Midway Through the Season

As we near the Fourth of July holiday, we're almost halfway through the major league baseball season.

And my predictions are looking a lot better than they did shortly before Memorial Day.

All three of the teams I picked to win the divisions of the National League are leading, but Los Angeles, with an 8–game lead, continues to look like the most likely team to be in the playoffs when October gets here. The other two, Philadelphia and St. Louis, lead their divisions by one game and ½ game, respectively.

In St. Louis' case, that's an improvement. Around Memorial Day, the Cardinals were in third place in their division.

If the season ended today, though, my wild card pick, the New York Mets, would not be in the playoffs. The wild card would go instead to the San Francisco Giants, who have a winning percentage of .542, which is .008 better than Milwaukee and .028 better than the Mets.

In the American League, things are improving. My pick to win the AL East, Boston, is leading and my wild card pick, New York, is leading in that chase (the Yankees trail the Red Sox by four games). My other two picks, Minnesota and Los Angeles, are currently second in their divisions. The Twins trail Detroit by 4½ games while the Angels trail the Texas Rangers by a mere ½ game.

The Twins have lost a little ground in the last month or so, but the Angels have closed the gap considerably and look poised to take control of the race, as I predicted they would.

You can see the current standings here.

Stay tuned.

That's a Tough One

---

---

I'm a graduate of the University of Arkansas. I was pleased that the Razorbacks made it to the College World Series in Omaha, Neb., and I was even more pleased that they won a couple of games.

But they lost twice to SEC rival LSU so LSU will play Texas in the best–of–three championship series that begins tomorrow.

I know it will be an exciting finish to the baseball season.

But I have to admit that it's a tough call for a Razorback.

I grew up hating the Texas Longhorns because they always seemed to beat the Razorbacks — particularly in football but in other sports as well. And, since the Hogs moved to the Southeastern Conference nearly 20 years ago, LSU has been their chief nemesis in just about every sport.

So a Texas–LSU final in baseball is like the worst of both worlds for me.

I think I'll just wish both teams the best and be grateful Arkansas had a banner season in something.

Anyway, As I Was Saying ...

In my blog post yesterday, I observed that comebacks are always possible in baseball, even if you're down to your last out or your last strike.

The baseball team from my alma mater, the University of Arkansas, proceeded to prove my point in the College World Series last night, rallying in the ninth to tie the University of Virginia. The Razorbacks broke the tie and won the game in the 12th.

Undoubtedly, many fans had given up on the game and missed a dramatic finish on ESPN2.

Next up for the Razorbacks is a rematch with SEC rival LSU on Friday. The teams met in the World Series on Monday, and LSU clobbered the Hogs, 9–1. If LSU wins, Arkansas is eliminated and LSU advances to the best–of–three championship series that begins on Monday. If Arkansas wins, the teams will meet again on Saturday, with the winner advancing to the championship series.

In the other bracket, Arizona State and North Carolina face off today in an elimination game, with the winner advancing to a similar showdown with Texas.

The Field of Dreams

In a couple of hours, my alma mater, the University of Arkansas, will take the field against the University of Virginia in the College World Series. The loser is eliminated and goes home. The winner remains in Omaha, Neb., to pursue college baseball supremacy — however slim the odds may be.

But that's the way it is with baseball fans. Until that last out is recorded, hope springs eternal. Comebacks are always possible, even if you appear to be down to your last strike. This isn't like football or basketball, where the players and fans are at the mercy of the clock and leads can become too great to be overcome in the time that remains.

Anything can happen. That's why they call it the field of dreams.

The pastor of my church here in Dallas is a baseball fan — from what I gather, a pretty knowledgeable one, too. He grew up in this area so he remembers the very first days of the local major league franchise, the Texas Rangers, and he's been here to see all the local fans drink the Kool–Aid before the seasons began — and listen to the rationalizations when the dream inevitably came apart at the seams.

Usually, they stop passing around the Kool–Aid here by May and start anticipating football season, even though the first exhibition games are more than two months away. But sometimes the Rangers tantalize their fans a bit longer, and that's what they've been doing this year.

When the season began back in April, my pastor gave, in his blog, his case for withholding support for the Rangers until they had proven themselves worthy of it.

But the Rangers got off to a strong start this season. And, unfortunately, my pastor still seems to be prone to drinking the Kool–Aid — at least, to a certain extent.

Not that he's alone. There seem to be a lot of people in this area who are eager to see the Rangers in the playoffs, and they have readily welcomed the Rangers' hot start this year.

The Rangers have cooled off a little lately. They won the opener of their series with the majors' hottest club, the Dodgers, last Friday, but then they proceeded to lose the next couple of games. They beat Houston last night, so they're 5–5 in their last 10 games, but their primary division rivals, the Angels, are on a five–game winning streak and have pulled to within two games in the standings.

In his blog last week, my pastor said he could admit when he was wrong, and I've sort of said the same thing recently. But I've been warning that the Rangers tend to wither with the heat. I still think that's what is going to happen. And it's been unusually warm here lately.

If I'm wrong, well, I, too, can admit it. But I don't think I'll have to.

Because I've seen this movie before. Several times.

Favre: Will He or Won't He?

One fine day, pro football fans will anticipate the coming of a new season without being subjected to speculation about what Brett Favre will do.

One day, his NFL career will be indisputably over. The countdown to his eligibility for the Hall of Fame will have begun, and he will have settled into his life as a retired quarterback. He may be back in his native Mississippi at that time, or he may be living somewhere else. But he won't be thinking about training camp or opening day or any of that stuff.

This year, as Favre approaches his 40th birthday, does not appear to be that year. Not yet.

Last night, Favre told Joe Buck on HBO that he wants to play again if he is healthy.

And, frankly, it seems to me that it is a done deal, assuming he gets a medical go–ahead on his surgically repaired passing arm.

During his interview with Buck, Favre seemed to be guilty of a verbal slipup, using the pronoun "we" to refer to the Minnesota Vikings. And the Vikings seem eager to have him join them.

Favre left enough room for doubt, saying, "I don't think you can go past anything more than the arm. If that's not up to par, and it's not up to par when the time comes, then I can't play. I went through it last year and I've gutted it out or whatever, but it affected me and it affected our team and I don't want to do that again and I won't do it again."

So, technically, I suppose, it's possible that Favre won't return.

But, unless his doctor tells him that the arthroscopic surgery he had 2½ weeks ago was not successful, I expect to see Favre suiting up in the purple and gold this fall.

And that should make his return to Green Bay as the Vikings' quarterback, on November 1, a memorable occasion for football fans.

The Birth of the Triple Crown

Ninety years ago today, Sir Barton won the Belmont Stakes and became the first horse to win the Triple Crown.

Ten other horses matched that achievement in the next 59 years.

Sometimes, Triple Crown winners have come in bunches. In the 1940s, for example, there were four — Whirlaway (1941), Count Fleet (1943), Assault (1946) and Citation (1948).

Then sometimes there have been extended periods in which no horse won the Triple Crown. A quarter of a century passed between Citation's Triple Crown and the next Triple Crown winner, but that drought was followed by another flurry of winners — Secretariat (1973), Seattle Slew (1977) and Affirmed (1978).

Today, we are in the longest dry spell since Sir Barton's day — 31 years and counting. We knew that streak would continue when Rachel Alexandra won the Preakness nearly a month ago, but her jockey still had the opportunity to pull off an unprecedented Triple Crown. And that kept interest in the Belmont Stakes high, even though everyone knew the traditional Triple Crown was out of the question for 2009.

Jockey Calvin Borel won the first two races aboard different horses, but he fell short in last weekend's Belmont Stakes.

Well, maybe next year. There's still a decade left before the centennial of Sir Barton's accomplishment.

No Cure for the 'Summer' Time Blues

---

---

We knew going into yesterday's Belmont Stakes that there would be no Triple Crown winner in horse racing this year.

But there was hope that Calvin Borel would accomplish an unprecedented Triple Crown for a jockey — winning all three races but not on the same horse. As it turned out, though, that didn't happen, either.

Aboard Mine That Bird, the horse he rode to victory in the Kentucky Derby five weeks earlier, Borel finished third in yesterday's Belmont to the horse that is being called the "other Bird," Summer Bird.

The jockey who rode Summer Bird to victory yesterday, Kent Desormeaux, should know how Borel feels. He came up short of Triple Crowns aboard Real Quiet in 1998 and Big Brown last year, losing the Belmont both times.

The 1½–mile Belmont is known as the "Test of the Champion," and for good reason. The first two races in the Triple Crown — the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes — are shorter distances. The Belmont is longer than most 3–year–old horses are accustomed to, creating all sorts of problems for jockeys.

The Belmont has been known to do this to horses in the past. Last year, Big Brown was merely the latest in a parade of disappointments.

But it seems appropriate that the final jewel in the Triple Crown should present challenges that the first two do not.

Because overcoming the obstacles makes winning the Triple Crown a greater achievement.

Desormeaux has known the disappointment of coming up short in the Belmont. And now, so has Borel.

In Pursuit of a Triple Crown

In the past, a Triple Crown in thoroughbred horse racing has referred to a horse winning all three races — the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont.

It is not possible for the same horse to win all three races this year, but it is still possible for the same jockey to win all three races, and that is what Calvin Borel will seek to do this afternoon. They're calling this unprecedented achievement the "Calvin Crown."

Borel rode Mine That Bird to victory in the May 2 Kentucky Derby, then he switched horses and rode filly Rachel Alexandra to victory in the Preakness two weeks later. Today, he's back on Mine That Bird.

Oddsmakers have established Mine That Bird as a 2–1 pick to win, but Charitable Man is a 3–1 pick and Dunkirk is 4–1. Based on the odds, Mine That Bird can expect some stiff competition today.

As Ed Gray observes in the Boston Herald, today's race represents a new challenge for Mine That Bird.

Borel and the horse will "will have to adjust to the 1–mile oval with wide sweeping turns and long stretches," Gray writes. "The pace of the Belmont is usually slower than it is in the first two legs of the Triple Crown, which may not play into the hand of a drop–back, one–run closer like Mine That Bird."

The Belmont track may be a challenge for Mine That Bird, but SI.com observes that the jockey has the confidence he needs.

" 'Like I have been telling you, he will win,' Borel said" in a Namath–like guarantee, reports SI.com. " 'Winning a Triple Crown might not be on the same horse but it'ts very good for me and my career.' "

Wallace Matthews writes, in Newsday, that the Belmont "separates the merely good from the great."

As anyone who has been looking for work in this economy knows, confidence is a significant part of the battle. We'll find out today if it can carry Borel to a "Calvin Crown" — and establish him as "great" as opposed to "merely good."

The 1½–mile track does, indeed, pose a challenge for Mine That Bird. If Borel can ride his mount to victory, it will be quite an achievement.

I hope he can do it. But my guess is that he won't. I'm thinking that Mine That Bird will finish second, just as he did three weeks ago, even though he has a talented jockey riding him.

Here are my picks in today's race:

1. Charitable Man


2. Mine That Bird


3. Chocolate Candy

You can see the race on ABC. Coverage begins at 4 p.m. (Central), but the race won't run until more than an hour later.

Big Unit's Milestone

---

---

It may have seemed inevitable to some fans, but Randy Johnson, also known as "the Big Unit," won his 300th game Thursday night.

No matter how good a pitcher is, it is far from certain that anyone will win 300 games in a career. Only 24 (including the 45–year–old Johnson) have reached that milestone, and nearly one–quarter did so in the 19th century. Three other pitchers — Roger Clemens (in 2003), Greg Maddux (in 2004) and Tom Glavine (in 2007) — have accomplished it in this decade. One (Nolan Ryan in 1990) won his 300th in the 1990s.

In what was a comparative flurry, five pitchers recorded their 300th wins in the 1980s, but you have to go back to the early 1960s to find the last pitchers who did it before that.

It simply doesn't happen that often.

To put things in perspective ...

A 20–win season is generally considered the demarcation point for pitchers. To reach the 300–win milestone, a pitcher would need to win 20 games a season every season for 15 years. If he drops below 20 in one or more, obviously, that raises the bar.

As Tony DeMarco writes for NBCSports.com, Johnson may be "the last of a dying breed." Even if he isn't, it may be many years before we see someone else cross the 300–win threshold again.

Be that as it may. Congratulations, Big Unit.

Casey at the Bat

It seems unlikely that there could be anyone who has never heard "Casey at the Bat," a poem that was written by Ernest Thayer and printed in the San Francisco Examiner on this day in 1888.

The poem was written in a different time — before television, before radio. But it captures the eternal appeal of baseball and the personal relationships that communities have with their baseball teams.

For years, the actual identity of the author of the poem was a mystery. The Examiner only published a pen name, "Phin." Even after that conundrum had been cleared up, it was unclear — in fact, it remains uncertain today — whether the tale was fictional or a Casey and a Mudville actually existed.

As recently as five years ago, Katie Zezima wrote in the New York Times that two cities, one in New York and one in California, claim to be the real Mudville.

If the author is to be believed, neither city is correct. "The poem has no basis in fact," he wrote.

Well, here's the poem as it appeared in the San Francisco Examiner 121 years ago.

---

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put even money now with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a–hugging third.

Then from 5,000 thoats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather–covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a–watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm — waves on the stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "fraud;"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed;
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.

---

Not bad for something the author himself regarded as "doggerel."

The Journey of 1,000 Miles ...

---

---

... begins with a single step.

Well, that's what they say.

For Lou Gehrig, the journey that resulted in his streak of 2,130 consecutive games played began on this day in 1925.

On that day, Gehrig actually replaced the New York Yankees' shortstop, "Pee Wee" Wanninger, but the next day, he was put in at first base in place of Wally Pipp, the regular first baseman who was going through a hitting slump.

(Ironically, Gehrig died almost 16 years to the day after his streak began — on June 2, 1941.)

Today, Pipp's name is rarely mentioned — except whenever a nondescript athlete in any sport is removed from the lineup and his replacement accomplishes something noteworthy.

From that day in 1925 until Gehrig voluntarily removed himself from the lineup in 1939, he was a virtual fixture at first base. His record stood until September 1995, when Baltimore's Cal Ripken Jr. exceeded it, ultimately concluding his career with 2,632 consecutive games played.

I've never been a Yankee fan, but I would have to say that Gehrig is probably my all–time favorite baseball player — not just because of his ballplaying career (although it was certainly illustrious — besides his legendary games played streak, Gehrig had a .340 lifetime batting average, 493 home runs and nearly 2,000 RBIs) but also because of the way he carried himself after being diagnosed with the disease that took his life and today bears his name (informally).

He truly was, as the title of his movie biography suggested, the pride of the Yankees.