The proper way to vote for the Hall of Fame

The sports editor at a paper I used to work at had the great honor of being able to vote for the Baseball Hall of Fame. Each year he’d let be fondle the ballot, which was not especially impressive -- and neither was the ballot.

It was just a mundane list of names with little boxes next to them. I guess I expected parchment or gold leaf, something that indicated the gloriousness of the Hall of Fame.

I appreciated the gesture, and also appreciated that the editor took his vote very seriously. He had a system and did his research, which I’m certain is better than a majority of the people casting ballots. I didn’t always agree with his selections, but at least I could understand why he was voting for certain playes – as opposed to the doofs who say they vote only for guys who “feel like a Hall of Famer.”

Naturally, I have my own system and create a ballot, even though my vote doesn’t count.

This year we can consider: Harold Baines, Albert Belle, Dante Bichette, ,Bert Blyleven, Bobby Bonilla, Scott Brosius, Jay Buhner , Ken Caminiti, Jose Canseco, Dave Concepcion, Eric Davis, Andre Dawson, Tony Fernandez, Steve Garvey, Rich Gossage, Tony Gwynn, Orel Hershiser, Tommy John, Wally Joyner, Don Mattingly, Mark McGwire, Jack Morris, Dale Murphy, Paul O'Neill, Dave Parker, Jim Rice, Cal Ripken, Bret Saberhagen, Lee Smith, Alan Trammell, Devon White, Bobby Witt.

We can only vote for 10, so we must find ways to eliminate the unworthy. The first thing to do is eliminate any Yankees, because goodness knows there are already too many undeserving Yankees in the hall.

So cross off Brosius, Buhner, Canseco, Fernandez, Gossage, John, Mattingly, O’Neill and Smith.

Look, someone has to balance out Tom Verducci’s ballot, and you just know he’s pounding out a column to talk about O’Neill’s “intangibles” make him worthy.

I’m a little unsure about purging Gossage that quickly, but that leaves us with Baines, Belle, Bichette, Blyleven, Bonilla, Caminiti, Concepcion, Davis, Dawson, Garvey, Gwynn, Hershiser, Joyner, McGwire, Morris, Murphy, Parker, Rice, Ripken, Saberhagen, Trammell, White and Witt.

Next, we have to determine if any player crosses “The Rizzuto Line.” In other words, is the player worse than the very worst player in the Hall, whose very presence taints the other plaques and allows patrons to make an argument that their admission price should be lowered by a buck because the once-great Hall has been stained, which of course is what happened when the Veterans Committee voted in Yankee mascot/shortstop Phil Rizzuto.

This is a better year than most, and the Rizzuto rule only allows us to eliminate Dante Bichette and Bobby Witt. It’s tough to be worse than Rizzuto and last 10 years in the majors, the standard for being on the ballot.

Next, has a player ever tried to run over trick-or-treaters with his car? Oops, goodbye Albert Belle.

Did the candidate ever play for the Mets? Extra points for Bonilla, Saberhagen, and Hershisher. Tony Fernandez would have gotten a point for his 48 games with the Mets in 1993, but that’s not enough to overcome his 108 games with the Yankees.

But we’re not homers here. We have to consider the following rules: Did the player’s Mets tenure end in shame and banishment to the Rockies? Sorry, Sabes.

Then, did the player do anything prior to his Met tenure to keep the Mets from ever advancing to the World Series? Sorry, Orel, but we’re still upset about 1988.

Did the player ever confront Yankee hack Bob Klapischand threaten to “show him the Bronx?” Extra points for Bonilla!

But, did the player not follow through on his threat, and proceed to bring great shame to the team, especially by playing cards in the clubhouse during the closing moments of the infamous 1999 NLCS? That rule’s not going to come up a lot, but it does this year, eliminating Bobby Bo.

Now we’re down to: Baines, Blyleven, Caminiti, Concepcion, Davis, Dawson, Garvey, Gwynn, Joyner, McGwire, Morris, Murphy, Parker, Rice, Ripken, Trammell and White.

That’s 17, still too many. Now we move to the advanced criteria. Did a player ever receive an MVP award later proven to be undeserving because of steroid use? That eliminates Caminiti, but not McGwire, who never won an MVP.

Is a player better than Rizzuto, but not as good as Tony Perez, who many consider a borderline member of the Hall? That’s tough, forcing us to eliminate Concepcion and Eric Davis – with regrets – Garvey (with the obligatory “once thought to be a lock for the Hall” line), Joyner and Devon White.

Baines’ numbers are very similar to those of Perez, and his baseball-reference.com comparables are all either in the Hall – Al Kaline, Billy Williams – or fall just shy, like Rusty Staub.

Now we have: Baines, Blyleven, Dawson, Gwynn, McGwire, Morris, Murphy, Parker, Rice, Ripken, Trammell.

That’s 11. Someone has to go, and I’m starting to feel guilty about tossing Gossage. I’ll pick Morris, who had some nice moments but falls just shy.

There you go!

Writers who don’t look at stats tend not to vote for Blyleven, Parker and Trammell, and Dale Murphy and Rice and some monster seasons but fell apart early, which seems to get held against them.

And I know there’s talk about sending a statement of sorts by not voting for McGwire in his first year. But the truth is that the only thing McGwire’s been proven guilty of is a horrible performance before Congress.

The only real concern is that Gwynn or Ripken could surpass Tom Seaver’s record for highest percentage, which was close to 99 percent!

Luckily, some Verducci-type will say “If they were any good, they would have been Yankees” and not vote for them, keeping Tom’s record safe.

Don't waste Time on the magazine's top album list -- here's mine instead

Aerosmith's Joe Perry enduring a starstruck reporter's interview, circa 1983.

Time magazine last week rattled off it’s list of the top 100 albums of all time. Whenever magazines launch into something like this, it’s just going to spark debate and show glaring weaknesses into their tastes.

This list looks like it was created by committee, including the obvious — Sgt. Pepper, Zep's untitled masterpiece — and the unworthy — Hole — and some token references to bands sneered at by critics — AC/DC and Black Sabbath — included probably to head off an onslaught of metalheads.

But if I was reading the list correctly, Time put a Hank Williams greatest hits package in the No. 1 slot, and that’s just wrong for so many reasons. For one thing, adding greatest hits issues is just cheating. It’s like naming an all-time team when someone asks which Mets team is your favorite.
So I had to take things into my own hands. Rather than go to all 100, here’s my Top 15 CDs of all time. I have them numbered, but that’s not necessarily a ranking. These are all special to me for one reason or another.

I included one CD per artist to spread the love around a little.

1) Moving Pictures, Rush (1981)

This was essentially the soundtrack for my high school years. I even used lyrics from "Tom Sawyer" in my campaign posters for a run at student government treasurer. I came in second, but ended up serving for half the year -- a long story -- and worked with Alec Baldwin’s sister, who was very nice. This album is darn near perfect right down to the cover, and even has song about the homeland to push it right over the top. Rush’s next bad album would be its first, and several others should probably appear on this list. Best cut you know: "Tom Sawyer." Best cut you don’t know: "Witch Hunt."

2) Underdog, Audio Adrenaline (1999)

All Audio A albums are good, this one is phenomenal. It’s essentially a greatest hits album, with four songs that are a live staples — "Mighty Good Leader," "Underdog," "Get Down" and "Hands and Feet," which I told you last week is a song that has inspired me trough years of church work. Best cut you know: "Hands and Feet." Best cut you don’t know: "Jesus Movement."

3) Our Time in Eden, 10,000 Maniacs (1992)

I accepted a rotating assignment in our Lansing Bureau in the fall of 1992, and chose to commute an hour each way to be with my family rather than live in the company’s apartment above the office. It was a long, bland drive and our car had a radio but not a tape player. So I propped my boom box in the front seat and had plenty of time to study and enjoy "Our Time in Eden." The Maniacs were my favorite band at the time and this is their best effort track for track. Best cut you know: "These Are Days." Best cut you don’t know: "Eden"

4) Thrive, Newsboys (2002)

This CD has been out for nearly four years, and two cuts are in the top 15 on my iPod’s play count. The band works from worship and praise to pop to straight rockers, all of which are excellent. The title cut is moving — "When you lift me up tender care, when you wash me clean with the palms of your hands, Lord hold me close so I can thrive, when you touch me, that’s when I know I’m alive." — but there’s not a lackluster song on the entire disc. Best cut you know: "It Is You." Best cut you don’t know: "Giving it Over."

5) Glass Houses, Billy Joel (1980)


The fact that the Time list doesn’t include a single Billy Joel record makes it immediately suspect. Joel’s a good Long Islander. He’s less of a piano man and more of a rocker on Glass Houses, but it’s a classic. I waited with my friends Jeff and Craig all day at the Nassau Coliseum to get tickets for this tour. Later, were recounting our adventure at a church youth group meeting, and the leader asked if we would spend the same eight hours waiting to get into a church service. We said "Yes," which was the answer they were hoping for. No one believed us, but lightening did not strike. It should have. Best cut you know: "Sometimes a Fantasy." Best cut you don’t know: "Sleeping With the Television On."

6) Alive! Kiss, (1975)

Greatest live rock album. Ever. I was 11 when this bad boy was released and it was one of the first albums I owned, which means I played it endlessly. And since I tended to crank the volume, I’m sure the rest of my family also can recite Paul Stanley’s between song banter from memory. "Awww hey! So let’s rock and roll all NIGHT and party EV-ERY DAY!" These are the definitive versions of the early Kiss classics, louder, harder and faster than the studio tracks. Best cut you know: "Rock and Roll All Nite." Best cut you don’t know: "Cold Gin"

7) Mmhmm, Relient K (2004)

This Christian punk-pop band gets better with each release. Sometimes the message is subtle and sometimes it’s not there at all, but it’s never objectionable. Seven of the songs on Mmhmm are absolute classics and could be heard in places Christian music typically doesn’t get a spin. A follow-up EP intended to compliment Mmhmm wasn’t as balanced, but acoustic versions of "By My Escape" and "Over Thinking" are alone worth the price of admission. Best cut you know: "Be My Escape." Best cut you don’t know: "The One I’m Waiting For."

8) Before These Crowded Streets, Dave Matthews Band (1998)

This CD is like a gift that keeps giving. I was so hooked by three tracks — "Don’t Drink the Water," "Crush" and "Stay" — that I didn’t play a lot of attention to the others. But as DMB started rolling out the live CDs, and there are many, I started liking different songs and traced them back to the studio. Low and behold, they keep coming from Crowded Streets. Matthews is in some ways the anti-Ramone, in that he never says in 3 minutes what he can say in 8. But when the band gets jamming, it’s typically all good. Best song you know: "Crush." Best song you don’t know: "Pig."

9) Loco Live, The Ramones (1991)

I was familiar with some Ramones songs and even saw them in a mismatched bill with the B-52s at Hofstra University, but didn’t pledge allegiance until my buddy Rich brought me to see them at Toads, a club in New Haven, Conn. It was small, crowded and sweaty — the proper environment to see the pride of Forest Hills, Queens. We went back to see them every time they appeared for the next several years. I like the band’s credo: Say it loudly, say it simply and get the heck out of there. The band’s studio albums are excellent, but I like Loco Live because it’s reminds me of those nights at Toads. And only the Ramones can fit 32 cuts on one disc. Best song you know: "Teenage Lobotomy." Best song you don’t know: "My Brain is Hanging Upside Down."

10 ) Under the Blade, Twisted Sister (1982)

The drinking age in New York was 18 when I was growing up, and I couldn’t wait for that milestone birthday. Not because I was a drinker — I was the designated driver even then — but because it meant we could finally get in to Hammerheads to see Twisted Sister. The boys were playing the Long Island bars for years before they finally got signed to a British label. Under the Blade is mostly songs we had been hearing on WBAB and WLIR concert simulcasts for years. I wrote a review of the disc for my college paper, and asked the guys to sign it when they appeared at a local record store. Dee Snider read it and said I was "astute," which sent me on walking on air for a long time. The late-1990s reissue is the one to own because it adds "I’ll Never Grow Up, Now," a single the band released on its own. Best song you know: Unless you’re a former Long Island metal head, you might not know any of these pre-Stay Hungry songs. Best song you don’t know: "What You Don’t Know (Sure Can Hurt You)"

11) Scarecrow, John Mellencamp (1985)

I didn’t fully appreciate Mellencamp until I moved to the Midwest in 1990. My wife grew up in a small Illinois town, and after spending time there I could finally recognize the people and places Mellencamp was signing about. I like that he has a story to tell, and Scarecrow is best at introducing characters that you want to hear more about, be they the family losing the farm in the title track or the wise old passenger on the bus in "Minutes to Memories." Mellencamp’s 2001 Cutting Heads is more autobiographical and is just as strong and woefully underrated. Best song you know: "Lonely Ol’ Night." Best song you don’t know: "Minutes to Memories."

12) Welcome to Diverse City, tobyMac (2004)

Christian rocker-rapper Toby McKeehan makes a dcTalk reunion less likely with each stellar disc. You won’t go wrong with either Momentum or Diverse City. The former is heavier and has more borrowing from older songs, and the later disc is more of a melting pot of styles. "The Slam" was in several promo trailers and television ads for action movies this year, and I wonder if the Hollywood types ever listened to the lyrics. Toby’s guest list is a who’s who Christian musicians from T-Bone to Grits to Superchic(k). We’re bringing the youth group to see the band next weekend, and Toby’s right on target musically and inspirationally. Best song you know: "Gone." Best song you don’t know: "Hey Now."

13) I’ve Got the Rocks n Rolls Again, Joe Perry Project (1981)

The Aerosmith guitarist’s solo career was brief but memorable. My friends and I loved his solo stuff, and we went to see him several times at a little dinner theater in Glen Cove that was trying to convert into a concert venue. Since the newspaper office at Nassau Community College was right next to the Concerts Committee office, the high school friends thought I had something to do with Joe appearing there. I didn’t, but jumped at the chance to interview Joe before the gig. Joe was physically in the room, but seemed to be somewhat self-medicated. OK, a lot self-medicated. But I was so star-struck that my questions probably didn’t make much sense anyway. The fact that Joe was playing Nassau Community College instead of Nassau Coliseum was probably adding to his discontent. That doesn’t take away from this disc, his second as a solo artist. It’s raw and sounds like it was recorded live. Best cut you (might) know: "East Coast, West Coast." Best cut you don’t know: "No Substitute for Arrogance."

14) Coming Up to Breathe, MercyMe (2006)

I’ve been a MercyMe fan since we caught them at Festival con Dios in 2001. If the band has a pattern, it’s that it starts each disc rocking then slows into piano-driven praise songs that I don’t enjoy as much as the rockers. But the band kept the mellow to a minimum and turned up the volume for their latest release, and it’s simply brilliant. "No More, No Less" jumped into the top two on my iPod play count after just a couple months after it was released. And seeing them in concert this year taught me a valuable lesson about singing at the foot of the stage. Best song you know: "So Long, Self." Best song you don’t know: "No More, No Less."

15) The Rising, Bruce Springsteen (2002)

I’m not a huge Springsteen guy by any stretch, but this release struck home with its stories about the suffering, the anger and the hope for resurrection following the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. I get choked up listening to it. Other artists, from the Cranberries to dcTalk, have offered outstanding songs about the day or the aftermath. While not all of the songs on The Rising relate directly to the tragedies, most invoke a story or a feeling of people lost on that day. Springsteen nails it. Not bad for a Jersey guy. Best song you know: "The Rising." Best song you don’t know: "Into the Fire."

Honorable mentions: Kutless, Kutless; Strangers in the Night, UFO; Good Monsters, Jars of Clay; Jesus Freak, dcTalk.

There you go! I’d sure like to hear about some of your favorites.

Pausing to reflect and give thanks -- and take note of the turkeys

I think it’s a shame that Thanksgiving has become something of an afterthought for many people, lost in the crush of shopping and football.

I’ve always liked it. I’m thankful the Lord has blessed me in many, many ways and I don’t say “thank you” enough. I have my health, my family, a career I enjoy, a wonderful church, friends, blogger buddies and, of course, the Mets.

So let’s take a moment one again to reflect on all that was good this year – as well as the turkeys who get in the way.

I’m thankful: That we all got to enjoy a monumentally exciting 2006 baseball season with the Mets finishing in first place for only the fifth time. Wow, was that fun! And I think we’re the favorites to finish on top again in 2007.

Turkeys: Baseball writers who deemed Carlos Beltran only the fourth most-valuable player in the National League. I realize that writers are infatuated with homers for batters and wins for pitchers, and typically just look to the leader board in those categories to cast their votes. But fourth? Excellent blogger Greg Prince of Faith and Fear in Flushing posted on the Crane Pool Forum that he wonders if anyone has ever:
*Won a Gold Glove
*Won a Silver Slugger
*Started in the All-Star Game
*Tied his franchise's record for home runs in a season
*Broke his franchise's record for runs scored in a season
*Played on the team with the sport's best record
...and finished as low as fourth in the MVP voting. Alas, like the no-hitter, and MVP award continues to be elusive for Mets, even when they deserve it. And I’m also angry that Willie Randolph was denied the manager of the year award, too.

I’m thankful for: Costco. Or to be specific, the warehouse store’s liberal returns policy. As you might remember, my beloved 20-gig iPod went muerto last April, plunging me into depression and desperation and without the receipt demanded by Hewlett Packard to use the warranty. My clever Mom told me to go to Costco and see if they could produce the needed document. Once I arrived, the clerks said the just return the dead iPod to them and they would give me store credit to buy a new one. Needless to say, I’m the proud owner of a new 30-gig pod and sing the praises of Costco whenever appropriate – and sometimes when it’s not!

Turkey: Yankee hack Tom Verducci. Speaking of being plunged into depression, Verducci couldn’t believe that his beloved Yankees were unceremoniously dumped from the postseason by the Tigers. Verducci then wrote that “baseball is giving us an October with almost no drama, no moments for posterity and no storyline.” And worse, “If the 2006 baseball playoffs were a sitcom or talk show --- hate to break it to you, folks, but we're sitting through the Arsenio Hall of postseasons -- it would have been cancelled long ago." Apparently, if the Yankees are not involved, Tommy declares the postseason boring.

I’m thankful for: My pastor, the Rev. Paul Krupinski. Paul is a magnificent spiritual leader and has a knack for knowing when I’m down and knowing exactly what to do or say. But check this out – he’s a huge baseball fan! He’s a Cubs guy, which is OK since they’re not exactly a threat to anyone. But he formed a computer fantasy league what plays games based on stats from the previous year and a couple Hall-of-Famers we can add to the rosters. One Sunday before the service, Pastor Paul came over and said the next round of stats was available and on his desk. “I’ll get them after church,” I promised. “If you get them now, you can look at them during the service,” he responded. I’m never going to find a better pastor than that!

Turkey: Kenny “Bleeping” Rogers. We Mets fans know that Rogers can do spectacularly horrific things in the postseason. So it sure seemed suspicious when The Gambler started moving down Yankees and Athletics in the Division Series and ALCS like he was the second coming of Christy Mathewson. Then a Fox camera picked captured the image of a mysterious smudge on his palm during Game Two of the World Series, and ESPN produced photos from other games with similar smudges. Manager Jim Leyland didn’t want to send Rogers back out in front of the Busch Stadium fans – not exactly known for being bullies – and the Tigers didn’t win another game.

I’m thankful for: Speaking of the World Series, my folks presented me with an awesome early Christmas present, a ticket to Game One at Comerica Park. Sure, it would have been better to have the Mets there. But attending a World Series game – any World Series game – is a treat of a lifetime. I’ve been blessed to see Game Six in 1997, too.

Turkey: Guillermo Mota. It’s one thing when Yankees are accused of taking steroids. We expect such things. But it’s another when an active Met gets a 50-day unpaid vacation for testing positive. Now we lose the moral high ground as well as a decent pitcher for the first month and a half of the season

I’m thankful: That I had the opportunity to meet Buck O’Neil at the Negro Leagues Museum during a business trip to Kansas City in February. Buck, as everybody knows, passed away in October and was a beloved ambassador for baseball. O’Neil fell one vote shy of being inducted into the Hall of Fame, yet still made it to Cooperstown for the induction ceremony in August.

Turkey: Braden “Bleeping” Looper. Looper’s lucked into two World Series rings, and Mike Piazza has none. That’s fair. Loops lost his closer’s job to Ugeth Urbina when pitching for the Fish in 2003. This year, he was caught on camera mocking the Jose Reyes chant in the Cardinals’ post-game celebration after the birds got past the Mets in the NLCS. One might suggest to Looper that perhaps the Mets would have been in the postseason last year when Looper was on the team had he not blown eight saves.

I’m thankful for: Audio Adrenaline. My favorite Christian rock band is disbanding this year because singer Mark Stuart is having vocal problems. But I salute the band for helping me grow in my faith since I discovered its music in 2001. The song “Hands and Feet” has been an inspiration for me as I try to spread His word, and time and again I was able to use Audio A songs to illustrate lessons for the middle school youth group I lead.

I’m especially thankful for: You! And other readers who find this corner of the blogosphere. I’m humbled that people come to check out this space. I appreciate all the people who read and post comments. I hope to make it worth your while. I’m grateful to the other bloggers who include me in their links.

Have a wondeful, wonderful holiday!

Honor Jackie, but don't forget Tom, Gil, Willie...

One of the surprises about today’s groundbreaking ceremony was the announcement that a statue of Jackie Robinson would be erected inside the CitiField rotunda.

I think that’s great. Fantastic! Wonderful! I’ll be the guy posing next to it. I expressed my feelings about Jackie here.

But I’ll be even happier if not far away is a statue of Tom Seaver. And one of Gil Hodges and Willie Mays, as well as Gary Carter and Keith Hernandez. Then we need Mike Piazza, and I’m open to discussing Doc and Straw. Perhaps Bill Shea speaking to Joan Payson would be a proper tribute to their roles.

Today’s announcement proves that the Mets do a horrible job of honoring their history, and it doesn’t appear that they’re going to get better at it any time soon.

But the whole statue thing is interesting. In theory, a statue should be a step higher on the list of honors than a retired number. They also become a focal point for your stadium, because people naturally gather around them and snap photos.

So I thought it was odd that the Mets would plan a statue of a guy, however historic and important, who never played a game for them — or had any role with the team whatsoever.

I did a little poking around at what other teams had done. Jackie actually would not be the first such player honored. The Braves have Ty Cobb standing near Hank Aaron, Warren Spahn and Phil Niekro. And the Phillies even have another team’s manager — Connie Mack — in their new yard. The Orioles have a young Babe Ruth, but without any indication of his Yankeeness.

There are some real head-stratchers in the bunch. Let’s review:

Ameriquest Field: Nolan Ryan and Tom Vandergriff, former mayor of Arlington who was key in getting a team located there.

Angels Stadium: Apparently no players have been deemed worthy, but Gene Autry and Michelle Carew, Rod’s daughter, who died at 17 of leukemia, are honored.

AT&T Park: Willie Mays, Willie McCovey and Juan Marichal

Busch Stadium: A 10-foot-tall Stan Musial, and smaller likenesses of Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Enos Slaughter, Red Schoendienst, Ozzie Smith and Jack Buck. Very nice. The Cards are a classy organization.

Citizens Bank Park: Richie Ashburn, Robin Roberts, Mike Schmidt and Connie Mack, who was moved from Shibe Park. Luckily the Rocky statue has not ended up here. The Roberts statue is odd because it’s painted like a black and white photo.

Comerica Park: Ty Cobb, Charlie Gehringer, Hank Greenberg, Willie Horton, Al Kaline, Prince Hal Newhouser and Ernie Harwell. Horton is very popular in Detroit and a cog of the 1968 champs, but he might be the worst player ever cast in a statue.

Dolphin Stadium: Joe Robbie, Don Shula and Dan Marino. Perhaps this shows how unwelcome the Marlins are in their own park, but I’m not sure I any Fish player has earned the bronze treatment.

Fenway Park: Ted Williams, with a little kid, no doubt hearing how he is the greatest hitter who ever lived.

Great American Ballpark: Joe Nuxhall, Ernie Lombardi, Ted Kluszewski and Frank Robinson. Will, the resident Reds expert, said they’re taking care of the old-timers first. We speculate that the Bench, Morgan and Perez tributes — I’d argue for Seaver, too! — are pending the resolution of the Pete Rose fiasco.

Jacobs Field: Bob Feller.

Kaufmann Stadium: George Brett, Mr. and Mrs. Kaufmann.

Miller Park: Hank Aaron, Robin Yount and construction workers killed during the stadium crane accident. Aaron is precedent for the Mets adding Willie Mays.

Minute Maid Park: Jeff Bagwell, Craig Biggio. This is a strange one. They’re outside the park completing a double play — at a time when both were active. Usually you wait until guys hang ‘em up.

Oriole Park: Babe Ruth. The Bambino is from Baltimore and grew up not far from the ballpark. Nevertheless, there are a number of very worthy Orioles.

PNC Park: Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell, Honus Wagner.

Rogers Centre: Fans. This is more of a decoration than a tribute.

Tropicana Field: A generic Devil Ray fielder, again, more of a decoration.

Turner Field: Hank Aaron, Warren Spahn, Phil Niekro and Ty Cobb. You know Chipper "Freaking’ Jones wants one!

U.S. Cellular Field: Charles Comiskey. Yikes.

Wrigley Field: Harry Caray. Double yikes! It’s a strange-looking thing, too.

None: Shea Stadium, Chase Field, Coors Field, Dodger Stadium, Petco Park, Safeco Park and the place in the Bronx.

The Dodgers surprise me, considering the team’s respect toward it’s history.

As for Jackie, this won’t be the first time he’s been cast in bronze. You can find the version of him and PeeWee Reese at Keyspan, a leaping catch in Newark, speaking to kids in Montreal, and giant head at Pasadena, kneeling on deck outside the stadium at UCLA and playing in Stamford, where he lived after baseball.

I’m glad the Mets are honoring Jackie, as we’ve become the de facto keepers of the flame. But let’s not forget our own heroes, too.

"D-Mat" knows what happens to Japanese Mets

It appears the Red Sox, not the Mets, will get Japanese fireballer Daisuke Matsuzaka.

And I say thank goodness.

We’ve probably had more Japanese players than any other team. And lets face it, Mets fans, the results have not been good.

Now this is not an indictment of Japanese players. Obviously there are some excellent ones. But they seem to end up on the rosters of other teams.

No, it seems like there is a Mets curse, where a players skills turn to sushi once he steps on Shea’s sod.

Let’s review:

Takasi Kashiwada (1997)

"Kash" came to the Mets in an unusual way. He was part of a special program to study baseball during spring camp training with the Tides, pitching in 6 games and ended up going north. He posted a 3-1 record, but a non-so-impressive 4.31 ERA in the bullpen. The team shipped him to the minors in early August, though he returned with the September call-ups. He was released after the season.

Masato Yoshii, 1998-99

Yoshii is possibly the high water mark, going 18-16 over two years with a 3.93 ERA in 1998 and a 4.40 ERA the next. But he was dealt in the off-season to the Rockies for "the other" Bobby Jones and Lariel Gonzalez in early 2000, and he self-destructed with a 6-15 record and was gone after two years with the Expos.

But I found this telling tid-bit on a Japanese baseball Webstite that chronicled his career game by game.

"10th game, June 2, 1998: To everyone's surprise, Yoshi did not come back to the pitcher's mound when the game against the Pittsburgh Pirates resumed. The rain had hindered the game from being played for 58 minutes after Yoshii took 2 outs in the 3rd inning. The Mets lead 2 to 1 at that point. The pitcher who relieved Yoshi did not do well. The Mets in the end lost 2 to 5. Michiyo's Note: Yoshii is super afraid of thunder and lightening. I remember the time when he was with the Yakult Swallows, he'd be so frightened to pitch further because of a thunder."

Dude’s terrified of thunder? And he wanted to pitch in New York?

Hideo Nomo, 1998

Of course, Nomo was a legend when he arrived in LA in 1995 and had two decent seasons after that. The he started 1998 2-7 and the Dodgers shipped him our way with Brad Clontz for Dave Mlicki and Greg McMichael. He pitched a so-so 4-5, 4.82 for the Mets down the stretch.

Alas, he angered fans and probably management, too, by bailing out of his last start of the year in Atlanta with the Mets needing a victory to reach the postseason.

We cut him the following spring, and he then pitched in Milwaukee, Detroit, Boston, the Dodgers again and, like so many others, ended up with the Devil Rays for a year.

Nomo, again, like so many others, pitched a no-hitter after leaving the Mets.

Tsuyoshi Shinjo, 2001, 2003

Shinjo was our first Japanese position player and brought a lot flash, speed and cool orange wristbands that were so big they could have been sleeves. Shinjo did everything but hit. Sadly, that’s pretty much a mandatory skill for everyone who doesn’t pitch.

He hit .268 and 10 homers and 56 RBI, and after the season was dealt to the Giants. He was bitter about it, but did get to go to the World Series.

But he must have liked New York, because he returned in 2003, when he hit even less, posting an average south of the Mendoza line and just one homer and 7 runs driven in.

There was one glorious moment. Shinjo made a magnificent throw to nail Chipper Jones at the plate to end a game, preserving a 6-5 victory over the Braves — by far his greatest contribution.

Shinjo returned to Japan, and he ended his career — he says he is becoming a nude model — by playing on a Nippon Ham Fighters team that won the Japan series.

Satoru Komiyama, 2002

Komiyama wore funky goggles when he pitched. That’s about the best thing we can say about him, because the 36-year-old went 0-3 with a nasty 5.61 ERA and no saves before not being asked back. He came with the nickname "The Japanese Maddux." No word on whether the real Maddux filed a defamation of character suit.

Kazuo Matsui, 2003-2006

Kaz kicked ass in his first at-bat in every first game of his season as a Met, hitting a home run. Sadly, it’s the rest of the season that gave him trouble.

He was hailed as "Little Godzilla" but played more like Godzuki. If major league teams never trust another Japanese scouting report again, Matsui is responsible. Hailed as slick-fielding, clutch-hitting and durable, Kaz had a weak arm, poor range, average stick and a semi-permanent spot on the disabled list, earning Cedeno-esque boos from the Shea faithful.

Matsui went from a Times Square introduction to being shipped to the Rockies for a spare part. Alas, I felt bad for the guy. He seemed like he was trying hard, and even moved to a new position.

Kazuhisa Ishii, 2005

Steve Trachsel’s ill-timed injury forced Omar to scramble in spring training for a new arm, and Ishii was the best he could do. Ishii was maddingly inconsistent, matching Roger Clemens pitch-for-pitch in one game and getting shellacked in the next. He ended with a nasty 3-9 record and 5.14 ERA.

Yusaku Iriki, 2007?

Then we have Iriki, who is the answer to the trivia question "Who was the first player to be penalized under MLB’s toughened steroid policy?" He was on the 40-man roster playing for Norfolk at the time and never made it up to Shea. We’ll see if he’ll get the chance, perhaps keeping Guillermo Mota’s roster spot warm until he returns from him own suspension.

So my fear with Daisuke Matsuzaka is that we’d post $30 million to negotiate, sign him to a big contract and find out that "gyro ball" is Japanese slang for "hanging curveball."

We’d see "D-Mat" become "Welcome Mat" for the opposition and protective netting would need to be placed over the Home Run Apple lest it be damaged by the steady barrage of visitor home runs bouncing off the stem.

Then, midway through his second season we’d trade him to the Cubs for Glendon Rusch and — while paying most of his salary — watch Matsuzaka pitch a no-hitter and get the comeback player of the year award.

It's going to be CitiField?

I guess in the grand scheme of things, the new Shea could have a worse name. Then again, it could be better. www.lonestarmets.com had it right when he suggested Derek Jeter Sucks would be a fine name.

I'm Carlos Beltran and I approve this message

Tomorrow we can concentrate on the next most important elections – the Cy Young, Most Valuable Player and Rookie of the Year awards.

Can you imagine if the players were allowed to campaign for these things?

Cue the ad….

A black and white photo of Albert Pujols caught with a bad expression with gloom and doom music playing in the background.

“Albert Pujols claims he’s the most valuable player in the league. But where was he when his team was tanking in the last few weeks of the season?”

Then show Ryan Howard looking dejected on the bench.

“Ryan Howard’s Phillies had a shot at the wild card, but fell short when he stopped hitting home runs.”

Then a swooshing sound followed by mocked up newspaper headline slapped at the bottom of the screen: Howard – No leadership.

Then show a nice color photo of Carlos Beltran, maybe even the video of him hitting the homer against the Cardinals in Game One of the NLCS, all while happy, bouncy piano music plays.

Carlos Beltran, right for New York, right for America. Make him your most valuable player

Then a head shot of Beltran from the right side, so the big mole isn’t there.

“I’m Carlos Beltran, and I approve this message.”

Maybe that’s not a good idea, because I’m sick of the attack ads.

I have a love/hate relationship with Election Day.

I’ve been a political junkie since I was a kid. My folks used to allow me to go with them into the voting booth at Hawthorn Elementary and pull the levers, with their direction.

I do the same thing with my kids today. But these new optical scan ballots aren’t as much fun as those huge old machines.

I took my 9-year-old to our balloting place this morning, and there were four round tables set up with cardboard desk dividers where you had to sit down and fill in small ovals with a pen that had a plastic flower taped to it, presumably so you wouldn’t accidentally walk away with it.

“This is like taking the MEAP test in school,” the fourth-grader said as she got busy coloring in the ovals I pointed to.

She made one mistake, and I didn’t want to ask for a new ballot. If Congress swings either way because of one vote in one district in Michigan, you can blame Caroline.

I dropped her off at school after we deposited our ballot in the computer and took our “I voted” stickers, but I think she’s already had the most important lesson of the day.

I vote in every election, even the dull school board contests where people are running unopposed. I think it’s one of the things that make us special as a nation. People have given their lives to preserve this right, and I don’t think there are too many valid excuses for skipping the opportunity.

It’s also true that I’d love to be able to run for something one day. But there are three factors that automatically rule it out.

1) My job. Reporters are supposed to be neutral observers. It’s tough to even keep the appearance of being unbiased it we’re sitting up there on the board or commission. But here’s a little trade secret. Every reporter sits in the audience at these meetings imagining that we could do a better job than the people sitting up there.

2) My politics. I’m too moderate for either party to want me. Which I suppose helps with No. 1. I can understand arguments from both sides.

3) My wife. She says I’m forbidden. I’m even banned from running for a church council after the last experience ended poorly.

So I’m banished to the sidelines. I might be allowed to manage Caroline’s campaign for student council next year. If she lets me. I joked about potential attack ads and she got upset.

Of course, the attack ads are one of the reasons I’m very ready for this day to be over. Michigan has spectacular fall views – if you can see the colors between the political yard signs and billboards.

But I can’t wait to turn on the television tomorrow and not have to endure the endless procession of name-calling, half-truths and untruths. Ever notice that it’s the same man’s voice in all the ads – for both sides? There must be only a handful of companies that produce these dreadful things. Can you imagine the little bitter world of hate those people live in?

Oh, and I'm not even talking about the sportwriters who vote on the MVP and other awards.

Ten excuses for Mota's 50-day suspension

Looks like Guillermo Mota has joined the mandatory 50-unpaid vacation club for his recent positive steroid test.

This is the first Mets player that we actually care about to get busted – sorry, Felix Heredia -- and his timing is pretty bad, considering he was a free agent and all. That’s not going to help with negotiations.

Alas, we had fun with smudged Tigers pitchers last week, so now that the tables have turned, we have to show we are good sports. So, on with Guillermo Mota’s Top 10 Excuses for Getting Busted With Steroids.

1) Had to try something else since Kenny Rogers had already used all the pine tar.

2) The test is in the past. He's not here to talk about the past. He only wants talk about positive things. (Heck, it worked for Mark McGwire. Or not.)

3) He, too, got a vitamin B-12 shot from Miguel Tejada.

4) Sheff said that Barry told him it was flaxseed oil.

5) Needed a good excuse to miss that first series against the Padres, lest Mike Piazza chase him into the clubhouse – again.

6) Was preparing for off-season job on the San Diego Chargers defensive line.

7) When BALCO guy said “Do you want the clear?” thought he was saying “Do you want a beer?”

8) Jason Giambi told him he could take yoga in the off-season to explain the weight loss.
9) He had not time to wash his cap, much less read the label on his meds. Seriously, you see that filthy cap?

10) Needed roids to make sure he didn’t blow important playoff game. Hope he saved the receipt.

The only guy more disappointed than Mota has to be Aaron Heilman, who probably figured resigning Guillermo would have freed him up to be in the rotation.

This is a bummer because we lose the moral high ground when mocking the Yankees. But I still say there’s a difference between a reliever picked up in August is different than, say, a starting first-baseman and starting right-fielder.

Happy Halloween!

I had a fun idea for a costume today.

I was going to wear my Tigers jersey and official World Series Tigers cap, then put some brown gunk on my hand and pretend to be Kenny Rogers.

Or I thought I could wear the same outfit and carry a ball, and when people asked who I was, I could throw the ball over their head and they’d say, “Oh, you’re a Tigers pitcher.”

Then I thought better of the plan. Ever since my infamous “JFK in Dallas” costume in 1991, I’ve sworn off costumes that really tick people off.

Some older people at that party were really upset. Apparently some things are off-limits.

And around here this week, the Tigers are most definitely not to be joked about.

Not only were Tigers fans happy to be at the big dance, but they bought into the pundit-speak that the Series was over before it even started.

Clearly, they thought, the team that rolled through the Evil Empire and spanked the A’s would have no trouble dispensing with a team that barely held on to its division title.

One could point out that the Tigers in fact were the ones who did not hold on to a division title, falling into second place on the last day of the season.

But count me among the people who didn’t expect to see the Cardinals running off with the trophy.

I wasn’t stunned they got past the Padres, since everybody gets past the Padres in the postseason. But I gave them no chance to get through our Mets, and we know how that happened.

So Tigers in the office were still walking around like zombies. They were so excited about this team, and rightly so. And to lose it because they threw the ball around – a lot – really hurt.

One reporter summed it up pretty well: “It’s like Cinderella going to the ball then falling down the steps on the way in.”

I can’t argue with that. I’m confident the Mets will return next year. But I can just as easily see this Tigers team finishing in third place in that division.

So we’ll keep the Tigers jersey on the shelf tonight, and go around wearing the black cat ears my daughter picked out for me to wear, a walking prop to her witch costume.

Kenny Rogers gambled he wouldn't get caught

Tigers pitcher Kenny Rogers has exposed what Mets fans knew all along: He's not that good.

People here in Michigan are tripping all over themselves to argue that the Gambler wasn’t cheating because, well, they really, really, want to win.

So here are the top 10 excuses for for Rogers to explain the smudge on his palm.

1) The ads are bogus! M&Ms really DO melt in your hands!

2) Mark of shame from the ending of the 1999 NLCS.

3) Learned a new trick from the fling-happy chimps at the zoo.

4) Just finished polishing his church shoes.

5) That last mudpie was a beauty.

6) Yankee taint.

7) Just got palm read by Mr. Hankey. Howdy-Ho!

8) Leftover fingerprinting ink after being charged with assaulting Texas cameraman.

9) Barry told him it was flaxseed oil.

10) Residue from World Series bat-chucking practice with sensei Clemens. Bow to your sensei!

I’m OK with that when he was playing the Yankees because sometimes you have to go the extra mile to stab their black hearts.

But in the World Series, that’s not going to work.

Clearly, stomping around the mound like he replaced his blood with Red Bull was a diversionary tactic, and a pretty good one, too..

And for goodness sake, Fox has cameras everywhere but the urinal cakes. Did Rogers not think one of those cameras would focus in on his hand?

Checking in on 'the neighbors' and Game One

My relationship with the Tigers is complicated.

The Mets are like family. We live far apart, but we still keep in touch and I still feel close. We’ll always have that unbreakable bond.

But the Tigers are like my neighbors. I kind of know them. I see them outside when the weather is nice. We have nice conversations. I go to their house every once in a while. I wish them well, but I’m not overly involved.

I probably know their kids better than I know the adults, which is also true of the Tigers, since their Midwest League team plays four miles from my front door.

The Lions, by the way, are like bad neighbors. They’re the ones who let the lawn go unmowed for weeks and leave the Homer Simpson Halloween decoration deflated and atop the garage roof year-round.

But I’ve shared some nice moments with the Tigers, attending several Opening Days and even the last game at the old stadium.

So I was extremely excited about the opportunity to see World Series Game One on Saturday. I'm still mourning the demise of the Mets. We should have been there. But the World Series is the World Series, and any chance to witness baseball history is a glorious thing.

I’m also lucky that my bosses allowed me to work at the game, which allows me to run around looking for people doing crazy things and ask them questions. Reporters are nosy by nature. We want to ask these questions. A pad gives us the authority to do so. It also gets me into some places that would be difficult otherwise, such as the rooftop deck of Cheli’s Chili Bar across the street form Comerica.

I met some fun folks. One woman from Romeo, Mich. hosted a tailgate party by converting her mini-van into a giant tiger. She told me she bought 40 yards of tiger-striped material, buying the entire stock of four Wal Marts.

I had several hours to scurry around talking to people like this, then filed my stories from the laptop. Thank you to the staff at the downtown Au Bon Pain for allowing me to use their wi-fi!

I also checked out a couple of the vendors. Don’t think for a minute that every time a saw a cap or shirt with the Cardinals’ logo I didn’t think there was a version with an orange inter-locking NY going to waste a warehouse somewhere.

There were corporate sponsors handing out t-shirts. It’s amazing to watch people go into a feeding frenzy for a crappy shirt advertising GM or hot dogs.

So close, guys, so close.

I ran into a number of people wearing Mets jerseys who bought their tickets last week expecting our boys to be there. We all lamented what should have been.

Just entering the ballpark for a World Series game is an emotional thing. Some people get all teary. OK, that was just me. But I stood awhile and watched other people get their tickets scanned, walk through the turnstiles and let out a holler and pump their fists.

You also get some primo freebies, like a an XM satellite radio in addition to the ever-present towel, which is guess is better than the Thunder Stix we had to endure a couple years ago.

I spent the time before the game walking around the stadium, watching the people. It’s a different kind of charged atmosphere. People pause and take photos of everything.

There are also a lot of VIPs running around. I also ran into Vinny Castilla, for some reason wearing a media credential. He was very nice. Newly unemployed Dusty Baker was posing for photos, and I swear Curt Schilling walked past in the concourse.

The pregame festivities were moving. Bob Seger played “America the Beautiful” as a massive American flag was unfurled that seemed to cover about 80 percent of the outfield. Some F-18 Hornets roared overhead as he finished.

That tugged at the heart of the couple sitting next to me. The husband and wife took turns holding a bright pink sign, reading that a brother was watching the game while serving in Iraq.

Doing the nosy reporter thing, I found out that he is in the Air Force and as been outside Tikrit since August. He also served two tours in Afghanistan. He’s a huge Tigers fan, and if he couldn’t make it to the Series, they would in his place.

The game was a battle of rookies, with Anthony Reyes for the Cards and Justin Verlander for the Tigers. We know what the Mets did to Reyes last week, so I wasn’t surprised when Craig Monroe hit a double in the first inning and came around to score two batters later.

But, as we’ve seen them do, the Cards answered with a run in the second and Verlander mistakenly and famously decide to challenge Albert Pujols in the third.

Fat Albert’s bomb took the crowd right out of the game, and Reyes started mowing down the Tigers. It got so bad that people around me started talking about college football. They should have been escorted from their seats! You do not, for any reason, discuss the lesser sports while attending a World Series game.

The Cards tacked on three more runs in the sixth when Brandon Inge decided to throw the ball around and interfere with runners.

Shortly after that, my seat-neighbor’s cell phone went off – it was her brother calling from Iraq, saying that he was watching the game on Armed Forces Network. It was fun to watch them being able to share the moment despite the brother being in harm’s way on the other side of the world.

Craig Monroe launched a monster shot the bottom of the ninth. But that still left the Tigers down by five and sending the fans home disappointed – and me still just overjoyed to be there.

I finally made it home around 2:30 am, physically and emotionally exhausted and grateful for every minute of the day.

The Cardinals impress me. I didn’t give them much of a chance of getting past the Padres and no chance at all of getting around our Mets. They’re still overwhelming underdogs, but I can’t count them out.

Other World Series notes:

-- My buddy Rich once said that if he ever attended a World Series game, he'd never leave his seat because he wouldn’t want to chance missing one of those iconic plays that will be discussed for generations.

That’s a good rule. But, damn, there’s a lot of time between innings. You know the John Mellencamp song from the Chevy ads? They played it in its entirety once between innings and still had time to kill.

--Eminem is an idiot. He had some kind of rambling video message played before the game that ended with him swinging a toy bat and missing a ball, then saying that’s how the Cardinals would be hitting, then did the same, connecting, and implying that’s how the Tigers would hit.

--The Tigers get points for taking the field to Kiss' "Detroit Rock City" pounding from the Comerica sound system. Now, you'd think that would be an obvious selection to pump up the crowd, but I had never heard it played at a Tigers game until this year. Then again, the organist at the old Tiger Stadium thought playing "Mexican Hat Dance" over and over was clever. Playing Kiss is always a good thing!

--Tiger fans have their own version of the taped-on red Spiezio soul patch – Magglio Ordonez wigs.

--The souvenir selection was somewhat disappointing, and stupid-expensive, at least as the ballpark. That didn’t stop long lines from forming at the concession stands. I bought a program and cap with the Series logo and cap emblems for each team. In that respect, it’s good the Mets were not there because I would have been far more tempted!

The "Spirit of Detroit" was dressed for the occasion.

Feel good for these fans. Detroit certainly has problems, many of them self-inflicted. But it’s been a baseball town in hibernation.

It’s been a tough couple years for many Michiganders. The state’s economy is in transition and the struggles of the auto industry have really taken their toll in the people in the state, even those who don’t work directly for the carmakers.

And the Tigers have been horrible pretty much since we arrived here in 1990.

These folks have suffered through a lot of things, and they are going crazy for this team, much more so than over the Pistons’ title two years back.

I’m a National League guy and I have ties to St. Louis. But I won’t feel bad if the Tigers ride this wave of emotion to a championship – now that it won’t come at the expense of the Mets.

Mets are going home, but I'm still Series-bound

I would never have imagined that I’d be going to the World Series and the Mets would not.

But that’s what’s happening.

Apparently I got a little excited in the newsroom on Thursday morning when my Mom called to say that my Christmas present would be a ticket to Game One in Detroit on Saturday night.

There may have been jumping involved. I don’t remember, but my co-workers do – and have reminded me often.

People here in Grand Rapids are going nuts over the local team making a miraculous run through the Yankees and Athletics. It seemed like a good chunk of the office was trying to get tickets online on Monday, when10,000 ducats were sold in under 30 minutes.

I volunteered to work, offering to do the assorted outside-the-stadium atmosphere stories, talking to fans from West Michigan about their joy of seeing the long-lowly Tigers on the big stage.

If I couldn’t get in, at least I’d be close to the action – as close as I’d ever get to seeing the Mets in the World Series.

The Mets? Of course they’d be there! We were merely toying with the Cardinals through the week, taking the series back to Shea to celebrate before the Flushing faithful.

It was our fate and destiny! No Pedro, no Duque – no problem! Rookie pitchers were tossing gems, Oliver Perez seemed to he recovered from whatever sent him to the minors in Pittsburgh.

And Endy Chavez’s catch? Pure Mets magic, right up there with Tommie Agee and Ron Swoboda.

Yadier Molina, earned admission to the “Bleeping” Family with his two-run shot off Hielman in the top of the ninth. But when Valentin and Endy got on base in our half of the frame I knew the Mets magic was at work again.

Remember, we don’t do things easily in the postseason. Baseball history is written about the miracles, not the blowouts.

Or not.

I’m working through the whole shock/denial/anger/acceptance thing.

Shock: We got beat by the Cardinals? They barely hung on to their division title? They beat the Padres in the first round because, well, everybody beats the Padres in the first round.

Denial: No way did that just happen. We’ve been planning for the World Series since May. We’re getting El Duque back to pitch Game One. We’re the ones who are supposed to be going to Detroit.

Anger: Beltran, freaking swing at the ball! Bases loaded and you’re going to try for a walk? You should be the stinking MVP and you’re not up there blasting? No excuse! You can’t let the season end with your bat on your shoulder.

Acceptance: It was an amazing season. Two years ago we would have been giddy to finish second, last year we would have wept for joy for a wild card berth. This year we ended the Braves’ historic run, and with our young talent and brilliant GM, there’s no reason to think this was a one-year fluke. We’ll be back. And while it hurts today, it was a fun ride all summer long.

So off I go to Detroit tomorrow.

Someone asked if I could still enjoy the Series game even though the Mets won’t be there. Heck yes! Attending ANY World Series game is a glorious, once-in-a-lifetime event.

I’m so blessed that I’m going for the second time in my life. Thank you Mom and Dad!

Every signature tells a story: Mets, Tigers and Cookie Rojas

Is it strange to have a favorite third base coach?

Should the Mets pull this out as we all expect, they’ll come to Detroit for the second time. The first was in 1997 and it led to an encounter with Cookie Rojas.

Cookie and I go way back, though he doesn’t know it.

Back when I was a new reporter in Connecticut, I was handed what was supposed to be a temporary assignment in what we considered the Siberia bureau working for a bureau chief we universally despised. The three reporters were branded malcontents, and one day the suburban editor came up to set us straight.

I didn’t like my role, which was filling in for the other reporters, basically doing the stories they either couldn’t get to or didn’t want to do. Which means I ended up attending a lot of sewer commission meetings.

I expressed this to the editor, a baseball fan who grew up in Philadelphia but wore a Giants jacket.

"Well, you can be like Cookie Rojas," he said.

"Cookie Rojas? What?"

"He played all over the place and had a good career."

I was young and cocky and indignant. Cookie Rojas? Being compared to a utility infielder was not what I had in mind after graduating from the University of Missouri School of Journalism.

"I don’t want to be Cookie Rojas, I want to be Darryl Strawberry!" Keep in mind, this was 1988, when being Darryl Strawberry would have been a good thing.

The editor rolled his eyes. I thought I showed great restraint in not summoning the names of Seaver or Willie Mays.

"Yeah, yeah, Cookie Rojas. He played a little bit of everything," the editor repeated.

That night I pulled Rojas’ 1977 Topps card to hang above my desk, probably just to be difficult.

Truth is, I was selling Victor Octavio Rojas sort. He had a 16-year career as a player with the Reds, Phillies, Cardinals and Royals. The five-time All-Star had a .263 career average and 1,660 hits in the pitching-dominated 1960s.

I started following his career. He managed the Angels for a season, and was tapped to be a coach for the Florida Marlins. In a spring training game against the Mets, I took much delight in seeing Rojas coaching third base and pointed him out to my dad and sister, who proceeded to yell "Coooookkieeeeeee" until he finally turned and waved.

Shockingly, this became something of a tradition in the coming years, with the apparently unfazed Rojas responding with a wave every time.

So I was glad when Cookie was hired to be a coach for our favorite team, and he kindly signed my Mets book at a spring game in Vero Beach.

Later that year the Mets made their only appearance at Tiger Stadium for and interleague series, and naturally we were decked out in Mets gear from head to toe for the first game.

I was standing by the rail before the game taking photos when Rojas walked by on the field. In purely a reflex reaction, I yelled "Coooookkkkiiiieeeee."

But rather than waving, he stopped and started walking in our direction. My son and I certainly stood out in our Mets jerseys on Tiger turf.

"Sure, I’ll sign something."

This was not what we were seeking, but I sure didn’t want to insult the guy. How do you turn down when someone comes over and offers an autograph. I quickly dug into my backpack and pulled out the official National League ball I had hoped to have signed by Todd Hundley, John Olerud, Edgardo Alfonzo or Rey Ordonez.

Cookie signed it with a smile, right on the sweet spot. I shook his hand and thanked him.

That was the high point of the game, which the Mets lost 14-0, with Bobby Higginson hitting three home runs.

So I’m counting on the Mets next trip to Detroit, hopefully this weekend, to turnout a little better -- though with someone else in the third base coach’s box waving people home.

I’m a more specialized reporter now, but the bosses still appreciate that I can tackle other kinds of stories in a pinch. And when I’m out of my element I think of Cookie Rojas.

Pity poor Tom Verducci, the postseason is no fun for him

I realize it seems like Yankee hack Tom Verducci can’t hit “send” on his computer without getting my goat.

But I’ve tried to contain my outbursts for the times when he really gets the whole barnyard.

Well, back up the truck because here go the goats – and the chickens, pigs and cows, too. Verducci got loose on SI.com today with a whine-o-rama about how the postseason doesn’t meet his high standards for excitement.

Here’s a sample:

"DETROIT -- Can this postseason be saved? Thanks mostly to the juggernaut known as the Detroit Tigers, who are so hot they can bat Neifi Perez second and watch Kenny Rogers become John Wayne, baseball is giving us an October with almost no drama, no moments for posterity and no storyline for the FOX people to hook the viewer who needs a reason to come to the tube. Welcome to a non-competitive October, which is the last thing we've come to expect from baseball. If the 2006 baseball playoffs were a sitcom or talk show --- hate to break it to you, folks, but we're sitting through the Arsenio Hall of postseasons -- it would have been cancelled long ago."

I think we know were Verducci’s going here. If the Yankees aren’t involved, Tommy loses interest faster than Jose Reyes racing to second base.

Sorry you're bored, Tom, because there have been some exciting, close games so far. Seriously, “Almost no drama, no moments for posterity and no storyline?”

Did he not see Paul Lo Duca tag two people at home in the same play? That was memorable

How about Frank Thomas coming to bat with the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth in ALCS Game 2? Or even Big Frank launching two bombs in Game 1 of the Division Series, taking the Twins and likely Cy Young Award-winner Johann Santana out of the series?

Did he miss the Cardinals battling back and getting over on the Mets in NLCS Game 2?

How about the Tom Glavine-Jeff Weaver duel in Game 1 of the NLCS? It seemed pretty dramatic when Carlos Beltran’s blast landed a third of the way up the Shea scoreboard.

I kind of thought Carlos Delgado making the most of his first postseason was a cool storyline, especially with his monster shot against the Dodgers and two homers in Game 2 against the Cards.

The whole Yankee soap opera was entertaining for a day or two.

No, Tom’s not happy because the team he spends a career hyping couldn’t cut it this year despite spending $200 million on dysfunctional All-Stars. Tommy’s going go have to go the rest of the season without lavishing praise on Derek F. Jeter or dropping condescending smacks on Fenway grounds crew members -- "dirt tenders," in Verducci-speak.

Maybe he can take some time and go back and re-read his column from the 2004 All-Star Game when he putdown Milwaukee as some kind of hicktown undeserving of an important event. It’s never too late to apologize, Tom.

Of course, if he bemoaned having to travel to Milwaukee, I can only imagine what Verducci will have to say about Detroit.

So while Verducci laments the lack of drama, moments and storylines, I’m going to kick back and enjoy all three – because they’re all there.

Postseason scares on Friday 13th

As I’m sure you know, it’s Friday the 13th.

I used to like those movies when I was younger. I have no idea why. I guess any homicidal maniac who wears sporting equipment was OK. And he was far better than the other big baddie at the time, Freddy Krueger, who ran out of puns somewhere in the middle of the first film and seemed to go on for about a half-dozen more.

So I guess it’s a day where we’re supposed to be thinking about scary things. And so far this postseason we have seen some scary, scary things.

Let’s review the top 10 scary things so far:

1) That red thing on Scott Spiezio’s chin. If you’re going to grow a beard, then grow a beard. But that thing looks like a ponytail growing out of his lower lip. Is that some kind of hazing prank?

2) Fox announcers. I realize that Joe Buck’s dad is an all-time great Cardinals announcer. But it seems like he’s leaning way too far toward the Cards than an objective announcer is supposed to. I’m not saying he’s bordering on Klapisch-esque Yankee homerism, but I thought the guy was gonna break out in tears after Beltran launched that blast a third of the way up the scoreboard in Game One.

3) The Oakland Athletics. Do the A’s plan to show up at some point? After they ripped through the Twins, I thought they’d beat up the Tigers and we’d be looking at 1973 Part II without the benefit of having Willie Mays. Instead they’re tossing the ball around and need to go Red Sox v Skanks ‘04 if they want to stick around.

4) Kenny Bleeping Rogers is pitching like a man possessed -- seven years too late to do us any good. He’s due for a meltdown.

5) High school football. I had to run out to pick up my son Friday night, and I was thinking, "OK, I can listen to the game on the radio on the way there and back and not miss much. I got in the car and punched up the local sports radio station, and instead of Major League Baseball playoffs they’ve got a high school football game with announcers getting waaaaay too excited. I punched in a couple other sports stations, and it was the same thing -- but with broadcasters not mainlining Red Bull. What the heck? High school football is big out here. Not like Texas or anything, but there are people here who tailgate before games. Being a New Yorker living here is difficult sometimes.

6) NLCS umpiring. How come when the Mets are up, the umpires are suddenly calling strikes like they’ve got a date with Rachel Ray after the game?

7) Arod’s incident with the jet sliding off the runway. Not for nothing, but next time I board a plane I’m going to stand up and say "Attention please, are there any members of the New York Yankees on this aircraft?" If so, I am so outta there.

8) Snow. We expect snow here in Michigan. Some people even like it. I must say I don’t mind it in December. Sadly, we get it from November to April. And there is no way I want to wake up in the at the start of the league championship series and see an inch of snow on my lawn. We still have green leaves on some trees, for goodness sake.

9) A hot tub in Vegas, baby! The Verizon ad was funny the first time, and maybe even the 30th time. But by airing No. 325 I openly hate it. If I didn’t have cool David Wright wall paper on my Verizon phone I’d start a boycott.

10) Steve "Psycho" Lyons making fun of blind people. And this guy was traded for Tom Seaver?

Post-games scares:

OK, the Wagner meltdown hurt. But remember we had won eight in a row until last night and you're going to drop one once in a while. We're still going to win this.

Cory Lidle, ex-Met

There are days when we use this space to mock, rebuke, bemoan and curse all thing Yankee.

But today is not that day.

Our thoughts and prayers this day are with the families of Cory Lidle and the other people injured and killed in today's tragedy.

Tigers, Yankees, pie and the spectacle

Remember the scene in “Stand By Me” where Gordie is sitting around the campfire and tells the story about the pie-eating contest?

The thumbnail version is that the overweight, picked-on kid enters the contest and plots his revenge against the town by downing a whole bottle of castor oil just before the event, eats the pies then hurls all over the place. As the smell of the vomit wafts through people in the crowd, they, too, start hurling all over everyone and everything.

As this is happening, the picked-on kid stands on the stage, proudly surveying the chaos he has created.

Friends, I submit to you that the Detroit Tigers are “Lard Ass” Hogan.

In the wake of their improbable triumph over the Evil Empire, the Tigers have unleashed chaos and despair over all things Yankee.

It’s a beautiful thing. Let’s chronicle the events since that fateful Saturday night.

1) There are rumblings that Yankee skipper Joe Torre will be packing his bags. I guess nine straight first-place finishes and six trips to the World Series are not enough to keep your job.

And when you think about it, this should polish off Torre as a manger. How can he go somewhere else with his reputation intact? It’s not like any team searching for a manager is ready to contend, unless you put a lot of faith in the “Sack Showalter, Soar to the Series” theory.

So wherever Torre lands next, when he finishes anywhere other than first place, people will say, “See, he can’t win without a $200 million payroll. A trained chimp or Don Zimmer could have manager to the playoffs.”

2) If No. 1 is true, then reports are that Yankee retread Lou Piniella will take over. Oh yeah, that’s what they need, a guy last seen bailing from the Devil Rays, right after bailing on the Mariners.

Anybody care to speculate how fiery Lou’s tantrums will go over in a Yankee clubhouse allegedly stocked by corporate executive types?

If Lou couldn’t motivate a bunch of juvenile Devil Rays, what makes anyone think players like Jorge Posada and Derek F. Jeter will do anything but chuckle when Piniella goes into his “Throw the Base” routines?

3) One of the arguments in favor of Lou is that he’s had success with Alex Rodriguez in Seattle. That may be true, except the universal consensus is that 8-Rod, too, is headed out of town.

Alex, of course, got lose with the “I sucked” comments while Tigers players were pouring champagne on Michigan State Police troopers’ hats.

Now, I’m not saying Alex is wrong. The stats don’t lie. He did suck, and for $25 million he could have mixed in an occasional base hit.

But the truth is that signs point to Rodriguez being banished even before his clubhouse confessional.

You don’t bat the reigning MVP eighth in a win-or-go-home game unless you are trying to make a statement. You also don’t sign off on Yankee hacks writing damning articles in Sports Illustrated the week before the playoffs unless you are trying to tell someone they are not wanted.

Heck, if the series had gone one more game, Rodriguez probably would have been assigned to the ground crew or being the bat boy.

Don’t blame this all on Torre. I don’t believe for a minute that any of those things could have happened without the higher-ups signing off. Maybe they even ordered the hit.

4) Speaking of ARod, the New York Daily News looked to bump it’s circulation among Mets fans by posting this headline on the back page on Tuesday: “Blame Jeter.”

I have no problem for that. I blame Jeter for everything from gas prices to the Blue Jays’ horrid uniform. But the News actually tried to back up their allegations with facts.

Jeter, the apparent pick among AL beat writers to take home an underserved MVP, got toasted for being a rather lame team captain and not defending ARod when he was getting pounded on all season, allowing the situation to snowball to the point that Rodriguez was a quivering pile of pinstriped pooh once the postseason rolled around.

It’s a major event when the fawning New York media implies that Jeter had a day that wasn’t quite as glorious as the day he is entitled to for all his greatness. To see these guys actually state that St. F. Jeter has a fault is just shocking. I’m sure apologists like Klapisch and Verducci will strike back in full rage during the next few days, possibly even picketing outside the News’ headquarters.

No doubt all of this was fueled by the Mets’ chipping their way past the Dodgers on the same day. I’m not a Newsday fan, but the “Sweep and Weep” headline was possibly the best ever.

When all this shakes out, here’s what I expect to see happen.

1) Torre is indeed fired, takes his $7 million contract and spend the year making occasional visits to the Baseball Tonight studios where he can join Steve Phillips in second-guessing his former employers.

2) Piniella takes over, throws a fit when Bobby Abreu goes only 3 for 4 in a game against the Red Sox, overturns the clubhouse spread and is stunned when Mariano Rivera shows no emotion when a piece of fried chicken bounces off his forehead. Silly Lou, cyborgs don’t show emotion.

3) After a year of meltdowns and a second-place finish behind the Red Sox, Der Boss decides that the Yankees need a more calming presence and rehires Joe Torre.

4) Alex Rodriguez is traded to the Los Angeles Angels for a Rally Monkey and Dean Chance, who despite being long retired is still younger than Randy Johnson, and Donnie Moore, who despite being, well, dead, is more useful to the team than Carl Pavano. The Yankees agree to pay whatever part of ARod’s $25 million contract that the Rangers aren’t paying.

5) ARod regains his form and is sent to Red Sox at the trading deadline for Manny Rameriz, Mike Lowell and Roger Clemens, who came out of retirement a week prior to the deal. Rodriguez, who does not bat eighth, goes on an eight-week power binge. In an important game against the Yanks, ARod strides to the plate to face Mo Rivera with the bases loaded and promptly clanks one off the Ruth monument. Jeter trips him as he trots past, prompting Verducci to write “Classless ARod tries to pass through Derek’s personal space.” Rivera shows no emotion because cyborgs don’t show emotion.

Remember, you read it here first!

Remembering Buck O'Neil

I was fortunate to meet Buck O'Neil in February at the Negro Leagues Museum.

Tip of the cap to baseball ambassador Buck O'Neil, who died yesterady at age 94.

One of the joys of my job is that sometimes you get to be in places where you meet some incredible people. I had the extreme pleasure of meeting Mr. O'Neil twice -- you can read about it here -- and he was an amazing gentleman.

We have to put up with a lot of jerks in baseball. Once in a while we run into someone like O'Neil who reminds you about all the good things. A lot of people were angry that O'Neil wasn't among the Negro League players and leaders selected for the Hall of Fame this year. He fell one vote short, and it's a sign of his graciousness that he was on hand in Cooperstown to help induct the 16 men and one woman enshrined this summer.

It certainly would have been an honor for him to be included. But I don't think we're going to need a plaque to remember Buck O'Neil.

Godspeed, Buck!

Mets and Tigers, a common bond

I’ve lived in Michigan for 16 years and have attended Detroit Tigers games every year, but I can’t really say I’ve been a fan of the team. Until now.

Tuesday night’s spanking notwithstanding, we Mets fans must embrace all things Motown and get behind the Tigers.

It’s not just because they’re playing the Vile Ones. There’s more. We can offer moral support for suffering from the same malady: Kenny Bleeping Rogers.

Of course we remember what happened in Game 6 of the 1999 NLCS. How can we possibly forget? The image of Todd Pratt catching ball four way high and way outside then disgustedly dropping the ball as Andruw Jones could scarcely express his glee at driving in the winning run and sending his team to the World Series without even having to swing at a pitch, it’s all seared in the backs of our minds repressed with the deepest and darkest memories.

Flash forward to last Sunday. The Tigers were fighting to hang on to their division title, and already gagged away a 6-run lead against the worst team in baseball.

With the game tied in extra innings and first place on the line, who does Jim Leyland trot out there? The Gambler.

That decision right there is enough to make every writer dive into the mailbox to take back his Manager of the Year ballot before it could be counted.

The only thing I imagine Leyland was thinking is that there’s no way Rogers can have the ame meltdown twice. Surely, he must have thought, Rogers learned from his past.

Apparently not. I watched highlights late Sunday and saw bases loaded and ball four, way high and way outside. The exact same spot. The only thing missing was Gerald "Ice" Williams skipping home.

"He did it AGAIN?" I shouted to my wife. "How in the heck can he possibly do that twice? That ball wasn’t even close!"

As Yogi said, "It’s like deja vu all over again."

All the horrid details of that season-ending nightmare came back. I had just started here in Grand Rapids, and was commuting two hours each direction to Flint until our house sold.

I was working nights at the time, typically not leaving until after 11 p.m. But I was glued to the newsroom television until midnight when Ozzie Guillen tied it up again in the bottom of the 10th inning, then picked up the game on the radio.

There was a leadoff double from Ice, who moved on a sacrifice from Brett Boone, followed by intentional walks to Chipper Bleeping Jones and Brian Jordan. Then up stepped Jones, bat firmly on his shoulder.

There’s not a lot of things to see on the route between Grand Rapids and Flint. A lot of farms. Perhaps a cow was startled by the scream of agony coming from the cranberry-colored Plymouth Voyager speeding through the darkness at that late hour.

After roughing up the cameraman last year while a member of the Texas Rangers, Rogers he allegedly also got into a little spat with a Tigers fan on Sunday who has since filed a police complaint.

The Gambler, it seems, is nothing if not consistent.

Running for a cure -- and bagels

I peaked as a runner during my senior year in college, when I finished seventh out of a couple hundred in a mile race.

Since then, I’m confined to a treadmill, except for one day a year. Each September I race in the Grand Rapids version of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation’s 5-K Race for the Cure.

I started running in this race five years ago, when all of us in the education pod thought it might be fun. I didn’t take it too seriously, thinking I’d get a neat T-shirt and raise some money for a good cause.

Then I got to the event – it’s at one of the local malls -- and found out how much it meant to so many people.

Women who have survived this horrible disease wear pink T-shirts and are proud to make it the 3.1 miles of the route. You learn they are the lucky ones.

Most runners wear pink paper squares with the names of friends and loved ones they’ve lost, many listing more than one name. Others write names of people celebrating their recovery, or people battling the disease.

There are many groups of families and friends running as a team, often with matching T-shirts with photos of mothers, wives, sisters or daughters. Others carry signs while they run, sometimes with tears streaming down their cheeks.

I got choked up reading their messages as I ran that first year, and I’ve returned each year since without my work podmates, though the last two years I ran with my son. I think he gets it. I know he liked the piles of bagels and fruit awaiting us at the finish line and the goodies from the vendors.

Panera bread is a major sponsor, and employees greet racers with cranberry and vanilla bagels shaped like a ribbon instead of the traditional circle. The company sells them throughout October, with a portion of proceeds going to the cause. They’re awesome, at least as awesome as a Midwestern bagel can be.

This is the first year I had reason to wear one of the pink squares.

I was a little more aggressive in my fund-raising. People in the newsroom love my kick-butt chocolate chip cookies, and for the past two weeks anybody taking a cookie had to make a donation. We raised $40, which is probably a tear in the ocean of what is needed, but it’s something.

The weather was lousy this morning, a steady rain falling throughout the race. It didn’t stop the families and the survivors. Some who didn’t run lined the course with umbrellas, holding signs and shouting encouragement.

There’s a Costco along the route, and employees hand out free bottles of water to runners. Costco rocks.

There are some serious runners, but not many. Most are glad to make it to the end. I don’t think many of these folks are worried about their times. That’s not why they’re here. This time I forgot to look at the clock.

After doing this for five years, I’ve come up with some observations and tips to share.

1) If you have one of those cars with the electric locks opened with the buttons on the key ring. Don’t just take a key on your lanyard. It won’t open the door without the electronic thing. Then you have to find a payphone, figure out how to make a collect call and then beg your wife to come down to the mall and open the car doors for you. If this happens, you can pretty much expect a trip to J.Jill as compensation. Trust me.

2) If you get a little winded on a route with some hills, it’s OK to slow the pace a little, even all the way down to walking fast instead of jogging. But I explained to my son that you need to get back up to speed in time to pass the clusters of sorority girls handing out cups of water.

3) When taking the aforementioned cup of water, be careful not to drink it quickly while running. I did this once, the water went down the wrong pipe and I ended up kneeling at the side of the road coughing up furballs. Nobody is impressed by that scene.

4) If you’ve been walking for trotting for the last part of the race, sprint it out when the finish line comes into view so the gathered crowd will think you’ve been chugging away the entire way. OK, no one will really believe you’ve been chugging away. If that were the case, you would have finished sooner. But you can pretend that they will.