  I'm right! I think!  Pick: NY Giants 

Indianapolis at Chicago

Aaron: The annual season-opening narratives get more far-fetched every year.  Sportswriters' keyboards were collectively climaxing all over Andrew Luck in August, anointing him "the best QB prospect in [chronological hyperbole]!".  Meanwhile, Brandon Marshall's climb up the fantasy football WR rankings belies the fact that, psychologically, he's better suited to "case study" or  "Batman's Rogues Gallery".  Pick: Chicago

 Joe: I'm all for holding off on the Luck hyperbole until he gets a year or two under his belt, but call me a sucker for believing in this Jay Cutler/Brandon Marshall reunion stuff. The fact that wideouts are, on balance, the most overrated players in football is precisely because so much of their value lies in chemistry with a given quarterback. These two have it. Pick: Chicago

 

New England at Tennessee

Aaron: The Titans are young on defense, but they match up well with the Patriots' short-pass preference.  The Patriots, on the other hand, are rolling out a refurbished defense that'll be tasked with stopping RB Chris Johnson.  You might remember him as the guy who torpedoed your 2011 fantasy football season.  I do, too.  I wanna pick the inexplicable upset, but my last image of Titans QB Jake Locker was in the 2010 Holiday Bowl.  Where he played really, really bad!  Recency effect, FTW.  Pick: New England 

Joe: I think the Titans will be a tough out for teams this season, but probably not capable of the huge upset this early on. Meanwhile, the Patriots remain the default AFC favorites despite having a bad defense and unproven running game. I know how this story ends and I LIKE IT. Pick: New England

 

Buffalo at N.Y. Jets 

Aaron: Injuries obliterated the promise of Buffalo's 5-2 start last year and may have been directly responsible for Joe's broken heart during the holidays.  With good health, I like this Bills squad a lot.  The Jets, meanwhile, have been positioned by the media as New York's most unlikeable franchise since the 1992 Mets.  I imagine the *not-at-all* self-serving fulfillment of those sportswriters' prophecies are coming next summer to a bookstore near you.  Pick: Buffalo 

Joe: My Bills are the trendy pick to make the playoffs this year, and that all sounds nice, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't battening down the hatches for failure. This pick isn't reverse psychology. The Jets had all the same question marks last season when they beat Buffalo twice. Sadly, they'll do it again. Pick: NY Jets

 

Washington at New Orleans 

Aaron:  Look, I'm just saying I'd have a lot more faith in rookie Redskins QB Robert Griffin III if he didn't remind me of Kel Mitchell -- the LESS talented half of the "Kenan & Kel" kiddie comedy team from the 1990s. Yes... Kenan Thompson is considered the funnier one.  I know!  It's good to be back, you guys.  Pick: New Orleans 

Joe: I have to say, and maybe this is going against the grain of popular opinion, but I've had more than my fill of the weeping laments for the Saints and how the NFL is being oh so hard on them for their bounty program. These same people are all over the league for its concussion policies. The only way we turn this ship around from its collision course with something truly horrific (every Sunday I quietly hope this isn't the week someone dies on the field) is to change the league's mentality on aggression. So I'm really QUITE fine with throwing the hammer down on overt sanctioning of on-field violence. Call me a pussy. Pick: Washington

 

Jacksonville at Minnesota 

Aaron: It's kind of hard to take the NFL's highly-publicized player safety prioritization seriously when Vikings RB Adrian Peterson -- eight months removed from surgery to repair his torn left anterior cruciate and medial collateral ligaments -- is listed as a "game time decision" to play on Sunday.  A similarly gruesome injury ended Alvin Mack's collegiate football career in 1993's The Program.  Remember?!  Pick: Minnesota 

Joe: I picked up Maurice Jones Drew at a bargain in one of my fantasy leagues, mere days before he reported back to camp. I declined to pick up Adrian Peterson at a similar bargain. Time to start making me look foolish, NFL players! Pick: Minnesota

 

Atlanta at Kansas City 

Aaron: There sure seems to be an inexplicable number of believers in the Chiefs this season. Perhaps I'm in the minority, but I believe Chiefs head coach Romeo Crennel is more likely to be featured in one of those Coors Light press conference commercials come January, rather than roaming a playoff sideline.  I do like 'em at home, though.  Pick: Kansas City 

Joe: I like the ones where Cam makes my case for me and then goes the other way. Good to be back! Pick: Atlanta

 

Philadelphia at Cleveland 

Aaron:  I picked against the Eagles in their season-opener last year. On the road. They played the Rams...a squad that ultimately finished with a 2-14 record.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.  Pick: Philadelphia 

Joe: I have to believe it'll be nice for the Eagles to go through a season without that "Dream Team" nonsense hanging over their heads. Getting some good year-after vibes from them. Pick: Philadelphia

 

St. Louis at Detroit

Aaron: Well, I guess I learned TWO valuable lessons that Eagles v. Rams game last year.  Pick: Detroit  

Joe: Detroit is BACK, baby! Any city that can get the same sentiment out of Clint Eastwood AND Barack Obama these days has got to be born under a good sign. Pick: Detroit

 

Miami at Houston 

Aaron:  The Texans were looking like one of the AFC's elite teams last season before QB Matt Schaub went down with a season-ending injury.  The bigger surprise, though, might've been in Miami where running back Reggie Bush learned how to...run?  Whatever.  There are no winners in the battle for smothering humidity supremacy.  Pick: Houston 

Joe: The Dolphins are one of about five teams starting their seasons with a quarterback under center whom NOBODY believes in. If you ask certain sports media moguls, lack of belief from others is the #1 ingredient for success, so I guess Miami has this locked up then? Pick: Houston

 

San Francisco at Green Bay 

Aaron: Which version of 49ers QB Alex Smith are you buying?  The career-long mediocre QB who last year feasted on a weak regular season schedule and played great in one playoff game or the career-long mediocre QB who was so awful in his other playoff game that the team overtly flirted with signing Peyton Manning during the offseason?  Pick: Green Bay 

Joe: Here's hoping Jim Harbaugh's camera-hogging diva antics continue alllll season. Pick: Green Bay 

 

Seattle at Arizona 

Aaron: And, right on cue, it's the stars of Alex Smith's 2011 regular season feast!  This is not an endorsement of fictitious domestic terrorism, but I'll be pulling for an appearance by Bane.  Pick: Seattle 

Joe: Every time I hear people whining about how Lebron James is an evil bastard who abandoned Cleveland, I think of Larry Fitzgerald. I salute your noble failure, sir! Pick: Seattle

 

Carolina at Tampa Bay 

Aaron:  The stifling weather could be an equalizer here, as some terrible Bucs teams of recent vintage have still occasionally shown up at home in September.  I talked myself into it!  Pick: Tampa Bay 

Joe: I mean ... it's not like Charlotte in summertime is a picnic either. I kind of like the Panthers as a threat to take what I suspect could be a downwardly mobile AFC South this year. Pick: Carolina

 

Pittsburgh at Denver 

Aaron: More likely scenario for Broncos QB Peyton Manning -- his team wins 12 games or he starts 12 games?  You had to think about it for a second or two, right?  Oh, of course you did.  And, that's precisely my point!  Pick: Pittsburgh 

Joe: So glad everybody's piling on Peyton Manning's aching neck. I missed the days when I got to watch Manning prove the haters wrong. Why they gotta HATE??? Pick: Denver

 

Cincinnati at Baltimore 

Aaron: One of these seasons, the Ravens defense is going to play well enough to turn this team into a legitimate Super Bowl threat and -- by proxy -- make a household name out of their so-so quarterback.  Just like they did for whatshisface.  Remember?  Back in 2001 or something. Pick: Baltimore 

Joe: See, I was going to go with "one of these seasons, the bottom's going to fall out on the Ravens." Probably not this week, but still. Pick: Baltimore

 

San Diego at Oakland 

Aaron: Hard to believe I'm THIS excited about a team that might win six games this season, but here we are.  My Raiders are rebuilding, but it actually feels like they have a plan.  Oakland looked awful in the preseason, but I like 'em here with a healthy -- albeit thin -- running game and a Chargers team that is beat up on the offensive line.  Pick: Oakland 

Joe: Okay, how many times will do these two teams have to play in the wee hours of the first Monday night of the season before this game gets the branding it deserves? Ladies and gentlemen, settle in for the Cameron Bowl! Pick: San Diego

 

TBG Eats: Oggi's Pizza and Brewing Company

Current Weight: 172.2 lbs.

Oggi's Menu

Would you believe me if I told you there was some pretty good pizza sold in San Diego?

My personal favorite is the thin crust at DiCresenzo's*. Mrs. Bootleg and I have been known to annihilate a large pié (...am I saying that right? I presume it's pronounced "pee-AY" like the erstwhile Baltimore Orioles outfielder...) in a single night. Well deserved honorable mentions go to Borrelli's and Bronx Pizza. But, don't take my word for it. Just look at the Italian surnames and New York boroughs referenced in the pizzerias' names! That's the kind of quality most Californians can practically pronounce!

* -- The original owners of DiCresenzo's sold their restaurant a few years ago. The new owners turned the place into a Chicago(?!)-themed spot, introducing deep dish pizza and those inedible celery salt, dill pickle and sport pepper hot dogs to the menu. The quality of the thin crust pizza fell WAY off when the new owners first took over, but they've improved the product to about 80% of the original. It's still a pretty steep decline, but it speaks to how superb their thin crust used to be. Now, it's just "very good".

On an unrelated note, can ANYONE make a compelling case for placing a dill pickle spear on a hot dog?

Oggi's Pizza and Brewing Company is a regional restaurant with 15 locations in southern California and one in Arizona. Oggi's (OH-gees) is arguably the most popular sports bar-y spot in San Diego, serving up ubiquitous platters of pizzas, wings and burgers alongside an assortment of macro and microbrews. It's my eight-year-old son Jalen's favorite restaurant and a ridiculously frequent postgame location after our Little League adventures.

Oddly enough, I'm not all that crazy about their pizza.

My son could eat their pepperoni pizzas morning, noon and night -- which he might've actually done on the one occasion we came home with leftovers. I think their entrée-sized pizzas, for the most part, are decent, but uninteresting. Oggi's "thin crust" -- which my son prefers -- is just a flatter version of their regular hand-tossed crust, offering little in the way of crunch or char. Their pepperoni pizza is straight from the kid-friendly, casual dining handbook with inoffensive flavors that are easily accessible to the casual palate -- cheese, sauce and salt.

Oggi's "Field Goal" is the best of their specialty pizzas. Topped with blackened chicken breast, sweet corn, cilantro, green onions, roasted garlic and gouda...it would undoubtedly be met with disdain from pizza aficionados, but the subtle harshness from the blackened chicken are softened by the corn's natural sweetness. The whole thing is carried by a mildly spicy "Santa Fe" sauce (Albuquerque's equally bold-flavored brother) and a small garden's worth of garlic.

The Margherita pizza is decent -- a bright union of olive oil, fresh basil and Roma tomatoes. Unfortunately, most of Oggi's other specialty pizzas are more gimmick than balance. The barbecue chicken ("World Series") pizza is overpowered by the sticky sweetness of the BBQ sauce on top. And, the buffalo chicken ("Slam Dunk") pizza is covered with a combustible wing sauce that's almost obnoxiously hot. Although, it's listing in the menu includes the words "...served with ranch dip...", so it's not like anyone's expectations should've been elevated.

Oggi's does feature four appetizer-sized thin-crust pizzas that are actually better than most of their regular pizzas. The "Speedway" includes an uncomplicated combination of sausage, peppers and olives, while the "Marathon" is a veggie offering with zucchini, tomatoes, garlic and a superb pickled punch of artichoke hearts.

My Oggi's go-to food is usually one of their monthly off-menu specials. And, from that list, I'll always order the sandwich or burger since they're served with their fantastic lightly-battered French fries. Last fall, Oggi's featured a turkey and cranberry Monte Cristo that was on the short list of best sandwiches I've ever eaten (...at least once a week, from November to New Year's Day). More recently, their bacon-bruschetta chicken sandwich was a mishmash of muddled flavors that even the bacon couldn't save. (My wife makes the best bruschetta in the black community and pairing it with bacon seems like an abomination. I should've trusted my gut.)

From their regular selections, the "Baja 500" chicken sandwich has a wee bit of a kick from the roasted jalapeño peppers and Cajun aioli sauce. The "Matador" burger is the red meat equivalent with identical toppings, but a little less flavor as the burger is seemingly always cooked "well" despite my repeated "medium" pleas.

Oggi's features a selection of their own beers. I've had them all and my favorite is probably the Sunset Amber Ale. It pairs well with most of their menu -- or at least the areas of the menu that I frequent -- and benefits from not being a heavy accompaniment to all of the starches that are served up. Oggi's also has a surprisingly strong -- albeit small -- rotation of other beers. In recent months, I've had some fabulous Scotch ales and my first experience with the hyper-popular Pliny the Elder -- far and away the best IPA I've ever tasted.

The dessert menu includes some beer-inspired offerings. Oggi's carrot cake and molten chocolate cake are flavored with their own brews. But, my son's absolute favorite dessert in the whole wide world (his words, not mine) is the Black Magic Stout Brownie:

A rich double chocolate fudge brownie that has been baked with Oggi’s Black Magic Stout. The brownie is drizzled with a chocolate ganache that has also been flavored with Black Magic Stout. Served warm with ice cream.

There aren't many other dessert that can elicit reactions of dorky (thumbs up!) and ecstasy. And, maybe some "this hot fudge burns my tongue like a thousand suns" reaction, too.

The LL Chronicles #20: Jimmy Dugan was Dead Wrong

11-4 win in our Little League playoff game. I was proud of them until their over-enthusiasm at the postgame pizza from Little Caesar's. -- From my Twitter feed, May 30

In our six-team division, the top two seeds earned first-round byes. This meant that my A's -- the number three seed -- played the sixth-seeded Cardinals in the first round. During the regular season, we went 3-0 against the Cards and outscored them, 48-26. (Oh, don't look at me like that. I didn't keep the stats. I simply lifted them from our league's website. They're the monsters who've distilled the wholesome spirit of Little League baseball into "who won" and "by how much". I'm just sippin' the illicit liquor, I didn't make it.)

My kids were criminally overconfident coming in to this game. There were intermittent chirps of "...the Cardinals are the worst team in the league..." and "...we'll beat them, easy..." throughout our pregame warm-ups. Before my team took the field in the first inning, I gave them the "any team can be beaten" speech with two obvious references that, admittedly, might not have resonated with 11 boys born in 2003-2004. (However, my eight-year-old son Jalen knows who Kirk Gibson and Jose Rijo are and, more importantly, why they're both bad, bad men.)

Our inconsistent offense blew a few scoring opportunities early, but after two innings we'd put five runs on the board. Unfortunately, Garrett -- my best pitcher -- surrendered four runs of his own before pitch count and next-game availability concerns forced me to replace him mid-inning in the second with just one out. We got out of the inning when my next pitcher struck out the next two hitters -- with the bases loaded -- on just seven total pitches.

At the start of the third inning, I brought in Jalen to pitch. Although my previous pitcher, Jeff, was efficient and overpowering, I'd seen enough of him all season to know that riding his arm was a lot like a blackjack table. His hot hand could go cold at a moment's notice. Better to leave the table a few chips up than down. Plus, the ultra-early hook meant he could come back and pitch in our next game just 48 hours later. This strategy made perfect sense to me, but when Jalen took the mound, I could hear some parents behind me offering unsolicited, critical opinions of my move. Even the home plate umpire called over to me, "You know your last kid only threw seven pitches, right?"

Thankfully, Jalen saved my reputation's bacon with his best outing of the season -- two scoreless innings, three strikeouts and one unfortunate hit-by-pitch in the ribs of best friend at school, Joseph. I've previously written about this boy. He's the one who'd wave to Jalen before each of their hitter/pitcher match-ups. Jalen gets a little intense when he's pitching and didn't immediately apologize. I was going to talk to him about it after the inning, but as he toed the rubber to make his next pitch, he stepped off, turned to first base and asked Joseph, "Are we still friends?" Joseph nodded. "Sorry about pitching inside", Jalen said. "I just wanted to back you off the plate."

I suppose if African-Americans are going to take any societal morals from the 1950s and 1960s, it might as well be professional pitching philosophy.

We effectively put the game away in the bottom of the third. With two out and the bases loaded, our last-place hitter stepped to the plate. By my unofficial count, he'd recorded just two or three hits all season. The score was still 5-4 and the potential for a big inning was just three strikes from slipping away. Instead, on the first pitch, he lined one down the left field line for a two-run single. I screamed "TWO! TWO! TWO!" as the ball skipped into the corner. Seemed like a sure double. Instead, I turned to find my batter barely halfway to first base. I put the brakes on his glacial pace, satisfied with a single.

A five-run third inning gave us the cushion we needed and the A's won going away, 11-4. Mediocre, barely-edible pizza for everyone! As I reached for my first and only slice -- the last slice left among the six pies purchased -- my #3 hitter yelled, "I want it!" Sure, I thought. You took two called strike threes tonight. You've earned it!

2nd round Little League playoff game tonight w/o our best hitter. "A family event", I was told. I assume "funeral", but even then... -- From Twitter, June 1

After our first round victory, we were slated to play the Padres -- the two-seed in the tournament, the best offense in the division and the team that hung 20(!) runs on us the last time we met. I didn't learn that we'd be without Jeff, our best hitter, until the morning of our game. I was...disappointed, but opted to take the high road. I've heard directly from other coaches who, when hearing that one of their better players will be unavailable, ask why he can't make it and try to guilt the kid's parents into bringing him to the game anyway. I never want to be THAT guy.

We got off to a phenomenal start. Jalen moved up to the leadoff spot and contributed to a five-run first inning. Garrett, my starting pitcher, held the Padres to only one run in the bottom of the frame. Alas, there were a few more frames to be played. The Padres' pitching held us to just three more runs the rest of the way, while Garrett and Jalen threw 50 pitches each, but couldn't keep the Pads from scoring five in the second inning and four in the third. Trailing 10-8 in the top of the last inning, we sent the tying run to the plate. He also happened to be our...uh, "least productive" hitter of the season. Called strike three. Ball game.

Still, our first playoff loss wasn't without its moments. For the first time all season, Jalen was hit by a pitch. This was unquestionably Jalen's biggest fear involving the jump to live pitching. During the regular season, when a pitch was in the vicinity of "inside", Jalen would drop his bat, flail his arms and melodramatically bail out.

In the second inning, J was at the plate and facing a burly eight-year-old named Daniel. In all seriousness, he's probably the biggest and strongest kid in our division. His first pitch to Jalen sailed inside and caromed loudly off the backstop. Initially, I hadn't realized that Jalen was hit. The umpire immediately signaled for J to take first base, but he was lying face down in the batter's box.

I raced from the first base coaches' box and could hear the speculation from the parents behind the Padres' dugout that J might've been hit in the face. When I turned my son over, some of the dirt from around home plate had completely adhered to his sweaty face. The streaks of tears were the cleanest parts of his visage.

Me: "It's alright, son. Where'd you get hit?"

Jalen: [sobbing] "In the hand."

Me: "J, the ball went straight to the backstop. It would've ricocheted if it hit you square in the hand."

Jalen: [still sobbing] "What's 'ricocheted'?"

Me: "Jalen, if it DID hit you, it just grazed you. Go to first base."

Jalen: "It DID hit me!"

As we walked up the first base line together, my son and I continued our debate. To the Padres' parents on the first base side, the villain in this discussion was clear.

"Aw, give the kid a break, coach!"

"You need to get some ice on his jaw, coach!"

"Why are you keeping him in the game when he was just hit in the face?!"

Thankfully, Jalen broke the ill-informed tension a few moments later, as he looked up at me with infield dirt still caked to his face.

"Dad...I think I swallowed some chalk."

Awesome.

Little League season over after walkoff loss. Team in tears. Walter Matthau sprayed the Bad News Bears w/cheap beer to cheer them up, right? -- From Twitter, June 4

The remainder of our team's tournament games would be played within the boundaries of the bluntly-titled "losers' bracket". The double-elimination set-up meant that our season would end after one more loss. Our path to the championship required my A's to win games on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and then defeat the sole survivor from the "winners' bracket" -- twice -- during the following week.

Our opponents on this gloomily overcast Monday afternoon were the Pirates. My hitters struggled early, but we pushed a few runs across in the middle innings. On the mound, Garrett and Jalen were constrained by pitch counts, but collectively kept the Pirates within reach of a rally. Entering the top of the last inning, the score was tied 5-5. We then scored four and took a 9-5 lead ahead of the Pirates' last-ups.

Jeff came on to pitch in the previous inning and snuffed out another bases loaded threat with another strikeout. He was popping the catcher's glove with his fastball and even mixing in a pretty good change-up. One of my coaches remarked, "This is the best he's looked all season."

And, then, it wasn't.

Leading off the inning, he walked the first batter on four pitches. This would start a bizarre chain of events, beginning inside the Pirates' dugout. The opposing kids switched to "rally mode" -- superstitiously flipping their caps backwards and shouting encouragement to the next batter. They were loud. They were more than a little obnoxious. They were kids. But, after Jeff went 2-0 on the next batter, he shot an icy glare into the opposing dugout and held it for two or three beats.

Intentional or not, the kids in the Pirates' dugout soon tweaked the timing of their hooting and hollering. They synced it with Jeff's pitching wind-up and delivery. A few moments later, their vocal support devolved into time-released screeches and shrieks. To be clear, they weren't breaking any rules. But, I think they knew what they were doing...and I know their coach did.

With two runners on, one of the Pirates' better hitters came to the plate. As the cascade of screams increased, Jeff put one square in the batter's back. It was the sickest sound I've ever heard on a ball field, as the batter was down for several minutes before taking first base. Not surprisingly, the hit-by-pitch quieted the Pirates' dugout, somewhat. Jeff even battled back to strikeout the next batter. But, his control never really returned. He eventually walked in the winning run and the A's lost 10-9.

As Jeff left the field, he was understandably inconsolable. I met him at the first base line. I wanted to apologize for leaving him in, explain my reasoning and let him know there wasn't anyone else I would've wanted out there. But, before I could fumble around for the first words, he looked up from the glove that was smothering his face and choked out, "I'm sorry I let the team down." Before I knew it, the whole team was shuffling towards me -- some of them obviously disappointed, the rest openly bawling.

My voice cracked about halfway through my final postgame speech to the team. The kids' chorus of sniffles and sporadic gulps of air reached a crescendo just as I finished up. The final 30 minutes of my 2012 Little League managing career were accurately captured in this artist's rendering. Despite the unbelievably kind and encouraging words I heard from the parents after the game, I know it was me who let the kids down.

As usual, Jalen and I were the last ones to leave the field. All of the equipment was packed snugly in my car's trunk, so we plopped down on the bleachers -- a sad, shared attempt to extend our baseball season for a few more minutes. As the field lights automatically switched off, we made our way home. I could hear Jalen weeping softly from the back seat. I could still see my team's tears as I drove along the pitch-black path from the park to our house. And, then I heard Jalen again.

"Dad, are you crying?"

"..."

"It's OK, dad. I won't tell mom."

==

Jalen was in reasonably better spirits by bedtime. The next morning, I spoke to Jeff's dad and found out that Jeff wore the resiliency of a typical kid. One week after our playoff defeat, the team got together for the traditional end-of-season party. As I entered the playroom at our local Round Table Pizza, I witnessed 11 kids gleefully clinging to one of those mechanical pony rides intended for a single preschooler. I could hear gears grinding as it slowly lurched forward. Unless that painted steel horse was sentient, there would be no tears here.

A few days later, Jalen and Jeff were among the four A's players chosen to play in their division's all-star game. And, whaddaya know? One of the managers even invited me onboard to coach.

I savored every moment of that game and was unapologetically more "parent" than "personnel". Jalen went 1 for 3 at the plate and late in the game he was brought in to pitch to the best two hitters from the team that went on to win our division's championship. He struck out the first hitter and induced a pop-up to short on the second. 

 

Our season officially ended with a 12-12 tie. It's kind of a long story involving clutch hits, shaky defense, a late-inning comeback and a bunch of stuff that happened AFTER Jalen recorded the second out of the inning. It was a good game. It was an ugly game. It was a great way to end the season.

The LL Chronicles #19: Five Games, Ten Days & How to Give Up Twenty Runs

5 Little League games over next 10 days. Must track pitch counts lest I'm forced to keep promise to less talented players & let THEM pitch. -- From Twitter, May 12

Perhaps it wasn't worthy of a spread in Sports Illustrated, but I did have a strategy: use a three-man starting rotation with one of the two non-starters pitching in limited relief for the rest of the season. My son Jalen got the start on the mound and threw 49 pitches in our 16-10 win over the Cardinals. This made him unavailable for our next game just two days later, but it ensured that at least two of my three best pitchers would be available in every game down the stretch.

And, if George Will were indeed worthy of his journalistic accolades, he'd update Men at Work with a chapter about my decision to let our least-experienced, least-skilled player pitch the final inning on this day. To the layperson, it might've looked like I was preserving my superior pitchers. But, surely Will's poetic prose would paint a picture of a little boy -- who begged his manager all season for an appearance on the mound -- and his first opportunity to mop-up pitch at any level. 30 pitches...28 balls...2 strikes. If we hadn't hit the two hour, 30 minute time limit, that kid might still be trying to finish the inning.

"Could you play my son [who never listens, pays attention or catches baseballs] at 1B?" - Father of one of my players. Edited for clarity. -- From Twitter, May 14

Our team ran its undefeated streak to four games with a 7-5 win over the Braves. For me, the drama came before the first pitch. With just a handful of games left in the regular season, I knew which of my kids could handle the skill positions (infield, pitcher, catcher) and which kids couldn't (right field, left field). The child in question had been known to swing an imaginary lightsaber while playing the outfield and occasionally turned his back to the plate as the pitch was delivered. The only people more oblivious on a Little League baseball diamond are these guys.

I consulted m'man Smitty on the matter. He's a former high school football coach who occasionally faced irate parents with unreasonable expectations. When they asked why their kids weren't playing more, Smitty gave them his unvarnished opinion ("Your son is slow, he's weak and, if he plays, someone will get injured.") or invited the parents to come watch film with him to see for themselves. Preferring the passive-aggressive approach, I kept the possibility open by responding, "Well, let's see how he does at first base during pregame warm-ups." He...did not do well. He also screamed over to Jalen at shortstop, "Don't throw it so hard!" Come on, you guys. I was justified in not playing him, right?

RIGHT?!

Another Little League win tonight. Wife not happy. A parent told her, "They're playing better since your husband started yelling at them!" -- From Twitter, May 16

Look...I'm the last person to lazily apply the laws of cause and effect. I'm well aware that the infamous Bear Patrol Tax was NOT necessarily a bear deterrent. But, after my team's 17-11 win against the Pirates, we were 4-0-1 over our last five games -- which coincided with my pitch-perfect postgame promo to the team from five games ago. Before this game, some of the kids were half-assing it during infield practice. I threatened to make the entire team run laps -- for the first time all season -- if the kids didn't tighten it up with their gloves. As I returned from the dugout with another bucket of balls, I could see some of my players encouraging their two or three disinterested teammates. Or, maybe I caught the tail end of a kiddie code red. Either way, the rest of practice went off without a hitch...and my hands were clean, Lieutenant Kaffee.

5-game undefeated Little League streak ends. 20(!) runs allowed. Son (1+ IP, 6 R) helpfully pointed out everything everyone else did wrong. -- From Twitter, May 19

This season was my son's first experience pitching off the mound. His first few games went surprisingly well, as he showed good control and an ability to miss bats. As the hitters became acclimated to live pitching, they caught up to Jalen and he struggled for a stretch towards the end of the season. J did eventually pull it together for the playoffs, but he was occasionally obliterated along the way. The Padres' lineup included several buffalo-sized batters who salivated at the prospect of pitches that were anywhere around the plate. And, ironically, J's greatest pitching strength (consistently hitting the strike zone) is his biggest weakness.

In the second inning, Jalen faced the biggest and strongest kid in the division. He doubled to deep left field. The sound of the ball off his bat -- and the reaction of those who heard it -- was recently recreated at the command of Mother Nature. Ask Mrs. Bootleg, you guys. I'm not exaggerating. J's usually emotional when I relieve him after a bad performance. On this day, J was emotionless when I took the ball. His facial expression -- and probably his thoughts -- captured perfectly here.

Ugly Little League loss tonight. Highlights were my son's second home run of the season and his teammate who showed up without his uniform. -- From Twitter, May 21

There wasn't much to love about our regular season-ending 17-8 loss to the best team in our division. 45 minutes before game time, one of my players showed up in jeans, sneakers and a polo shirt. His mother insisted he "didn't have time" to change clothes and she asked if he could play without his uniform. I had to think fast. "Unless he's wearing a cup inside those jeans, he can't play", I responded. The quizzical look on her face foreshadowed her next question. "A cup?"

Hoo boy. "Never mind", I conceded. "But, he's going to need to be in uniform to play."

Jalen, meanwhile, had a slightly more eventful evening. Late in our game, he lined a hit over the first base bag and down the line for a double. I was coaching first base at the time. I watched the ball. I watched the bag. Fair. Yet, the umpire called it foul. One of my coaches later compared my reaction to the scene in Happy Gilmore in which Happy first shows self-restraint. My son's reaction? Much more like a Major Leaguer.

Oh, I'm exaggerating. When Jalen was called back, his squeaky "WHAT?!" elicited appreciative applause from the A's families who've eaten up my son's made-for-TV act all season. He then melodramatically stomped back to home plate as if he were being sent to his room without dessert. On the very next pitch, he smacked one into the left-centerfield gap. It was an easy double, but J made the turn for third. And, when the left fielder made a slow lollipop throw back to the infield, Jalen turned at third and came all the way home.

The A's finished the regular season with a record of 6-8-1. Believe it or not, this was good enough to secure the third seed in our division's postseason tournament. But, if we're cataloging improbable accomplishments, J has to come before A's. As he excitedly exclaimed after the final regular season standings and statistics were posted to our league's website, "I tied for most home runs in the division!"

Hard to believe I had to be talked into managing him.

The LL Chronicles #18: Assaulting Adolescent Umpires, Managerial Meltdowns & Jalen's First Home Run

Son struck out looking w/bases loaded to end today's game. Now, I know 2006 NLCS pain of ‪#Mets‬ fans. How long does it last? Couple of hours? -- From my Twitter feed, April 21

Hard to believe this was one of my most memorable moments of the season. It was nearly 90 degrees at game time and my Little League A's team didn't exactly come prepared to play. The kids were sloppy in the field and uninspired at the plate, but they'd trimmed the deficit to three runs entering the final inning. With the bases loaded and two outs, my son Jalen stepped to the plate. He'd previously relieved our starting pitcher and kept the club in the game, so the conclusion of this climactic sequence seemed preordained. Alas, Jalen went down on three pitches. Each one inside and off the plate. Each one looking. So, what made it memorable? Well, this montage of African-American entertainers who were actually relevant during the 1990s represents the expressions on my son's face when the umpire called strike one, strike two and... strike three.

You'd think I'd be ashamed of getting in face of 13-year-old umpire at Little League game, but you'd be wrong. Just like he was ALL NIGHT. -- From Twitter, April 26

Midway through our game against the Padres -- the best hitting team in the division -- my A's trailed, 6-4. And, with the game half over, the two adolescent umpires working the game decided to switch assignments. In the bottom of the 3rd inning, the home plate umpire began working the bases and the base umpire set up behind home plate. Initially, I hadn't picked up on the chicanery. But, after my first batter struck out looking at a forehead-high fastball, I realized what had happened. My kids spent the previous innings adjusting to one terrible strike zone and now had to recalibrate their bats for an even terrible-er one. It was the most egregious act of incompetent -- possibly corrupt -- sports officiating in at least 25 years.

After the Padres' pitcher struck out the side -- while throwing maybe two legitimate strikes the entire inning -- I (might've) stormed from the home dugout, (possibly) got in his face and (kinda-sorta) unloaded. In the interest of full disclosure, the following diatribe has NOT been corroborated by anyone except my two coaches and the opposing manager, so take it with a grain of salt:

"Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me with this strike zone?! The face is a strike now? Is that new? Because, if the face is a strike, I'll tell my kids to swing. WHERE is your strike zone?!"

I dialed it back a bit when I realized the poor kid appeared to have peed his pants at my "angry n' black" act. After all, the umpires are doing the best they can and -- even at this level -- the game moves a lot faster than you might think. I needed a more mature way to express my displeasure. After we lost, the umpires walked towards me without a word. They're paid $16 apiece per game and the home manager is responsible for handing out league-issued checks. I spent the next 20 minutes taking equipment from the field to my car...one piece at a time. "Coach?", one of the umpires eventually uttered, "My mom's waiting for me. Can I have my check, please?"

"When I'm finished.", I (perhaps) hissed. And, true to my word, I paid them when I finished. See? Mature.

Little League game today vs. undefeated, undisputed best team in division. Rehearsing my "let's just focus on having FUN!" pregame speech. -- From Twitter, April 28

During our first two games against the Rangers, we needed a pair of late-inning rallies -- in garbage time, against their 9th/10th best pitchers -- just to keep from losing by double-digits. On this day, we jumped on the Rangers for five runs in the first inning. Collectively, it was the best game of the season for our offense and by the end of the second inning, everyone was swinging the same bat. Our leadoff hitter borrowed Jalen's 28-inch, 15-ounce aluminum toothpick and after stroking a double, he excitedly christened it "rally bat" while standing on second base. Although, truth be told, it was only the second best "birth of a bat" fable from the past 20 years. We scored 13 runs while wielding "rally bat". The Rangers, however, scored 16 after [ironic pause] rallying for five runs in the top of the final inning. It was still FUN! Mostly.

After our best game of the season last Saturday, my Little League team played their worst game of the season tonight. SO hoarse from booing. -- From Twitter, May 3

A few days after our previous game, I treated the entire team to an hour at the batting cages. This was not an inexpensive excursion, but the kids had fun and it appeared we'd turned a significant corner in creating team camaraderie. Our chemistry experiment promptly exploded in a 17-5 loss to the Braves. After the game, several of the same kids who checked out around the second inning suddenly found their hustle as they raced over for postgame cupcakes. Coach Aaron had seen enough. I took the entire team out to right field... and this happened. Minus the profanity, obviously, but I did repeat several of Jim Leyland's talking points, including: "...if you don't want to be here..."; "...I don't wanna see it no more..." and "...I've had enough of this f****** s***..." Minus the profanity! MINUS!

Attention gamblers! My son's Little League team has lost four in a row & our two best pitchers are ineligible for today's game! -- From Twitter, May 5

And, somehow, we won 17-7. My starting pitcher hadn't pitched all year, but never surrendered the early lead provided by our offense. The kids had regained their immediate cupcake gratification privileges.

My son hit his first Little League home run tonight. In related news: if anyone wants to take an insufferable 8-year-old off my hands...

In other related news: "AIEEEEEE!" -- From Twitter, May 8

As luck would have it, after spending the season either in the dugout or coaching first base, I stationed myself in the third base coaches' box for our game against the Pirates. Jalen came to the plate with two runs in and two runners on in the bottom of the third inning. On the first pitch, he hit a line drive into left-centerfield that skidded across the patchy grass and took a knuckleball bounce away from the two outfielders chasing it. There were a few moments of miscommunication amongst the fielders as the ball rolled parallel to the outfield wall and it still hadn't been picked up as Jalen hit the bag at second and turned towards third. 

By now, the ball had rolled far enough for the rightfielder to make the play as I windmilled my left arm out of its socket and screamed "HOME! HOME! HOME!" As Jalen rounded third base, the look on his face shifted from his usual intense grimace to unbridled elation. He slid into home feet-first kicking up a hazy fog of dirt and chalk. Jalen popped up from the dust, turned back towards third base and asked, "Dad, did you see that?!" He didn't even give me a chance to answer, before he sprinted towards the dugout -- index fingers extended -- and performed an over-the-top monosyllabic celebration that I'm sure I've seen somewhere before.

Yes, Jalen. I saw it.

But, I think you already knew that.  

Baseball, Community and Home Run for Chelsea

Rancho Bernardo is a small community tucked neatly inside the top of San Diego.  The always-accurate Wikipedia refers to it as "...an upscale master-planned community in [San Diego's] northern hills...". 

For me and my family, it's just "home".

But, who can argue with an adjective like "upscale" when our neighborhood is home to a three-stars-on-Yelp Chinese buffet and a reputable business endorsed by Robin Leach?   

Depending on your source, Rancho Bernardo's population is around 40,000.  This represents roughly 3% of San Diego's 1.3 million sun-drenched denizens.  And, our region never seemed smaller than on February 25, 2010.

17-year-old Chelsea King -- a high school senior from nearby Poway High School -- went for a training run at Rancho Bernardo Community Park along its well-known, trees-and-brush-hidden trails.  Tragically, she never came home.  Her disappearance led to the formation of local search parties -- comprised of both her peers and complete strangers -- that organized just down the hill from my house.  Five agonizing days passed before her body was found.  The victim of a horrific sexual assault was murdered 1 1/2 miles from my front door. 

Rancho Bernardo Community Park is also home to our local Little League's ball fields.  Days after Chelsea King's body was found, the park hosted Little League's opening day ceremonies.  I have no doubt that organizers wrestled with how to respectfully pay tribute to Chelsea in front of hundreds of children -- some as young as five-years-old -- without creating a pre-pubescent panic.  I remember that the ceremony was understandably brief, but moving.  My son Jalen asked about the large "CK" initials that were drawn on the infield dirt, but my awkward response was lost on his ears amid calls of "Play ball!" 

Since then, I've spent an ungodly number of hours at that park.  I've watched Jalen attempt to field everyone else's position in t-ball.  I coached him when he moved up to hitting off of the pitching machine.  I managed him in this, his first year of live pitching. 

Rancho Bernardo's Little League is a community all its own.  This is why I wasn't surprised to receive a text message from my son's Fall 2010 coach.  We regularly practiced together with our sons -- and several other fathers and sons -- on whichever open field could accommodate us on hastily-selected Sunday mornings or holiday afternoons or early December evenings.  J's old coach asked if he'd be interested in playing in a charity tournament. 

Last month, the second annual Home Run for Chelsea event was held at ball fields across San Diego County benefitting the Chelsea's Light Foundation.  Jalen reluctantly donned the uniform of the Cleveland Indians' short-season single-A minor league affiliate -- the Scrappers.  As his coach wryly remarked, "It's a good name for a kids' team."  Without missing a beat, Jalen replied, "Yeah, but, so is Rivercats!  And, RockHounds!"  (You'd have to be well-versed on the Oakland Athletics' minor league teams to get that.  It's probably best if you just move on to the next paragraph.) 

The tournament officials farmed us out to Encinitas -- a coastal community that sits about 25 miles northwest of Rancho Bernardo.  There was some grumbling from the adults -- naturally -- but, I thought it'd be fun to play on a different field and Jalen was excited about the prospect of a real "road game". 

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I wouldn't be coaching my son.  I hadn't been just a spectator at one of Jalen's games since Mrs. Bootleg literally banned me from watching from the same side of the field as her.  According to my wife, I'm too obnoxious, too intense and occasionally try to coach my son from the stands.  Pfft...balderdash.  Besides, if Jalen would just LISTEN TO ME... 

Seated down the third base line, my wife and I watched Jalen warm up with his teammates.  This was the only uncomfortable part of the event for me.  It was all I could do to stop from grabbing my glove (which I smuggled inside Jalen's bat bag), run onto the field and warm up my son.  Part of me was hoping that he'd see my glove in his bag and ask, on his own, for a little catch with his old man.  And, then, maybe the manager would say, "Hey, Aaron...we need someone to coach first base. You interested?"  Clearly, my evil scheming and nefarious planning need polish. 

Before the 9:00 AM games began, the mother of Chelsea King gave a short speech in front of the gathered players and parents.  I didn't really need such a nudge on what was already an emotional morning, but her words pushed my tear ducts past their natural capacity.  It was Mrs. Bootleg keeping the stiff upper lip for the family and her "Oh, here we go..." roll of the eyes at the sight of my tears was, admittedly, magnificent. 

Jalen's team played two games that day.  The first was against a travel ball squad that was clearly the stiffest competition any of our kids had faced to date.  J struck out in his first two at bats on letter high fastballs that I doubt he saw.  Jalen pitched the fifth inning, tasked with protecting a 3-2 lead.  Unfortunately, J's appearance was right in the middle of his worst Little League pitching stretch of the season.  He walked five and gave up four runs in just 2/3 of an inning -- the two outs recorded on a spectacular diving catch by the shortstop and a baserunner who crashed into the same shortstop just as he was fielding another ball.  My son had as much success fighting back tears as I did earlier in the day. 

In the sixth and final inning, though, the Scrappers (ugh) rallied and Jalen drove in the tying run.  With the two-hour time limit reached, the game finished in a 6-6 tie.  The second game followed 15 minutes later.  It was mostly an unwatchable slog of ball four-after-ball four between two tired teams with a discernible difference in ability.  The Scrappers won 18-8 and Jalen is still talking about his bases-clearing three-run triple in the first inning. 

I didn't spend much time with Mrs. Bootleg during either game.  When I'm managing my son, I'm a tightly-wound, mocha brown bundle of nerves who receives repeated reprimands from the umpire to quit pacing and stay inside the first base coach's box.  It's hard to sit still while rooting for Jalen.  It's surprisingly harder to sit still when you're rooting for a community.