Field of Econo Dreams

CHARLOTTESVILLE, Va.—The Charlottesville Econo Lodge, as one GW Softball team member proclaimed, is “too much econo, not enough lodge.” Yet this delightful motel will be our base of operations for the three days of softball mania that is the UVA Law 2008 Softball Invitational. With two men’s teams and two co-rec teams, expectations were high that GW would enjoy a level of success not seen since the memorable 1989 tourney, when Sal “Salazar” Marchiano pitched three no hitters and hit four grand slams to lead GW to the title over UVA Brown.

With the threat of rain ever present, the tournament began Friday night with the GW Colonials co-rec team facing off against Washington & Lee. After partaking in some delicious pizza at Mellow Mushroom off campus, several members of the GW Blue men’s team (myself included) attempted to get to the Colonials’ game. A long walk over turned into a longer one when, seeing the lights of the ball fields emerge from over the hills, I mistakenly led our group even farther away from the field. As we backtracked to the Econo Lodge, word came that the game was already over and that the Colonials had won. Clearly, they were better served with us not attending their game, so we vowed not to try to attend another one all weekend.

The day began early on Saturday for GW Blue, as we finally found the field we were searching for the previous night. The first opponent of the day was Washington University, who started the trash talking immediately by pointing out their superior ranking in US News and World Report. Lame. Their arrogance was soon rewarded as they hit several shots deep into the outfield. The team strategy quickly shifted from ending the inning quickly to ending the inning without giving up 10 runs. Unfortunately for us, the tourney mercy rule is that there is no mercy rule, so our deficit continued to grow as the innings progressed.

By the middle of the game, the umpire had had enough of our inability to score a run, and called us over from the dugout for a pep talk. “Now, I don’t know if you guys are confused as to the rules of the game, but the object is not to score the fewest runs. This isn’t golf,” he explained. This seemed to the trick, as several innings later, we successfully manufactured a run after the Wash U pitcher misplayed a ground ball, diving towards first to get our batter out. He failed to anticipate that we had suddenly learned how to play softball, and our runner on third easily scored. With the moral victory secured, the team left for an early lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings.

Lunch conversation soon gave way to intense strategy discussions. Our next opponent was Regent, who one team member described as a “Tier 4 Law School, but a Tier 1 softball talent.” Indeed, Regent finished second in 2007 and recruited a number of former Central League players from Japan. Realizing we would probably be no match, the team decided to continue to play extremely poorly so as to prolong the game and cause Regent’s players to injure themselves. This would severely disadvantage them in the playoffs and maybe GW Gold would have an easy path to the title. The strategy backfired, however, when we suffered several debilitating injuries of our own. With our bench supply of HGH extinguished, we decided on a new incentive to motivate a comeback: whoever made an error had to put a dollar in the error pot to be used to buy beer later that night. This also backfired, as we committed even more errors.

“The only way to accurately analogize the team's performance is if a major league team lost all of its position players to injury, causing the whole team to hit and field as poorly as pitchers. And we did not have Micah Owings or Dontrelle Willis,” recounted our team captain later that night.

Luckily, GW Gold was having an opposite level of success, cruising to two victories in their first two games. Our attempts to steal some of their players for our final game against Ohio State failed miserably, bur they did stick around to “cheer” us on. After another heartbreaking loss with few injuries to Ohio State and several more injuries and errors for us, the team made its way to the barbeque to try to steal another team’s jerseys and sneak into the playoffs on Sunday. With $29 in the error pot, we decided to buy a delicious bottle of Canadian Mist, but our team manager had absconded with the money, and we were forced to partake in the free beer at the evening’s festivities.

The rain predicted for the weekend finally arrived Sunday morning, but that did not deter GW Gold from trudging out to the mud-soaked field for the men’s playoffs. The unrelenting precipitation triggered a new set of rules designed to speed up the games. Each batter would only get one pitch to hit from his team’s pitcher, no matter what the quality of the pitch. This seemed pretty stupid to every one involved, as one player described it as “deciding the NBA Finals with a slam dunk contest.” Despite the rule change, GW Gold earned a hard-fought victory against Boston College to advance to play our old nemesis, Regent. Using bats handcrafted by Pat Robertson himself in his underground lair deep beneath the earth’s surface, Regent ended GW’s last title hope of the 2008 tournament, holding the team scoreless (I would like to take this opportunity to mention that GW Blue succeeded where GW Gold failed in that we were able to score a run against the Fightin’ Robertsons).

While we left without any hardware to show for our efforts, GW Blue has its sights on greatness in 2009. Unfortunately, the entire team is graduating, so we are actively seeking replacements, lest we all be forced to apply to the LLM program to carry on our own legacy. If you have any baseball, softball, European handball, or korfball experience, consider trying out for a spot on the historic GW Blue squad next year. You can help continue the legacy of (mostly) error-free baseball!

Waiting For Dmitri Young Bobblehead Doll Day

As the new baseball season starts this week, each team’s marketing department kicks it into high gear to try to get fans to come out to the park all summer. From giveaways to ticket packs, teams are usually high on gimmicks to drive up those attendance numbers. I combed through all of these marketing materials and have highlighted some of the more innovative approaches.

NL East

After an aggressive offseason of trading away its remaining players, the Florida Marlins are instituting a new marketing approach this season. Inspired by Radiohead’s pay-what-you-want pricing for its new album, the Marlins will be instituting a similar system for tickets: any fan can sit in any seat for any price, including paying absolutely nothing. Owner Jeffrey Loria has borrowed the business model of the classic American establishment, the movie theater. While food and drink prices are already at exorbitant levels at your typical ballpark, at Dolphins Stadium, a hot dog will go for $15, a beer for $20, and there will be no water fountains or food carts within a ½ mile radius of the park. To encourage patrons to shell out for the overpriced fare, each fan over 21 will receive a free beer when they enter the park. Loria has also hired so many food vendors that there will be one vendor for every seven fans. Not to be outdone, the New York Mets are on a mission to fill Shea Stadium to the brim for every game during its last season. This marketing blitz also has an ulterior motive: to make fans so nostalgic for the stadium that they will bid a ton of money at a season-ending auction of every seat, railing, urinal, and ugly-looking neon baseball player sign.

NL Central

In Pittsburgh, it’s the Year of the Buccos. During the 2008 season, the team will be playing with the heart and tenacity of an English premiership team on the verge of relegation—except the Pirates really will be on the verge of relegation. If the team should finish in last place in the division, Pirates owner Robert Nutting will move the team to the International League, and have its AAA affiliate, the Indianapolis Indians, take its spot in the National League. This little scheme will also motivate everyone on the Indians’ roster to play terribly, lest they be called up to the Pirates only to be sent back down with the entire team the next season. Can you feel the excitement in the PGH??!!? Meanwhile the Cubbies will unveil a new banner at Wrigley Field commemorating the 100^th anniversary of its last championship. This celebration will feature burning effigies of goats and black cats, and will also involve the selling of the stadium’s naming rights to Bubbalicious Gum for the next 30 years. The day after the deal goes final, owner Sam Zell will sell the team to a corporation owned entirely by St Louis citizens.

NL West

Having removed all traces of Barry Bonds from AT&T Park, the San Francisco Giants are going one step further and forfeiting every game Bonds played for the team in the past 16 years. This will probably push the Giants past 10000 losses, thus eclipsing the Phillies as the all-time loss leader. Mark Ecko has already purchased the 10000losses.com domain name from its current Phlly fan owner and is planning a grand gala to introduce the site and his new clothing line, Asteri*.

AL East

In honor of the exorcism of “Devil” from the Tampa Bay Rays team name (bad pun intended), the first 190,000 fans to attend a game this season at the Trop will receive a free Devil Rays t-shirt. They tried to give the old shirts away to kids in South America, but the continent is currently flush with New England Patriots Super Bowl 42 merchandise. Rumors of the Rays signing Barry Bonds as the DH have led to a huge fan backlash; should Bonds sign with the team, legions of fans will express their displeasure by showing up to games just to boo him. Hoping for the highest attendance in the league, owner Stuart Sternberg is also looking into whether Jose Canseco and Mark McGuire will come out of retirement to play alongside Bonds to form a new Murderers Row of Players People Hate. The Yankees, like the cross-town Mets, are also playing their last season in their current stadium. Rather than auctioning off stadium memorabilia, the team will be bussing next year’s St. Patrick’s Day revelers up to the Bronx to destroy the old stadium in a drunken mess of destruction.

AL Central

Ozzieball enthusiasts, rejoice! Each fan on Opening Day at US Cellular Field will receive their very own Ozzieball baseball. This talking ball plays eight recordings, including a recording of Guillen’s tirade against Jay Mariotti, a lecture on why you should always bunt with a man on first, and a song about the importance of being scrappy. Over the protest of owner Jerry Reinsdorf, Ozzie also named May 1 Venezuelan Heritage Day and ordered 10,000 Hugo Chavez posters to give out. Reinsdorf responded by ordering 10,000 lighters to give out the same day.

AL West

The core of Billy Beane’s baseball philosophy is that fans will always turn out to see a winner, no matter how the team actually gets those wins. With the upcoming season in Oakland looking to be short of wins, Beane has been in overdrive this spring to get fans to come out to the park. After each Saturday game, Eric Chavez will talk with a select group of fans on what’s it’s like to earn $66 million while playing 30 games a season. When Joe Morgan is in town to do a broadcast, he will be hosting Q&A sessions on what trades he would have made if he were the A’s GM these past eight year. Finally, Billy Beane will be giving personal guided tours of the underground facility that is “Moneyball.” This Cold War remnant is composed of 10,000 vacuum tubes, the alternate HAL unit from 2001: A Space Odyssey, and several abacuses for good measure. Fans will witness how Beane manually inputs every data point when determining what trades to make (the abacus hated the Big Three).

Hope Springs Eternal for Softball Wannabees

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla.—The sun-drenched fields of Southern Florida are a welcome change from the dreary grey skies of the District of Columbia. While many of you are enjoying warm, vacation spots during Spring Break, I have traveled south not for rest and relaxation, but for a chance to realize my second and third-grade dream: to be a professional baseball player. The story of how I ended up here amongst the myriad minor league hopefuls and aging veterans begins last summer on the softball fields of New York City.

I had signed up to play for my firm’s softball team on the first day of work, but could barely complete a simple throw from short to first, so I was banished to the outfield. I soon won over the manager with my impressive pop-up catching ability and willingness to lean in to every pitch, rising up to seventh in the batting order. Then one game, it all came together. Due either to my excellent hit placement or the terrible infield defense of the other team, I managed a triple, raising my slugging percentage an amazing .500 points. The next inning, as I was fielding a line drive out in left field, I noticed the runner on second was trying to leg out a run. “Not so fast, my friend!” I yelled. With deadly accuracy, I fired the ball home, and, after one hop, the catcher scooped it up and tagged the surprised runner for the third out.

A Mets scout approached me after the game and told me that the team would be interested in inviting me to Spring Training if Moises Alou somehow got hurt again. One Alou-hernia later, and I found myself on a plane to Florida in pursuit of a dream long thought lost. When I arrived at Mets camp, I was surprised to find that I was not the only former softball player invited to try out. Taking a page from Billy Beane in identifying baseball player market inefficiencies, Mets GM Omar Minaya has determined that the market had undervalued summer softball league players. The resumes of those invited to this grand new experiment (and hopefully the subject of a new Michael Lewis book) read like a sampling of America. There was the young investment banker, the grizzled NYPD detective, the struggling waiter/Broadway actor, the Russian mob wannabe, and the bike messenger.

As we size each other up, Minaya leads us into a conference room where he goes over the details of our tryout. First up is Celebratory Handshakes to test our chemistry with potential teammates. We are each given 30 seconds to develop a routine with Endy Chavez, but some people find this more difficult than others. After Endy slaps our Russian friend on the back, he punches Endy in the face and is promptly escorted off the premises. I had a feeling the rest of the day would play out like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except without the blueberry gum. Next up is a filming session for Jose Reyes’s Spanish Academy. These promos are shown during home games, where Reyes tries to teach the crowd a new Spanish word. Today’s segment is the Spanish word for ice cream, helado. I knew from my previous viewings of these videos that they want the players to mispronounce the word so that they can cut to a clip of Reyes rolling his eyes at our stupidity, so I purposefully butcher my pronunciation. When we finally make out way to the field, only the investment banker and I are left from the original group. He mentions something about hitting a grand slam to win a game last summer, but he shuts up after I tell him I turned an unassisted triple play from the outfield. Clearly he has not honed the art of softball bullshitting.

Out in left field, we are told to alternate fielding balls hit by a double-A kid the team cut earlier that day. The young man’s anger from not making the team is manifested in each of his first 20 hits, which sail over the left field fence. Minaya, having recognized his mistake, sends the greenhorn back to rejoin the team and calls out third base coach Sandy Alomar Sr. to replace him in the batter’s box. The first hit off Senior’s bat rockets towards us and Mr. I-Banker decides he’s going to make a flashy grab. Unfortunately for his face, he has not accounted for the added speed of a baseball, and as he writhes on the grass clutching his bloody face in pain, I motion for a stretcher. Minaya does not seem content to let me join the team by default, so he puts forth the final challenge: I have ten pitches to get a hit off of Johan Santana. Luckily I know a lot about Santana; he is left-handed, he has a changeup, and he is from Venezuela. I take the first three pitches just to see if I can pick up anything from Santana’s windup. No such luck. Having watched three straight fastballs blaze by me, I guess (correctly) that Santana will offer up his famous changeup next. However, his major-league changeup is still a tad faster than the windmill lobs I’m used to, and I swing way too late.

After another six whiffs, I walk off the field dejected after coming so close to achieving my dream. Minaya thanks me for coming to the tryout and told me I would not be going away empty-handed. Hoping for a signed jersey, he instead hands me a Ryan Church bobblehead doll and a Mets metal street sign that says “Miracle Mets Ave.” As I walk over to a nearby garbage can to dispose of my parting gifts, I see a small boy leaning over the fence, baseball and pen in hand. I walk over and sign the ball for the confused tyke, who has no idea who I am. Some day he will.

I’m Not Here To Talk About The Past

With all the attention the presidential candidates have been receiving, it’s only natural that their colleagues in Congress who actually have to do their normal jobs would get jealous. It is times like these that our esteemed elected representatives suddenly discover that they can subpoena prominent sports figures and question them about things that Congress really doesn’t care about. While taking a brisk afternoon walk the other day around Capitol Hill, I happened upon a large pile of discarded boxes, which contained transcripts of Roger Clemens’s and Roger Goodell’s recent meetings with Congress. I’ve excerpted the best parts for your amusement.

Congressman John Tierney (D-MA): Good afternoon, Roger. Thank you for coming to Washington. Do you know why you are here today before the Committee?

Roger Clemens: Yeah, I’m receiving a medal, right?

JT: No, we’re here to discuss your alleged illegal drug use.

RC: Oh, right. That whole thing.

JT: We had Brian McNamee in here earlier and he was quite adamant that he injected you dozens of times with HGH and steroids. He even brought in a bag of old syringes and bloody gauze pads from 2000.

RC: Umm, ok? Doesn’t that seem kind of gross?

JT: He also has photographs of old syringes in a beer can that was taken out of the trash in your New York City apartment. Also, he has skin samples and—

RC: Let me just stop you right there. Are you telling me you are going to believe the word of a man who not only kept a bunch of old syringes in his basement for eight years but also fished a discarded syringe-containing beer can out of the garbage can? Does that seem nuts to anyone in here besides me? You give me a day and I’ll get you a photograph of a bloody knife that I happen to have fished out of Brian McNamee’s garbage can 12 years ago. The very same knife that was used to kill Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman!

JT: Mr. Clemens, I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation here. These are some pretty serious allegations. Do you have anything to say in your defense?

RC: Look, I don’t know how busy you guys usually are, but doesn’t this all seem too much? What are you even going to do if I admit to any of this stuff? Put me in jail? I’m Roger Clemens! I won seven Cy Young awards! My kids’ names all start with K!

JT: Well, if you deny that you used these substances and we find out later that you did use them, then we will charge you with perjury.

RC: Oh wow. So basically you guys want me to lie to you now so you can later charge me with lying?

JT: Our constituents care about the integrity of the game. Your actions are—

RC: Your constituents are all vengeful Red Sox fans who mailed me chopped up Roger Clemens action figures when I signed with Toronto. You can tell them I’m sorry I had to leave Boston, but that was 12 years ago and they need to move on with their lives. They should be celebrating the wonderful season the Pats just had.

….

Arlen Specter (R-PA): Thank you Commissioner Goodell for agreeing to meet with me. As you know, my beloved Eagles lost to the Patriots in Super Bowl 39 and with the recent Spygate accusations, we think that you should further investigate whether the Pats illegally videotaped the Eagles.

Roger Goodell: No, I’m not going to do that.

AS: Why not?

RG: Because there is no evidence of illegal taping, not from three years ago or from this year.

AS: Then what did the Pats actually give you when you requested they turn over all of their alleged cheating materials?

RG: Oh that. No, they didn’t give me anything.

AS: Need I remind you that you are under oath?

RG: No, I’m not. We’re sitting at a table in the International Square food court eating Five Guys. You’re wearing a track suit and you’ve got ketchup all over your fingers.

AS: Look, I’m putting you under oath now, so tell me what happened with those tapes.

RG: Those tapes did not contain any footage relating to football. They were rehearsal recordings of Bill Belichick’s new musical.

AS: Bill Belichick wrote a musical?

RG: I’m afraid so. It is the single worst piece of theater I have ever seen. I vomited three times when he invited me to watch the rehearsals in person.

AS: So this whole Spygate thing was a just a cover so you could destroy Belichick’s Broadway aspirations? No wonder he was pissed off this whole season.

RG: That’s right. I had Eric Mangini catch a fake Patriots cameraman so I could seize everything in Belichick’s office – the scripts, the score - everything. Then I burned it all in a garbage can in an alley in Hell’s Kitchen and dumped the ashes in the East River.

AS: So what was the musical actually about?

RG: It was two hours of Belichick alone on stage, singing songs about Tom Brady and Wes Welker while playing the keytar. Then at the end, he dances with a marionette wearing a Charlie Weis mask. It’s really creepy. Unfortunately, this Matt Walsh character in Hawaii might still have a copy of it, so I’m flying out this afternoon so I can break into his house and destroy this thing, once and for all.

AS: On behalf of the citizens of the United States of America, I would like to thank you for ridding the world of this cultural abomination before anyone else had to suffer through it. You are a true patriot.

You Decide 2k8

As the second-most popular sports columnist on campus (I think), I get a fair amount of feedback from various law students and faculty. However, I was surprised with the flood of emails I received over break (over 700), mostly espousing on how important this column was to various students. One emailer wrote in to say that “as a 1L facing a lot of pressure to do well in law school, your column provides me a bi-weekly dose of sanity. Without your hilarious commentary on sports, I probably would have dropped out after three weeks.” Take that, Dr. Phil! Another student commented that “your column is a shining beacon in the morass of terrible sports columns and legal publications. I don’t even care that it’s not related to pressing law school issues. Don’t stop writing!” Worry no longer, dear reader, for this column will press on even in the face of the toughest adversity and academic criticism. We now resume your regularly-scheduled sports commentary.

While I don’t pretend to be a political maven like some of my fellow classmates, I see definite parallels between sports and politics. It takes a special kind of talent to talk for two hours and say absolutely nothing, to ignore a direct question by changing the subject, or to distract from your own shortcomings by insulting your opponent. Last year I touched on this parallel by imagining how the skills of certain coaches would translate over into the political realm. With the election looming, it’s time to take the opposite look at how our presidential candidates would fare in the world of sports.

Barrack Obama: Bringing in Obama as a new coach is like hiring a college coach with no NFL experience to coach an NFL team. Kind of like how Lane Kiffin replaced the horrendous Art Shell as head coach of the Raiders and led to the team to the playoffs. Oh wait. With a knack for soaring rhetoric, Obama would make pregame locker room speeches a must-see event. However, coaching in the NFL is more than just waxing poetically to the media and preparing your team during the week by saying, “hey, I am here.” You actually have to do work, something I don’t think Obama really understands. By Week 3, he would already be trying to line up another coaching gig with a better team.

Hillary Clinton: Clinton is like Cooper Manning (Eli and Peyton’s brother) except she refuses to sit quietly in the press box while her more successful family members win Super Bowls. Not happy with her job at the family passing academy, she yearns for the big stage. Surely all those late nights spent talking with Bill about how to beat the Cover 2 will translate into major success when she strikes out on her own. I am also impressed that she has sought guidance outside of the Clinton inner circle, as she appears to have enlisted Dick Vermeil as her new mentor.

Rudy Giuliani: Giuliani is the hard-nosed tactician who gets the job done, much like Bill Belichick, and like Belichick, you don’t want to cross the Mayor, as you will then be dead to him if you are in fact still alive after crossing him. If you drop a pass because you are afraid of getting knocked to the ground, Giuliani will go on the radio the next week and insult your three-year old daughter. If you are late to a meeting, he will put a skunk in your locker, steal your playbook, and key your car. And, if you try to steal coaches from his staff after leaving to coach a rival team and then rat on him for videotaping your sideline, he will knife you at midfield during the post-game handshake.

Mike Huckabee: Switching over to baseball analogies for a second, Huckabee is Ozzie Guillen reborn as a guy who was once governor of Arkansas. Rejecting time-tested theories (like not sacrifice bunting on every play and evolution), the Huckster would assemble a team that would dominate the league if the homerun were ever abolished. Valuing such abstract skills as “scrappiness” and “grit,” the lineup would be a modern day Murderer’s Row, featuring such sluggers as David Eckstein, Darin Erstad, and Christian Guzman.

Ron Paul: Paul is the coaching candidate that the students love but the old-guard boosters think is a lunatic. He would have some crazy ideas, like lining up three quarterbacks in the backfield and running the statue of liberty play every down, but in real life, these would probably backfire. His proposal to quit the NCAA would initially be met with quizzical looks but his southern charm and refusal to return donations from white supremacists would quickly win over the student body. Paul’s ultimate goal would be to dismantle the university and have the football team exist as its own entity. Now there’s a man who understands the true nature of college sports!