Rick Reilly — recycling a piece he did a few years ago, but we’ll let that slide since I’ve been known to recycle myself — has laid out all of the things he’d do if he were put in charge of baseball. Anyone who knows just how much I love Rick Reilly will know how happy I am to have his suggestions. Let us exalt them, shall we?
First his preamble:
I personally find baseball so crushingly boring I would happily plunge knitting needles into my eyes to avoid another snap zoom of Joe Torre’s nostril hairs. But my buddies like it, so I sit and watch with them. And bitch.
And with that we now have license to ignore anything Rick Reilly ever has to say about baseball from now until the end of time. At least if we weren’t ignoring him already. I mean, you don’t have to be a cheerleader to write about a sport, and in fact, it’s probably better that you not be one, but when you come out and admit that hate your subject in such stark terms, you’ve pretty much abandoned the moral high ground.
On to his suggestions:
We’ll put in a pitch clock. The reason baseball is slower than cold honey tipped over is that there’s no clock when men are on base.
I’m with Reilly when it comes to wanting to move the game along, but that’s because I like to see a good crisp game. I get the sense that Reilly’s suggestions are to simply get the game over with because, like he said, he hates baseball. In any event, his complaints appear to be more about the batter (i.e. the calling of time, the adjusting of equipment) than the pitcher. To that I’d say that rather than introduce a dumb clock, why doesn’t Commissioner Reilly simply insist on stricter enforcement of Rule 6.02 which clearly gives the umps the ability to tell a batter to get bent if he asks for time for no reason? This, combined with a strict enforcement of Rule 8.04 (“When the bases are unoccupied, the pitcher shall deliver the ball to the batter within 12 seconds after he receives the ball”) would probably be better than putting a game clock on the field.
Once a week, every player signs autographs for 10 minutes by the dugout. Don’t tell me you’re too busy, Mr. Seven-Car Garage. I’ve seen you elbows-deep in the clubhouse porn stash.
Does Reilly ever go to games? Most players — at least most of the players whose autographs anyone wants — spend a lot of time signing stuff before games. Indeed, players seem far more generous with their time in this regard than they were 15-20 years ago.
We’ll bring in Olympic testing. Saying “baseball players cheat” is like saying “wolves like hamburger.” In the Small-Balls era, nobody — not the players, not the owners, not the writers — tried to stop it. Where were all these books when we needed them? But when I bring in the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) — and let it test anytime, road or home — we’ll finally see who’s faker than Octomom’s lips.
Nice timely reference there, Rick. Got anything about Monica Lewinsky? You certainly had time to come up with those kinds of jokes back in the 90s when you weren’t writing anything about steroids. Oh, forgot, you wrote this hard hitting cover story about Mark McGwire (“Mr. McGwire: your home run chase seems to have the momentum of a runaway freight train. Why are you so popular?”).
If you’re 0-for-4, the crowd picks your at-bat music. Is it my fault if they choose “Nothing From Nothing” by Billy Preston?
Nah, it’s not your fault, Rick. Those crazy kids are suffering so badly from Billy Preston-mania that they can’t help themselves.
The National League will get the DH. No more pitchers swinging a bat at a ball the way Paris Hilton swings a shovel at a moth.
My God. This dude is paid how many hundreds of thousands of dollars of year to write one 800 word column a week, and he still can’t make a remotely current pop culture reference worth a damn? And screw you for wanting the DH in the National League. I’ll accept (before rejecting) such arguments from people who know and care a bit about baseball, but I won’t hear it from dilettantes like you.
We’ll fine more players. The NFL fines guys $5,000 for not having their socks right. Nuggets forward Kenyon Martin got a $25,000 fine for shoving a guy. But often, Selig yawns when pitchers throw 95 mph retaliation beanballs. You want to brain a guy just because he stood in the box after his moon shot? Okay. We’ll fine you until your kids end up in public school.
I’m fine with raising the fines somewhat, but I don’t come at it from the position of wanting on-field decorum to match that found in the NFL and the NBA. No reason.
Umps will be in charge of rainouts year round, not the home team. I’m sick of seeing a full house soak for two hours 59 minutes waiting for the manager to get word from his owner to call it, just because the greedball wants to sell more $9 beers. We’ll put Double Doppler 9000 in the umps’ room, and they’ll decide in under an hour.
I actually have no quarrel with this one.
Balls that hit the foul pole are foul. Duh.
Duh yourself. However misnamed they may be, the foul poles are a vertical extension of the foul lines. Are you suggesting that balls that hit the chalk are foul too?
A prospect won’t be allowed to enter an MLB farm system until he’s the age of a college sophomore, just like in the NBA. Over the years, I’ve noticed most baseball players are dumber than toe lint. This is because many of them report to the minors even before graduating high school.
Rick, do you really want to push the line that someone should be prevented from pursuing their chosen profession because they’re dumb? Because I don’t think that bodes well for you, my friend. At least an 18 year-old ballplayer does some things well.
And most important, if you’re the dweeb fan on your cell behind home plate waving at the camera, the rest of your section gets to pour beer down your shorts.
Again, no quarrel.
Now shut up and watch the game.
Look, I realize that Rick Reilly is the five-time winner of the Buckeye Newshawk award or whatever it is, but if I ever become this bitter while being highly paid to do something as wonderful as write about sports for a living, I implore you, shoot me in the temple and end my misery.
(thanks, I think, to Richard Dansky for pointing me towards this lazy, hateful dreck)