Back when I collected baseball (and football) cards, there was an insert card in a set of Score baseball called "Boys of Summer." Pinnacle football also released a card set called "Men of Autumn." Back then, at the tender age of 10, I actually asked myself why they made the distinction, because there was an entire month and a half period that the seasons overlapped -- the beginnings of the NFL and the MLB playoffs. Sure, the majority of baseball's season is over spring and summer, but when do the boys of baseball really prove themselves?
This burning question has come back up recently because of Dane Cook's commercials ("There's only one October"). If you haven't seen these commercials (read: if you have been living under a rock for the past three weeks), basically what happens is Dane Cook gives a spiel about players who prove themselves in the playoffs, or young stars who will step up and make a difference this October. As hokey as this whole thing is, it's not nearly as bad as the "Mookie Wilson, Andre Dawson, Cecil Fielder - Simply Awesome" days of baseball's Catch the Fever campaign, and it actually got me to thinking: are the Boys of Summer and the Men of Autumn playing the same sport? The answer I've come up with is a resounding Yes.
There are proven, outstanding players who have never won a championship in all sports. These are the Boys of Summer -- the players like Barry Bonds, Ted Williams, Ernie Banks, Ty Cobb, Nolan Ryan and Tony Gwynn. They had chances, although not too many, to win their championships, to become the Men of Autumn, the men who turned in clutch performances and led their team to a ring. In short -- they're the guys who got outdone. As great as they truly were, either they didn't come through or they didn't have the team around them to win it all, despite their best efforts.
And that's a shame, because these great players really should be thought of as true heroes of baseball. However, there are those who overtook them by becoming those Men of Autumn -- players like Billy Hatcher, Scott Brosius, Don Larsen, Joe Carter, Jack Morris, Derek Jeter, Enos Slaughter, Al Kaline, Reggie Jackson-- the ones who came through, whether it was a timely home run, a game-saving defensive play, a perfect game, or simple, consistent hitting throughout. These are the true heroes -- not the ones who put up stat after stat after stat -- winning countless batting titles, hitting .406, setting a stolen base record, striking out 5,000 batters. Ask any player if they'd rather have the records they've achieved -- or whether they'd rather have a championship. I don't think you'll find anyone who doesn't pick the championship.
You can pile up stats until the Expos come back to Montreal, and it won't matter. 760? 800 home runs, Mr. Bonds? Where's your ring? Ask Rickey Henderson how it felt going 9 for 19 (with three stolen bases) in the '89 series against the Giants? Ask how he felt with his teammates when they won the Series. Sure, he is the leadoff home run and stolen base king. But that's what happened in the summer. Autumn is a different time of year, built for different records, different personas and brand new heroes. Each year, they come out -- someone comes through, and someone has that postseason that makes everyone take notice. He may not even win the World Series MVP, and he may not get that personal recognition of hitting number 756, or stealing number 939, but he will get his ring, and his team will go down in history as champions.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Fall of the Classic
Where have all the classic films gone?
Are we even in an era that is capable of making classic films, or is society too fragmented to allow for a single film that will appeal to everyone? Social commentary fades away more with each breath. The fact of the matter is, the best film of 2004 (Crash) was a torpid attempt at best. It was Hollywood trying to say, "See, everyone? We can still make movies about society. We can still talk about racism and corrupt police, and -- no, seriously. We're a lot better than you thought. Please don't stop going to the movies."
It spelled everything out. It didn't create characters the viewers actually cared about. There are no Charles Foster Kanes anymore, no Terry Malloys, and certainly no Annie Halls. The closest thing to a solid social commentary within recent memory was Brokeback Mountain, and it was so divisive that half the people it could have had an effect on boycotted it because it was about gay men. "But CWSA," I hear you say. "Isn't that what a truly classic film does? Doesn't it create differing viewpoints and spur discussion, and open up controversy?" And I am here to tell you, Yes. That is exactly what a classic film does. However, there is no educated discussion here. There is no actual controversy. There is a large portion of the populace covering their ears and humming while the world goes by. Movies like Brokeback Mountain are supposed to open people's eyes, add a new perspective to the argument. Problem is, people don't want to know this new perspective. They have their opinions, and nothing is going to change that. They want to remain ignorant, thinking they already know what it's about and they already disagree with it. Somehow, Citizen Kane, through a knock-down-drag-out fight with the production company, managed to get released, managed to give its opinion in a subtle, brilliantly crafted way, and changed people's minds. That can't happen now.
Today, Brokeback Mountain just gets tossed off as "That Gay Cowboy Movie." It's so much more than that. It's the discussion of the belief that homosexuality is not a choice. Mostly, though, it's a discussion about the nature of love. The complications, the questions it raises, the societal conflicts -- it's all about love, but because the lovers in this film happened to be two men, it became a movie about gayness to the public. In a partisan society, with an issue that divisive, it made the true point of the film moot.
So what's to say that there can be a movie that can make a difference right now? People seem to miss the point of the truly brilliant. They say it's too weird, or it doesn't make sense, or who cares? It doesn't have a happy ending. It's not romantic or sweet. It doesn't scare you on a direct level. Movies are losing their effect. The reason for that is the decline of the importance placed on subtlety. Standards are lowering. Minds are going to waste. The movies that are getting made have explosions or gunfights (even some of the good ones -- to try to attract more people), raunchy sex scenes, or dick and fart jokes. (BRING IT BABY! YEAH!)
Now, I love explosions, car chases, gun fights, dick and fart jokes, and raunchy sex scenes as much as the next guy. They definitely have their place, and I'm not saying that all movies these days are worthless. There is definitely value in entertainment, in engrossing storytelling, in cheering people up. Here's the thing -- a couple years ago, there was a truly outstanding film that had: raunchy sex, gore, fistfights, gunfights, more raunchy sex, mobsters, the works. This film is "A History of Violence." This movie was remarkable. Every single element had its place -- from one sex scene, a truly loving, tender (but still sexy as hell) relationship between spouses, to the later sex scene, a raw, conflicted, violent, dirty fucking on a staircase. The difference between this film and the other recent movies of its ilk is the establishment of character, the importance of each element of plot. This film changed the idea of what a sex scene should be. While most stories use the sex scene as a culmination of previous events, "A History of Violence" uses the two sex scenes to indicate a change in the main character. Character in and of itself seems like a lost art in cinema.
Another movie that uses character exceptionally well is American Beauty. This is as close to a contemporary classic as I have seen -- at least in terms of the public. There have been other films that many people have respected, enjoyed, or hailed as brilliant -- but there has not been as open a discussion as there was for this film. The beautiful thing about this movie is that it appealed most to those that it criticized -- suburbanites. It was marketed in a way that suggested a sexy comedy (most notably the "you want to have ten thousand of his babies" scene as it appears in the trailer). Tons of people saw this movie, and many came out of the theater not having seen what they expected to see. What they DID see was an intense, complicated emotional film that showcased the vain, horrible life of suburbanites, brought to life by Chris Cooper, Annette Bening, Kevin Spacey and Thora Birch (wonderful performances, all). It openly tore at the fabric that the middle class had worked together to weave over the last century -- and for that, it was hailed as revolutionary. Those who didn't like it still respected it.
The only issue is that THAT was 1999. It's been 8 years. Politics have changed. Our government has changed. Our country has been attacked. As a result, we guard our opinions far more closely. We don't let people we don't know tell us what to think, or even suggest it. Is there room in the minds of Americans for an opinion they don't already have? Maybe someone can break this. Maybe someone can reach the minds of the mass-consumer. I don't know how they'll do it, but hopefully, someone will figure it out.
Are we even in an era that is capable of making classic films, or is society too fragmented to allow for a single film that will appeal to everyone? Social commentary fades away more with each breath. The fact of the matter is, the best film of 2004 (Crash) was a torpid attempt at best. It was Hollywood trying to say, "See, everyone? We can still make movies about society. We can still talk about racism and corrupt police, and -- no, seriously. We're a lot better than you thought. Please don't stop going to the movies."
It spelled everything out. It didn't create characters the viewers actually cared about. There are no Charles Foster Kanes anymore, no Terry Malloys, and certainly no Annie Halls. The closest thing to a solid social commentary within recent memory was Brokeback Mountain, and it was so divisive that half the people it could have had an effect on boycotted it because it was about gay men. "But CWSA," I hear you say. "Isn't that what a truly classic film does? Doesn't it create differing viewpoints and spur discussion, and open up controversy?" And I am here to tell you, Yes. That is exactly what a classic film does. However, there is no educated discussion here. There is no actual controversy. There is a large portion of the populace covering their ears and humming while the world goes by. Movies like Brokeback Mountain are supposed to open people's eyes, add a new perspective to the argument. Problem is, people don't want to know this new perspective. They have their opinions, and nothing is going to change that. They want to remain ignorant, thinking they already know what it's about and they already disagree with it. Somehow, Citizen Kane, through a knock-down-drag-out fight with the production company, managed to get released, managed to give its opinion in a subtle, brilliantly crafted way, and changed people's minds. That can't happen now.
Today, Brokeback Mountain just gets tossed off as "That Gay Cowboy Movie." It's so much more than that. It's the discussion of the belief that homosexuality is not a choice. Mostly, though, it's a discussion about the nature of love. The complications, the questions it raises, the societal conflicts -- it's all about love, but because the lovers in this film happened to be two men, it became a movie about gayness to the public. In a partisan society, with an issue that divisive, it made the true point of the film moot.
So what's to say that there can be a movie that can make a difference right now? People seem to miss the point of the truly brilliant. They say it's too weird, or it doesn't make sense, or who cares? It doesn't have a happy ending. It's not romantic or sweet. It doesn't scare you on a direct level. Movies are losing their effect. The reason for that is the decline of the importance placed on subtlety. Standards are lowering. Minds are going to waste. The movies that are getting made have explosions or gunfights (even some of the good ones -- to try to attract more people), raunchy sex scenes, or dick and fart jokes. (BRING IT BABY! YEAH!)
Now, I love explosions, car chases, gun fights, dick and fart jokes, and raunchy sex scenes as much as the next guy. They definitely have their place, and I'm not saying that all movies these days are worthless. There is definitely value in entertainment, in engrossing storytelling, in cheering people up. Here's the thing -- a couple years ago, there was a truly outstanding film that had: raunchy sex, gore, fistfights, gunfights, more raunchy sex, mobsters, the works. This film is "A History of Violence." This movie was remarkable. Every single element had its place -- from one sex scene, a truly loving, tender (but still sexy as hell) relationship between spouses, to the later sex scene, a raw, conflicted, violent, dirty fucking on a staircase. The difference between this film and the other recent movies of its ilk is the establishment of character, the importance of each element of plot. This film changed the idea of what a sex scene should be. While most stories use the sex scene as a culmination of previous events, "A History of Violence" uses the two sex scenes to indicate a change in the main character. Character in and of itself seems like a lost art in cinema.
Another movie that uses character exceptionally well is American Beauty. This is as close to a contemporary classic as I have seen -- at least in terms of the public. There have been other films that many people have respected, enjoyed, or hailed as brilliant -- but there has not been as open a discussion as there was for this film. The beautiful thing about this movie is that it appealed most to those that it criticized -- suburbanites. It was marketed in a way that suggested a sexy comedy (most notably the "you want to have ten thousand of his babies" scene as it appears in the trailer). Tons of people saw this movie, and many came out of the theater not having seen what they expected to see. What they DID see was an intense, complicated emotional film that showcased the vain, horrible life of suburbanites, brought to life by Chris Cooper, Annette Bening, Kevin Spacey and Thora Birch (wonderful performances, all). It openly tore at the fabric that the middle class had worked together to weave over the last century -- and for that, it was hailed as revolutionary. Those who didn't like it still respected it.
The only issue is that THAT was 1999. It's been 8 years. Politics have changed. Our government has changed. Our country has been attacked. As a result, we guard our opinions far more closely. We don't let people we don't know tell us what to think, or even suggest it. Is there room in the minds of Americans for an opinion they don't already have? Maybe someone can break this. Maybe someone can reach the minds of the mass-consumer. I don't know how they'll do it, but hopefully, someone will figure it out.
Summer
It is August 13 in the early morning. Baseball is done for the night. The Yankees have a share of the lead for the AL Wild Card, and have gotten within 4 games of the Boston Red Sox for the AL East lead. It reminds me of players when I was in high school. Jim Leyritz seemed like he struck out or hit into a double play every time he was up, until the Yankees were down a run and there was a runner or two on base. Mariano Rivera wasn't letting anyone do anything. Bernie Williams was quietly producing in every situation, and Scott Brosius was hitting crucial home runs.
In 1996, and from 1998-2000, the New York Yankees were a real life baseball movie. The difference: they were never the underdogs. They weren't the Chicago Cubs in the ridiculous "Rookie of the Year" or the Indians of "Major League." They weren't the lovable pack of scamps and screwups that made good against all odds. They were consummate professionals. They didn't need a miracle. They didn't need a trick play. The only thing the New York Yankees needed was the chance to come through. And then they did. Yankee fans rejoiced, and Red Sox fans tried to keep from crying.
Now it's 2007, and the Yankees haven't won a championship since 2000. They've been thwarted by bloop singles, dominant pitching performances by rookies, last year's upstart Tigers, and one bloody (?) sock. There has been one question that Yankee fans have asked themselves and each other for the last seven years: what happened?
Now, the Yankees are the team that started miserably. They were counted out, cast aside, written off (whatever you want to say). They have become the movie team, the group of young bucks and grisled veterans, and a couple of flashy superstars who didn't seem to live up to their expectations. Everyone had seemingly given up on the Yankees, or expected them to make some sort of blockbuster trade that mortgages their future in the vain hope that the new players would propel them to the playoffs. Instead, it was an all-too-familiar face combined with a couple of fresh ones that bring this rag-tag group of disgruntled superstars back into contention, leaving fans to wonder if this is going to be a fairy tale ending, or if it's "wait until next year" for the seventh straight time.
Roger Clemens hit Alexis Rios with a pitch earlier in the week. He got tossed, and so did Torre, but watching the intensity that Clemens brings to the game, it becomes impossible to deny the effect that he has had on the Yankees. Right now, Clemens is 4-5 with a 4.00 ERA in 72 IP since his first start on June 9, when the Yankee's record was 28-31. Since then, The Bombers are 38-20. Rocket's return turned the Yankees into a .500 ballclub at the All-Star Break at 43-43.
So what happened? How have the Yankees regained their form? There isn't any danger of the franchise being moved, or any of the players being cut. There isn't some disadvantaged child who prays for angels to help the team (like "Angels in the Outfield"). There isn't an owner who wants to get rid of them in order to save money. So, how did this team get to be 23-8 since the midsummer siesta?
The answer is Youth, but it's a different kind of youth than the budding superstardom of Alfonso Soriano, or the high upside of Juan Rivera. This isn't the inconsistency of Ted Lilly, Jeff Weaver, or Andy Phillips. This is Robinson Cano, Melky Cabrera, Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. Now, Cano and Cabrera have been here before. They have been there for the heartbreak of seeing their season end too early. Now, they're determined. They know that they are as big a part of the success of the team as Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter. Hughes and Chamberlain, the prizes of an excellent Yankee minor league pitching staff, have come up in lieu of that blockbuster trade. They realize the responsibilities they've been given at their young ages, and their stuff is up to the challenge. All these guys are getting healthy and hot at the same time, along with Matsui, Jeter, and the rest of the Yankees. That's why they're 23-8 since the break.
Now the thing is, that's not what has brought the magic back. After watching footage from inside the Yankee dugout, there is something there that I haven't seen since the wonderful run of 98-00. There is genuine, heartfelt enthusiasm. There is fun. There is this exuberance that these youngsters have brought to the team -- this added flair. The superstar version of Alfonso Soriano never really felt like a teammate. He always felt like trade fodder. And of course, away he went to make way for A-Rod on the roster. The thing is -- by keeping from making these deadline deals, bringing in a ringer to propel this team to glory, Brian Cashman chose to do something he hadn't tried in a few years: trust his players. Now, the Yankees have a real team to work with -- a group that isn't going to have to worry about former rivals snaking their way into a clubhouse. Instead, Cashman went out and got a roleplayer (Wilson Betemit), and got rid of a guy with a bit too much of a mouth on him (Scott Proctor).
This season, we are watching more of a Yankees team than we have seen in quite a long time. We are seeing the players come together and stick together, as evidenced by Roger Clemens. We are seeing the game played with a sense of both urgency and fun, best exemplified by Melky Cabrera and Robinson Cano. And we get to see the emergence of the future of the Yankees in the devastating stuff of Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. For the first time since 2000, we get to see a team of Yankees, not a group of guys in pinstripes.
In 1996, and from 1998-2000, the New York Yankees were a real life baseball movie. The difference: they were never the underdogs. They weren't the Chicago Cubs in the ridiculous "Rookie of the Year" or the Indians of "Major League." They weren't the lovable pack of scamps and screwups that made good against all odds. They were consummate professionals. They didn't need a miracle. They didn't need a trick play. The only thing the New York Yankees needed was the chance to come through. And then they did. Yankee fans rejoiced, and Red Sox fans tried to keep from crying.
Now it's 2007, and the Yankees haven't won a championship since 2000. They've been thwarted by bloop singles, dominant pitching performances by rookies, last year's upstart Tigers, and one bloody (?) sock. There has been one question that Yankee fans have asked themselves and each other for the last seven years: what happened?
Now, the Yankees are the team that started miserably. They were counted out, cast aside, written off (whatever you want to say). They have become the movie team, the group of young bucks and grisled veterans, and a couple of flashy superstars who didn't seem to live up to their expectations. Everyone had seemingly given up on the Yankees, or expected them to make some sort of blockbuster trade that mortgages their future in the vain hope that the new players would propel them to the playoffs. Instead, it was an all-too-familiar face combined with a couple of fresh ones that bring this rag-tag group of disgruntled superstars back into contention, leaving fans to wonder if this is going to be a fairy tale ending, or if it's "wait until next year" for the seventh straight time.
Roger Clemens hit Alexis Rios with a pitch earlier in the week. He got tossed, and so did Torre, but watching the intensity that Clemens brings to the game, it becomes impossible to deny the effect that he has had on the Yankees. Right now, Clemens is 4-5 with a 4.00 ERA in 72 IP since his first start on June 9, when the Yankee's record was 28-31. Since then, The Bombers are 38-20. Rocket's return turned the Yankees into a .500 ballclub at the All-Star Break at 43-43.
So what happened? How have the Yankees regained their form? There isn't any danger of the franchise being moved, or any of the players being cut. There isn't some disadvantaged child who prays for angels to help the team (like "Angels in the Outfield"). There isn't an owner who wants to get rid of them in order to save money. So, how did this team get to be 23-8 since the midsummer siesta?
The answer is Youth, but it's a different kind of youth than the budding superstardom of Alfonso Soriano, or the high upside of Juan Rivera. This isn't the inconsistency of Ted Lilly, Jeff Weaver, or Andy Phillips. This is Robinson Cano, Melky Cabrera, Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. Now, Cano and Cabrera have been here before. They have been there for the heartbreak of seeing their season end too early. Now, they're determined. They know that they are as big a part of the success of the team as Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter. Hughes and Chamberlain, the prizes of an excellent Yankee minor league pitching staff, have come up in lieu of that blockbuster trade. They realize the responsibilities they've been given at their young ages, and their stuff is up to the challenge. All these guys are getting healthy and hot at the same time, along with Matsui, Jeter, and the rest of the Yankees. That's why they're 23-8 since the break.
Now the thing is, that's not what has brought the magic back. After watching footage from inside the Yankee dugout, there is something there that I haven't seen since the wonderful run of 98-00. There is genuine, heartfelt enthusiasm. There is fun. There is this exuberance that these youngsters have brought to the team -- this added flair. The superstar version of Alfonso Soriano never really felt like a teammate. He always felt like trade fodder. And of course, away he went to make way for A-Rod on the roster. The thing is -- by keeping from making these deadline deals, bringing in a ringer to propel this team to glory, Brian Cashman chose to do something he hadn't tried in a few years: trust his players. Now, the Yankees have a real team to work with -- a group that isn't going to have to worry about former rivals snaking their way into a clubhouse. Instead, Cashman went out and got a roleplayer (Wilson Betemit), and got rid of a guy with a bit too much of a mouth on him (Scott Proctor).
This season, we are watching more of a Yankees team than we have seen in quite a long time. We are seeing the players come together and stick together, as evidenced by Roger Clemens. We are seeing the game played with a sense of both urgency and fun, best exemplified by Melky Cabrera and Robinson Cano. And we get to see the emergence of the future of the Yankees in the devastating stuff of Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. For the first time since 2000, we get to see a team of Yankees, not a group of guys in pinstripes.
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