Congrats to Dusty Baker -- World Series Champion

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I didn't really have a dog in the World Series fight, but I admit I'm really happy that Dusty Baker finally has won that elusive championship.

It was cool to see not only the unbridled joy of a guy who is 73 going on 23 -- "What's next? Party!" -- but also to witness the obvious love his Astros players and the fans have for him.

What a life Johnnie B. Baker has led. 

He was born in 1949. He grew up during a difficult (and sometimes even deadly) time to be an outspoken young Black man. He left California in 1967 for Atlanta, which was one of the epicenters of segregation and the Civil Rights movement. Hank Aaron took him under his wing, and Dusty got to see the dignity with which Hank handled the incredible abuse he received. All of those things Dusty witnessed as a child and young man helped shape what he would become.

Baker was a hell of a ballplayer, a multiple All-Star who twice finished in the top 10 in MVP voting and who was a big contributor to the 1981 champion Dodgers. 

As a manager, he helped turn the Giants, Cubs, Reds and Nationals from mediocrities (or worse) into legitimate contenders ... only to fail to win it all, sometimes in spectacular fashion. (To this day, the top of the 8th inning of Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS remains the most incredible half-hour of sports I've seen, and yes, Dusty contributed to the Cubbie collapse.)

And what an amazing job he did in Houston, given that organization's situation before he got there. He's a baseball lifer who had done everything in the game except win a World Series as a manager, and now he can check that off his list.

Asked about that last night, he told ESPN: "God-dang it! Oh, it's a wonderful thing! I just knew it was gonna happen sooner or later ... and I said if I win one, I wanna win two, so we might as well go for two!"

He might be the best manager or coach I've ever seen at convincing high-paid professional athletes to work toward common goals and to believe in themselves during times of adversity. 

Sometimes, he used an "us against the world, and screw everybody else" vibe to do so, and that pissed off some baseball fans. He also has been very outspoken about race relations, which of course ticks off a lot of people who believe that athletes (especially Black athletes) should just "shut up and dribble."

I was part of hundreds of conversations with Dusty Baker over the years, especially during his 4-year tenure as Cubs manager.

Most of those conversations were in group settings, but I also was fortunate to have several 1-on-1 interviews with him -- most on the record, but some just two guys talking. He pretty quickly became a favorite of mine, and I came away from many of those (especially our off-the-record chats) feeling as if I had been a student in an upper-level U.S. history course.

So congrats to Dusty Baker -- baseball lifer, inspirational leader, and just one cool dude.

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What a lucky schlub I've been

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It's a big year for personal anniversaries ...

50 YEARS AGO

I first cultivated my sense of adventure ... as captured in this Aug. 1, 1962 story in my hometown Milford Citizen:

Little 20-month-old Michael Nadel decided to go for a walk this afternoon at 5 o'clock and wasn't missed until the family saw his chair empty at dinner time.


Just as the family of Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Nadel, of 59 Wheeler Avenue, went out to look for the boy, he rode up to the house a proud passenger in a police car.


Sgt. Frank Polizzi, who lives about a half mile away from the Nadels, explained he saw sun-suited Michael walking along Milford Point Road and didn't recognize him as being from the neighborhood. A few youngsters nearer the Nadels' home told the policeman where the boy lived.

My parents should have been soooo embarrassed. I mean ... a sunsuit?

40 YEARS AGO

The fall of '72 was incredibly thrilling as my team, the Miami Dolphins, became the first -- and still the only -- NFL squad to go through an entire season (including playoffs) unbeaten and untied.

How did a kid from Connecticut come to like the Dolphins instead of the Patriots, Giants or Jets?

Well, I was a late bloomer when it came to sports. In fact, I kind of hated them. But as I approached adolescence, I got to be good friends with a kid named Dave Kirschner, who was a huge sports fan. He convinced me to like his favorite basketball team, the Knicks, but I wasn't about to like the Jets because, well, they pretty much sucked.

No, I was an impressionable kid and I wanted to root for a great team, and the Dolphins were coming off a Super Bowl season (they lost to the Cowboys). Plus, they had the coolest aquamarine and orange uniforms. Larry Csonka was my favorite player.

So I became a Dolphins fanatic. Eventually, a Knicks and Yankees fanatic, too. And I started keeping scrapbooks on those teams, as well as the Rangers in hockey. Which, in turn, made me fall in love with writing.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

35 YEARS AGO

Marquette won the '77 national basketball title in Al McGuire's final game as coach.

Not long after that, I went to a college fair and the Marquette representative was very persuasive. She had to be to get a Jewish kid from Connecticut who had never been east of Lancaster, Pa., to agree to freeze his keister off in freakin' Milwaukee. Why I didn't go to Arizona State or Miami or Hawaii or UCLA, I'll never know!

There are those in academia who claim that the success of athletic programs doesn't really help a university's profile. Well, I wouldn't even have known Marquette existed if not for the Warriors -- and I'm guessing thousands of others who chose to matriculate there say the same thing.

After becoming a professional sportswriter, I gave up my allegiances to the Dolphins and Knicks and Yankees and Rangers. But I always will root for Marquette hoops.

Bottom line: I was never a Dolphin or a Yankee. I'll be a Warrior forever.

30 YEARS AGO

I graduated from Marquette and began my career with the AP in Milwaukee.

These days, it's tough for graduates to get a job. How difficult is it? In article after article, the authors almost always write something like: "This is the most difficult job market for college graduates since 1982."

Yep, the 1982 recession was a rough one. I was one of only a few Marquette J-school grads to get a job in the profession. I'd love to say it was because I was the best, but I know better. It was at least 75 percent luck.

How I got that first job with AP is a great story ... and maybe you'll read about it someday if I ever write that book!

25 YEARS AGO

I covered my first Stanley Cup Finals in 1987 -- Oilers vs. Flyers -- beginning a long stretch as AP's de facto national hockey writer.

Was I chosen because I was a hockey expert? Hardly. I was working in Minnesota, so I simply was closer to Canada than anybody else. "Hey, they have lots of ice in Minnesota, right? Let's send Nadel to Edmonton."

The association with hockey worked nicely for me, as I went on to cover seven more Stanley Cups and four Olympic hockey tournaments for AP. The only two national writing awards I received were for hockey-related stories.

These days, I'm not sure I could name a dozen NHL players. Is Chris Chelios still in the league?

20 YEARS AGO

I covered my first NBA Finals -- Bulls vs. Trail Blazers.

One of my favorite keepsakes is a Portland newspaper photo of a media session. Michael Jordan is looking up at me, answering one of my questions.

Someday, one of my grandkids will ask: "Who's that guy in the picture with grandpa?" That'll be cool.

I still had hair in 1992, though it was thinning rapidly. I also had my trusty Bic 4-color pen in hand ... and I still buy them by the multi-pack.

15 YEARS AGO

Jordan had his incredible "food-poisoning game" against the Jazz in the '97 NBA Finals.

It was the only playoff game during the Bulls' Jordan Era II that I didn't cover.

While in Utah for Game 4, I got the word that my mom had died. After that game, I flew to Philadelphia for the funeral. I watched Game 5 -- the sickness game -- while sitting on my brother's sofa a few hours after we buried my mom.

10 YEARS AGO

As a freshman, my daughter Katie helped her high school team win the city championship in its division. She was the leading scorer in the playoffs and made the title-clinching steal.

Katie would go on to be the first athlete in Walter Payton College Prep history to win four varsity letters in one sport.

I still display a great framed photo, snapped by a Chicago Tribune photographer during her freshman year. The one time in her life she drove left, it was captured for all eternity.

Obviously, I was proud of Katie's exploits ... and equally proud of my boy Ben's many, many athletic triumphs. Today, both are in their mid-20s, employed and on their own -- which also makes me very proud.

For a guy who never rooted for the teams he covered, being able to cheer on my kids' teams was huge. After Ben played his last high school baseball game in 2006, I went through withdrawal. Seriously. It took me a year to get over that void.

If you have young kids and they are into sports or acting or music or whatever, enjoy the hell out of it, because the time will go by far too fast!

5 YEARS AGO

GateHouse Media bought the Copley newspapers in Illinois.

That was the beginning of the end for me, because I knew it was only a matter of time before the weasels there deemed me a luxury they no longer could afford. After all, they needed to have plenty of money on hand to give themselves bonuses and double-digit raises. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Thankfully, 2007 also was the year we sold our last Chicago home, an overpriced condo that we never should have bought in the first place.

Despite its glorious rooftop deck that provided a sterling view of the skyline, the condo didn't sell easily. It took six full months and the process caused lots of angst. Little did we know that the housing market was in the early stages of a total freefall and we were lucky to sell at all.

We moved into an apartment with the idea that we'd buy a house, maybe in the suburbs. But the market just kept getting worse ... and then I got laid off. It sure was nice knowing we didn't have a house we couldn't afford. That "temporary" apartment ended up being home for 3 1/2 years until we moved to Charlotte.

Wow. Lots of anniversaries. Next year's the biggie, though: 30 years of wedded bliss to my wonderful Roberta. Who'da thunk a schlub like me would be lucky enough to land and keep a babe like that?

You know, despite a bad break or two, I really have lived a charmed life.
^

Empathizing with Rangers' wild thing

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Watching young Derek Holland implode - walking three straight batters on 13 pitches and singlehandedly turning a 2-0 Rangers deficit into a 9-0 Giants rout in Game 2 of the World Series - it reminded me of the only thing that made me a nervous wreck as the parent of child athletes.

I watched Ben and Katie play football, basketball, baseball, soccer and softball. I watched them participate in track and field, learn to ride bikes, dive into pools and clown around with their friends. I pretty much never worried about anything, even when they were shooting free throws with the game on the line.

Except when Ben pitched as a wee lad.

If you've ever been a parent of a Little Leaguer, or if you played youth baseball yourself, you know that the pitcher's ability (or inability) to throw strikes is about 90 percent of the game.

If the kid throws the ball over the plate, even if his or her "stuff" consists almost entirely of batting-practice-quality slowballs, the team will have a chance to win. If the kid walks too many batters, the team is doomed.

Unlike the center fielder or the second baseman or whoever is batting at any given time, the pitcher is watched closely by every pair of eyes in the park from the moment the ump says "play ball" until another pitcher enters the game.

When Ben was at the plate, I wasn't the least bit nervous. Either he'd get a hit or he wouldn't. If he struck out, so what? Lots of kids did. It was a quick and noble death.

If things weren't clicking when he pitched, however, it was slow torture.

If it got bad enough, I couldn't watch. I would get up and walk to a place I was sure he couldn't see me, helping him resist the urge to look my way and helping me hide my anxiety. But I still could hear exactly what was going on, and I still felt for the little guy with every fiber of my being.

It wasn't that I was embarrassed as a parent or even concerned that Ben would fail. It was the IMPORTANCE of it all, especially to the other parents in the stands and the coaches in the dugout who were watching every move Ben made.

If Ben walked a batter and then fell behind 2-0 to the next, the "encouragement" was inevitable. And unbearable.

"C'mon, Ben, you can do it!"

"C'mon, Ben, just throw a strike!"

"Here we go, Ben, just lay it in there!"

The more they'd "encourage" him, the more he'd press, trying to steer the ball instead of throwing it.

And then he'd miss the strike zone again.

It was painful ... until mercifully, another kid would take the mound and Ben could go to the relative anonymity of shortstop or left field.

Thankfully, Ben actually was an OK pitcher with pretty decent control. Discounting the time he plunked three straight batters - arm, hip, head, plink, plank, plunk, saved for posterity in a now-hilarious video - he rarely was as wild as Holland was last night for the Rangers.

He certainly was no Rick Ankiel.

And yet I was relieved when, the following season, he did what Ankiel had to do and switched positions.

As a catcher, the pressure was off - and both he and I actually could enjoy the games.
^

Management regrets the error

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Under the subject line "Old habits die hard, I guess," my former GateHouse editor, Casey Laughman (who later met a similar fate at the hands of that fine company), couldn't resist needling me a little by e-mail:

"I can't believe I'm pointing this out, but Nolan Ryan was on the Miracle Mets in '69."

D'oh! Despite me blogging that Ryan, now the Rangers' GM, had never sniffed a World Series as a player, he was, in fact, a wild-throwing bit player on the Mets' first title team. Another nice catch by Casey!

Man, I'd better clean up my act. If I keep making mistakes like that, I could get fired from this lucrative gig!
^

Today's High 5 - Postseason Baseball Edition

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5. Gotta admit I'm pulling for the Twins - and not just because their manager, Ron Gardenhire, is an actual human being. (Unlike Tom Kelly, the royal rectum I had to cover during my years at AP in Minneapolis.)

No, I'd like the Twins to still be playing in November just so I can see Bud Selig shivering in a box seat as he dodges snowflakes and pretends to enjoy himself at Target Field. I know ... I'm a little warped.

Now, reality: It's hard to envision the Twins getting past the Yankees. For all of their talent, these Yankees are not invincible, mostly because of suspect starting pitching. If the Twins were healthy - if Justin Morneau were available to launch a couple of HRs at Yankee Stadium - I might go with the Twins. But he's not, so he won't.

Yankees in 4.

4. It's Rays vs. Rangers in the Who Cares Series. Not even Tampa/St. Pete fans really care, though I suspect they'll pretend they do and show up just because it's the postseason.

Although the Rangers can flat-out mash and Cliff Lee gives them a legitimate horse, the Rays simply are better. Better rotation, better bullpen, better direction, better fundamentals, better speed, better defense.

Rays in 4.

3. The Reds are a pretty cool story and I really enjoyed covering Dusty Baker during his time in Cubbieland. Still, for everything Cinci has, the Phillies have more.

Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt and Cole Hamels? That's almost unfair. Not to mention all of that recent postseason experience - and history of postseason success - to carry them if things get a little dicey. (Though I'm saying it won't.)

Phillies in 3.

2. The Phillies don't even have the most feared arms in the playoffs. The Giants do.

Healthy, maybe the Braves steal a couple of games. Banged-up as they are, it's hard to envision them giving Bobby Cox a very satisfying sendoff.

Giants in 4.

1. As for the World Series ...

I'm saying Rays over Phils in a flip-flop of '08.

Yep, it'll be really something when tens of fans show up for the ticker-tape parade through downtown St. Pete.
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Cra-Z strikes again!

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And that, my friends, is why he's Cra-Z!

I love all the trade speculation concerning Carlos Zambrano now. That's beautiful. I mean, yeah, opposing GMs must be begging Jim Hendry for a chance to land Cra-Z.

After all, Zambrano hasn't been good for almost two years, he has nearly $50 million remaining on his contract and he makes Barry Bonds look like Teammate of the Decade.

If that doesn't spell W-I-N-N-E-R, I don't know what does.

This season in Cubbieland is over; the White Sox have seen to that. And with a roster full of over-the-hill, overpaid losers, 2011 might be over already, too.

Tom Ricketts must be thinking about trying to get his money back. He should take his receipt to Costco; I hear they have the best return policy anywhere.

On the plus side ...

At least Cubbie fans who also love futbol still have Ghana to root for!

On the next Heroes: A-Roid and Bulky Barry

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The Bald Truth

Thrilled to see Alex Rodriguez come through in the clutch for the Yankees. You know, it's about time one of America's unselfish, clean-living, freckle-faced lads gets a little well-deserved attention.

The Balder Truth

Congratulations, President Obama! Then again, if I had known that all it took to win the Nobel Peace Prize was not getting my hometown the Olympics, I'd have campaigned for Milford, Conn., decades ago.

THE BALDEST TRUTH

How wonderful that a San Francisco hospital has accepted a $250,000 donation from one of the city's all-time sports icons to create the modestly named Barry Bonds Family Foundation Playroom.

Besides a Lego station, a slide and a reading area, the playroom has intelligently placed dispensers for the clear and the cream at heights any kid can reach.

Mark Prior: From perfect to unemployable, just like that

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The Bald Truth

Before he ever threw a big-league pitch, Mark Prior was heralded as a once-in-a-generation talent. He had the size, the demeanor, the poise, the mound presence, the intelligence, the command and the maturity of legend. And oh, did he ever have the stuff.

His mechanics? Perfect. One expert after another said that with his mechanics, he'd never get hurt.

When the Twins passed on him to draft their hometown boy, Joe Mauer, they were ridiculed for being stupid, cheap or both. (I guess now is as good a time as any to say their decision has turned out OK.)

The Cubs gave Prior such a huge signing bonus after they selected him in 2001 - $10.5 million - that it's still a record today.

Think about that. Think about how salaries in sports - baseball especially - have escalated. And yet this guy's bonus of eight years ago remains the gold standard.

The first time Mark Prior pitched for the Cubs, it was obvious he had "it" - that special something separating the superstars from everybody else.

Fans had such high expectations for him that I took to calling him Messiah Mark. Some ripped me for "making fun" of Prior, but the more observant readers realized I was poking fun at the worshippers, not the faux deity. (Besides, I liked how Messiah Mark Prior sounded. Kinda rolls off the tongue, no?)

He went 18-6 in 2003, his first full year in the majors. In the second half of that season, he was 10-1 with a 1.52 ERA. He was simply the best pitcher in the world, A SURE THING.

Prior continued to shine in the postseason and was only five outs away from a shutout victory that would have vaulted the Cubs into their first World Series in six decades. Though he, like his teammates and manager, choked away that game, his potential obviously was limitless.

More than a few surveys of GMs, managers, scouts and sportswriters concluded that, after old-timers Greg Maddux, Randy Johnson and Tom Glavine reached the 300-win plateau, it wouldn't happen again until Prior got to 300 some 15 or so years down the line.

Then came the injuries. One after another after another.

As the injuries piled up, experts began blaming flaws in his pitching mechanics for his plight. Some were the same experts who just a few years earlier had said his mechanics were perfect.

Many fans who once worshipped Messiah Mark suddenly were all over him. Baseball people, including some in the Cubs organization, were calling him a wimp.

He didn't know the difference between soreness and injury, they said. He had a low pain threshold. He was too selfish, too worried about his next contract, to man up.

What a wuss!

I wasn't Prior's friend or fan - that's not my job - but I did feel sorry for him, and I said so in several columns back then.

I didn't feel that way because of his ailments. After all, injuries are part of sports. And certainly not because the money train had stopped pulling into his depot. With the millions he made, he should be set for life.

No, I felt sorry for him because total strangers were questioning his integrity, passion, manhood and will to compete. These idiots somehow felt qualified to look into his brain and his heart. It wasn't until the surgeries began that people finally acknowledged: "Hey, you know what? This guy actually might be hurt."

As it turns out, he threw his final big-league pitch in 2006. The Cubs let him go a year later. The Padres signed him. More surgery followed. Last week, Prior was cut loose.

He is a 28-year-old has-been.

Although it has anything but a happy ending, his is among the most interesting stories of recent times. The cautionary tale to end all cautionary tales.

Whenever some young gun is compared to the all-time greats, I always think of Mark Prior.

And whenever a team drafts the next Can't Miss Kid, I say: "Hey, if Messiah Mark can miss, anybody can."

The Balder Truth

Pirates rookie Andrew McCutchen was so incredible Saturday - 4 hits, 4 runs, 3 HRs, 6 RBI - that he was honored as Future Red Sox Or Future Cub Of The Day.

THE BALDEST TRUTH

I promise. I'll never capitalize the "w" in Dewayne again.

The White Sox media guide lists the now-famous Perfect Game Preserver as DeWayne Wise. So do the lineup sheets and press notes that the team publishes on game days. But Wise says he wants the "w" lower-cased.

His wish is my command: Dewayne Wise, it is.

By the way, I really would have been impressed had Wise preserved a perfect game for Mark Buehrle on Sunday against the Yankees. Considering that Buehrle allowed seven runs on 12 hits in 4 1/3 innings, the Sox would have needed about 14 Dewaynes on the field (and maybe a couple on the other side of the outfield wall).

You know, there's only one word to describe this latest Buehrle performance: aWful.

Ryno slams El Roido

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The Bald Truth

I've not yet decided how I'll vote when Sammy Sosa's name appears on the Hall of Fame ballot in five years. Ryne Sandberg, who hopes to be the Cubs' manager by then, is giving me the punt sign.

That's right: Ryno is saying no-go to El Roido (a.k.a. El Corko).

"Part of being in the Hall of Fame, they use the word integrity in describing a Hall of Famer ... and I think there are gonna be quite a few players that are not gonna get in," Sandberg told a Chicago radio station Tuesday.

Yes, there is an integrity clause ... but it's tricky. Should spitballer Gaylord Perry have gotten in? What about selfish Reggie Jackson? Racist jerk Ty Cobb? Should I vote for Robbie Alomar, who spat in an umpire's face?

Ryno unquestionably is right about the last thing he said, though. No matter how I vote, I doubt the likes of Sosa, Mark McGwire, Gary Sheffield, Manny Ramirez and Rafael Palmeiro will get in.

There simply is too much sentiment against the cheaters. McGwire, the first of the eligible juicers, has gotten less love from BBWAA voters than Jon has lately from Kate (and vice versa).

Even Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds are in doubt.

And I really don't like the Hall chances of Alex Sanchez and Felix Heredia, who must not have followed directions on their 'roid labels very well.

The Quote

"People love me everywhere I go." - Manny Ramirez

Especially people who sell syringes.

The Balder Truth

While talking to reporters before Tuesday's game, White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen saw that the Dodgers' Juan Pierre was listening in.

Ozzie: "We're gonna play 10 guys in the infield. You're not bunting! I tell you, we're gonna have everybody in the middle."

Juan: "When I get a bunt base-hit, I'm gonna look right at you!"

Ozzie: "Two million dollars if you get a bunt base-hit on me!"

Thanks to a diving catch at third base by Gordon Beckham - robbing Pierre of a bunt hit in the eighth - Ozzie gets to keep his millions.

It was the only good news on this night for Guillen, whose impotent losers fizzled again at home.

A Hall of a Voter

Longtime loyal reader Doug Nicodemus asked why I have a Hall vote. Here's the deal:

Every 10-plus-year member of the Baseball Writers Association of America in good standing gets a ballot. Because I was in the BBWAA for 25 years before my newspaper company so generously set me free, I received lifetime membership - and lifetime Hall voting rights.

So I'm kind of like a Supreme Court justice, only more objective - and not quite as bald as Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

THE BALDEST TRUTH

It is absurd that MLB is letting Manny be Manny for a bunch of minor-league "rehab" games before his drug suspension ends.

Maybe they were just worried he wouldn't be able to make ends meet without that Triple-A meal money: 20 bucks a day.

Angels and D-Backs: Bests of Wests

^

And so, it's on to the Wests, divisions that just might combine to produce zero 90-win teams. On the bright side, the races - if that's what they'll be called - should be close come September.

AL WEST

1. L.A. Angels of Orange County & Other Non-L.A. Regions: Interesting that a team can subtract longtime hitting standout Garret Anderson, all-time single-season saves leader Francisco Rodriguez and the league's best first baseman in Mark Teixeira and still be the division favorite. Does that say more about the Angels or the division? Probably the latter, but the former is a possibility, too. The Angels did a decent job of retooling, bringing in Bobby Abreu to play left and Brian Fuentes to close, and they still have Vlad Guerrero, Torii Hunter and a very nice pitching staff. Should be plenty to rule this field.

2. Seattle Mariners: The rest of the division is a crapshoot, so let's take a shot and promote the league's crappiest team in 2008 to a second-place finish. This is all about pitching. (What? You thought I was going to say this was all about the homecoming of Junior Griffey, who proved during his South Side go-round that he was done, finished, kaput?) If Erik Bedard is healthy, Felix Hernandez is the ace-on-the-rise he appears to be and if 100 mph throwing Brandon Morrow is a bullpen stud, the M's should be able to get enough offense from Ichiro and Adrian Beltre to at least avoid humiliating themselves again.

3. Oakland A's: Not sure if Billy Beane has built a legitimate contender or if he has put together a group destined to crash and burn. Jason Giambi is back to play first base, Eric Chavez and Nomar Garciaparra are hoping to make it through a season in one piece, the A's actually are counting on Michael Wuertz, and ace Justin Duchscherer is going to miss at least a month after elbow surgery. On second thought, never mind on the "legitimate contender" half of the equation.

4. Texas Rangers: As usual, they're hoping to maul opponents into submission. It hasn't worked in eons, and I see no reason it should work now. But hey, it sure will be fun watching Josh Hamilton and friends hit the baseball.

NL WEST

1. Arizona Diamondbacks: If you like Strike 3, you gotta love this team. A starting rotation led by Brandon Webb and Dan Haren often gets opponents chasing at air, but that's just the start of it. D-Backs hitters strike out more often than Pauly Shore at a sorority pajama party. The hitters are young and talented, though, so I'm gambling that at least a few of them - maybe Mark Reynolds, maybe Chris Young, maybe Justin Upton, maybe Stephen Drew, maybe someone - will have figured out a thing or two about the importance of putting the ball in play every so often. Besides, how can one go against a team that has Augie Ojeda on its roster?

2. L.A. Dodgers: Well, Manny is happy, and that usually means good things for Manny's team. Still, the Dodgers actually have transformed themselves from a team that relies primarily on pitching and defense to one that hopes to out-mash opponents. It will be interesting to see how that plays at Dodger Stadium. It's hard not to like a lineup that includes the likes of Manny, Andre Ethier, Russell Martin, Casey Blake, Rafael Furcal and Orlando Hudson. It's easy not to like a team relying on Randy Wolf, Jeff Weaver and Jason Schmidt.

3. San Francisco Giants: If only one could combine the Giants and the Dodgers, you'd have a team capable of winning this division by 20-some games. The Giants can pitch - and who knows? Maybe that actually will be enough in the NL West. Just when I wondered when we'd see another lefty as dominant and entertaining as Randy Johnson, along came Tim Lincecum and his 102 pounds of fury. And now look: San Fran has both. Matt Cain and Jonathan Sanchez, too. The Giants also have Aaron Rowand and Edgar Renteria as primary offensive weapons. Expect lots of 2-1 wins and 3-2 losses.

4. Colorado Rockies: Five words: Jason Marquis in Coors Field. This can't be a good thing. The Rocks also dumped their best player (Matt Holliday) and have some gaping holes. Nevertheless, this team is just one year removed from a World Series appearance ... and that has to count for something, right? Maybe all they need is the real Troy Tulowitzki to show up. Unless the 2008 version was the real one, in which case, they're screwed. 

5. San Diego Padres: Well, at least they still have Jake Peavy. Until they don't.

(Tomorrow: AL Central and NL Central.)

A prediction, and other Super Bowl observations

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The Bald Truth

If you're wondering why I haven't posted for a few days (and even if you're not wondering), it's because I'm in Phoenix for a little R&R. As Blago would say, being unemployed can be exhausting!

Anyway, as a detached, objective observer, it's been fun - and more than a little strange - watching Arizona Cardinals fans behave.

Yes, Cardinal Fever has swept across the valley like so many tumbleweeds, but it's hard to take it too seriously. The guy driving in front of me in the Chevy Suburban - a road behemoth that was decked out in Cardinals red and featured no fewer than a half-dozen Cardinals flags - almost surely was not so feverish about his heroes just a few months ago.

The fans here aren't much like Steelers fans (or Bears fans, Eagles fans, Giants fans, etc., etc., etc.). Fans of those teams had little choice. Their fathers and grandmothers and uncles and older sisters worshipped those teams, so they simply had to worship them, too. Through good times and bad, they were Steelers fans (and Bears fans, Eagles fans, Giants fans, etc.) ... period.

Cardinals fans? Most grew up in other parts of the country rooting for other teams. And most kept rooting for their favorite teams after moving to the Valley of the Sun - all but ignoring Bill Bidwell's unlovable losers.

Indeed, fans here had Cardinal Fever only in the sense that they were sick of having to watch that awful team Sunday after Sunday, season after season, when they would have rather been watching their Jets or their Packers or - gulp! - even their Bengals.

This is just a generalization, of course, because I'm sure there are some diehard fans of Arizona's pro football franchise. Just not many.

Now, well, the bandwagon overfloweth.

Perfect weather and a Super Bowl team for a bunch of Cardinal Come Lately fans? Somehow, it just doesn't seem fair.

Scrawl-Line Cubbie Blues

About 1,000 times a day, ESPN runs a little bottom-of-the-screen line stating that the Cardinals franchise's 61-year championship drought is the second-longest in major professional sports.

The Balder Truth

I was dead-wrong about Kurt Warner.

Several years ago, when the Bears were looking for a QB to back up future star Rex Grossman, I wrote that Warner would be the wrong choice. He was too old. He seemed washed up. His wife, Brenda, was a bit of a pain in the posterior. He wanted to compete for the starting job and it would do the Bears no good to stunt Grossman's growth as a QB.

Blah blah blah. I had reasons galore ... and, in retrospect, pretty much every one of them was foolish.

My only solace: I wasn't alone. Bears honchos Jerry Angelo and Lovie Smith, who were paid slightly more than I was to be right about such things, also gave Warner the big thumbs-down. Warner was rejected by numerous other GMs and coaches, too.

What a bunch of dopes all of us were.

THE BALDEST TRUTH

So now here it is ... prediction time.

I really, really want to pick the Cardinals because they are such a cool story. You have Warner, one of the NFL's all-time underdogs. You have a defense that came out of nowhere to become formidable. You have dozens of players who are anonymous to fans outside of Arizona (and, methinks, to quite a few fans in Arizona). You have Larry Fitzgerald and Anquan Boldin; it's pretty easy to envision those world-class receivers dancing repeatedly in the end zone.

Plus, there's the whattayagottolose factor. If I pick the Cardinals and they win, wow, what a great upset call. And if they lose, hey, it was worth a try.

Having said all that ...

I can see the Steelers' defense making life absolutely miserable for Warner, smothering him, taking away his passing lanes, roughing up those star receivers, making the Cardinals one-dimensional by completely shutting down the running game.

I also can see Willie Parker running wild against the Arizona D and, as a result, Ben Roethlisberger connecting on game-changing deep passes.

From top to bottom, the Steelers are the better, more experienced, more fundamentally sound team. They are far and away the better defensive team, and defense wins championships, right? As romantic as it is to say "Anything can happen" - the Cardinals' presence in Tampa is evidence of that - the best team usually does prevail on the biggest stage.

And so ...

Steelers 27, Cardinals 17.

Go ahead, Kurt Warner. Prove me (and about a zillion others) wrong one more time.
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