Cheating in Baseball, Explained

Sadly, the hubub caused by Sammy "Corky" Sosa has died down.
The country has moved on to other things: the deaths of Huey and Dewey Hussein over in Iraq, the pending recall of the California governor, the Kobe Bryant rape case.

Still, we had hoped that when the Cubs hit Houston last week Sosa would be razzed unmercifully by the fans in right field for sullying the National Pasttime with his unscrupulous act of using a "corked" bat.

Didn't happen.

We later realized, in an article in "The Week" magazine, that cheating in baseball has a storied and colorful history.

It turns out, cheating is just part of the game.

It's just a boys-will-be-boys sort of thing, nothing to get discombobulated about.

Proudly, the Houston Astros have been in the thick of the fun.

There may be no crying in baseball, but there is CHEATING.

Says "The Week":

Why do baseball players cheat?

The national pastime is a game of supremely balanced opposing forces. Nanoseconds and millimeters can mean the difference between a Hall of Fame career and a ticket back to the minor leagues. To hit a typical major-league fastball, the batter must decide whether to swing his bat, and precisely where, just .13 of a second after the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand. If he swings .001 of a second too late or too early, he’ll hit the ball poorly and probably hit a fly ball, popout, or groundout; if he swings .003 of a second too late or too early, he’ll miss the pitch entirely. Pitchers make it harder by throwing curves, sliders, split-fingered fastballs, and other pitches that change direction in flight, dipping and darting past the bat. “You’re damn straight, hitters cheat,” says Dan Gutman in his book It Ain’t Cheating If You Don’t Get Caught.

How long has this been going on?

Cheating has been part of baseball from the very beginning—and pitchers and fielders have been just as guilty as hitters. The Baltimore Orioles of the 1890s, led by their rabidly competitive third baseman John McGraw, used to hide baseballs in the tall grass of the outfield. When opposing hitters drove a ball over the Orioles’ heads, they’d throw a hidden ball back to the infield, holding a surprised batter to a single. At third base, McGraw grabbed opposing runners’ belts to delay them; later, as a manager, he once ordered his pitchers to try holding the ball with just three fingers, to see if they could mimic the sharp curveball thrown by hurler Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown, who lost some digits in a farm accident. It didn’t work. “It’s lucky for you fellows it doesn’t,” said McGraw, “because if I thought it did, I’d have a surgeon out here tomorrow.”

What is the most popular trick?

Since baseball’s earliest days, it’s been the spitball, a pitch with countless aliases: dew drop, goo ball, gunk ball, the wet one, the damp delivery, and the old meatball. To throw a spitball, any lubricant will do—saliva, Vaseline, mud, or grease. The trick is to make the ball slippery so that it squirts out of the hand like a watermelon seed, with none of the normal backspin that makes the ball cut straight through the air. The spitball jerks about at the whim of air currents then drops suddenly as it reaches the batter. “If it’s a good ’un,” Brooklyn Dodger pitcher Preacher Roe once said, “it drops like a dead duck just as it crosses the plate.”

How hard is it to hit a spitter?

If it’s a good ’un, it’s fairly close to impossible. That’s why baseball banned spitballs way back in 1920. The disappearance of the feared greaser suddenly tipped the scales in favor of hitters, and marked the beginning of the home-run era dominated by Babe Ruth. Over the years, pitchers found ways to circumvent the prohibition on doctoring the ball. Some hid a dab of petroleum jelly on the bill of their cap. Some put a smudge of grease on their sleeve. The notorious spitballer Gaylord Perry, who won 314 games and a place in the Hall of Fame with ample help from the forbidden pitch, experimented with baby oil, axle grease, and fishing-line wax. “I reckon I tried everything on the old apple but salt and pepper and chocolate-sauce toppin’,” Perry admitted.

Aren’t cheaters ever caught?

Occasionally, yes. Perry, for example, was once thrown out of a game for throwing wet pitches—at the age of 43, after years of loading up the ball. Other pitchers have been caught with thumbtacks, nail files, and sandpaper, for producing scuffballs—pitches that break sharply because of uneven surfaces. In 1987, an umpire grew suspicious of the way (former Astros) Joe Niekro’s pitches were darting back and forth. As Niekro emptied his pockets, and raised his hands in the air in a “Who me?” gesture, an emery board fluttered to the ground. Niekro was suspended for 10 games. But more often than not, rule breakers get away with their crimes—including the 1951 New York Giants, who won a pennant by cheating.

How did they do that?

The Giants were trailing the Brooklyn Dodgers by 13 games that season when they installed a spotter with a telescope behind the center-field fence. The spotter read the catcher’s signs, and used a buzzer to signal whether the next pitch was a fastball, curve, or change-up. A relay man tipped off the batter with hand signals. Once the system was installed, the Giants went on a long winning streak and tied the Dodgers. In the game that decided the pennant, Bobby Thomson hit a ninth-inning home run off Ralph Branca to beat the Dodgers—“the shot heard round the world.” Asked 50 years later whether he’d been tipped to Branca’s pitch, Thomson offered this unconvincing response: “I’d have to say more no than yes.”

A new way to cheat

In the modern era, baseball players seeking an edge have changed their focus from tinkering with balls and bats to altering their own bodies. Players today weigh, on average, 20 pounds more than they did just 30 years ago, and it’s almost all muscle. A host of current and recently retired players, from David Wells to Jose Canseco to Curt Schilling, say that anywhere from 20 to 50 to 75 percent of players illegally use steroids to build their bulk, so they can hit the ball harder and amass more home runs. “Look at all the money in the game,” former major leaguer (and ex-Astro 3rd sacker) Ken Caminiti told Sports Illustrated last year. “A kid got $252 million. So I can’t say, ‘Don’t do it,’ not when the guy next to you is as big as a house and he’s going to take your job and make the money.”

Larry Dierker's Book and the Funniest Story Therein

(RATED R)

A long time ago, around the 1980s, the Houston Chronicle hired a journalism expert to assess the readabililty of its staff's prose.

The expert had a special formula that he used to measure who could write and who couldn't.
It turned out the writer who scored one of the highest, if not THE highest, readability scores was Larry Dierker, the former Houston Astros pitcher, broadcaster and field manager. At the time, he was writing a regular column for the paper's sports section while working as a color man on team broadcasts.

Since Dierker already has shown himself to be more literate than the average retired professional athlete, it shouldn't be a surprise that his new book, "This Ain't Brain Surgery: How to Win the Pennant Without Losing Your Mind," is as fluid as his delivery to the plate once was.

Simon & Schuster published it.

It's an enjoyable read if you're a fan of baseball, and more than enjoyable if you've followed the Astros since their birth in 1962.

Clearly, Dierker didn't want to write a tell-all book, like his old teammate Jim Bouton did in "Ball Four."

Even so, he could not resist one target -- play-by-play announcer Milo Hamilton, his broadcast partner for many years.

Right off the bat Dierker establishes that his pairing with Hall Of Fame broadcaster Hamilton was a baseball version of The Odd Couple. Dierker gives Milo his due near the end of the book, praising him for his tireless work ethic, but before that he tweaks his partner's many idiosyncracies, mostly notably his vanity.

The funniest anecdote, it turns out, is in the introduction of the book.

Dierker, known by Astros fans for his fondness of Hawaiian shirts, began wearing the colorful garb after suggesting in a baseball broadcast that the sad sack Astros didn't seem to be having any fun.

"Not enough Hawaiian shirts," Dierker told his TV audience, promising that he would be wearing his the next night.

Dierker quickly replaced his usual coat and tie, then asked his brother in California to send him more Hawaiian apparel, as the selection in Houston was lacking. When the new shirts arrived, one was decorated with depictions of the old woodie station wagons that became popular with surfers back in the 1940s.

This gave Dierker an idea.

He figured that Hamilton, who's considerably older, likely had no idea that "woodie" is a slang term sometimes used to described the male sex organ during the, ahem, state of arousal.

Before the two went on the air with the game broadcast, Dierker pointed to one of the station wagons on his shirt and asked, "Hey, Milo. You know what that is?"

"Uh, a station wagon."

"No," said Dierker, "this is a woodie, man. You should know that. It comes from your era. These things were the rage when I was in high school in California. They were surfer cars."

"I didn't know they called them that," Hamilton replied.

After the game was underway, Dierker asked his partner on the air how he liked his new Hawaiian shirt.

"You mean the one with all the woodies on it?" Hamilton replied, while a TV audience of thousands watched and listened.

"Yeah," Dierker said. "When you were a young man, did you ever have a woodie?"

"Oh, no. We were much too poor," Hamilton said.

"Boy, that's really poor," Dierker said, trying to suppress his laughter.

As far as we know, the Federal Communications Commission never received any complaints.

And Milo Hamilton, a former broadcast partner of Harry Cary's and who later gave the play-by-play description of Hank Aaron breaking Babe Ruth's home run record, never was let in on the joke.

Everyone else associated with the team eventually heard about it, but not Milo.

Several more times that summer, as the broadcasters described another dismal Astros loss in another dreary Astros season, Dierker asked Milo what he thought about his cool Hawaaian shirt with the woodies on it.

A reader in Houston writes...

"

so i'm listing to kpft this morning and i hear something that sounds
like bob, screaming bob from a new morning outtake - the song is real
good, something about watching a girl listen to music. i stay tuned. the
hippie girl says, "from his debut album, judd nelson." judd nelson, the
weirdest of the brat pack, recently of note only for his stint as brooke
shields' tv boss/love interest. new morning, indeed.

"

Letter to the editor

A reader complains in an email that yours truly has displayed "White Boy Angst" when writing about KBRZ Radio. "What a waste of time and energy," he says.
If that means we wish KBRZ still broadcast country-western music instead of somebody preaching in Spanish, I say, "Guilty as charged, your honor!"

Dow Job Cuts

Up Earning$$

The reason we all live in this mosquito-infested, humid as-all-get-out spot on the map -- ie., the existence of the mighty Dow Chemical Co. -- makes a little more sense today now that the company is reporting some fantabulous economic news.

What we're talking about is a sharp rise in earnings.

The Company's net income has increased 65 percent over last year -- a whole lot better than any of the soothsayers on Wall Street (in New York City) had predicated.

How come?

Cost cutting, diversification, better pricing, reveals The Wall Street Journal.

In the cost-cutting category, Dow has whacked 2,300 jobs.

There's only a couple thousand more jobs to eliminate before Dow reaches its ultimate cost-cutting target.

Dow shares increased $1.80 on Thursday, leading executives at its Freeport plant to pass out free cupcakes to rank and file employees. Light banter also was exchanged between management and blue collar workers.

The atmosphere, confided one employee, "is sort of like when we rope off the parking lot for the skimmer birds every year. Ever-one's just got a pie-eatin' grin on -- even the pipefitters."

KBRZ Radio

Two years have passed since the sweet strains of country music emanated from the broadcasting tower of local AM radio station KBRZ.

Since then, we've only been able to decipher a few words here and there that have been broadcast from the tower that looms over the KBRZ headquarters in Oyster Creek.

The reason for that is simple -- we no habla Espanol.

Oh, we speak a little Espanol that we learned from school days, but we haven't managed to retain all that much. For some reason, the one phrase I personally have total recall of is this: "Ay caramba, se me olvido mi cuaderno!"

That means, "Dad gummit, I forgot my notebook!"

Anyhow, KBRZ was sold a couple years ago for $700,000 to a fellow named Roberto Villareal.

That's a lot of money, and we would be the last to try to dictate to Sr. Villareal what he should do with his radio station, especially since he laid down so many samoleans for the only AM station in B'port.

As for his programming, well, it wouldn't have been our first choice.

KBRZ now broadcasts religious programming in Spanish. Or, at least it did the last time we listened.

While that doubtless has enriched the lives of many within earshot, it hasn't done much for those of us whose primary language is English and whose radio programming of choice is good old country western music by the likes of Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and the Carter Family.

So, we just chalked up KBRZ's language switcheroo as a sign of the times, and tuned our car radio buttons to Houston, where English is still widely spoken on the radiowaves.

However, we stumbled across something recently that gives us a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the only local AM radio station could go back to English.

Recently, Mr. Villareal's Aleluya Christian Broadcasting company bought KFTG in Pasadena for $482,000 from Community Radio Inc. KFTG is a 440 Watt station.

This information was gleaned from a Web site called RadioandRecords.com in the transactions section.

Could this mean that Mr. Villareal might be willing to sell KBRZ?

We don't know. We were unable to reach Mr. Villareal.

Still, maybe he'd be willing to part with KBRZ.

Surely, he will be able to reach a denser population base of folks who like religious broadcasting in Spanish from his radio station in Pasadena, instead of KBRZ, located way down here on the sparsely populated Gulf Coast plain.

'Course, if Mr. Villareal was willing to sell KBRZ, would anyone around here want to buy it and resume broadcasting in a language that the majority of us would understand?

We'd like to think so, but we don't know.

New Ratings

Now, as far as the "sign of the times" we referenced above, consider this.
The Number One rated radio station in the Houston-Galveston market is KLTN-FM, which broadcasts Mexican music.
It had a 6.5 share, according to the latest ratings released on Thursday.
It was followed by KODA, which plays adult contemporary tunes, with a 5.8 share. KODA was top dog during the last Arbitron ratings.
Third place finisher in this ratings period was KBXX-FM, which plays music classified as CHR/Rhythmic. (We have no idea what "CHR" means but we know all about rhythm.)
The top AM station, which finished 9th overall, was all-talk KPRC-AM, which has the Rush Limbaugh franchise for the Houston-Galveston area, with a 3.4 share.

Think this'll play the LJ Cineplex? Yeah, right.

Bob joins a helluva cast.

Scheduled to open in Houston at The River Oaks on Aug. 15.

David Letterman re:

Bush's re-election

"The country right now is at war, our economy is bad, 455 billion dollar deficit, and the Democrats are saying: 'How are we going to beat this guy?'"

So says David Letterman.

The audience was silent, at first, and then, as the meaning sunk in, began to laugh, and, finally, applaud, reports the ABC Political Unit in today's issue of
The Note.

A reader has this to say:

His daughter, a University of Texas at Austin student, is looking into studying abroad and told her dad that a UT website advises not to not dress like an American and "leave those UT caps and shirts home".

He's worried.

"And by the way, I'm a Colin Powell supporter. And that's about it for the current administration, the worst since that president who just had an aircraft carrier named after him, what was his name, huum, maybe my wife would know, humm, what was her name again. Astrological charts, homilies, and a fervor for deregulation have been replaced by a short-sighted energy plan, deceit, and a dangereous new foreign policy that has the potential for backlash against the US that is unprecedented. Plus we have to put up with our chief executive saying to our enemies "bring it on", while American soldiers are regularly being shot and killed. Amazing."

There's more.


"The roosters are coming back home to nest for Bush over the WMD situation. I hope it worsens. He is a terrible president in my opinion. His energy policies suck, he misled the public on Iraq, and his advisors are out of control."

But when asked who's going to defeat W (Dean? Gephardt? Leiberman?) he has no answer.

What say you?

Hurricane Report

One of B'port's finer restaurants was forced to cease operations for 6 hours today after Hurricane Claudette viciously knocked out electrical power to wide swaths of the greater metro area.
Whataburger was just one of several establishments shut down by the storm. As of this writing, well after Whataburger re-opened its doors to a hungry public, Jack-In-The-Box remained shuttered, its drive-thru menu displays ripped from their standards.
There are probably many more businesses adversely affected by the hurricane, but we did not attempt to visit any of them, so we cannot "accurately" report any further on the matter (sorry!).
The TV highlight of the day was the reporter doing a live shot from Freeport. He said the rain was coming down "unrelentlessly."
Yup.
He is with Channel 11 (KHOU) and probably shares a Thesaurus with Giff Neilsen.
Brazoria County Judge did a live phoner with Channel 2 (KPRC) in the afternoon and told viewers how the county had lost a "swamp buggy" in the Intracoastal Waterway while trying to evacuate people from Quintana.
Let those fruitcakes in Quintana ride out the storm all by their lonesomes if they don't have sense enough to get off that barren sandbar before it's too late.
There's no sense in losing a taxpayer-owned swamp buggy just because of their stubborness and misplaced machismo.
We'll need that swamp buggy later for ... well ... we're not sure why we'll need that swamp buggy, or even why we have one to begin with, now that we think about it. But we're damn certain the county had one in the motor pool for a hell of lot better reason than to go rescuing Quintanians in the middle of a freakin' hurricane, and a rinky-dink Catergory 1 Hurricane at that!!
Either call a cab or take your medicine, Quintana.
For the record, we received 4 inches of rain Tuesday and Wednesday here at the office in Lake Jackson. Overall, we have to say it coulda been worse, and still might be before the summer's over.

Democrats Adrift

Support for two well-known candidates for the Democratic Party's presidential nomination are slipping badly, according to a new poll, but a clear-cut favorite has not yet emerged, making President George W. Bush appear virtually invincible in the 2004 election.
When reached for comment, a leading Brazoria County Democrat, who asked to remain anonymous, said "No comment."
The Democratic strategist said local voters remain more interested in local races because national political affairs "are just too hard to follow, especially when it's so freakin' hot and humid."
This observer, interviewed at the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant at the corner of Highway 288 and Oyster Creek Drive in Lake Jackson, noted that Alvin Police Chief Mike Merkel appears to be winning the publicity battle for the hearts and minds of Republican voters in the race for the Brazoria County Sheriff's nomination.
A photo of Merkel, seated on a bench and smiling affably while holding an umbrella, appeared recently in the Houston newspaper.
Even though it was not raining at the time, the photo does not make Merkel appear "un-Sheriff-like," said another source, a heavy-set GOP activist who ordered "Frito pies for the house" during a "working lunch" at Smithhart's in downtown Lake Jackson.
Merkel's photo illustrated the gnawing fear that has gripped the greater Alvin area over the naming of Tropical Storm Claudette, which bears the same idential moniker as a storm that drenched the area 24 years ago.
Even though it was not raining at the time Merkel was holding the umbrella, the Republican Party operative said political observers believe most readers who saw the photo do not really care whether it was raining or not -- if they even realized it all all!
A Freeport-based Democrat, who asked to remain unnamed due to fear of public ridicule, agreed.
"The medium is the message," he said. "and Chief Merkel take a real good picture. We don't know who in the hell we're gonna run for sheriff. We'll probably find some crackpot who just wants to get his name in the paper. It's a tough sell, especially in a county that thinks Democrat is just another name for Communist. Maybe there'll be some sex scandal or something to turn the tide back to our side. If there is, could you let me know?"

Small-Town Scandal

On the mean streets of L.J., a rogue cop was loose, leading a double-life in which he appeared, for all intents and purposes, as an upholder of goodness and decency, while behind closed doors he lead a secret life as an Illegal Body Piercer

Do we live in a small town or what?
In the big city, when a cop goes bad, he's usually shaking down dope dealers or hookers. Maybe he's planting weapons or narcotics on criminal suspects that he KNOWS are rotten apples but who are smart enough to stay one step ahead of the law.
Or maybe, if it's a really big city, maybe the rogue cop roughs up evil-doers that have no respect for the law, runs them out of town, then seduces their girlfriend, takes home their pet dog to keep as his own, and drinks all the beer in the bad guy's fridge.
But in Lake Jackson?
Our rogue cops perform illegal body piercing jobs. The Clute-based daily reported on it today.

There's a made-for-TV movie here.
The friendly small-town police officer who maintains a secret body-piercing parlor in the back of his otherwise normal-looking mobile home.
His is a peculiar fetish.
The young ladies and young men he arrests are presented with a choice.
" I can run you into the pokey for a Minor In Possession of Alcohol rap, or we can handle this another way. Have you ever thought about a bellybutton piercing? With your skin coloring, I'd suggest a simple silver loop."
Or:
"You can go downtown for running that redlight, missy, or we could handle this another way. How do you feel about nipple rings? "
As he suggests the alternative, the cop opens his mouth wide to reveal a shiny metal bar that bisects his tongue. He clicks it against his teeth, reaches into his shirt, and starts toying with his own nipple hardware.

Soon, young people all over town are adorned with the rogue cop's handiwork.
Eyebrow rings, nose studs, all manner of hardware suddenly are dangling from the faces and bodies of our youth.

Someone puts 2-and-2 together.

Law enforcement officials offer little comment on the record, hoping the scandal will fade away before it gets on TV.

"Hell's bells, we don't need this kind of publicity!" a city official says in an emergency, closed-door meeting with the police chief. "This could ruin the gains we've made in tourism!"

"Yeah, and what's Dow gonna say? I mean, labia rings and big business just don't mix," adds the city's chamber of commerce president.

"You bet your ass they don't ," adds the mayor. "This is a hell of a note, A HELL OF A NOTE! Why couldn't have just been tattoos. Tattoos wouldn't have been so bad! Now we have kids all over town who jangle when they walk. They're human Slinkys!!"

Dynamic Duo, pre-MTV generation

Warning: Could be considered racially insensitive

The Lone Ranger and Tonto went camping in the desert. After they got their tent all set up, they fell sound asleep. Some hours later, the Lone Ranger wakes his faithful friend and says, Tonto, look up at the sky and tell me what you see." Tonto replies, "Me see millions of stars."

"What does that tell you?" asked The Lone Ranger.

Tonto ponders for a minute then says, "Astronomically speaking, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially millions of planets. Astrologically, it tells me that Saturn is in Leo. Time wise, it appears to be approximately a quarter past three in the morning. Theologically, it's evident the Lord is all-powerful and we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, it seems we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What it tell you, Kemo Sabi?"

The Lone Ranger is silent for a moment then says, "Tonto, you dumb ass,

someone has stolen our tent."

Baghdad Bob's Big Break

The former Iraqi information minister who became known to millions as Baghdad Bob should be talking to a lawyer.

Bob, we remind you, became an overnight sensation for his bombastic pronouncements as U.S. troops approached and eventually overran the capital city of Iraq.

His efforts will be studied for years in our nation's higher education schools of communication, where wave upon wave of young people each school year study to become public relations executives.

The goal of public relations is to make your client look good to the public no matter what the facts are. That's the bottom line.

Did Bob do this?
No.

But with the hand he was dealt, we are sympathetic to his failure. Tricky Dick Nixon's spokesman, the late Ron Ziegler, MIGHT have had a tougher job, but we doubt it.

So, while Baghdad Bob made an ass of himself before the world media and, in effect, became a human cartoon, we think he may have placed himself in a strong position to reap millions of dollars, or at least enough money to bankroll a string of kabob stands in the new, liberated, free market Iraq.

Here's what he needs to do.

Get a lawyer and grab a fair percentage of all the money that is being made by the placement of his likeness and the official pronouncements he made during the war on coffee cups, t-shirts, aprons and all sorts of other goods that are being peddled to bemused war watchers.

His legal reasoning should be simple and straight forward.

He has a right to control the use of his likeness and the use of his name just like Brad Pitt or any other celebrity.

The rich and famous go to court regularly to keep shysters from ripping off theirs names and likenesses.
The latest example is filmmaker Spike Lee, who is suing the TNN Network to prevent the TV outlet from renaming itself Spike TV. So far, the filmmaker is winning the legal battle.

Baghad Bob needs to get himself a cheap lawyer from the firm of Dewey, Cheatam and How and theaten litigation. Or, for starters, maybe he should invite one of those American JAG lawyers wandering around Iraq over for a round of mint tea and squeeze him for some free legal advice.

There's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow waiting for you, Bob.

Get a piece of the rock.

Give a percentage to some worthy, tax deductible charity in Iraq, hire somebody to ghost write your autobiography and then hit the talk show circuit -- especially Oprah. It's the American Way, Bob. Show the folks back home that you don't have to be an infidel to work the system.