Very Well Then

Ozzie loves talking about rats.

Ozzie and rats.  No, I’m not talking about Black Sabbath.  (Hold it, that was “bats”, wasn’t it?)

Ozzie Guillen – the White Sox manager – slighted the Metrodome the other day, suggesting it to be rat-infested.  The baseball doesn’t seem to be carrying well in Minneapolis outdoor spring baseball and when Justin Morneau’s deep center field shot died at the warning-track in Tuesday’s Twins loss to the Sox, Ozzie quipped, “In the old place, that would have hit some rats.”

Last year, Ozzie disparaged Wrigley Field as rat-infested.

This year, it’s the Metrodome.

Of course, we’re all in love with the new place (I’m flying in for a look over Memorial Day).  So let’s kick the old place while it’s down.  Of course, the Vikings still have to play there, but that’s football.

I shed no tears for the old Dome.  But, now that I know about them,  I am concerned about the Metrodome Rats.  They have some serious re-adjustment to do.    They’ve lost 81 days of fans leaving behind French Fries and sunflower seeds and scraps of Dome Dog buns.

There’s still Gopher baseball and truck and tractor pulls.    But there is a serious reduction in the sustainable concession-food environment at the Dome.  The rat population there is based upon an expectancy of fattening up in the summer baseball season and surviving off the fat and occasional Vikings game though the winter hibernation.    The Metrodome Rat eco-system has been severely altered.

Expect hard times for the Metrodome Rats.    The population level there will have to adjust, which is always a painful process for an animal colony.

But I’m not too worried for them.    Rats are what conservation biologists refer to as “weed species” – those species able to adapt and thrive in disturbed environments.  (Starlings, pigeons, mule deer and humans fit well into that description).    So, the rats have been challenged by the switch to the new ballpark.   But I can safely assure you that those pitter-patter sounds you hear beneath the bleachers when you attend your next Vikings games will be those of a in tact, if somewhat reduced, Metrodome Rat population.

And, as for things at the perfect new immaculate ballpark: Don’t worry.  All is well.   But did anyone else see those Metrodome Rats clinging to the Twins moving vans  when they set sail from the Dome?   Just like the velociraptors clinging to the supply ships departing Jurassic Park?

No, I didn’t either.

In honor of Target Field’s opening season.

This season, I want to create a movement in baseball.    One that twirls like a dance floor in Vienna – in perfect three-quarter time.    I want baseball to waltz.

I don’t want a craze.  I’m not talking about a mass-Macarena type of stunt – using baseball crowds to further a national fad.   I want a long-lasting rethinking of baseball’s long-established theme song,  Take Me Out to the Ball Game.  It’s already a sing-along.  Now I want it to be a dance-along.

For years, on the rare occasion of a baseball date, I have grabbed my partner (usually surprised) when the organ music starts and we have carefully danced in the peanut shells in front of our seats during the seventh inning stretch.  Take Me Out to the Ballgame is a waltz, a rare step that even I can figure out.  So it just seems natural that people would want to dance to it.   But like all things related to my dancing, no one has taken my lead.  I don’t see baseball fans gliding through the aisles.  My idea has yet to catch on.

Harry Carey in his drunken sloppiness made the song a crowd-swaying drinking song.  Replace the disposable plastic cups with steins and you could be at a Munich beer hall (with foul poles).  I love the idea that such a grand sing-a-long exists, at any baseball stadium, anywhere.  Now, let’s add the twist – or the twirl.

My reform will come about only by an organic movement, and an organist movement.  First, the organists.  Pick up the tempo a bit.  Or you’ll be replaced by a string section.  Come on, it’s baseball, not a funeral.

Next, the organic movement.  This is where you come in.  You, reading this. Dance.  Grab your partner and dance.     A baseball stadium at the stretch is a place full of joy.  Dancing should be on the agenda.  But hey, keep it a tame joy — it’s a tight spot you’ll be dancing in.  Safety first.

Finally, the third step for the three-step is to spread the word.  If you blog, consider a link.  If you Tweet, Tweet the news.   Use your social networking and your social graces.   See if you can get the baseball loving world to dance.    Create the critical mass, that beautiful dancing cheek-to cheek critical mass.

I’ll know it went viral when I look up from my dance partner’s eyes during the seventh inning stretch, and see my vision.   The whole stadium twirling.  Cubs fans and Cardinals fans all halting on the hesitation step in perfect unison.  Right after the “and cracker Jack” line, the whole place reversing spin together.  Couples falling in love again.  Strangers meeting.   Brothers comfortable enough with each other to dance, albeit at arms length.

Take me out to that ballgame.

Dear Joe Nathan,

Sorry to hear about your elbow.    Man, that must suck.   It sucks for me, and I’m just a fan.  You’re the one with the bum elbow and the tough decisions.

You are, like, all that any of us bloggers are talking about here on the Twins-based internet (the Twins-ernet?).  Howard over at the Strib – you know, that Section 219/220 (whatever it takes) guy – he even linked to a medical video that showed how Tommy John Surgery is performed.

Wow.   That Tommy John thing is really something.   I’m sure Dr. Andrews already told you all this, but I was amazed to learn they take a tendon from another part of your body and loop it into your damaged elbow to stabilize everything.

But I also learned something else.  Sometimes they don’t use your tendon.  Sometimes they insert the tendon from another donor.  Well, that got me to thinking… and I got this idea.

You see, it’s not like I’m ever going to have a baseball career or anything.  I mean, let’s face it, my shot at glory has faded.  But then I just get ideas like the one I just mentioned and there seems to be some glimmer of hope.

So I’ll just say it.

Joe.  It would be so incredibly awesomely cool if … if you’d use my tendon for your Tommy John Surgery.  I mean, if that’s the route you’re going to go.

I mean, I’m just imagining you coming in and blowing away Pujols on a nasty slider to lock down the 2011 World Series, and I’d be high-fiving my friends at the bar and screaming… SCREAMING!!!… at the top of my lungs, “That’s my tendon!  That’s my Palmaris Longus Tendon!”  Oh gawd, that’d be awesome.

I’ve always said I’d give a testicle to be a major league baseball player.  And here I’d only have to give up a little ole arm tendon I rarely use [Note to self: check on limitations of missing P/L tendon.  Can I still type?  Click a mouse?].   I mean, it still wouldn’t be me out there mowing ‘em down – you’d be doing all the real work.  But just knowing that there’s this little part of me helping out … that’s all I’ve ever wanted.    Don’t worry, they’d still be cheering for you, Joe.  But I’d hear Target Field a’rockin and though they’d be chanting “Joe! Joe! Joe!”   I’d hear them chanting my name instead.  It would be like one of those fantasy baseball camps times a million.

I’d even pay you to take my tendon.  No, really!   I (as in ME) pay YOU for MY body part.    [That way, I don’t even think it would trigger any of those anti-organ-selling laws.]    I’d be willing to go as much as $500.   I’d offer more, but I still need, like, my MLB Extra Innings package and everything.

I’d have to ask that the Twins pick up the cost of my surgery too.  Do you think they’d spring for that?  It’s medically related to your surgery, after all.  And one more thing… after my tendon is harvested (yes, that’s the medical term) I’d like that the surgeon work with a tattoo artist to have my arm-stitches look like stitches on a baseball.  [Do’ya like that?  Maybe you could do the same thing with your stitches.]   As for my stitches, when I’m at the bar, with my friends, and us cheering you and the World Champion Minnesota Twins (yow!),  I would show everyone my baseball stitches to emphasize my point.   You gotta admit, Joe.  That’d be so eff’ing cool.

Let’s say that we keep this a secret, Joe.   If word got out there, I know there’d be others who’d pay dearly to do the same thing — I probably shouldn’t have told you that : )   But, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are a lot of obsessed fans out there.   I mean, how many guys have had there ashes scattered at old Yankee stadium?  You can buy a coffin with a licensed Red Sox logo on it, for christsake.

I’ll be honest, it’s not like I’m going to get far in a bidding war.  But since it was my idea Joe, if you pick me, I’ll be sure you get the credit for all this.  I mean, why hasn’t anybody else thought of this?!   This is the next big thing in athlete and celebrity endorsements.

You could be the pioneer of this, Joe.   Tommy John was first with the surgery and his surgery fame has outperformed even the fame of his very fine pitching career.    You, too, could live on immortally.    Every pitcher with a torn UCL will face the same reporter question:   “So, Tommy John Surgery, huh?  Who’re you going to grant your Joe Nathan Rights to?“

You should probably check with Dr. Andrews to be sure this would work.  Maybe he wants a better “specimen” than me – I’m not in too bad of shape or anything, I got this treadmill in my office and all.  But maybe there’s like a blood-type compatibility thing.    Wouldn’t that be awful, Joe, if your body rejected my tendon after the transplant?  And what if that happened in the bottom of the ninth in the ALCS against the Yankees?    I’d be to Twins’ fans what Bartman is to Cubs’ fans.

So maybe I should think this through a bit.

You know what, Joe?  I don’t need to think about it.

I can’t worry about what might go wrong.   I’m willing to take that chance.  I got to go seize the moment.  And if A-Rod knocks one out of the park, so be it.   The grumpy columnists might be unkind, but I have to be fearless and not let the fear of failure control my life.

But you know that.  That’s the heart of a being a closer.  And maybe, the tiny little woven elbow-bracing tendon of a closer too.

With or without me, Joe, good luck with the decision.

Sincerely,

Your Brother In Arms (ya’ think?)

[UPDATE: The post above was originally posted on March 12, 2010 while Joe Nathan was facing the decision on whether or not to have Tommy John surgery.   The next day Howard Sinker of the Minneapolis Star Tribune gave my post a prominent (and kind) excerpt and link on the Strib’s Twins website.     Joe elected to have the surgery using his own ligament.  The surgery was performed on March 26.    The Star Tribune quoted Joe, just before the surgery, as saying “I told him to put Usain Bolt’s ligament in there if they have to.”  I like to think that Joe Nathan was inspired to make the joke of using another person’s ligament after reading or hearing about my post.]

I always play song 3 first whenever I buy a new album.    I’m trying to find the sweet spot first.   I am guided by the baseball protocol to place a team’s best pure hitter in the third spot in the lineup.

Usually, my approach does not bear any special fruit.   Albums from the vinyl days seemed more structured to save the gems for the beginning or end of one of the sides – often leaving the 3 spot with filler.    Nowadays,it seems like most albums are front-loaded, more like the general intent of a baseball lineup, though it doesn’t seem to me that there is any trend to place great importance on the number 3 spot in an album.

But every now and then I find that perfect song – rich and pure – right there at number 3.    When I do, I look further to see if the album lineup could succeed as a baseball lineup.

The current CD hogging my car stereo works pretty well as a batting order.   Wilco (the album), the latest effort from my favorite active band is worthy of a baseball lineup analysis.

So here is Wilco (the lineup).

1.   Wilco (the song).  The leadoff hitter should set the tone for the team.   Here, with a droll characterization of all that is Wilco, is Wilco (the tablesetter).

2.  Deeper Down.  The second slot is typically given to a control bat ,  a song that can move the runner over.   Wilco does what many teams do – put a light-hitting middle infielder as a placeholder.   If it’s possible to capture in a song the essence of fouling off a lot of pitches – this song does that.

3.  One Wing – Third – the best pure hitter, the best pure song.  Tweedy through beautiful metaphor (on base percentage) and Nils Kline through virtuoso guitar (slugging percentage) have created an OPS gem.

4.  Bull Black Nova  — Here is the power spot.  Wilco has a ‘roid rage paranoia trip taking power rips for your speakers fences.  Maybe not Ruth and Gehrig, but Wilco has put a great 3-4 combo on this album.

5.  You and I — It’s good to mix  in righties and lefties – or in rock parlance : rockers and ballads.  Wilco adds a left-handed ballad (and duet with Feist).

6.  You Never Know — Still room in the lineup for another big RBI song – the closest thing that Wilco has to a radio hit (if radio did rock anymore).

7.  Country Disappeared — The bottom of the lineup is the place for the specialty roles, the aging good-ole-crowd-pleaser, experimenting with a rookie sound.    There are familiar Wilco strains all over this one.

8.  Solitaire —  I love the simple hard-learned lesson of this one.   This song is my shortstop – a sweet and sublime fielder batting eighth.

9.  I’ll Fight – Here’s the brush back pitch.   A brash flamethower of a pitcher slotted number 9 (I’ll go National League rules — from place of origin or place of residency – I suspect Tweedy to be either a Cubs or Cardinals fan).

10.  Sonny Feeling – Okay, the batting lineup metaphor breaks down – few albums (non art-rock variety) limit themselves to 9 songs.   But this song sounds like a middle reliever – so I’ll just keep filling out my lineup card.

11.  Everlasting Everything – And here is the closer.  Kind of a veteran, ground-ball inducing type, not a high strikeout-rate type of song.   It can still pile up the saves.

There it is.  Wilco (the Scorecard).   I challenge you to take a favorite album and see how it stacks up as a baseball lineup.