Casey At The Mike: The Mayor Will Now Don A Headset

“He may, in fact, be another one of those guys who had to scrap and work for every ounce of success he enjoyed on the diamond, yet finds that broadcasting is as easy as turning on a faucet.”

The Mayor isn’t seeking another term. Too bad.

But now, in his new role, everyone will get to hear what so many runners on first base and catchers behind home plate and reporters in clubhouses got to hear during Sean Casey’s 12-year run as baseball’s Mayor.

That was his nickname, The Mayor, due to Casey’s affability and engaging personality. Count me among those whose experienced it, first hand. There was definitely no putting on; no hidden agenda. Casey was simply a nice guy. Period.

Casey retired as an active player this week, and immediately began his new role as a studio analyst for the fledgling MLB Network. If there was ever a ballplayer who was destined to be a chatterbox behind a microphone when he hung up his spikes, it was Sean Casey.

Casey, a Tiger in 2006 and 2007, was a career .300 hitter with average power and a mean glove at first base. His best years were in Cincinnati, but he was the only Tiger who hit a lick in the 2006 World Series loss to St. Louis. He finished up his career last season with the Red Sox.

Casey, we’re told, will give us his two cents worth, and then some, on the Network’s signature nightly show, MLB Tonight, during the regular season. He’ll also appear this winter on The Hot Stove League.

MLB Network has signed itself a plethora of recently-retired players (and not-so-recently-retired) to function as baseball experts on TV. Casey should make the transition from player to broadcaster as easily as physically trading a bat for a microphone. He may, in fact, be another one of those guys who had to scrap and work for every ounce of success he enjoyed on the diamond, yet finds that broadcasting is as easy as turning on a faucet.

I was a little taken aback, frankly, that Casey retired at the relatively young age of 34. He’s not the prototypical first sacker; you know, the one with the thunderous bat and the unmitigating power. But he’s a .300 hitter who can gobble up baseballs defensively, and a left-handed stick. So I’m surprised there wasn’t a market for his services, at least as a part-time player.

But the loss MLB suffers between the lines with Casey’s retirement is a big gain for baseball fans with the MLB Network. I’m looking forward to listening to The Mayor’s analysis.

At least this mayor wasn’t impeached. He stepped down, with honor.

Cards’ Magical Season Will End With A Thud In Tampa

“The Pittsburgh roster reeks of big game players. It’s highly unlikely that they’ll expect to simply flash their colors and expect the Cards to curl up into the fetal position.”

The Arizona Cardinals are a marvelous story. They won an unimpressive division in unimpressive fashion, stumbling terribly down the stretch and getting their brains beat in whenever they dared to venture east of their time zone. They were supposed to get their butts kicked by first the Atlanta Falcons (remember THEM?), then the Carolina Panthers, then the Philadelphia Eagles. You couldn’t have gotten an Andrew Jackson for their Super Bowl chances when the playoffs began.

Yet here they are, in Super Bowl XLIII (aka 43), and once again they’re supposed to lose, this time to the Pittsburgh Steelers. The Cards have proven everyone wrong three times, so why can’t they do it a fourth time?

Alas, they won’t.

I don’t do predictions, mainly because I’m lousy at it. In fact, you might as well click away from this blog right now because to show you my football genius, I had the Eagles and the Baltimore Ravens playing this Sunday. I’m the last person you want to listen to if you have some extra dough and plan on calling a bookie.

But something tells me that I just might be right about this one: Steelers win, to take their sixth (SIXTH!) Vince Lombardi Trophy back to Pittsburgh.

Not exactly an unsafe bet, I know. Most of the oddsmakers agree with me, and by picking Pitt I hardly have dared to be bold.

But it’s not as much of a slam dunk as you think. Once Cinderella hitches up her coach, it can be awfully hard to derail her. The Cardinals, championship-barren since their 1947 title (no, Kurt Warner wasn’t in the NFL back then — that I know of), are 3-0 this post-season. It’s not like they backed into the Super Bowl, as they mostly backed into their West Division title. When teams get on a roll like this, at this time of the year, they often aren’t denied.

So it’s not like the Steelers will roll over these Cinderella Cards. You really shouldn’t bet against any team that has Warner under center. Could be hazardous to the health of your wallet.

But the Steelers aren’t some Podunk, out-of-the-blue team. This is a franchise that tends to reach up and snatch a Super Bowl victory from time to time, and they did it again just three years ago. The Pittsburgh roster reeks of big game players. It’s highly unlikely that they’ll expect to simply flash their colors and expect the Cards to curl up into the fetal position. Bruising, blue collar teams from bruising, blue collar cities don’t do the entitlement thing. Nothing is taken for granted.

So I base my thesis on this: Cinderella doesn’t get derailed all the time, but she DOES, sometimes. And when she does, it can be difficult to watch. The teams that are capable of such a derailment — the ones who scoff at talk of destiny and fate and magic dust — are ones like the Steelers, who are smash mouth and big on defense and disdainful of the media darlings standing across the sidelines from them.

It could very well be that the Cardinals will line up for the opening kickoff and then it will hit them, all at once.

“My goodness, what did we go and get ourselves into?”

This is the Super Bowl, folks. Aside from Warner (and I know that’s like asking Mary Lincoln how she liked the play otherwise, but work with me here), the Cardinals have a bunch of first-timers on their team. Super Bowl rookies. Heck, playoff rookies until just a few weeks ago. The Steelers came to Tampa as if it was their birthright. They’re probably still steaming that it took them THIS long to make it back to another Big Game.

Me thinks this one is going to be ugly at times — sort of like the Ravens’ win over the New York Giants eight years ago. Only, the Steelers don’t have the handicap of Trent Dilfer as their quarterback. Ben Roethlisberger isn’t chopped liver, you know. He has as many Super Bowl wins as Warner does.

I don’t do predictions. But if you kidnap my family and force me to make one, here it is: Pittsburgh 17, Arizona 13.

If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it here.

Forget Talk Of Competition; Lyon Tigers’ New Closer

“Brandon Lyon is the closer, as much as Magglio Ordonez is the right fielder. As much as Gerald Laird is the catcher. And so on. And he should be.”

Beware the Tigers and the talk of competition at the closer job.

There is none.

Sorry to break it to Fernando Rodney, but the only way he emerges as the Tigers’ closer out of spring training is if goons steal into the night at Lakeland, Fla. and abduct Brandon Lyon. And if that happens, check Rodney as your first suspect.

I was confident that the team’s braintrust of GM Dave Dombrowski (some folks on message boards are calling him “Dumbrowski”; that’s not very nice) and manager Jim Leyland wasn’t about to place their job security in the hands of Rodney, who’s about as trustworthy with the ninth inning as Congress is in handling your tax dollars wisely. Too much is at stake for both men.

So, as I thought, they didn’t stand pat. The signing of Lyon to a one-year deal thrusts the 29-year-old immediately into the closer’s role.

Oh, DD and Leyland said some nice things about Rodney — much in the same way as you toss bouquets out to someone who’s announced that they’re leaving the company. Leyland said that Rodney, when healthy, can be quite a pitcher. DD said that Lyon is looking forward to the “competition” (that word again) and that was a big reason why he signed with the Tigers, when some other teams were courting him.

Don’t be fooled by that nonsense.

The Tigers’ closer for 2009 — period.

Brandon Lyon is the closer, as much as Magglio Ordonez is the right fielder. As much as Gerald Laird is the catcher. And so on. And he should be.

Lyon has some history, and while it’s not as extensive as the other big name closers who were available early in free agency, it’s still more impressive than anything Rodney has done in stumbling through the ninth inning around here for the last couple of years.

Rodney cannot be trusted. There’s really no other way to put it. If Todd Jones, who at least got the job done more often than not, was known as the human roller coaster, then Fernando Rodney is the human train wreck. At least with a roller coaster, you end up getting off safely.

DD’s seat has warmed significantly after 2008’s debacle. And, early reports here say that he’s risen to the challenge. Catcher was taken care of, with the acquisition of Laird and the signing of backup Matt Treanor. A new shortstop — the kind with some actual range — was brought in (Adam Everett). A new starting pitcher was acquired (Edwin Jackson). And, after some hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing by the message board scrawlers and talk radio blabbermouths, the bullpen has been addressed. And don’t forget about the low-profile signing of veteran righty Scott Williamson, who has the potential of being that unsung winter acquisition who pays off big time in the summer.

Now all that’s left is to go to spring training and see how everything shakes out. No splashy arrivals of Miguel Cabrera, Edgar Renteria, and Dontrelle Willis. Just some smart, more vanilla-like additions to a team that had holes in the areas that were addressed.

DD isn’t Dumbrowski. He knows which side his bread is buttered on. And he knew darned well what items should have been on his off-season shopping list. February isn’t here yet, and those items have been pretty much crossed off.

That’s not the work of a dumb-dumb.

Curry’s Rookieness Not Helping, But Blame Dumars For Pistons’ Mess

“…it’s almost certain that they will go into the playoffs in a way that they haven’t since 2002: as nothing more than a middle seed that doesn’t figure to make any noise.”

This is all Joe Dumars’s fault, you know.

The Pistons are 24-19. If you take a look at the NBA standings today, you’ll see that such a record is a dime a dozen. The league is filled with teams bobbing over .500 in unspectacular fashion.

So it’s not overdoing it to say that the Pistons, under a rookie head coach, are just another team in the NBA at this moment. I wouldn’t give you more than a few bucks for their chances to last even two rounds in the playoffs this spring.

Of course, that’s just me. In January. Last I checked, the Larry O’Brien Trophy is handed out in June, not in the dead of winter.

But despite the time remaining in the season — almost 40 games — nothing that’s happened in the first 43 has really hinted at the Pistons being anything more than a pretender come playoff time.

Again, blame Dumars, the Pistons president.

It was Dumars, after all, who brought in Michael Curry, with just one year of coaching under his belt (as an assistant), to coach this odd and sometimes maddening bunch. And it was Dumars who upset Curry’s apple cart by trading Chauncey Billups for Allen Iverson, barely a week into the season. And it was Dumars who let ball-hawking defender Lindsey Hunter walk away, when on-ball defense has been a problem at times.

But mainly it was Dumars’s decision to cast a rookie coach into the drama that might prove to be the fatalistic move of the season.

Now, before I get accused of talking out of both sides of my mouth — it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been judged in that manner — let me admit that I thought Curry’s lack of being a big-name player and being relatively fresh on the coaching scene would be a positive.

That was back in July. Now I’d like two minutes for rebuttal.

Curry is falling into the same trap that doomed Flip Saunders (a veteran coach, so there you go): a lack of a consistent rotation. Not to mention the sometimes-we’re small-sometimes-we’re not shuffling of the starting lineup.

Dumars has put Curry in a tough situation, made even tougher by the seemingly endless period of getting used to Iverson, and the emergence of Rodney Stuckey as a bonafide starting point guard.

This might be that season that befells a lot of consistent contenders: the proverbial step back to take that giant leap forward.

Except that, in most of those instances, those teams’ rosters aren’t in flux.

The Pistons could look drastically different within the next 12-18 months. So could a lot of teams. The free agent classes of 2009 and 2010 are game changers. Hell, they’re league changers. Dumars has his eyes on these basketball magicians, some of whom could become Pistons and then ALL bets are off.

Hey, there’s not even any assurances that Iverson, whose contract expires this summer, will be a Piston next season. And after all this getting acclimated time, to boot. Some cynics think that Iverson may not even survive next month’s trading deadline. I wouldn’t bet against them at this point.

This isn’t a throwaway season for the Pistons, even though it looks that way. But it’s almost certain that they will go into the playoffs in a way that they haven’t since 2002: as nothing more than a middle seed that doesn’t figure to make any noise. And maybe that’s not a bad thing; there’s sometimes something to be said for being off everyone’s radar.

The Pistons are a fair-to-middling basketball team grinding it out in the dead of winter, often with so-so results. They are a whopping 10-1/2 games behind the Cleveland Cavaliers in the Central Division. If the playoffs began today, the Pistons would play Game 1 in Atlanta. With a second round date with the Celtics, should they somehow survive the Hawks. It’s not a terribly confidence-inspiring road map back to the Conference Finals.

But like I said, blame Joe Dumars. He can take it. He’s taken an awful lot of credit, after all. He can handle a little dead-of-winter haterade.

The Unknown Coach: Don’t Fear Him, Necessarily

“But Schwartz can coordinate himself some defense, and if there’s anything that was most slapstick about the Lions’ 0-16 season, it was the Swiss cheese defense they put on the field every Sunday.”

Let’s take a little poll.

By a show of hands, how many of you heard of new Lions head coach Jim Schwartz prior to, say, Christmas Day?

I don’t see too many digits wagging. Let’s try by round of applause.

Hmm…awfully quiet in here, isn’t it?

Schwartz is the poor sap Lions management has tapped to transform its wretched football team into something that you can, at the very least, watch with both eyes open. That few people had ever heard of him prior to his name being bandied about in rumors after the season is inconsequential. He’s The Guy. So deal with it.

For the record, Schwartz was the defensive coordinator for the Tennessee Titans. Been that for the past eight seasons. By the numbers, Schwartz has coordinated some of the finest defenses in the NFL. Still, he did so largely in anonymity. Only the most diehard fans keep track of who the coordinators are for every team in the league.

Soon after the 2008 season ended – the Lions sans even one victory throughout the 16-game schedule – coach Rod Marinelli was canned. No surprise there. Then the names started being bandied about.

Schwartz’s kept rolling off the tongues of the so-called NFL “insiders”. The cape of anonymity was beginning to be ripped away from his back.

Defensive coordinator, Tennessee Titans. Even casual fans knew that the Titans have been known lately for having shutdown defenses.

2008 turned into 2009. Shaking off the fuzz of the New Year’s frivolities, more and more Lions fans became acutely aware of Jim Schwartz. He was going to be interviewed, in cloak and dagger fashion, somewhere in these United States.

Other names were mentioned as possible Lions coaches. But none more than Schwartz’s.

Then, on Monday the 12th, the Lions made Schwartz available for the media. He was in town for interview no. 2. This one was going to be with owner Bill Ford Sr. It was becoming more and more evident that this previously unknown assistant coach and little-known defensive coordinator was the Lions’ man. At the press gathering, Schwartz made a joke.

“I think,” he said of the Lions’ quarterback situation, “that it’s time to find a replacement for Bobby Layne.”

Schwartz displayed a key quality needed to coach the Lions: a wonderful sense of gallows humor.

Schwartz, prowling the sidelines as the Titans’ Coordinator of Defense

Then, on Friday the 16th…

“I’m not here to exorcise ghosts of the past,” Schwartz, newly-hired as Lions head coach, said to the throng gathered at Ford Field. It was a nice sentiment, but someone should have broken the news to him: that’s exactly what he’s been brought to Detroit to do. Or else, why bother hiring a new coach at all?

Jim Schwartz has some credentials. He’s worked for a winning NFL program, in the upper level of coaching management. A coordinator position, if it was a beer, would be known as Head Coach Lite.

Don’t always fear the unknown.

In 1983, a well-coiffed gentleman stood before the Detroit media and posed with a basketball. He was dressed to the nines. We’d soon find out that, to Chuck Daly, “casual day” meant you left the hanky out of the pocket.

Chuck Daly: from unknown to Hall of Fame

Daly was unknown, largely. He had been a basketball coach out east, at the college level. He was an anonymous NBA assistant in Philadelphia. In between he gabbed into a radio microphone for a time, analyzing the Sixers games. Then, due to some unfortunate luck, Daly became interim coach of the Cleveland Cavaliers. It was a time when the team was derisively known as the Cadavers.

His record as an interim was 9-32.

And that was his career NBA coaching record when Pistons GM Jack McCloskey tried to sell Chuck Daly to the denizens in town as the answer to the team’s ongoing troubles. It was soon learned that Daly became the Pistons’ coach because a few bigger-named guys turned McCloskey down flat.

I can assure you that hardly anyone knew who the hell Chuck Daly was before he was unveiled to the media in May 1983. Then his resume was printed in the paper, and many of us wished we never met him at all. He appeared to be, at the time, just another sad sack coach breezing through town.

Today, when you walk into The Palace of Auburn Hills and look up, way up, you’ll see a banner with Chuck Daly’s name and symbolic “number” – 2 (for two NBA championships) – emblazoned on it.

The unknown coach hasn’t always worked out. To that, I must admit. And the Lions have had themselves plenty of those types.

Rick Forzano. Tommy Hudspeth. Marty Mornhinweg. Rod Marinelli. They were, after all was said and done, guys who were indeed just breezing through town.

So it’s forgivable and understandable for you to be wary of yet another low profile, no-name guy who’s been brought in to resuscitate pro football in Detroit. I don’t expect handstands and confetti because the Lions hired Jim Schwartz.

But Schwartz can coordinate himself some defense, and if there’s anything that was most slapstick about the Lions’ 0-16 season, it was the Swiss cheese defense they put on the field every Sunday. It was a defense bereft of playmakers, with pass defenders who played as if they were allergic to the football. It was, frankly, a joke.

Still, you’re given a free pass if you snicker and sneer at the hiring of the previously unknown Jim Schwartz. You do, after all, have history mostly on your side.

But what if Schwartz can coach a little bit, and sticks around for nine years or so, like Chuck Daly did with the Pistons?

It’s not like the Lions aren’t due or anything.

Cunningham and Schwartz: Mutual Admiration & Lions History Buffs, To Boot

“Words are just that, I know. But when was the last time you heard an incoming Lions coach — head coach, position coach, coordinator — described as “half crazy”, in a GOOD way?”

Hey, any Lions coach who can invoke Jack Christiansen is OK in my book.

So is any named Gunther.

The Lions’ new defensive coordinator is both. Gunther Cunningham is thrilled to be in Detroit, working with old sidekick Jim Schwartz. He gushed over having the same philosophy as Schwartz (getting to the quarterback, being aggressive, playing limited zone defense) and talked about how the Lions roster, while holey, isn’t a total loss.

Then he spoke to this old curmudgeon when he referenced Christiansen.

Seems Cunningham cut his coaching teeth in the 1970s, working for Christiansen at Stanford. Christiansen is a Hall of Fame defensive back, among the greatest Lions players of all time. And the reunion of Cunningham with Schwartz in Detroit (they worked together for three seasons in Tennessee) appears to have touched the 62-year-old’s heart.

“Now you figure this one out,” Cunningham told the Free Press. “I’m going to the Detroit Lions. Jack Christiansen is in the Hall of Fame and one of the greatest players the Lions ever had. Sometimes you really don’t know what’s in front of you.

“When my wife brought that up the other day, I had some tears in my eyes. Jack gave me an opportunity at Stanford when he was coaching, and I followed the Lions as a young man aspiring to play football. Now to go back to the place he played along with Jim Schwartz is really an emotional thing for me. Maybe this is the way it’s all supposed to be.”

Wow. Talk about playing the karma card.

That’s OK — you don’t see too many coaches come through here and start waxing philosophical about great Lions players from the Golden Age of pro football. Now already two have — Schwartz and Cunningham. Schwartz made his “We need to find a replacement for Bobby Layne” crack when he met the media during the interview process.

So there’s appreciation for the glorious history that used to be associated with the Lions, from the new head coach and the new coordinator of defense. That’s a start.

But what’s truly exciting about Cunningham, aside from the Christiansen mention, is the ferocity that’s associated with him. An unnamed fellow NFL coach said Cunningham is “half crazy.” Schwartz said that, in Cunningham’s world, “It’s always fourth and one.” And Cunningham himself said, “Whether a player likes me doesn’t really matter to me. As long as I have his respect.”

All of that should be music to a Lions fan’s ears.

Words are just that, I know. But when was the last time you heard an incoming Lions coach — head coach, position coach, coordinator — described as “half crazy”, in a GOOD way?

I liked Cunningham’s remark about not caring whether his players like him or not. There’s a lot of Scotty Bowman in there, and that’s not a bad thing.

The Lions have tried the mad man before. He was Mike Martz, the high-maintenance offensive coordinator. But Martz wasn’t half crazy, he was simply crazy. And totally unwilling to bend. Cunningham spoke of how he played zone defense in Kansas City, because that’s what head coach Herman Edwards wanted — even though zone flies in the face of what Cunningham’s all about. You think Martz would defer like that to his head coach?

I have no clue how much better the Lions defense will be next season under the Mutual Admiration Society members Jim Schwartz and Gunther Cunningham. But both of them seem to appreciate where this franchise has been — lo those many years ago — and where it deserves to be, once more. And I’m not so sure that their predecessors have always “gotten” that.

New “Sixth Man” Hamilton Says All The Right Things — For Now

“The hard part is supposedly done: the part where Curry had to tell a starting All-Star that he would now be a Sixth Man All-Star. The part where said starter might have gone sideways and sulked.”

Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Richard “Rip” Hamilton has taken his benching with some aplomb. I must admit, I’m a little taken aback.

Hamilton, the Pistons’ All-Star guard and second-leading scorer, that tireless whippet on the basketball floor, will now join the ranks of the Sixth Men.

He got the news yesterday, as coach Michael Curry finally pulled the trigger — asking Hamilton to come off the bench so that the Pistons may actually start some guys who are bigger than a junior college outfit. The new/old starting lineup consists of Rodney Stuckey and Allen Iverson in the backcourt, with Tayshaun Prince, Rasheed Wallace, and Amir Johnson up front. It supplants the “small ball” version, with Hamilton playing the third wheel, er, guard, and with Johnson on the bench.

A recent five-game losing streak greased the skids to this decision. That, combined with the seven-game win streak that was attained with Hamilton injured, caused Curry to use some math — otherwise known as “putting two and two together.”

The solution? Get bigger — necessitating one of the three guards to sit out the opening tap and maybe even most of the first quarters of games. Curry had his pick of Stuckey, Iverson, and Hamilton. Last week, I wrote that the coach had chickened out when Hamilton returned from his injury, opting to keep the little guys together at the start, rather than break some bad news to someone — likely either Iverson or Hamilton. Curry didn’t have that discussion, and the Pistons lost a couple more games to inferior opponents. That’s when he decided to add two and two together, and bite the bullet.

Curry picked Hamilton for the benching.

The coach used some basketball speak to explain his decision, but it was hard not to think that league seniority had something to do with it. That, and the fact that Hamilton is more of a known entity to Curry.

Can Hamilton provide the Pistons with Microwave-like instant heat off the bench?

And, as I mentioned at the top, Hamilton seems to be taking the news in stride — not looking at it as a demotion.

“That’s how I look at it: Just a sacrifice sometimes you got to make in order to win games,” he told the Free Press this morning. “Bottom line, I want to try to get back to the promise land.”

Then he added this crack: “I got to get my heat packs and I got to tell (strength coach) Arnie (Kander) to bring a bike out there to try to stay warm. It ain’t no more easing into games. By the time I get out there, guys are already going to be warmed up.”

Now, the Pistons can move forward. It is hoped.

The hard part is supposedly done: the part where Curry had to tell a starting All-Star that he would now be a Sixth Man All-Star. The part where said starter might have gone sideways and sulked.

Of course, there’s still plenty of time for that. It’s only January 21. But I give Hamilton high marks for putting his money where his mouth is. You know, that whole “I’m all about winning” thing. But I’m still awfully curious as to how Iverson would have handled such news. We’ll probably never know. Just as well, maybe.

The Pistons have about a month to get their act together. Then, the trading deadline will be upon us. It will be team president Joe Dumars’s last chance to tweak the current roster for the playoff run. The Pistons are on pace to win 48 games or so. Around here, that’s like being a lottery team.

But really, it’s the fifth seed — which means you’re on the road to start the first round. Again, with the Pistons, starting the playoffs on the road is so 1986.

So for now, the deed is done. Hamilton has been told of his new role. The Pistons have 42 games remaining. They’d better be an improvement over the first 40, or else we won’t see very much May basketball around these parts, let alone June hoops.

Curry mentioned great Sixth Men of the past in explaining his move. One of those he invoked was The Microwave — the Pistons’ Vinnie Johnson. VJ won a couple of rings bringing his canned heat off the bench. The inference was impossible to ignore — at least to the media types, and bottom feeding bloggers.

We’ll just have to wait and see if Rip Hamilton got the hint too.

Tigers Need Another Tony Phillips Type

“Looking at the Tigers’ roster today, I don’t see a Gas House Gang type player on it. It leads one to surmise that maybe the Tigers lack some leadership. The self-policing types who’ll keep everyone in line when Jim Leyland isn’t looking.”

It’s an oft-misquoted phrase, but the difference is mainly one of punctuation.

Leo Durocher — Leo the Lip — said it, but he didn’t say it the way you might think.

“Nice guys finish last.”

That’s the way the quote is almost always presented. The truth is, Durocher didn’t quite say it like that.

He was talking about the New York Giants, back when he managed the Brooklyn Dodgers. In a 1946 interview with Red Barber, Durocher was speaking about the theory that teams with good chemistry had a better chance at success than those who didn’t. Leo didn’t necessarily buy that. He noted that the Giants had themselves a bunch of nice guys on their team, but would nonetheless finish last, despite the harmony.

“They’re some nice guys. Finish last, but nice guys.”

That got morphed into “Nice guys finish last.”

You can see where the meaning between the two quotes is considerable.

OK, so why all this slicing and dicing of Durocher’s words?

Regardless of the misquote, I submit to you that the Tigers could use a pugnacious guy or two on their roster. They, too, are filled with nice guys.

Curtis Granderson, who’s about as nice as they get. Placido Polanco, who’s quiet and courteous. Brandon Inge, a real cutup but all told, a nice chap. Carlos Guillen is a fine gentleman. Justin Verlander, Jeremy Bonderman, Nate Robertson: all great guys. And on and on. Don’t forget that they once employed Sean Casey, whose nickname was The Mayor for all of his affability.

The Tigers, though, I think, could use some piss-and-vinegar dudes.

One player who comes to mind is Tony Phillips.

Phillips, a Tiger from 1990-94, was a bundle of energy and, some would say, even anger. He argued with the umpires a lot. He played often times with a scowl. He’d be one of the first to jump into any battle. He was frenetic.

Phillips reminded me a lot of former Pistons point guard Kevin Porter. There was always something nervous about KP, and he frequently seemed bothered by something. Porter didn’t appear to trust anyone, truly.

Phillips was mainly a leadoff hitter for Sparky Anderson in Detroit, and being a switch-hitter, he was pretty much there everyday. He wasn’t a great infielder, but he was serviceable. He would have fit in perfectly with the Gas House Gang, St. Louis Cardinals teams of the 1930s.

Leo Durocher, it should be noted, was a member of that Gang.

Phillips never met a jersey that he didn’t love to dirty. He also never met an umpire with whom he agreed, especially when it came to balls and strikes in the batter’s box. I don’t think Tony Phillips ever took a pitch that he thought was a strike.

At times, Phillips’ anger was counter-productive and maddening. I suspect the umps probably looked at him as the Boy Who Cried Wolf, and maybe even made some calls against him because of his excessive whining. But nobody could accuse Phillips of not caring, of not being a good teammate.

Looking at the Tigers’ roster today, I don’t see a Gas House Gang type player on it.

It leads one to surmise that maybe the Tigers lack some leadership. The self-policing types who’ll keep everyone in line when Jim Leyland isn’t looking. Maybe it was poor leadership that got the Tigers last year when they began to cave under the weight of high expectations.

What’s more, I’m not sure there’s a player the Tigers employ who could even give the Tony Phillips thing a whirl. It would seem so contrary to these players’ personalities.

Performance, obviously, trumps all. But what to do when you need a jump start? Is there a Tigers player who can take the lead? Or are they simply destined to be known as a bunch of talented, nice guys?

They DID finish last in 2008, you know.

Once-Blind Cardinals Finally Find Their Nut

“The Lions are now, officially, by fact, numbers and irrefutable evidence, the most dysfunctional team in the NFL.”

My, my — look who they’re letting into the Super Bowl nowadays. Have they lowered their standards in the NFL?

Another one of the league’s ugly ducklings finally made its transformation to swan. It only took them six decades, but they did it.

The Lions, by that measure, have ten years still to go. But there IS hope.

The Arizona Cardinals are going to the Super Bowl. In uniform and everything; I don’t mean as guests of the league in a private suite. They’re one of the last anomalies of nature: somehow, their metabolism slowed and came to a halt.

There is now one less member of the Never Been To The Super Bowl Club.

Sitting at the table now are the Cleveland Browns, New Orleans Saints, Jacksonville Jaguars, Houston Texans. Oh, and the Lions. In fact, the Lions are at the head of the table. They’re the chairmen of this board.

The Lions supplant the Cardinals now at the head — of the table, that is.

The Cardinals captured the NFC Championship yesterday, their first title of any kind since 1947. They did it with their third straight playoff win, all achieved against conventional thinking. The surprising Atlanta Falcons were supposed to run around, over, and through them. The Carolina Panthers, at home, were supposed to make mincemeat of the desert team who weren’t supposed to be able to win games played in the Eastern time zone. And the Philadelphia Eagles, battle-tested and used to these sort of situations, were supposed to put an end to this Cardinal Mania, for goodness sake.

None of that happened. The Lions are now, officially, by fact, numbers and irrefutable evidence, the most dysfunctional team in the NFL.

The Cardinals used to be that team. Their drought since 1947 was liberally sprinkled with slapstick and foolishness. The owners are the Bidwill family, and that was once as knee-slapping as the Ford ownership in Detroit. The Cardinals tried Chicago, then St. Louis, then Arizona. They tried calling themselves the Phoenix Cardinals for a while, before deciding to indict the entire state.

Their players used to race to the bank, to cash their paychecks, before they bounced. This was the 1950s days of the Chicago Cardinals. They once hired Bud Wilkinson as coach, some 15 years after he coached his last game — in college. Their once-promising quarterback, Neil Lomax, broke his leg and was never the same. They had a player die in training camp of heat exhaustion (JV Cain). They would wear white jerseys at home against the Dallas Cowboys, forcing the ‘Boys to wear blue — thinking that the dark tops would function as the Cowboys’ Kryptonite. Their leading pass receiver was regularly a running back (Larry Centers). They tried Buddy Ryan as coach. Now THERE was some Kryptonite. They lined up against Barry Sanders, who was playing his first game in nine months, without any practice, and gave up a 17-yard run on his first carry.

They have been the league’s vagabonds, nudged out of two cities and a few time zones along the way.

But, the Bidwills have been a constant — the common denominator. Just like the Fords in Detroit.

So what did the Cardinals do right?

Well, they caught lightning in a bottle, which happens from time to time in the NFL. But beyond that, they made some shrewd personnel moves, and had some draft success.

I know, I know — that’s like saying Charlie Brown has a chance, too, if only he’d pick a different holder for his placekicks. And Bill Ford is the Lions’ Lucy Van Pelt.

But that’s what happened: acquisitions of Kurt Warner, Edgerrin James. The drafting of Larry Fitzgerald. And others. And that all-important intangible: getting hot at the right time.

The Cardinals, to be fair and square, were not a great football team all season long. In fact, they were downright awful at times. They might even have had trouble beating the Lions on some weeks. They went into the playoffs as arguably the least attractive girl at the dance.

Now they’ll be boogeying with the Pittsburgh Steelers.

There was a time when the Steelers were ragtag and the Keystone Kops of the NFL. Many of the youngens can’t fathom that; to them, the Steelers have always been good — strong championship contenders. But throughout much of their existence — from the late-1920s to the early-1970s — the Steelers were almost as comical as the Cardinals. Owner Art Rooney, thank goodness, lived long enough to see his team finally win the Big One in 1975.

The Cardinals and the Steelers, for the whole enchilada. Likely not a popular choice in Las Vegas back in September.

Then again, despite as bad as the Lions have been, how many thought they’d pull off the imperfection of 0-16?

It’s tempting and maybe even comforting to say that, if the Bidwills can make it to the Super Bowl, just about anyone can.

That’s pretty much what we’re down to in Detroit: living vicariously through other franchises.

John Smoltz, A Red Sock? Tigers Asleep At The Switch

“They could have gotten off their duffs and brought John Smoltz back home, some 21+ years after coughing him up for Doyle Alexander.”

 

The Chicago Cubs never had the chance to get Lou Brock back. The New York Mets let Nolan Ryan slip through their fingers, and could never right that wrong.

Now the Tigers, our Detroit Tigers, have been revealed as being as fast asleep as Little Boy Blue when it came time to bring closure to their own Brock and Ryan debacle.

John Smoltz is going to pitch for the Boston Red Sox this summer – and maybe this fall – and I have just one question: Where were the Tigers?!

Well, they sport the right colors, the Tigers do: blue.

Blue as in the fictitious Little Boy, who was found dozing instead of looking after his sheep.

A brief history lesson, first. Pay attention, because I’m only going to go over this once. It’s all I can stomach.

The Cubs, in June 1964, traded a young, speedy outfielder to the St. Louis Cardinals, including him in a package for a starting pitcher named Ernie Broglio. The speedy kid was Lou Brock. And as soon as that year’s World Series, he began showing how duped the Cubs had been in the swap.

Brock would play the next 15 years in St. Louis, setting stolen base records, garnering over 3,000 hits, and terrorizing the Yankees, Red Sox, and Tigers (though in a losing effort) in separate World Series – 1964, ’67, and ’68, respectively.

And Ernie Broglio? That’s an easy one – he’s the guy the Cubs got for Lou Brock. And that’s all he ever was. After the trade, Broglio went 7-19 for the Cubs before retiring after the 1966 season.

In December 1971, the Mets packaged some players and shipped them to the California Angels, in order that they could get an infielder named Jim Fregosi. The Mets were sweet on Fregosi, believing he could solve their ongoing dilemma at third base. It didn’t look like a travesty at first blush. Fregosi was an 11-year veteran who played solidly, if not spectacularly, for the Angels. He was a proven big leaguer. And he was still only 29 at the time of the trade.

Nolan Ryan was part of the package cross-countried to the Angels. It’s hard to imagine a time when Ryan was ever young, but he was at the time – just 24 and with only four big league seasons under his big Texan belt.

Ryan blossomed into a superstar with the Angels, throwing no-hitters and racking up strikeouts like Carter’s does pills. And he wouldn’t stop pitching until he was 46 years old, after stops in Houston and the Texas Rangers.

Fregosi scuffled along until 1978, his best years behind him. That’s when he retired and got into managing – 15 years before Ryan threw his last pitch in the majors.

Lou Brock. Nolan Ryan. Two Hall of Famers traded in two of the most lopsided deals in baseball history.

The Tigers didn’t make a trade that bad, but they had a chance to correct themselves belatedly, yet were nowhere to be found.

Smoltz, 41, has pitched for only the Atlanta Braves. Been doing so since 1988. Last week, in a stunning development, Smoltz up and signed with the Red Sox as a free agent. After 21 seasons, Smoltz is switching sides.

That loud snoring you hear is coming from Comerica Park.

The Tigers drafted Smoltz, who was born in Warren, in 1985 and were nurturing him for entry into the big leagues, for his hometown team, when they found themselves in a dogfight for the divisional title in 1987.

A dour, grouchy veteran pitcher named Doyle Alexander was pitching for the Atlanta Braves, and not truly happy about it. The Braves, in those days, scraped the bottom of the standings frequently.

So the Tigers, needing another arm in their tussle with the Toronto Blue Jays for divisional supremacy, were interested when the Braves called about taking Alexander off their hands. All the Braves wanted for Doyle Alexander’s sour puss was that young Smoltz kid. The local boy. The 21-year-old who was destined for the bigs.

The Tigers made the trade.

Alexander did what he was brought to Detroit to do. He went 9-0 down the stretch, with a sparkling 1.53 ERA, and a few weeks after his 37th birthday, the Tigers zoomed past the Blue Jays in the season’s final week.

John Smoltz made his major league debut the following spring, with the wretched Atlanta Braves.

Alexander fizzled out and was out of baseball before 1990.

Smoltz is still pitching.

He made his big splash as a starter, then turned into a closer early in the 21st century because, well, the Braves needed a closer. And Smoltz was willing to help them out in that regard. After a few seasons of saving games – and saving them quite competently – Smoltz went back to being a starter because, well, the Braves needed a starter.

Not too many pitchers can pull off the starter-closer-starter routine in their careers. Smoltz did, with flying colors.

A few weeks ago, it was reported that Smoltz, a free agent, would be open to returning to the Tigers, where it all began for him. The reports said that Smoltz’s sore right shoulder, which caused him to miss the 2008 season after early-June, was healed. Whether the Braves re-signed him or not, the reports said, Smoltz was determined to pitch somewhere in 2009, even though he would turn 42 early in the season.

The Tigers were specifically mentioned – by Smoltz himself. He floated the idea out there for public consumption.

Tigers General Manager Dave Dombrowski didn’t have much to declare about that revelation, even though Smoltz said he’d be willing to go back to the bullpen if necessary. Dombrowski currently presides over one of the worst bullpens in baseball. Yet he was strangely silent about the possibility of bringing Smoltz back to the Tigers organization.

Then, last week, the bombshell: Smoltz would be leaving the Braves, after all, after two-plus decades. And the Red Sox, of all teams, would be signing his paychecks.

Those Little Boys Blue in Detroit barely stirred as Smoltz was inking his signature on a nice, shiny new Red Sox contract.

Lou Brock for Ernie Broglio was never brought full circle. Same with Nolan Ryan for Jim Fregosi. But the Tigers had their chance. They could have gotten off their duffs and brought John Smoltz back home, some 21+ years after coughing him up for Doyle Alexander.

It could have been one of those better-late-than-never sort of things.

Instead, it’s just never.

Sleepyheads.

Trammell’s Lack Of Hall Consideration Appalling

“It’s embarrassing and despicable, what the Hall voters are doing to Trammell’s legacy.”

It’s not a question, anymore, of whether Alan Trammell is a Hall of Famer. Sadly, that debate seems to be getting squashed with each passing year. His chances have pretty much drained away.

What’s of more concern is why he’s been so brutally ignored.

They had the yearly ballotting on Monday, and Rickey Henderson, as expected, was elected on the first try, gathering well over 90% of the votes. Understood. Henderson had over 3,000 hits, and is the all-time base stealer in MLB history.

Jim Rice made it — on his 15th and final appearance on the ballot. Rice’s next chance wouldn’t have come until he was eligible to be voted on by the Veterans Committee.

Rice, it should be pointed out, didn’t slug one more home run, drive in one more run, or gather one more base hit in those fifteen years. Yet he’s a Hall of Famer in 2009, when he wasn’t in 2008, or 2003, or 1999. I’ll leave that one to you to figure out.

I have no problem with Rice, though his career numbers don’t knock your Red Sox off. He was, in his time, one of the more feared hitters in baseball. His brute strength was legendary. This isn’t a Hall prerequisite, but Jim Rice could club a golf ball some 400 yards off a tee. Easily.

You can debate Rice’s qualifications till the cows come home. It would be a fun debate, too, because I believe you could make a strong case both ways.

But back to Trammell.

The former Tigers shortstop was again buried in the voting results, somewhere near the dudes who are clearly not Hall of Famers. It’s getting worse now. It’s almost mean-spirited, the lack of love Alan Trammell gets during Hall voting time.

Forget Lou Whitaker. Tram’s double play partner vanished from the ballot a while ago. He, too, won’t reappear until the Veterans have their crack at him. Whitaker is another who was tossed back into the ocean.

I’ve said it before: if those two played in New York, they’d be in Cooperstown by now. Or, at the very least, they’d be Jim Rice-like — knocking on the door.

I’m torn on Trammell and Whitaker, truthfully. If you play the comparison game — putting their numbers up against Hall members who played their positions — you could make a strong case for induction. But if you play the Wow Factor — that intangible feeling you get when you see a sure-fire Hall of Famer’s name — then I wonder. Then, it becomes more murky.

But as I said at the top, the debate about Trammell’s Hall worthiness is the train that’s left the station. Say goodbye to it, and get comfy while you wait for the Veterans car to come down the tracks.

Why is what Trammell (and Whitaker, for that matter) accomplished scorned so? Whose kid did he slay? Whose corn flakes got peed on?

It’s embarrassing and despicable, what the Hall voters are doing to Trammell’s legacy.

He’s being treated as a commoner, like a Bobby Bonilla or Ron Gant type.

Ok, so Trammell wasn’t Ozzie Smith, in terms of panache or flair. He didn’t do back flips on the field, or have a catchy nickname like The Wizard of Oz. All Tram did was make all the right plays, at all the right times. Substance over style. Oh, and he could hit a bit, too. Before players like Trammell came along, shortstops were chained to the eighth spot in the batting order, just above pitcher. After the DH was enacted, the shortstops routinely took over the pitcher’s no. 9 spot in the order. But after Trammell, and Cal Ripken Jr., and others, and after we saw that shortstops could hit (imagine!), suddenly they were batting cleanup and third and leadoff.

So you can say that Trammell was part of a contingent who changed the game.

But, that and a quarter will get you a cup of coffee, and nothing else, I’m afraid. Alan Trammell won’t be a Hall of Famer — unless it happens many years hence.

It’ll be up to the Veterans Committee to give him some overdue respect. Because he sure never got it from these jokers.

Schwartz Has More To Offer Than Just A Non-M Last Name

“He expected to be a head coach someday, and now it’s here. 0-16 doesn’t faze him. We see a gooey, hideous mess. He simply sees a challenge.”

They put another coach in front of the firing squad today in Allen Park.

Jim Schwartz is the latest one to sign his own walking papers. That’s what you do, you know, when you sign on to be a head coach in pro sports. The clock starts ticking toward your eventual ziggy before the ink dries on your signature.

But that’s just so cynical of me, isn’t it?

First impressions of Schwartz, introduced today as the Lions’ new head coach: not bad. He sounded confident and relaxed. Like this wasn’t his first head coaching job. Like he wasn’t stepping into the doo-doo of 0-16 and a dysfunctional front office. Like he’s done this sort of thing before.

I didn’t get that impression with Schwartz’s predecessor, the beleaguered Rod Marinelli. From the get go, although I liked Marinelli’s military-like persona, Marinelli spoke like he was, well, doing this for the first time. His speech seemed too contrived, too prepared. I didn’t draw the comparison until I heard Schwartz talk, and he was very relaxed and “oh, by the way.”

Of course, Schwartz has been a defensive coordinator for some eight years. You’d expect him to be more polished, frankly. And he sure seems to be.

He even got off a crack.

“If I had known it was going to be this cold here, I would have asked for more money,” he said as the media types laughed.

Hey, if he knew what he was getting himself into, truly knew, he’d ask for a Brinks Truck.

The Lions must have listened to me, for a change.

I implored them to find someone who comes from a winning pedigree, and at the very least from a coordinator’s role. Well, Schwartz would seem to qualify; he learned from Bill Belichick early on, and Jeff Fisher later. He coordinated the Tennessee Titans defense, and did alright. The Titans’ defense was consistently among the best in the NFL. So that’s good.

It remains to be seen, of course, how Schwartz will react once it sinks in: that he doesn’t appear to have as much say-so in personnel matters as many NFL head coaches possess. Also, once it sinks in that tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, aka Martin Mayhew and Tom Lewand, are really the ones in charge. Hopefully, Schwartz won’t become mystified. Check back come draft time.

The Lions’ new head coach, Jim Schwartz, in happier days

But for now, it’s all about Schwartz hiring a staff and beginning to evaluate what he has in Detroit. It’s not much, and he said as much on Monday, when he was propped up before the media as part of his interviewing process. He politely said there were “some holes” in the roster, but was quick to add that many teams have such holes. That wasn’t an easy thing to buy.

When the Lions hired Steve Mariucci, some six years ago already, they created a humongous stage on Ford Field’s turf and Mooch made the long walk from the tunnel, flanked by Matt Millen and Bill Ford Jr. Even Mariucci himself, once he saw what the Lions had created, spectacle-wise, said simply, “Wow.”

Too bad Mooch never lived up to that stage.

This time, Jim Schwartz held a simple, rather brief gathering — in the same spot where Lions coaches speak to the media every week. His demeanor was casual, belying the gravity of the moment. He talked of his growing up as one of nine kids in Baltimore. Not exactly a hard-scrabble life, but certainly not with a silver spoon in his mouth, either. He said his dad would have been disappointed in him if he didn’t take this challenge, because the Schwartzes never shrink from challenges. He talked a little about making his defense all-purpose: able to quell the run and the pass, if need be, based on the opponent. He spoke of becoming big and strong on the football field.

Then, just like that, he was pulled away, after a few innocent questions.

But that’s OK. All intro press conferences of coaches are alike, mostly. But I was still taken by Schwartz’s casualness, and his lack of awe. He expected to be a head coach someday, and now it’s here. 0-16 doesn’t faze him. We see a gooey, hideous mess. He simply sees a challenge.

The grass on the Lions’ side of the fence never looks as brown and as full of manure as we see it from the inside.

So good luck to Mr. Schwartz. For the record, I’m OK with this.

His last name doesn’t begin with M, for one.

It’s a start.

Curry Can’t Play The Chicken Forever

“NBA players aren’t fools, either — even if they sometimes play ones on TV.”

All eyes were on Michael Curry.

How would the Pistons’ first-year coach handle his first genuine playing time/ego massaging crisis? It was written that Curry’s “small ball” lineup wasn’t going to fly much longer, now that the whirling dervish shooting guard Rip Hamilton was healthy and ready to return to the lineup, the Pistons having played very well with Rodney Stuckey, Allen Iverson, Tayshaun Prince, Rasheed Wallace and Amir Johnson as the starters. Someone would have to come off the bench, it was duly reported, so that the big man Johnson could continue to start. Would that benchwarmer be Hamilton or Iverson? Three-time Pistons All-Star and NBA champion, or future Hall of Famer?

Oh, such a decision for a veteran coach to make, let alone a rookie one.

So Curry did what a lot of us who aren’t paid millions of dollars to coach might have done: he benched Johnson, and kept both Hamilton and Iverson as starters.

Curry was staring down a tempest in a teapot, and he blinked.

The small lineup started the game yesterday at home versus Charlotte — an 80-78 Bobcats win. But Hamilton was asked to the bench with barely half the first quarter in the books. Perhaps a sign of things to come.

But it may not be enough, to simply start the small lineup and request either Hamilton or Iverson to sit down a few minutes into the game. Probably not very smart, either. You’re either a starter or you’re not, right?

You can blame Rodney Stuckey for all this, by the way.

The second-year point guard is threatening to turn Chauncey Billups’ last name into “Who?”. Stuckey is blossoming as fast as those flowers do in time lapse photography. One moment there’s nothing there; a few seconds later, you have a fully-bloomed rose. And it happens before your very eyes, even if you can’t quite believe what you just saw.

Curry chickened out, it says here, when confronted with his first real challenge as an NBA head coach. But he can’t keep chickening out. Sooner or later he’s going to realize that it’s probably not best that the Pistons keep this lineup throughout the regular season and into the playoffs. I, personally, have no problem with small ball. But I admit that it might make even me uneasy to attempt to use it through the rigors of playoff basketball.

How Curry handles this situation will go a long way toward determining whether he’s got the goods to be an NBA head coach

Curry explained himself yesterday.

“When we looked at everything with the team, we really liked the way we start the first and third quarter, ’cause in the past it had been a problem with this small lineup,” Curry said. “What we have to do is try to find a way for about 32 minutes of the game to have two bigs out on the court. … Regardless of what group starts and plays throughout the game, we’ve got to continue to get better defensively. And I think everyone understands that.”

OK.

But Curry still chickened out. Doesn’t mean that he’s a chicken by nature, because he’s not — at least he wasn’t as a player. He’s not a player anymore. He’s also not an assistant coach anymore, which is the next best thing to being a player. He’s the head man now, and these are the decisions that head coaches have to make sometimes in the NBA: decide which minutes-gobbling guard to come off the bench. Curry’s no fool; he knows that whatever route he takes, that won’t be the most pleasant of conversations.

NBA players aren’t fools, either — even if they sometimes play ones on TV. They see everything, especially when it comes to playing time and how the coach treats everyone. If they, also, eventually believe that Curry is playing chicken with this Hamilton/Iverson decision, they’ll lose respect for him very quickly. We’re not the only ones watching to see how this plays out.

Curry came to a fork in the road and instead of picking one way or the other, he chose to turn around and head back down the straight path from which he came. You can only do that for so long.

Henderson Goes Into Hall Despite Never Retiring

“He stole all those bases, even though everyone in the stadium knew he was going to be running. He was the thief who laughed at the Brinks Home Security sign on the front lawn.”

Rickey Henderson is going into the Hall of Fame. When he does, will he finally announce his retirement?

Henderson, 50, is as sure of a first-ballot HOFer as you’re going to find nowadays. Over 3,000 hits, more than 1,400 stolen bases. Even though it was tough, for a time, to keep track of whether he was playing for Oakland or the Yankees.

But one thing was certain: Rickey WAS playing, somewhere. He started playing in the big leagues in 1979, and only stopped in 2003 because nobody else would hire him. After his MLB career, Rickey played in the minors. It didn’t matter where, as long as he was playing baseball. And leading off. And stealing bases.

It’s fairly safe to say that whatever mold was used to make Rickey Henderson, it’s been crushed into pieces by now. Probably the moment he made his ‘79 debut, as a matter of fact (he doubled in his first at-bat, and stole his first base one plate appearance later).

Yet Rickey really never did officially retire; not that I know of, anyway. He only in 2007 spoke of it, finally admitting that he was “probably” finished playing.

He was 48 at the time.

I wasn’t a huge Henderson fan, but I respect what he did. We get enraptured with the “walk-off home run”, and rightly so. That wins games, after all. But Henderson became the artisan of the lead-off home run, and those were pretty important, too. They set the tone, and nobody did it better, or as often, as Rickey Henderson. Plus, he stole all those bases, even though everyone in the stadium knew he was going to be running. He was the thief who laughed at the Brinks Home Security sign on the front lawn.

Here’s former big league pitcher Mike Flanagan: “He was, by far, the most dynamic leadoff hitter I’ve ever seen. If you got 2-0 on him, you were fearful of throwing it down the middle because he could hit a home run. But if you threw ball three, he was going to walk, and then he’s on second base. We had many, many long discussions on our pitching staff about how we could control this guy. He was irritating, infuriating and great.”

Irritating, infuriating, and great.

That might be the most apt summary of any player’s career that I’ve ever read.

Welcome to the Hall, Rickey. Even if you never did retire.

Babcock’s Mystique Grows With Success Of McLellan

“Babcock is slowly becoming known as a dean of sorts when it comes to coaching in the NHL. If the Red Wings capture another Cup, this might be his best job of all.”

Some coaches are their own factories.

“Factory” might seem like an odd word to apply to an individual; it’s usually used in reference to universities and their ability to churn out a particular type of football player. Penn State with linebackers, Michigan with offensive linemen. You know.

But what to call the coach who churns out other coaches? A human Pez dispenser?

Returning to football, the genealogy in modern coaching can basically be started by placing Bill Walsh and Bill Parcells at the top of the tree, and trickling the names down their respective branches, until you reach all the assistants and head coaches in today’s NFL.

It may be far too early to anoint Red Wings coach Mike Babcock as a tree starter, but then again, maybe not.

Babcock’s genius — yeah, I’m using that word; so sue me — is that he’s able to keep a very talented and potentially satiated team hungry and interested through the boredom that every 82-game regular NHL season includes. And he does it without having to play twisted mind games, like one of his recent predecessors used to do.

There was the first-year hiccup — that 2006, first-round exit at the hands of the Cinderella-like Edmonton Oilers. Even Babcock himself admitted that he underestimated the level of pressure there was to win in the playoffs in Detroit. Or maybe he overestimated the ability of goalie Manny Legace to carry a team through the post-season. Regardless.

But since then, the Red Wings have regained their status as the most feared and respected team in the league.

The 2007 team was thisclose to making it to the Cup Finals, were it not for a flukey goal at the end of regulation in Game 5 against the Anaheim Ducks. The 2008 team wasn’t seriously threatened beyond the 2-2 tie in the first round against Nashville on its way to the Stanley Cup.

And now? 29-7-5, and just now getting the mojo back. Another 55-60 win season beckons.

Ahh, but what about those San Jose Sharks, you might ask?

We’ll see how much McLellan (above) has learned from Babcock (top) come playoff time

The Sharks are 30-5-5 — ridiculous and Red Wings-like — and their new coach should get a lot of the credit.

The new coach is Todd McLellan, and he’s a Babcock disciple — only adding to Babcock’s genius (yep, I used that word again).

McLellan will be coaching the Western Conference All-Stars in Montreal on January 25, and Babcock will assist him. It’s role reversal from their time together in Detroit (2005-08), when McLellan, along with Paul MacLean, aided Babcock.

Chuck Daly spawned several head coaches in the NBA while he was in Detroit. Dick Harter, Ron Rothstein, Brendan Suhr, and Dick Versace all went on to helm their own teams after leaving Daly’s womb. So we’ve seen it before around these parts.

Funny, but Scotty Bowman wasn’t much of a coach spawner. In fact, hardly at all — and the last Bowman assistant to try, Dave Lewis, has been canned twice within the past three years (Detroit and Boston). Then again, Scotty wasn’t much for grooming coaches. He spent most of his time controlling his players. Whatever works, right? All of his fingers are adorned with championship rings.

Babcock is slowly becoming known as a dean of sorts when it comes to coaching in the NHL. If the Red Wings capture another Cup, this might be his best job of all. It will have meant, from Day One, a commitment to keep the troops from being hungover, and will cement his reputation as a hockey maestro who’s able to keep everyone in tune from September thru June.

If he continues to spin-off coaches onto other teams, his place will be even more secure.

Let’s just hope that McLellan didn’t learn TOO much, come playoff time.

Journeyman Billups, Hall Of Famer? He Has A Chance

“If Billups, who already has one more title under his belt than Iverson, manages to be the guy to lead the Nuggets to their first-ever championship, then Chauncey’s path to Springfield will have gotten a lot less bumpy.”

We already know Allen Iverson’s fate. It’ll involve a speech in Springfield, Mass., sometime within the next ten years, as he is inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame. It won’t matter one lick if Iverson wins his elusive NBA Championship. Won’t matter if his teams never win another playoff game. The dude is going into the Hall, hands down. The Ernie Banks of basketball, but he’ll be in.

Chauncey Billups? Not so sure.

Billups’ legacy has a lot more on the line than Iverson’s, and it’s appropriate to muse about it today, because the Pistons are in Denver tonight — the first meeting between Iverson and Billups since being traded for each other on Nov. 3.

By all accounts, the Nuggets must be thrilled with the deal. They are 24-9 since shipping Iverson, aka The Answer, away. Perhaps “the answer” was to trade A.I. But it’s still way too early to judge this trade, although sports fans are about as patient and reasonable about such things as a hungry child wanting his dinner.

It doesn’t matter what Iverson accomplishes from this point on, but with Billups, he may have a chance to put himself into play when it comes to Hall consideration.

If Billups, who already has one more title under his belt than Iverson, manages to be the guy to lead the Nuggets to their first-ever championship, then Chauncey’s path to Springfield will have gotten a lot less bumpy.

Billups was reduced to nothing more than a journeyman when the Pistons rescued him from Minnesota in 2001. Pistons President Joe Dumars, in an amazing display of clairvoyance, saw in Billups what the menagerie of teams prior to Detroit didn’t: a starting point guard who could be entrusted with running a team without fear of being yanked at the first hint of trouble. The Nuggets, by the way, were one of those teams who had a crack at Chauncey as he made his way through the NBA. They needed two tries to get it right with Billups; Dumars only needed one.

Dumars is in the Hall of Fame for more than just being a fine basketball player.

Billups can really put a stamp on things here. He’s in his hometown, leading the Nuggets to one of their best regular season starts in history. The Lakers and Spurs are still the measuring bar in the West, but Billups has bucked the odds before. He was Finals MVP in 2004, when the Pistons upset the Lakers in what has been called a “five-game sweep.”

If he does it again, and manages to pull the Nuggets through the Western Conference playoffs and into the Finals, that will go a long way in cementing Billups’ place among guards of his generation.

If this photo repeats with Billups in a Nuggets uniform, the Hall may call

Isiah Thomas was no journeyman. Nor was Magic Johnson. Same with Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, and Tim Duncan. They won championships with the teams that drafted them. They didn’t bip-bop around the league, being cut and traded and benched. Journeymen don’t make the Hall of Fame.

Billups would be the first, if some things fall into place for him.

You’d need half the plaque just to list all of his teams, for crying out loud.

Journeymen coaches make the Hall of Fame. That’s been confirmed. Reason? As long as they win, who cares how many stops they’ve made?

So why can’t that theory apply to players?

Chauncey Billups has an opportunity to pave his way to Springfield. We’ll see.

Thirty Years Ago (gasp!), Sparky Changed Detroit Baseball

“Starting in June ‘79, pain wouldn’t hurt, there wouldn’t be enough perfume to make pigs smell good, and newly-acquired players would make their Tigers debut on their very first day.”

He bounded into town, talking about catching lightning in a bottle, raving at the young talent he was inheriting. He hadn’t been out of the game even a year, but he was already chomping at the bit to don a uniform once more and monkey around with lineup cards, batting orders, and to speak in dramatic hyperbole about his players.

Then the Tigers started playing games under Sparky Anderson, and promptly fell flat on their faces.

It didn’t last, though — Sparky’s initial wretched streak of games as Tigers manager. But you can look it up and see that the Tigers were 2-9 in their first 11 games under Sparky.

It was 1979 — 30 years ago, believe it or not — when Sparky Anderson changed baseball in Detroit forever.

I’ve told the story here before, but here goes again.

Sparky was all set to manage the Cubs in 1980, after having been fired by the Reds after the 1978 season. The firing surprised him so much, and left such an indelible mark on him, that Anderson even remembers the room number of the hotel in which he was given the ziggy.

So the Cubs had Sparky wrapped up — or so they thought — to take over in 1980.

But an innocent conversation in Anaheim changed all that.

Tigers announcer George Kell overheard Angels announcer Don Drysdale say that Sparky was looking to get back into managing, and that he had an agreement with the Cubs. Kell told Tigers GM Jim Campbell. The Tigers were being managed by Les Moss, and playing reasonably well for Moss in his first season. But this was Sparky Anderson, and once Campbell learned that Sparky was looking to manage again, Campbell got some ideas.

Several pestering phone calls later, Campbell managed to convince Sparky to ditch the Cubs and come to Detroit, forthwith. Within days, Sparky was announced as Tigers manager. It was June, 1979. He stayed for 16-plus years, winning a couple of divisional titles and one World Series.

And Detroit was introduced to Sparky-ese.

Sparky’s Hall of Fame plaque; yes, that’s a Reds cap

Kirk Gibson was “the next Mickey Mantle.” The 1980 Tigers would “win 90 games, easily.” Chris Pittaro would force Lou Whitaker, no less, to switch positions. Torey Luvollo was the best thing since sliced bread, or at least Cal Ripken, Jr.

Starting in June ‘79, pain wouldn’t hurt, there wouldn’t be enough perfume to make pigs smell good, and newly-acquired players would make their Tigers debut on their very first day.

It wouldn’t be all fun and games, though. There was the bottoming out of the team in 1989, leading to Sparky taking a leave of absence, just to get away from it all. The relationship between he and the Tigers brass changed, for the worse, when Mike Ilitch bought the team. After the team canned Bo Schembechler as president, Sparky started playing out the string in Detroit. Hence his decision to depict himself in a Reds cap when his Hall of Fame plaque was chiseled. That was a real slap, considering how disappointed he had once been with the Reds.

Thirty years ago, this June. The calendar really won’t stop for us, will it?

Lions’ Ugly Betty Coaching Job Could Be An America Ferrera

“The Lions are going for coaching on the cheap again. They are taking their seat at the NFL’s poker table with laughably fewer chips than their colleagues who are also in search of a new head coach.”

 

The Lions really do have an attractive job to offer potential head coaches. No, really, they do. Too bad they keep trying to make it as ugly as possible.

The Lions’ coaching job, under the right circumstances, is like America Ferrera: out of makeup, it’s pleasant to look at. But the Lions are making it into America’s alter ego, Ugly Betty.

This is what the Lions have to offer, before they uglied it up: a ravenous fan base; lots of salary cap money; excellent team facilities; nowhere to go but up; the opportunity to write a job ticket for life, in Detroit or elsewhere, if successful.

Here’s what the Ugly Betty version is: a wretched roster with little say in its makeup; no big-time money; a front office with 0-16 odors all over it who is resistant to hiring a bona fide football guy.

The Lions are going for coaching on the cheap again.

They are taking their seat at the NFL’s poker table with laughably fewer chips than their colleagues who are also in search of a new head coach.

They’re setting themselves up for another Marty Mornhinweg or Rod Marinelli disaster — aka hiring a guy who wants to be a head coach in the NFL in the worst way. Well, that’s what you would be, in Detroit, under these circumstances: a head coach in the worst way.

It apparently isn’t ugly enough that the roster is severely talent challenged. Not ugly enough that the personnel input is apparently not going to be there in full force. Not ugly enough that the new guy has to work under what will be a three-man committee, two of whom are part of a regime that has orchestrated a 31-97 record (4-12 avg.) since 2001.

The sad thing is, the Lions’ coaching job could be very much America Ferrera and not Ugly Betty.

Money. Authority. Control. The Big Three as far as NFL head coaches are concerned. Ironic that a team whose city is synonymous with the Big Three automakers can’t come close to offering the Big Three to its next head coach.

The Lions keep getting it wrong.

The Lions’ head coaching job (left) as it could be; the way they’re portraying it (right)

They gave Monte Clark the fancy title of Head Coach and Director of Football Operations in 1978, but GM Russ Thomas was still around, and so that title was largely a snow job on Monte. As long as Thomas, a close friend of Bill Ford Sr., was still in the Lions’ employ, there wasn’t going to be TRUE power for the coach.

They gave Bobby Ross some power, but his players confounded him. He committed a self-ziggy in 2000, and if you read anything about Bobby, you’ll find out that he considered doing the same thing at San Diego and, before that, at Georgia Tech. He quit at Army, too. Bobby tends to get flustered and want to vamoose. But the Lions apparently either didn’t know that or didn’t care when they hired him in 1997.

Before and in between there’s been a lot of hiring on the cheap: Rick Forzano, Tommy Hudspeth, Mornhinweg, Marinelli. They threw a lot of dough at Steve Mariucci, but did little to no due diligence on Mooch, either.

If reports are true that the Lions are interested in Stanford coach Jim Harbaugh, then the situation becomes even more slapstick. You can count on one hand how many college coaches have successfully made the transition to the NFL, and you’d have at least one middle finger left over.

The Lions are trying to do this major, major reclamation project in the same manner that a man shows up to a gun battle with a knife. And they’re setting themselves up to slicing their own throats. Again.

Grandy Somehow Has Avoided The All-Star Team; No Such Luck in 2009

“Granderson, first of all, is the artisan — the only consistent artisan — of the most exciting play in baseball, the triple.”

Curtis Granderson will be an All-Star in 2009.

There — at least THAT’S out of the way.

May as well declare it now. No sense waiting till spring training, much less Opening Day. Put him on the ballot or don’t; one way or another, Grandy will be on the American League team. Tampa Bay manager Joe Maddon, who will select the AL reserves, will have no choice in the matter. Granderson’s numbers will be too good to pass up.

I know — file this under the “Tell me something I DON’T know” category. My telling you that Granderson, the Tigers’ centerfielder, will be an AL All-Star this season is hardly earth-shattering news. It may not even be Detroit-shattering. But I wanted to be the first one to confirm it, some three months before they throw the first pitch that matters.

Granderson, first of all, is the artisan — the only consistent artisan — of the most exciting play in baseball, the triple. Getting a runner into scoring position is nice. But Granderson gets himself 90 feet away from home plate, and that is even better.

Yeah, he can go get it, too

He’s not Mr. Base Stealer, as you would hope for from a leadoff hitter. But why bother with a single and a stolen base, when you can cut through all that red tape and land yourself on third base with one swing of the bat?

There’s the defense, the just-right home run power. I don’t have to tell you.

But I bring this up because it’s amazing, to me, that Granderson has found himself on the outside looking in since 2006 when it comes to the All-Star team. His selection in 2009 will be his first. Hard to believe, but it’s true. Of course, the flip side is that it will hardly be his only one; look for consistent appearances from no. 28.

If there was an All-Star team based on accessibility, niceness, and overall goodwill, Granderson would be perennial. He’s one of the few players whose stellar play struggles to match his stellar persona. Usually it’s the other way around.

I just hope that the baseball fans in Detroit realize and appreciate what they have in centerfield. That piece of real estate should be Curtis Granderson’s, and his alone, for the next ten years. All-Star games and everything!

Millen, Unlike Vitale, Doesn’t Own Up To His Failure

“If there were other forces at work, then Millen, as the boss, certainly had the authority and wherewithall to eliminate them, or at least dilute them.”

Maybe it’s all going to come out in the book.

Wince if you will, but if former Lions president Matt Millen were to write a book about his experiences, the copies would fly off the shelves in metro Detroit.

A book might be in the works, because Millen isn’t saying much publicly.

He had a chance on NBC over the weekend, posing as a studio analyst, when he was hit with some queries about that 31-84 record the Lions posted under his watch.

He was about as revealing as an Amish belly dancer.

I won’t even bother to summarize the quotes; I’m sure you’ve read them. But they boil down to this: “I’m to blame.”

All together now — DUH!!

Millen hinted that other forces were in play, but that to reveal them would be like making excuses. Riiight.

Millen's cryptic remarks fall woefully short

There was another instance when a square peg failed in a round hole in Detroit, but that peg never shied away from telling us why he didn’t fit.

Dick Vitale pulled a reverse Millen — or rather, Millen pulled a reverse Vitale. Dickie was a coach and de facto GM, then became a TV blabbermouth. Matt Millen did it backwards from that, but both were unmitigated disasters.

You could almost argue that Vitale’s damage was greater in scope, simply because he was in charge of the Pistons for such a short period of time. Yet he set the franchise back a decade. No joke.

Dickie became coach in 1978, won a power struggle shortly thereafter with GM Bob Kauffman, then was, in essence, his own GM. Vitale made trades like you and I used to do with bubble gum cards. He was fired in November 1979, some 18 months after he was hired. In his wake, he left the Pistons talent-less, bereft of draft choices, and light years behind the Boston Celtics, thanks to his bad bubble gum trades.

But Vitale took his indictment like a man. A loud man, but a man nonetheless. He knew it wasn’t enough to simply blame himself. He expounded.

“I tried to do too much too soon,” Vitale has said in the past. And this: “I wasn’t patient. Mr. Davidson did me a favor by firing me. I might have killed myself.” Dickie was talking about his own physical well-being. And this: “Red Auerbach owes me a couple of those championship rings, I think.”

Point being, Vitale has gone on record many times about his failure in Detroit. He was a college coach who had no business being on an NBA sideline, much less in one of its front offices. And he knows it. He makes no bones about why he didn’t get the job done. He never made cryptic remarks about other forces or hinted that there was more to the story than met the eye.

Matt Millen had total control over everything football while he worked for the Lions. Like Vitale, he was left unsupervised, with no checks and balances whatsoever. To even suggest that there could be “other things” that were going on that contributed to his 31-84 record is absurd. If you’re the boss, then you’re the boss. The only thing that could fall under the category of “other” would be incessant butting in from owner Bill Ford Sr. And I find that highly suspect, save for a few “suggestions” here and there. You think that the reclusive Ford is, at the same time, the REAL wizard behind the curtain, pulling the knobs and pressing the buttons? Please.

If there were other forces at work, then Millen, as the boss, certainly had the authority and wherewithall to eliminate them, or at least dilute them. He had hiring and firing power. He could have tossed out any bad apples. But do you recall a bunch of firings during his tenure, aside from some coaches? Any scouting or personnel purges? Me neither.

So maybe Millen is, indeed, going to write a book about his time with the Lions.

The thing is, where will they place it? Fiction or non-fiction section?

Ford’s Shaky Lions Ownership Began With Ousting Of Winner Wilson

“Ford wasn’t owner of the Lions very long before he managed to alienate one of the best coaches ever to roam a Detroit sideline.”

Coaches are hired to be fired. With that, I’m sure no one can argue. Even if they’re minding their own business as assistants one moment, and thrust into the big chair the next.

It’s convenient and handy to tap an assistant on the shoulder and say, “OK, Charlie – your turn now.”

The Pistons were terrific at that, back in the day. It was a repeated cycle, every couple of years or so, back in the 1960s and ‘70s. They’d fire the head coach, then promote from within. Then that dude would get canned some two years hence, and another anonymous assistant would get the gig. And so on.

Ray Scott described his ascension to the head job this way, after being tabbed to replace his boss, the deposed Earl Lloyd.

“Bittersweet. Like watching your mother-in-law drive over a cliff in your new Cadillac.”

Why bother with the hassle of interviewing candidates and doing due diligence, when your next sucker is already in employ?

Yet sometimes this route can hardly be avoided.

I’m not sure if George Wilson was in attendance the night that his boss, Buddy Parker, quit the Lions. Someone older than me who should know has the answer to that question, I’m sure.

But whether he was there or not, Wilson surely must have been taken aback when he was, in an instant, made the Lions’ head coach in 1957.

Parker was speaking at a pre-season banquet – one of those affairs designed to get the denizens of the city fired up about the upcoming football campaign. And it was there that he dropped his bombshell.

Citing a perceived inability on his part to properly motivate and control his players, Parker – who led the Lions to championships in 1952 and ’53 and a runner-up finish in 1954 – told the stunned banquet audience that he was committing a self-ziggy: he was quitting as Lions coach. Right then and there, despite coming off a 9-3 season in 1956.

Wilson was handy, as one of Parker’s trusty assistants. There wasn’t really any time to look for a replacement, so there you are.

It worked out pretty well, after all. The Lions won the 1957 championship, with a backup quarterback (Tobin Rote, subbing for the injured Bobby Layne) and a backup coach (Wilson).

Parker ended up as coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1958. Apparently he found those players easier to motivate and to control. Oh, and he traded for a new quarterback early in that season – fleecing the quarterback’s former team in the process.

Bobby Layne followed Parker to Pittsburgh, mysteriously and abruptly traded by the Lions a couple games into the season. And Bobby, legend has it, cast a spell on the Lions, allegedly declaring that they wouldn’t win another championship for at least the next 50 years.

Yeah, you’re right: that trade happened fifty years ago, and then some.

Wilson had a down year in ’58 as the Lions suffered from a championship hangover, and tried to deal with the shocking cashiering of their football and drinking leader, Layne. The record was 4-7-1.

But by 1960, the Lions were winners again. From ’60 to ’64, the team’s overall record was 38-26-4. This included a terrific 11-3 mark in 1962, when Wilson’s rapport with his players was at its zenith. Defensive tackle Alex Karras once called Wilson, in retrospect, one of the finest men he’s ever known.

Then Bill Ford Sr. got involved.

From front to back: Lions QB Bobby Layne, head coach Buddy Parker, and assistant George Wilson look on at the Briggs Stadium action

Ford became sole owner of the Lions in 1964. It’s tempting to just end it right there, leaving you with the stale, “And the rest is history.” The rest, yes – but first there was the start of the rest.

Perhaps it was the desire to play with his new toy. Maybe it was some sort of Napoleonic way of asserting power. Regardless, Ford wasn’t owner of the Lions very long before he managed to alienate one of the best coaches ever to roam a Detroit sideline.

Ford told Wilson after the ’64 season that certain assistants would have to be fired if he was to keep his job as head coach. And Wilson mulled it over, decided that he wasn’t going to do that to his loyal staff, and told Ford to shove it. Wilson, too, committed a self-ziggy.

Harry Gilmer became the Lions’ new coach. He lasted two tumultuous seasons, the last of which ended with Harry being pelted with snowballs by the Tiger Stadium crowd after the season finale.

Ford had another chance to get it right, though. And he did, promoting another assistant. This time it was Hall of Fame linebacker Joe Schmidt, who was just one year into his new career as linebackers coach when he became yet another assistant minding his own business who was thrust into the spotlight.

Schmidt stumbled at first, then displayed a real flair for this head coaching thing. His Lions teams became a league power, built, as expected with Schmidt at the helm, on a terrific defense. There was a playoff appearance in 1970. It was no cakewalk when you played the Detroit Lions.

Until Schmidt lost a power struggle with GM Russ Thomas and committed his own self-ziggy, in 1973.

Ford hasn’t gotten it right since, really, when it comes to picking a coach.

The Lions are in need of another coach, right on schedule. They last about three years or so anymore. The last man with any real tenure was Wayne Fontes, who survived eight-plus seasons as head coach. There’s great indictment in the realization that Fontes’ below-.500 era is now looked at fondly by today’s Lions fans as the salad days of Detroit pro football.

This week and next, Ford’s newly-promoted minions – President Tom Lewand and GM Martin Mayhew – will fly across the country, interviewing candidates to take over their mess of a football team. They are the ones entrusted to do what Ford himself has been unable to do for over four decades: find the right man to coach the Detroit Lions.

Yet Ford had himself two such men: George Wilson and Joe Schmidt. He ticked off one, and disappointed the other – so much so that they told Ford to take his job and shove it.

If only Ford would pull a Buddy Parker, huh?

Larsen Bucked Superstition During His ‘56 World Series Gem

“Don Larsen, the pitcher himself, working on a perfect game, no less, in the World Series, brazenly and openly talks of the possibility of doing it while the game is going on. So wrong on so many levels, according to baseball tradition.”

The MLB Network debuted yesterday. It’s 24/7 baseball, and why not? Other sports are doing it, so the national pastime may as well, too.

They kicked things off with a re-broadcast, on kinescope, of Don Larsen’s 1956 World Series perfect game. Mel Allen and Vin Scully behind the microphone. Two cameras. An occasional “super” — old-time TV talk for graphics — of a player’s name as he came to the plate. No replays. Yet there WAS excellent crowd ambience caught (you could practically hear the peanut vendors), probably due to baseball’s reliance on radio, which was in love with crowd mikes in order to provide atmosphere.

Countless Hall of Famers played in that Series, too many to mention.

Yet one who didn’t make the Hall — didn’t even come close — had the best day of them all, and maybe ever in a World Series.

“A lot of guys had a good day. I had a little better one,” Larsen said with a smile as he sat with Yogi Berra and Bob Costas, the three of them ruminating on the game from time to time as it progressed.

If you want proof that baseball superstitions are a bunch of hooey, look no further than Larsen’s perfection in Game 5 of the ‘56 Series.

Years ago, narrating a movie about the game, Larsen revealed how his words and actions flew in the face of baseball’s unwritten rules.

Even today, if a pitcher is working on a no-hitter, announcers are loathe to mention it. Teammates are scared to death of being seen anywhere near that pitcher in the dugout. Nobody says a word. Been like that forever.

But here’s Larsen: “About the seventh inning, I went up to Mantle, and I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be something if I got a no-hitter?’ He looked at me like I was insane, and moved away from me.”

I love it.

An enduring image: Larsen hugs Berra after perfection in ‘56 Series

Don Larsen, the pitcher himself, working on a perfect game, no less, in the World Series, brazenly and openly talks of the possibility of doing it while the game is going on. So wrong on so many levels, according to baseball tradition.

Yet Larsen bucked that tradition and completed the perfect game anyway. But it did nothing to stop the superstition. When Justin Verlander pitched his no-no in 2007, FSD announcers Mario Impemba and Rod Allen blatantly refused to mention the ongoing effort.

Jack Morris, pitching a no-hitter in Chicago in 1984, was being tormented by a White Sox fan throughout the game, near the Tigers dugout. The fan kept mentioning the no-hitter, hoping to jinx Morris. After he finished it, Morris sought out the fan and yelled, “THERE’S your no hitter!” I think Jack added some more colorful language, too.

But I think it’s awesome that Don Larsen either defied superstition or simply was naive to it. Either way, he stood up to the baseball gods and won.

Yes, Blackhawks Are Still In The NHL — And They’re Not Going Away Anytime Soon

“It’ll be terrific if the Blackhawks, with their young and impressive talent, are, indeed, back in the league. The NHL needs as many Original Six teams to be successful as possible. For these are still the game’s core fans, and they are spread all over the country — Detroit’s especially.”

It was a classic sports line, often imitated but never duplicated.

The utterer was New York Giants manager Bill Terry, and he was speaking of the teams who might challenge his club for supremacy in 1934. Terry listed a few teams, none of which were the Brooklyn Dodgers. A reporter asked him if he feared the Dodgers.

“I was just wondering, whether the Dodgers were still in the league?,” Terry said to chuckles.

I’ll imitate the line, yet again, right here.

“Are the Blackhawks still in the NHL?”

Yes, they are. It’s finally been confirmed.

The Red Wings and the Chicago Blackhawks haven’t played each other in a playoff series since 1995, when Detroit edged past them in five games, on the way to the Stanley Cup Finals. Game 5 was a thriller, an overtime heart-stopper at Joe Louis Arena. Slava Kozlov’s goal catapulted the Wings into the Finals, where they would be swept in that infamous series with the New Jersey Devils.

The Blackhawks haven’t won the Cup since 1961. It’s now the longest Cup-less streak in the league — 47 years and counting. Remember, the Wings’ streak was “only” 42 years when they finally broke it in 1997.

So it was fitting that Bobby Hull — and Ted Lindsay — were on hand to drop the ceremonial first puck yesterday at Wrigley Field, prior to the NHL’s Winter Classic. The two of them represent hockey of that early-1960s era, Chicago-Detroit style, and Teddy represents both. Lindsay and Hull were actually teammates for several years after Jack Adams traded Lindsay to Chicago in 1957. But Lindsay retired (for the first time) in 1960, missing out on the ‘61 Cup.

Also fitting is that today’s Blackhawks are competitive again, just in time for this year’s winter showcase game. They’re still in the league — big time.

Chicago and the NHL have been strangers lately. Oh, the Blackhawks have been in the league, but in the same manner that the Lions have been in the NFL. Not even their presence in the Red Wings’ division has sparked any juice, because until last year, the Blackhawks were no match for their midwestern rivals.

It’s not a real rivalry if one of the teams keeps kicking the snot out of the other.

Last season, the Blackhawks won the first four Detroit-Chicago matchups, and it raised eyebrows and invited questions. Namely, why can’t the Red Wings beat these guys, when they’re handling everyone else with relative ease? In the second half of the season, the Red Wings began to figure the ‘Hawks out, but the gauntlet had been dropped: these aren’t your father’s Chicago Blackhawks.

But they ARE trying to be your grandfather’s Blackhawks.

Patrick Kane is one of the new leaders of Chicago NHL hockey

It’ll be terrific if the Blackhawks, with their young and impressive talent, are, indeed, back in the league. The NHL needs as many Original Six teams to be successful as possible. For these are still the game’s core fans, and they are spread all over the country — Detroit’s especially. And they, in turn, help others get interested in the NHL.

The Boston Bruins are doing their part. Don’t look now, but they’re the best team in the NHL, point-wise, thanks to a current 10-game winning streak. The New York Rangers are in first place. The Montreal Canadiens are second, behind the Bruins. Only the Toronto Maple Leafs are playing below a .500 clip. So that’s five of six Originals playing very good hockey. Commissioner Gary Bettman must be ecstatic. And he should be.

Strangely, the Red Wings and Blackhawks don’t really have that much of a playoff history, in terms of anything beyond some first or second round series in the late-1980s and early-1990s.
The Final Four matchup in ‘95 was the first meaningful series between the clubs since the 1960s, when just qualifying for the playoffs meant you were automatically in the Final Four.

But that doesn’t discount the importance that a healthy Blackhawks franchise holds for the league, and for the fans in Detroit. Think of it: an actual divisional opponent that you can get excited about! Much more compelling than anything the teams in Nashville, Columbus, and St. Louis can offer.

The Chicago Blackhawks are still in the NHL. It’s just been confirmed, despite their 0-2 mark against the Red Wings this week, and 0-4 this season. It isn’t a guaranteed two points anymore when you play Chicago; you have to bring your “A” game. In fact, you have to do that when you play all of the Original Sixes, save Toronto.

It’s about time, eh?