Perfect tribute to peerless Mariano Rivera

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I get misty-eyed every time I hear Ben Fold's "Gracie" and Neil Young's "Here For You" because both remind me of my relationship with my now-grown daughter, Katie. I get wistful every time I think of the joy I got from watching my now-grown son, Ben, play basketball as a kid. And I famously started sobbing during the scene in "Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey" in which Shadow the golden retriever got out of a ditch and rejoined his loving human. (Inspired, we gave the name Shadow to the retreiver we adopted shortly thereafter.)

So, yeah, I'm an old softy ... but usually not when it comes to sports.

In that realm, I'm a jaded guy who has spent a little too much time examining the underbelly of athletics. I've seen too much.

I don't feel especially prideful when "our" Olympic athletes get their gold medals. I'm not overly impressed by public displays of charity because I always was taught that the best charity is an act one does without seeking credit. I enjoy seeing great achievements, but they just about never make me emote. It was great being there in person last March when my Marquette lads reached the Elite Eight, but I didn't get all sappy when the band played the alma mater after the game.

So I was more than a little surprised that I was touched by the wonderful, spontaneous tribute to 43-year-old Yankees closer Mariano Rivera during last night's All-Star Game.

As the best reliever in baseball history trotted in from the center field bullpen to the familiar strains of "Enter Sandman" to protect a 3-0 lead in the bottom of the eighth inning, the other All-Stars stayed off the field. By the time Rivera reached the mound, he was the only player on the diamond. Even his catcher, Kansas City's Salvador Perez, wasn't out there to take warmup throws.

It was Rivera's moment. It was perfect.

Though the game was at the Mets' Citi Field, not Yankee Stadium, the venue worked quite nicely. New Yorkers and fans of every stripe cheered and cheered, and Rivera, genuinely overwhelmed by the display, humbly waved. Rivera's peers (though one could argue that "peers" is a silly word to use when talking about a peerless athlete) stood at the top step of their dugouts and cheered, too.

It really was a lump-in-the-throat scene.

Fittingly, the soon-to-retire Rivera, pitching in his 13th and final All-Star game, retired all three NL batters he faced. As he went to the bench, his AL teammates -- rivals from clubs that hope to beat Rivera in August and September (and October?) -- hugged Rivera and told him how much they appreciate him.

Is there a more respected man in Major League Baseball? I certainly can't name one.

The only thing that might have been more perfect would have been if Rivera had worked the ninth inning to earn the save. AL manager Jim Leyland, worried that a different reliever might blow the lead and deprive Rivera the opportunity to pitch, definitely made the right move.

Rivera already has enough saves. He didn't need another.

All-Star MVP voters also made the right move. Though Rivera was no more spectacular than any of the other AL pitchers who combined to hold the NL scoreless on three hits, selecting him MVP was about as big a no-brainer as no-brainers get.

In that eighth inning, as Rivera stood on that ballfield -- alone, tens of thousands of fans cheering, fellow All-Stars clapping, cameras flashing -- I admit it:

Even I was moved.

I shed no tears -- I mean, come on, this wasn't a lost dog being reunited with the boy who loved him -- but I did smile, stand in front of the TV and think, "This is absolutely perfect."
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The eyes didn't have it

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Why haven't I been posting lately? Two reasons:

1. Eye-eye-eye, have eye had problems!

I developed what the doctor termed an "ulcer" on my left cornea. It went from being a little uncomfortable to feeling as if somebody was poking my eye with a rusty nail. I lived with it for a few days, thinking that I just had something in my eye or that I had a small scratch. Finally, tired of hearing me whine, Roberta convinced me to go to the doctor, who made the diagnosis and prescribed some drops.

The drops have been working; at my follow-up exam today, the doctor said he was very pleased with my progress. I have no more stabbing pains and only a little discomfort, and my acuity is slowly returning in my left eye. (Thankfully, I have 20-20 vision in my right eye.) My dose has been reduced from 9 drops per day to 5, and I hope to be fully healed in a week.

The eye woes cost me an entire weekend of work at the country club, which obviously sucks. The situation also kept me from spending much time at the computer or in front of the TV, because the light from each bothered my eye greatly.

2. Straight cash, homey..

What little time I did have in front of the computer, I used to write something that actually will make me a little money: another financial article for Seeking Alpha.

It's about my desire to buy stock in oil companies. If you care a little about the subject, click away. If you don't care, still click away because I earn $$$ (or at least cents) per click!

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I hope to post again sometime during the All-Star break with some baseball observations. No doubt, you'll be holding your breath in anticipation the entire time.

AL makes it count again ... and Blackhawks beam up Scotty's boy

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The Bald Truth

An Oriole drives in the winning run against a Padre in an exhibition game to decide home-field advantage in the World Series.

Nice work, Bud!

Well, He Said He'd Bring Change

Was that a changeup lefty Barack Obama threw to Albert Pujols for the ceremonial first pitch before the All-Star Game? 

Or does this president simply have a noodle arm compared to Dubya's?

The Balder Truth

Wow, Stan Musial sure has an impressive list of accomplishments! Still, it's natural to wonder if his numbers would have been the same without all those steroids.

It's A Jolly Halladay

Neither the Cubs (with their slow sale and their possible bankruptcy) nor the White Sox (with their lower-than-projected attendance) are likely to feel rich enough to add Roy Halladay's big salary ... so here's an idea:

They BOTH can trade for the Blue Jays great, with Halladay getting to stay in Chicago from here on out because he'd only pitch in home games.

Hey, these rough economic times call for creative solutions.

It only will get unfair in the World Series. With the American League winning for the 855th straight year - This Time It Counts (Again)!! - the White Sox would get Halladay when they face the Cubs in Game 7.

THE BALDEST TRUTH

For better or worse, the Blackhawks officially are Scotty Bowman's team.

Last fall, in his first act as "senior adviser," he seniorly advised them to fire Denis Savard four games into the season. Now, he has gotten them to can Dale Tallon - who brought in all their great young talent - so his son Stan Bowman could be the new GM.

Asked what Stan Bowman brings to the job that Tallon didn't, owner Rocky Wirtz told the media: "He's 26, Dale is 58. We always want younger people."

Zounds! Methinks Tallon would have one hell of an age-discrimination suit had he not accepted a pile of hush money from Wirtz to stay on as an "adviser." (An extremely junior adviser.)

Given his love of youngsters in positions of power, Wirtz sure is giving a lot of latitude to Scotty Bowman, a septuagenarian whose Hall of Fame coaching career began back when NHL players really wore sweaters.

There is no question Scotty knows a lot about winning. With nine Stanley Cups, he's the Red Auerbach of hockey. 

And there's no question the Blackhawks are desperate. It's been so long since they've won it all, their last championship actually predates the start of Bowman's coaching career by six years!

Still, this all seems so sleazy, so knife-in-the-back, so beneath the actions of any respectable organization.

All I'll say is Blackhawks coach Joel Quenneville had better watch his back. With Phil Jackson having just won his 10th NBA title to break a tie for the most in North American pro sports history, Scotty might be salivating for another turn behind the bench.

Fortunately for Scotty, he has an in with the new GM.

Back ... back ... back ... blecchhh!

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Home Run Derby? Missed it. By choice.

Already planning to miss Derby 2010, too.

Based on past experience, watching sluggers bash baseballs a long way is mildly entertaining for a few minutes. When one takes ESPN's absurdly serious treatment of the event into the account, well, unwatchable and gag-inducing are the adjectives that leap to mind.

I mean, why not just have Boomer Berman do straight play-by-play of putt-putt golf?

"Oh no! Here comes the windmill blade now!"