So much more than another vacant lot in Detroit

A pre-Opening Day visit to Tiger Stadium for a story in 1991 allowed access to all kinds of places we'd never again get to -- like the visitor's bullpen.

I want to send out a quick word of thanks to two folks who linked to the post about Will and me trespassing, err, paying tribute to what remains of one of our favorite ballparks, Tiger Stadium.

Paul Lukas of the always amazing Uniwatch , who linked to us on Monday, which led to someone sending us to Craig Calcaterra of NBC Sports' Hardball Talk .

Together, they absolutely obliterated the previous daily hit record for the blog, kindly introducing us to a wide audience. I'm grateful.

And it also had me thinking about that great old stadium, and some of the adventures there that were told here long ago. I wanted to share some again in case any of those new visitors come back, and I'd love to hear their stories about what happened at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull.

First can only be one of my favorite baseball moments of all time, when we finally established contact with my favorite non-Met, Frank Thomas on what can only be descrbed as a magical, misty night.

I spent one of the best birthdays ever when colleague John Munson and I had the run of the entire stadium as crews prepared for Opening Day. We saw some amazing things that most fans never got to watch, and explored just about every inch of the ballpark.
I'm sure Dennis Eckerlsy was more graceful getting out of the visitor's bullpen.


Then I had one of my most memorable moments as a reporter on the field, interviewing Hall-of-Famers Frank Robinson and Jim Palmer, plus original Met Al Jackson in preparation for a story about Mickey Weston.

Andrew and I had a wonderful time in roaming around centerfield and getting tips from Tigers players and coaches.

We had some non-baseball adventures at the stadium, too. Kiss kicked off its 1996 reunion tour with a massive spectacle at Tiger Stadium that ended up being a little dangerous.

There were other memories, inclunding the first interleague game between the Mets and Tigers, and the day we met a number of Negro League stars and learned a valueable lesson.

Josh Pahigian listed Tiger Stadium as Place No. 68 in his
101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out and I used that opportunity to run some of my favorite photos of players we've seen play there over the years. The best part about Tiger Stadium was that you could get so close, especially in the bullpen area.

The James Earl Jones lines about baseball in Field of Dream were all true, especially the one about memories so thick that you practically have to swat them away. I thought about that as Will and I wandered around what to some people was a vacant lot at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull earlier this month. Truth be told, it is so much more.

To understand the opponent, you need to know where he is from. Our evening at Comerica Park

Since the Tigers have been visiting the Mets this week, I thought it might be a good idea to show Mets fans where the Tigers spend most of their time.

And I'm talking about the ballpark, beacuse you really don't want to see too many photos of Detroit other than our adventures in trespassing at the old yard.

Comerica Park isn't the worst place to see a game, but it's far from my favorite. Like Cit Bank in Philly, it's a jumbled mess.

But there are some neat features, like giant tiger statues -- including two atop the scoreboard with glowing eyes when the team plays "Eye of the Tiger" late in the game. And it's cool that the team takes the field as "Detroit, Rock City" blares from the PA.

So Will and I went to see the Diamondbacks, and wore our sweet D-Backs batting practice jerseys. He's got the Unit, I've got Schilling.

Tigers fans are pretty mellow. I knew we'd never get abused for wearing opposition colors. In fact, I set the over/under on abuse at two people. Other than some mild ribbing from employees, we heard mostly compliments from D-Backs fans. Usually people mentioned it as a way to start a conversation.

The huge tiger statue is one of the good things about the stadium. It's a natural meeting spot and photo zone. There are several other, smaller tigers on the roof on either side.

It is well-known that I will pose with any mascot at any time. Occasionally this brings great discomfort to my friends. We neve got close to Paws, the Tigers' mascot, but we did see the Comcast remote control -- I don't know if he has a name -- and the Belle Tire guy. Will humored me by stepping into the photo.

The team has a booth full of game-worn or used items, including these bats from the Mothers Day game. Sometimes there are affordable items there. Last year I got Lloyd McClendon's locker plate for $10 and Luis Lopez's cap from a Negro Leagues tribute game for $20.

The Ferris wheel and food court were hopping areas, with a band playing. The wheel isn't all that tall, and if not for the novelty of riding in large baseballs at a stadium, it's not exciting. But it's kind of neat to watch.

Comerica has a number of stupid little mistakes, things that could have been done much better. Among those was the placement of the statues in left. They're on the concourse, but right up against the fence so they overlook the seats and playing field.

But people like to take photos of the statues, and they like to take photos of fields and themselves next to said statues. But the only way to get a person and the statue in the same shot is to stand behind them.

So here's Ty Cobb's butt, and Will's too.


The Ernie Harwell statue is near the main entrance, better situated and is a popular posing site. Harwell was probably the most popular person in Detroit, and when he passed away this spring he was brought to the stadium, with the open casket set near the statue and the line stretching around the block. People where snapping photos with their cell phone cameras, which seemed kind of odd.

The Diamondbacks had their way with the Tigers, with Mark Reynolds launching an early bomb and the team padding the lead, sending Rick Porcello all the way back to the Toledo Mud Hens. The Tigers got within striking distance, but Aaron Heilman, of all people, came in to close the door.

The sky was beautiful as the sun started setting. Will noted that the view will be pretty neat as the lights in all the downtown Detroit buildings started flickering on. Then we remembered that we were in downtown Detroit and there would be no lights because most of the buildings are empty.


A couple was married at home plate after the game. They'd won a contest for the honor, and note that Paws, the Tigers mascot, is among the groomsmen and wearing his tux. We suspect the wedding party had been celebrating for much of the evening, because instead of saying, "I do," she yelled, "HELL YES!"


And the game ended with a pretty sweet fireworks show, with the explosions going off right there in centerfield.

Finding little but our memories on the spot where Tiger Stadium stood

These Tiger Plaza gates and the flagpole are all that remain of Tiger Stadium.

I’ve stood on the field in Tiger Stadium a number of times -- each time thrilling.

Several visits were for stories, including interviews with Jim Palmer and Frank Robinson. Another was a pre-game clinic with Andrew, where we listened to Tigers players and coaches offer tips and posed for photos in centerfield. And the most dangerous was sitting in the 27th row in right-center dodging chairs as Kiss launched its reunion tour.

Some of those adventures can be found here.

And the most memorable day at the park might have been when Will and I were present for the last game at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull in 1999.

But Saturday afternoon we stood on the field where Ty Cobb and Al Kaline played, and Trammell and Whitaker turned double plays. Gone were the fans and the stands, the bustle and noise. All that remained was the flagpole in centerfield, the infield with a somewhat tamped down mound and a grassy field slowly losing a battle to weeds.

We were in Detroit to see the Diamondbacks play the Tigers, and with some time to kill before the Comerica Park gates opened we headed over to the site of the stadium where we watched so many games together in the 1990s.

Exiting I-75 to get a closer view, we noticed that the large gate in the chain-link fence surrounding most of the site was wide open.

As with the Astrodome in October, an open gate is practically an engraved invitation to a couple baseball adventurers.

The whole area was deserted, and we decided that should a security guard appear, we’d easily see him coming.

We bravely walked out along what was the third base line. Tall weeds and some construction rubble dotted where the stands once stood, but we were surprised at how intact the playing field remained 10 years after the final out.

The infield dirt looked especially good, as if a good raking from the grounds crew would make it playable again.

We took turns standing on the mound, which was lower than it should have been but still identifiable as the spot where Jack Morris and Mickey Lolich fired fastballs.


Will paid tribute to the late Mark Fidrych by tending to the mound. Tom Seaver pitched two games at Tiger Stadium as a member of the White Sox, and I believe the scene looked like this.

We moved to the spot where home plate was removed in a ceremony after that final game, and the mound seemed closer than I would have imagined. I can see how intimidating it must have been for a Tiger batter to stand there and see Randy Johnson scowling and dealing.

Research shows that Tow Seaver pitched two games in Detroit, both of them impressive performances.

He beat the Tigers 7-1 on May 5, 1985, a complete game. Then Tom and Jack Morris went toe-to-toe on July 10. Both went the distance, and Morris got the win when the Tigers scored one run in the eighth inning, with Tom Brookens doubling home Lou Whitaker.

Of course I ran the bases.

We walked out to the flagpole in center, famous for standing 125 feet tall and 440 feet from home place – and standing in fair territory.



I’m glad the city left something standing, but the pole will need some work if its going to function ever again. Some of the wires that held the flags were twisted in a pile of knots at the base. Someone scrawled a tribute to Ernie Harwell.


We explored a little more, picking up some rubble with flecks of blue paint for souvenirs, before taking a last look and heading back through the gate.

Detroit is a disaster. There have been stories lately about the city looking at things to do with the open space at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. I hope they keep the field there, even if it’s just for community games – or even for a couple fans to wander around and remember good times.

Baseball place No. 83: Mike Greenwell's go-karts, 83A: Scott Radinsky's Skatelab -- and a tough interview

We’re back on the trail after giving Josh Pahigian a break, and heading back to Comiskey Park’s final game, too.

Josh heads to Cape Coral, Fla. To Mike Greenwell’s Bat-a-Ball and Family Fun Park as place No. 83 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

Greenwell’s career ended in 1993 and opened the amusement park, which sounds like it has the usual assortment of go-karts and batting cages, and is a short drive from where the Red Sox spend spring training.

I’ve never met Greenwell, and have not been to Cape Coral, though we did once buy a house from a family that moved there.
But we did spend some time with Scott Radinsky, who also spends his post-baseball time running an action park. That would be:

Alternative place No. 83A: Scott Radinsky’s Skatelab, Simi Valley, Calif.

Will and I were Radinsky fans, and he was a promising rookie in 1990 when the White Sox were saying farewell to The Baseball Palace of the World.

He was finishing the season with a 6-1 record and somehow grabbed four saves in the season where teammate Bobby Thigpen obliterated the record with 57.

And he was a colorful guy, playing in a punk band when he wasn’t pitching.

As you know from the Ken Griffey Jr. conversation, the scene before the final game at Comiskey was surreal. There were all kinds of people roaming around foul territory; some of them even had legitimate reasons to be there.

Will and I were out there, fighting our way through the people with disc cameras and sprayed on gray hair, and were taking in the scene for our Flint Journal story. We saw Ozzie Guillen with his uniform number shaved into his hair, and Ron Karkovice holding one of his kids, and we were looking for someone to interview.

Ideally, that would have been Frank Thomas, our new hero. But Frank must have known what awaited, because he remained in the safety of the clubhouse, which was off-limits. Usually reporters are allowed in the clubhouse, but the White Sox were wise enough to limit access on this day given the “media” in attendance.

But Scott Radinsky was brave enough to enter the fray.

I caught him as he stepped into the dugout. I must have looked pretty goofy, pad in hand and laptop case slung over my shoulder. We called the computers “portables” at the time and I didn’t dare let it out of sight given the suspicious-looking crowd.

Soaking in flopsweat, I started to ask “Rads” some questions. And he was being, well, really difficult.

Granted, I was star struck, nervous and probably stammering. And my questions were not especially insightful, stuff like, “What’s it like in the clubhouse with all this going on?”

And Rads offered up stuff like, “What do you think it’s like?”

After several rounds of this, I was crushed, thanked him and turned away.

I guess Rads sensed my dejection and called me back, “I’m just messing with you. What do you want to know?”

And he was perfect after that.

“He was just making you work for it,” said Will, who snapped photos from a distance throughout the interview.

Rads went on to have an 11-year career in baseball, also pitching for the Dodgers, Cardinals and Indians. He compiled a 42-25 record with 52 saves.

This year he’s the Indians’ pitching coach, though he probably doesn’t brag about that, especially after the Mets sweep.

He had a second job even while pitching, working as lead singer for the band Ten Foot Pole and then Pulley.

Being a true California skater dude, Rads also runs Skatelab , a massive complex dedicated to all things skateboarding. Aside from courses for grinding and other stunts, Rads has a skateboarding hall of fame and museum.

And, hopefully, when a young, starstruck reporter shows up to ask the owner some questions, Rads supplies the answers – after making him work for it a little.

Our Comiskey conversation with Ken Griffey Jr.

My mental picture of Ken Griffey Jr. isn’t the oft-injured Red or aging Mariner missing pitches he used to crush.

No. Griffey, who retired this week, will always be the 20-year-old kid shouting to Will and me in the Comiskey Park outfield.

Our time in Chicago for the ballpark’s final two games produced an unimaginable stream of baseball adventures, and Griffey starred in one.

You have to understand the scene. It was the time before the final game, and the assembled media was allowed to wander the field, at least the part in foul territory.

That’s not usual. Go to a game and you’ll see a handful reporters and lensmen among the players taking batting practice.

The White Sox, it seems, didn’t deny a single media request. Ours were shaky, but still legit since I was in fact a reporter and Will was in fact a sports editor. It was not the first time – nor the last – that we would have credentials.

But there were people walking around that field with media credentials around their necks snapping photos with disc cameras, which no semi-serious photog, much less a professional, would be caught dead holding.

It was a surreal scene. Ron Karkovice walked around with his toddler daughter, Ozzie Guillen signed autographs with his uniform number shaved into the back of his head. Infamous DJ Steve Dahl of Disco Demolition Night fame held court by a dugout. Our favorite was a television guy wearing a mobster suit, and up close we noticed that the gray in his hair was sprayed on.

So Will and I walked around, taking this all in. Then we spotted Griffey and two others walk out to a spot in the outfield on the first base side, down the line a little.

Griffey was in his second year and already dominating, and this was in that short period when the Mariners also had his father on the roster. We were able to see father and son, playing side by side in the outfield.

So we scurried near the spot where Griffey was standing. One of the people with him was a photographer, but we didn’t know who the other guy was.

We walked right up to the foul line as Will started snapping away.

Then it happened. Our conversation with Junior.

“Hey! Who you work for?”

We looked around. Ken Griffey Jr. was talking to us.

“Who you work for?”

“The Flint Journal,” I sheepishly replied.

“You’re all right.”

Then Junior, bat in hand, looked at Will, .

“Who you work for?”

“The Flint Journal,” Will also replied.
“Not a card company?”

“It’s a newspaper.”

“You’re all right.”


Given Junior’s blessing, Will started snapping away. This drew the attention of the third guy.

“Fellas, this is a private shoot,” he said, holding up his hand like a traffic cop. “A private shoot.”

We looked at each other and smiled. The idea that there could be anything private about that afternoon was comical, much less the hottest player in the game posing in centerfield.

Aside from all the people in the stands, there was an army of legitimate and illegitimate photographers ready to snap photos of anything and everything. And they all had already documented Ozzie’s hair and Karko’s kid.

We kept clicking away.

Later that year, Will came across a baseball card of Griffey distributed only on the West Coast, distributed by a cookie company called Mother’s.

There was Griffey, in his Mariners road uniform and the unmistakable arches of old Comiskey Park in the background. It also explained why Griffey asked if we were shooting for one of the card companies.

Helping the Yankees with Derek Jeter's range problem

Watching the Mets take out C.C. Sabathia on Sunday Night Baseball to win the Subway Series, one thing became apparent.

Actually, there were several things, but let’s focus on one of them. Friends, despite what Joe Morgan said, Derek F. Jeter has no range.

None. Nada.

The reason the Mets could rip doubles up the third base line was because ARod was playing so far over that he was practically a co-shortstop.

The charitable folks at the Crane Pool Forum discussed during the game Jeter’s, um, issues, and decided to help the Yankees with this problem.

Here, submitted with love and respect, are potential players who, right now, have better range than Derek F. Jeter.

1) Roadkill opossum: Well look, he can cover both sides of the highway. And he’s already got pinstripes.

2) Garden gnome: A tribute to the Yankee farm system. Will have to lose the facial hair, though. But if Johnny Damon can do it. Hmmm, he can already throw better than Damon.

3) A tree: A little difficult to bring on the road, especially in stadiums with artificial turf.

4) The wax Jeter from the museum: All the range and twice the personality. Can also fill in for Derek’s busy advertising schedule.

5) A rock: Waiting patiently for his Yankee Moment, then he can be rolled out to Monument Park to be with the other True Yankee monuments.

6) Lady Liberty: Dressed for the occasion. Then again, the Yankees’ record on diversity isn’t good and they’re probably not going to let a lady take the field until every other team but the Red Sox makes the move.

7) Don Zimmer. Look! Zimmer already knows how to dive for a ball, as evidenced by this impromptu lesson from Pedro. When was the last time you saw Jeter dive?

8) A garden slug: Leaves a trail of silvery Yankee aura whever he goes. But no salt in the dugout, please.

Well, that should tide the Bombers over until the next Subway Series, when we can offer base running assistance to Francisco “Pump, Trot and Whine” Cervelli.

If the Mets were playing "Survivor," who'd be a hero and who'd be a villain?

"Survivor” is the only show I watch that doesn’t include baseball players. And watching Sunday’s finale of “Heroes vs. Villains,” I had an idea.

Why not merge them up, and leave more room on the “not-Tivo” – what we call the DVR – for iCarly, Colbert and old movies, the viewing preferences for the rest of the family.

And we’re 38 games into the Mets season, and ”Surivor” started on Day 37 and followed to Day 38 and 39 on the Sunday show.

This season’s heroes and villains theme fits perfectly with the way the Mets season has progressed, Let’s see how the Mets would have been divided and fared on the island so far.

Angel Pagan: Hero tribe. He’s not known for his baseball smarts, kind of like JT on the show. But he’s somewhat loveable and seems happy to be there.

Mike Jacobs: Like Sandra, he’s on the villain tribe, but not quite sure why. Probably because he kept Ike Davis in Buffalo longer than he deserved. But Sandra lasted for a while. Jacobs was the first one booted from the Mets tribal council.

Pedro Feliciano: Hero. Dependable in challenges, carries the load but without being one of the loud leaders.

Gary Matthews Jr.: Villain. Parleyed one amazing challenge victory into a big contract and has done nothing in camp since.

David Wright: Hero. Everyone’s favorite player, but like Colby has some big moments, but has sucked at a lot of challenges this year, probably from trying to carry the whole tribe on his shoulders.

Frank Cattanalotto: Villain. Appeared to be a hero with his hometown boy story but everyone soon learned that the only thing he could contribute were weak-assed grounders and pop flies. Second person voted off at tribal council.

Johan Santana: Hero. Was done in by cheating Phillies punks in recent reward challenge, then can’t get any support from rest of the tribe when he needs it.

Jason Bay: Villain. He’s supposed to be a big power hitter. Has one more homer than I do.

Rod Barajas: Big hero. Was last one picked for the tribe after other catchers went to other shows. Hit more home runs in one game than Bay has all season, including a dramatic walk-off.

Luis Castillo: Villain. He’s really not that bad a player, but everyone wanted Orlando Hudson on the tribe and Luis makes too much to be voted out.

Mike Pelfrey: Hero. Playing better than anyone expected, even led the team in saves at one point. Which leads us to…

Francisco Rodriguez: Villain: The fact that a starting pitcher has a save is not a good thing. The fact that the starting pitcher got that save because the record-holding closer blew a lead in the 19th inning – and several others – makes K-Rod a villain.

Henry Blanco: Hero. Has about 40 tattoos too many, which makes him like Coach without the stupid “dragon slayer” nonsense. But he has some very big hits and the personal catcher thing going for him.

Fernando Tatis: Villain. Oh, he’s not a bad guy. But he must have some incriminating evidence on the Wilpons to be in the game in the first place. That’s pretty villainous.

Ike Davis: Hero! Ike said he belonged in the game during spring training, and was kept out of the action. Now he’s one of the few player in the tribe worth cheering for.

Sean Green: Villain. Sucked mightily in early challenges then went down with an injury before be could be voted off.

Fernando Nieve: Hero. You know, you’re allowed to sit out a reward or immunity challenge once in a while.

Jeff Francouer: Villain. Oh, this hurts. Frenchy says all the right things. You know he’s trying. But after licking butt in all the early immunity challenges, Frenchy has become the hapless tribe member who stands there dropping his puzzle pieces on the ground while everyone else is getting ready to call for Probst.

Jon Niese: Hero. The Hawk’s a great warrior who keeps getting carried off by the medics.

Chris Carter: Villain. I think Carter wants to be a villain. The Animal knows he can beat these chumps and patrols the dugout with his weapon waiting to strike. Would anyone be surprised if we learned that he sabotaged Catalanotto to clear a spot on the roster?

Hisanori Takahashi: Hero. He’ll probably make it to the final two, but not win. He won’t get voted off because none of the other people in the tribe can spell Hisanori, and they can’t just write “The Japanese Guy” this year since there are two of them. But that also means they won’t write him down when it comes to pick the sole survivor, either. But that should make for an interesting final tribal council.

Alex Cora: Villain. Yeah, he’s popular in camp, but heroes don’t bat .232.

Jenrry Mejia: Hero. Talented as all heck, but some people think he needs to go back to Buffalo so he can be a starter. But he survives, probably because they keep writing down “Henry.”

John Maine: Villain. The smirk wants you to put him in the villain’s tribe. The performance this season makes it undeniable.

Raul Valdez: Hero. Isn’t he on loan from the Mexican League or something? The fact that he’s even on the roster makes him a hero.

Jose Reyes: Villain. I went back and forth on this one. How do you know love Jose, with that ever-present smile? Well, the whole resisting to being in the three-hole, then being great when he was forced to go there when becoming a pop-out machine after a couple weeks makes us put him on the villain tribe if pushed. But he doesn’t have to sit with Gary Matthews Jr. around the fire, and we the Heroes will happily talk him back into the alliance after the merge.

Manny Acosta: Hero. It’s not his fault he’s in the game. He’s probably the first to go when Ryota Igarashi comes back. That doesn’t make him a villain.

And finally:

Oliver Perez: Villain. Ollie is like Russell. He’s an uber-villain. Everyone knows he’s a villain. He’s a villain we all love to hate. And every time we think we’ve got him voted out, he somehow survives. Yet he doesn’t appear to get it, just like Russell, demanding to be the winner when he can’t get a single vote in the live reunion show. But after giving up homers to seemingly every Marlin but the pitchers, there can be nothing else to say but: “Ollie, the tribe has spoken. It’s time for you to go.

Tux or Tom? Go formal with The Franchise

My son is going to his senior prom this weekend, and he’s intent on renting a tuxedo with the fancy shoes, vest and bowtie.

It’s a classic look, and he’s not going to cringe in 20 years when we pull out the photos.

Meanwhile, a package of joy arrived in the mail Friday, containing what can only be called The. Best. Shirt. Ever., which we’ll call TBSE for brevity in the rest of the post.

I offered this to my son to wear in lieu of the tux. Why just look great when you can look amazin’?

The new TBSE is sold at the new Mets Hall of Fame and Museum, and is a mini biography of our hero Tom Seaver.

Tom is shown from a photo I’m guessing is from 1975 or 1976, about to unleash a laser-like fastball with his knee just about ready to skim the mound in the way we all know and love.

The late Shea Stadium is in the background, the workmark from the front of the uniform is in the top right, and just below it are his No. 41 and arching name, near as it appeared on the back of this 1983 uniform.

The top left has the cap logo, and under that are the year he was elected to the Hall of Fame, Tom’s career 3,640 strikeouts, his three Cy Young Awards and noting his World Championship in 1969.

I’m still ticked that there aren’t two more Cy Young Awards on there from the 1971 and 1981, but we can’t go back and correct voters at every turn. It’s a shirt, not a protest.

One might ask why it took until 2010 for the Mets to produce such a fantastic shirt, but, again, we must be thankful that it’s here now.

It should be noted that my son’s tux will have none of this important information. I fear that many, if not all, of his high school classmates will go through the entire evening without one discussion of Tom Seaver or reflections about upon his career, even the 1986 season we don't mention in polite company.

So I suggested he toss the tux and strut with Tom. He could still wear the shiny shoes, but not the bowtie. And the lovely blue color of the cotton-poly blend will certainly compliment whatever his date is wearing. We even had plenty of time to match the shirt with her corsage.

Hey, the Mets are still wearing a lot of black. He could wear the alt cap, too!

Rejected.

In fact, I’m not sure he seriously considered the offer. And he quickly denied my attempt to be a chaperone.

It should be noted that the new arrival is the latest in a collection of TBSEs. When these eventually wear out, my wife ensures they are still available for future generations by giving the shirts a second life as throw pillows.

They’re not allowed on the sofa in the living room – don’t get me started – but do add a splash of style and color to The Baseball Room.

Let's help MLB make more All-Star Game rule changes

Major League Baseball announced some changes for the beloved and occasionally glorious All-Star Game, some of which almost make sense.

The problem is that MLB didn’t go far enough.

Once again, we are here to offer our services as consultants, free of charge.

First we’ll review the new rules – and explore the real reasons they were enacted.

1) The designated hitter will be used every year, regardless of the host ballpark’s league. I call this the “Ortiz-Giambi Rule.” MLB is no doubt yielding to pressure from the Red Sox and Yankees to allow their defense-challenged stars to appear as more than pinch-hitters when the game is in the National League parks, since trying to throw them on the field would likely expose the players – and probably the fans – to injury or show just how horribly one-dimensional these guys are.

Someone had to tell Big Papi which hand the mitt went on.

2) Any pitcher selected to the team who starts a regular season game on the Sunday immediately preceding the game will not be eligible to pitch, and will be replaced on the roster. The pitcher will be recognized as an All-Star, will be welcome to participate in festivities and will be introduced in uniform. This allows Bud Selig to stop lying about Barry Zito coming up with pretend, last-minute “injuries” so he can succumb to Yankee pressure and add Roger Clemens to the roster. (See Chicago, 2003)

3) Rosters will be expanded from 33 players to 34 players, consisting of 21 position players and 13 pitchers. Last year's 33-man rosters consisted of 20 position players and 13 pitchers. This way, when Yankee managers like Joe Torre clutter the roster with undeserving middle relievers from his own team, there’s still room for members of the Royals and Blue Jays. (See Nelson, Jeff.)

4) In addition to the existing injured catcher rule, one additional position player who has been selected to the team will be designated by each manager as eligible to return to the game in the event that the last position player at any position is injured. This allows the American League manager some flexibility after burning through his reserves by the fifth inning because Derek Jeter plays his three innings then hits the road.

OK, these are a good start. Now let’s roll up our sleeves and help some more with rules that MLB has somehow overlooked.

1) We accept that ESPN is going to assign Chris Berman to do play-by-play for the Home Run Derby. Not even MLB is powerful enough to stand up to ESPN and demand actual baseball announcers at its baseball events. But, perhaps, it can demand that Berman only use his signature “back-back-back-back-back-back” call for hits that have a shot at leaving the infield.

2) No Padres “closer” shall be allowed near the mound unless the National League is ahead by 10 runs and there are two outs in the ninth inning. We’re playing for home field advantage in the World Series here, and I’m tired of NL teams losing the series because Trevor “Bleeping” Hoffman and Heath “Bleeping” Bell think they’re throwing batting practice.

3) Because that home field in the Series thing exists, only players whose teams have a shot at being in said Series shall play in the final three innings. I’m tired of seeing all the good players like David Wright ripped from the game so the Pirates’ sole team representative gets in the game when everything is on the line. Home series advantage should be decided by the league’s best players, and not the guys on the fringe of the roster.

Have the people who desinged the jerseys used in San Francisco ever seen a suspension bridge? Willie Mays, on the right, is saying, "That's funny, guys. Where are the real jerseys?"

4) Batting practice jerseys and caps must be designed in a way that does not bring shame and embarrassment to the players wearing them.

5) Groundskeepers must have a special tarp available in the press box for when Mariano Rivera and his understated dignity enter the game and Bob Klapisch gets loose with applause that falls upon the closer like soft rain.

6) Sidewalk art will happen. There’s no stopping it. But no city’s beloved landmark must end up looking like it has been vandalized. This shall be known as the Lady Liberty Rule.

7) The collectible All-Star Game program shall be limited to one cover per year. MLB has decided to soak collectors, going from one cover to about five to an obscene 31 for the past couple seasons. Treat fans with respect, please.

That's a good start.