Reds talk from the new me

I caught myself being a consistent asshole to one of my friends. I validated my behavior by telling myself that I was "over-the-top" in my verbal strikes so he could only conclude that I was joking. I also thought my shtick was hilarious. But in my constant effort to amuse myself the insults I lobbed towards my friends face had disintegrated into something plain mean. So I am making amends.

To that end, I have decided to offer an analysis of the 2007 Cincinnati Reds campaign with an edge of positiveity and hope. It is easy to slam and tear something down. That's why the people that construct buildings get paid a lot more than the people that tear them down. And it is easy to write when the intentions are destructive. Enter in any subject matter into Google and you will be provided links to sites dedicated to pinpointing why that subject matter sucks.

I love nothing more than a long session of complaining. My harping has been loud and predictable during the Reds disastrous May (9-20). In defiance, I decided I wanted to Reds to lose 120 games. If a team is going to lose, they might as well be glorious losers. But those were efforts to insulate myself from the pain. The truth is that I am a fan. I clicked on the game Tuesday night and pumped my fist as the Reds escaped with the aide of a bases loaded double play for a 2-1 win. I want the Reds to win.

However, realistic playoff hopes ended when the Reds went 2-6 on a home stand against two of the worst teams in the National League. Now, record-wise, the Reds are the worst team. Teams look forward to series against the Reds. The team just cannot put together a complete baseball game. So these are my kind suggestions on how to fix this ball club:

1. Trade Ken Griffey Jr. – great, bold idea that never quite worked. 10 years of running down balls on the Kingdome AstroTurf killed Griffey's legs. He came to Reds with a broken body and has not been the superstar everyone wanted him to be. But he is a professional, he never trashes the Reds organization or his teammates and he wants to win. He just does not fit on this team or in this town. He hustles when he wants to and he is not the vocal leader the Reds need. And he makes too much money for a slow, injury-prone right-fielder. So trade him and trade him now because he is swinging a good bat and is as healthy as he will ever be for the rest of his life. I just fear that the Reds will keep him around so he can hit his 600th HR and pump the gate for a few weeks. This would be short-sighted. And very possible.

2. Trade Adam Dunn – he could be a great DH. He's going to average close to 40 hrs, 100 walks, 100 runs and 100 RBI for the next 5 years. But the National League does not have a DH and never will. So that's a problem. I don't think Dunn likes playing defense – I sense disdain as he lumbers after balls in the left field corner. So let's make everybody happy. Dunn does not hit balls to the warning track – outfielders do not even move when he connects. They just turn and watch. So send him to an American League team with disposable cash and a big park. His bombs are so majestic that they won't even notice the 180 strike outs for a couple years. And the Reds ball park is so small that they don't need a guy that can hit the ball 500 feet. They need a guy that hits .300 with runners in scoring position.

3. Release all relievers over the age of 33. Well, maybe keep one over that age. Having a 38-year old David Weathers on the staff is ok if it is an exception, not the rule. The Reds started the season too dependant on pitchers in the high 30s. The Reds need an arm youth movement. If Bray and Majewski, the Reds take in last year's infamous trade with the Nationals, pitch to their potential, the bullpen is halfway there.

4. Cut the chord on 2007 sooner than later and bring up the young talent. The Reds have won 3 games in a row. That is pleasant. They could play .500 ball, from this point, the rest of the season. And since the National League Central is historically terrible, that level of play might keep them hanging around. But the Reds should know that if the Central teams collapse and allow the 6th place horse to catch them around the turn, they will not win a playoff series. This team cannot beat the Braves or Dodgers or Mets in October. So what is the point of killing yourself to make the playoffs this year? The Reds should focus on 2008 and make deals to that end. Harang, Arroyo, Phillips and Hamilton are the only untouchables.

5. Raise the outfield walls. I wish the Reds would just detonate the entire stadium and start from scratch. The ball park is comfortable and that is about it. The opportunity to create a professional facility only comes around once every 20-30 years. And the Reds just did not get it right. Whatever. In the meantime, they could at least make it less of a launching pad. Raising the walls would only eliminate a few hundred seats, but it is not like attendance is not pushing the edges of capacity.

I hope those were positive suggestions. I want the Reds to rip off wins and get back in the conversation this season. I don't want to wait. I don't want another 5-year plan. But the sane man knows that 2007 is gone. Time to trim the fat, let loose the youth and bring back the love. Let's all smile again, friends.

survival

I despise skilled manual labor. Painting is awful. A mess that spreads. Everything gets infected with paint. Your hands, the dirty rag, the clean rag, your neck, the radio. If you wipe one spot 3 other spots are soiled. In order to succeed, a meticulous approach is necessary. That’s why I hate skilled labor. It takes patience and process. I rely on shortcuts, eye-balling and clumsiness. In everything.

The past two nights I have been laying slate down on a basement floor. A cruel chore assigned to me by my girlfriend as punishment. My crime was not contestable so I accepted the job with head down. But today I was emboldened and challenged the merits of the penalty. She rushed me into a debate before I had put organized my arguments. I was demolished by logic topped with emotions. It was not a close match.

In volley ball knee pads, my task continued. My dogs circled and stared at the man on all floors, cursing at stone squares, but offered no assistance. They got bored and went outside to smell past poops. The work grudged on as I listened to sports talk radio. Arms caked with wet cement I felt almost masculine. I dumped the excess sludge behind a tree where grass does not grow. I was not sure what else to do with it.

There was some satisfaction, at the end. A step closer to completion and another assignment. I am free, so I could refuse these orders. But she is good and her conditions are good and I want to remain. Survival is our first instinct and it serves us well.

2 things

1. Boxing is dead

I am a sucker, nay, a RUBE. A rube is the type of person living in a small town that would get overjoyed when the circus would come to town. He would take his fist full of currency down to the orgy of fried food and twirling metal and step up to every ring toss and milk bottle topple game on the property. And the man would get fleeced at every stop. And walk home empty. That's a rube.*

*A rube is also the same guy that dumps hundreds of dollars into a stripper's G-string and is convinced that she likes him. Just to give you the modern perspective.

I got fleeced by this Mayweather-De La Hoya fight. I watched the HBO special, which looking back, was more of a savvy infomercial than a documentary. I read the scouting reports. I was prepared for a monster bout of epic proportions. What I saw was two highly trained athletes dance around a ring for 36 minutes. One round bled into the next. There was no ebb or flow. No momentum shift. Just boredom.

Boxing purists will tell you it was a beautiful display by masters of the sport. Those same words could have came out of the mouth of a circus ring master. The fight was a dud. There was no sense of urgency. Mayweather, the 'pound-for-pound' champion, settled on scoring points from the outside. What real champion allows judges to decide his fate? Figure skaters.

The fact is, I pay $64 to see some violence. I want blood. I want a few heads snapped back. I want exchanges. I want punches thrown with murderous intent. And boxing failed to deliver. Again.

2. The Reds are dying

You can break baseball down into a million parts but for this point, I am going to separate the game into 4 sections: starting pitching, bullpen, offense and defense. You need each of those 4 areas to be effective to win baseball games. And the Reds just can't seem to get them all to work at the same time - and have not been able to since 1999.

The 2007 Cincinnati Reds finally have the starting pitching. This was the missing piece for so many years. The heart of the machine is pumping strong, only the liver, kidney and lungs have failed. The offense is streaky and is lousy at small ball. The defense is better but the outfield corners are slow and weak when Griffey and Dunn are playing. And the bullpen. Oh the bullpen. This group has pissed away wins and nullified quality starts. In six games, The Houston Astros have scored 17 runs in the 8th inning. Alone. All against the bullpen. That is an absolute joke.

What's worse is that the Reds have played one of the easiest schedules (29th out of 30) so far this season. They have yet to play the Braves, Mets and Dodgers. Inter-league play looms. This was the section of the season where the Reds needed to stockpile some wins. The Reds are 14-18, and 8 games back of the Brewers. After this series against the Astros, the Reds go on a west coast road trip (always a miserable stretch) against the Dodgers and Padres followed by a series in Cleveland (who are 11-3 at home). This season might be over before June.

Larkin

I was listening to Sports Talk Radio today and the voice from my car speakers was debating who should be the next inductee into the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame. He offered a variety of candidates, including some pitchers from the 40s that I have never heard of and familiar names like Vada Pinson. The name with the strongest credentials was Barry Larkin. When his name was raised, I grunted in apathy.

This is significant because there was a time when Larkin was my favorite sports player in the world. I have in a bag somewhere every single baseball card printed with his visage from his rookie season up to 1995 – even the generic ones that were at the bottom of cereal boxes. His number 11 was on my back in every sport I played. I copied his swing. Larkin was my hero of sport.

And he was a great player. He is an automatic Cincinnati Hall of Famer that should get his number retired. He grew up in Cincinnati. He ripped the 'best shortstop in the game' title from Ozzie Smith and proved shortstops could hit for power. He hit 30/30, won the NL MVP and a World Series ring. He's an icon and a classic Red who never wore another uniform.

But a few things happened towards the end. Larkin's leadership was questionable and Reds nation furrowed its brow when he removed his captain 'C' patch after the Reds traded closer Jeff Shaw. He also crippled the Reds financially when he signed a 3 year, 27 million dollar contract at the downside of his career. This was in 2001, when 9 million a year meant something and was a massive strain on a mid-market budget. But these were minor blips. And then Ken Griffey Jr. joined the team.

When you were in grade school, most of your friends either lived in your neighborhood or were in your class. But everyone had that friend that had a buddy who lived another town. Maybe he met the kid in summer camp or they were on a traveling soccer team together. Either way, he told you how cool this kid was all the time. He had the best stuff, he won fights after school and he even cussed out his mother and got away with it. So one day, you actually meet this kid at a birthday party or something. And your buddy is gushing over him. He over-laughs at all his jokes. Demands to be on his team during games. Treats everyone else with disdain because he is arm in arm with the prince. By the end of the day, you want to kill them both.

Same thing happened when Griffey descended like a plague upon the Reds. Larkin practically drooled on him in spring training. He shadowed Griffey, assigning himself as Junior's personal tour guide. I remember seeing disgusting pictures of Larkin in the throws of laughter while attached to Griffey's side. And for the record, Griffey is not funny. During the season, Larkin would hustle to grab the seat by Griffey on the bench. He beamed like Griffey's mother when he hit a home run. It was despicable. And this was not the worst of it. Over time, Larkin acquired Griffey's laziness and sense of entitlement. In the last season of the 2004 season, Griffey left the clubhouse and his teammates in the second inning to catch an early flight home to Florida. Larkin followed him out of the stadium. Number 11 would have NEVER done this without Griffey's influence. Ever.

Bary Larkin was one of the top-20 shortstops of all-time. He had class, he was clutch, he played smart and hard and he was the face of the Cincinnati Reds baseball club throughout the 1990s. And that was something every Reds fan could be proud of.

But my last memory of Larkin was watching him play Ken Griffey Jr.'s lap dog.