Let's talk baseball

[Prunepicker]

I like baseball. We can make it as complicated or simple as we like. Baseball
is very similar to Chess, i.e. one can make it as simple or complicated at
one wants.

My all time favorite announcer is Vin Scully. Second is PeeWee Reece and
Dizzy Dean.

At any rate, tell us your favorite incidences.

I've got signed baseballs from Don Drysdale and "The Duke"

I heard Jim Sundberg describe his discovery of Gaylord Perry's famous
spit ball.

In the meantime...

9 Famous Cases of MLB Pitchers Who Were Caught Cheating | Total Pro Sports

[Prunepicker]

Civil Rights Game History by Baseball Almanac

[Stan Silliman]

Check here to see the cartoon. Sammy's Corked
I'm very sad to report that my cartoonist, the great Mike Krawczyk, passed away today. He will be missed but his work will be long remembered.

SAMMY'S ALL CORKED UP

Sammy Sosa is dining at one of his favorite Chicago haunts – The Cork and La Patata - – an Irish/Spanish bistro on Wacker Drive. His waiter – Corcho “Corky” O’Malley – offers condolences to Sammy for the events of recent days. “Some people,” says O’Malley, “do not know the real Sammy Sosa as I do.”
“Gracias.”

“If they know the real you, they know you do not cheat. They know you have a heart as big as Lake Michigan.”
“Gracias, amigo.” Sammy signals two fingers from the heart to his lips.

A strolling mariachi band swings by. The bagpipe looks out of place.

“What pleases you to start today?” asks O’Malley.
“Antes de nada (First of all) I start with the Cork Salad con Salsa.”

“Cork salad con salsa for Sosa?” O’Malley has fun with the order, repeating it over and over as he heads back to the kitchen. “Cork salad con salsa for Sosa, salad con salsa for Sosa.”
“What did he say, Sonia? Salsa for Sosa? Nah.” Sammy asks as Sonia, his wife, returns to the table.
The Mariachi Band is playing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling.” This time the bagpipe shines. In honor of their favorite guest they change the title of the following song to “Oh, Sammy Boy.”
“Oh, Sammy Boy… the pipes, the pipes are calling. From Glen to glen… you had a practice bat. It came from Cork and all the flowers are dying…. Oh, Sammy Boy…”

“What was that song?” Sammy asks his wife Sonia, not sure he heard right.

Other entertainers are coming to the stage as the mariachi band takes a break. It’s usually a mix of Spanish and Irish music and limericks. Tonight a trio of Cuban gals – Las Sacacorchos - (the Corkscrews) – celebrate their new release Ponga un Corcho en Su Boca. (Put a Cork in it).

Sammy is pleased to see this Cuban group. They start singing “You talk too much. You talk too much. Hablas demasiado. Hablas demasiado. Ponga un corcho en su boca.”

“What did I hear?” Sammy asks Sonia as Corky O’Malley brings his cork salad con salsa.
“And for your main course may I recommend South American Bat? Sixteen inch wingspan served with Irish potatoes. It is very good with Guinness.”
“How is it cooked?” asks Sammy.
“Either blackened or grilled over cork.”
“Grilled over cork? That sounds delicious - South American Corked Bat - I’ll take it.”

The Cuban band has left the stage and the limerick master has replaced them. He starts with Sammy’s favorite: “There was a young man from Cork. His….”

[Stan Silliman]

Article with cartoon: Roy_Halladays_No-Hitter

Roy Halladay’s No-Hitter: What Was I Doing During the Last Playoff No-Hitter?

Wow! Roy Halladay just pitched a playoff no hitter for the Phillies.

I'm trying to remember the last time I remember a no-hitter in the playoffs. I'm sure Sandy Koufax had some. No? Curt Schilling? No? The Big Unit? No? All those Atlanta Braves guys? No?

Okay! You're forcing Stan Silliman to Google. I'm too old to Google.

Don Larsen? The perfect game in the 1956 World Series? Geez, what was I doing October 8, 1956? Hmmm?

Game 5 was on a Monday so I was in school—junior high—in the Panhandle of Oklahoma. I remember a little of the series. Actually more interested in Darla of civics class, but that was my hormones talking. Darla was our school's Annette (of the Mouseketeers) except without the dark hair...and the big mouse ears.

On top of that, I had just seen The Ten Commandments the night before and little did I know my heart was about to witness two major events in back-to-back days. Really, how often do see the waters of a sea part and a perfect game, back-to-back?

Well, actually I only saw part of the perfect game and I can't really say I saw that much. I will explain.

I did have an interest in the Yankees-Dodgers series. It wasn't my Cardinals with Stan (my name) Musial but it did have two Oklahomans—Mickey Mantle and Dale Mitchell. After finishing algebra and heading to Phys Ed, Joe Clark came up to me saying he heard on the principal's radio a no-hitter was being pitched in the World Series and suggests we skip the final class, head to my house, catch it on TV.

I agreed even though I knew every time Joe Clark suggested a scheme, I always took the blame.

On the way to my house, Joe and I argued Doris Day versus Kim Novak. Both of them had the boobs. Not much diff but I favored Novak on the freckle factor. Didn't care for the freckles.

We hit the door just in time to catch the eighth inning. My mom didn't even know the game was on but we buzzed up the black and white. Snowy black and white...with a rolling bar. We couldn't find the GAME! Either the reception was bad or they weren't carrying it on a Monday afternoon in our part of the world.

We switched on the radio and you could hear the tension. My stomach started to knot. I got out my baseball cards to see how many of my cards were in the game. Jackie Robinson is up. Had his card. Grounds to first. Then Gil Hodges is at bat. Had his card. Lines it to third. Sandy Amoros is up. No card. Hits it deep, there's excitement, flies out.

Then the Yanks come up at the bottom of the line-up - Larsen, Bauer, Collins. Sal Maglie, the Barber, clips them, shaves 'em, strikes out every batter. If it weren't for Larsen doing the impossible, Maglie would have got praise for a special game. Maglie was the Debbie Reynolds to Larsen's Liz Taylor.

Now it's the ninth and our radio gets scratchy. Furillo, Campanella and Maglie are up. I get out my cards. I've got Roy and I've got Sal, no Furillo. Makes no difference as Furillo flies to right. Now Roy is up. He is one of my favorites and he can smack the leather off the ball.

Mom hears us screaming and walks in. Roy grounds to second. One more batter, Maglie! No, Dale Mitchell pinches. Not only do I have the card, but it's autographed. MY autographed card is getting ready to ruin a perfect game. OU's Dale Mitchell will be known as the guy who cost Don Larsen a perfecto.

Strike One. If Mitchell connects it better be a homer. Strike Two! He's pressing. No chasing a slider, he'll wait for a good one. Strike Three! A called strike three.

Joe jumps. Mom jumps. I didn't know she could do that. My cards go flying...and my magazine with Marilyn Monroe on the cover lands on top of them with Mom still in the room. I said my little heart might not handle two big events back to back—10-C and a Perfecto—let's make it three.

[MadMonk]

Did you see the dual triple-plays in the same game the other day?
6-3 on the first
4-6-3 on the second
Penn State Nittany Lions turn 2 triple plays vs. Michigan State Spartans - ESPN

Pretty cool. I once did an unassisted double-play in high school in a similar fashion. Caught a high line drive at 1B and the runner at first thought it went over my head. Trotted to 1st to make the unassisted double play. It was the sole highlight-worthy play of my short career.

[Plutonic Panda]

Should this belong in 'sports'?

[kevinpate]

baseball - thwarting insomnia medication sales for decades.

[Stan Silliman]

Might want to move this to the Sports thread, I don't know.
Myself, I played since I was seven years old in an org called Kids Inc in Woodward, OK up through high school.

About the only thing I recall from high school ball was we once faced a pitcher with a reputed 100 mph fastball.
In Balko, OK, we traveled to face this guy.

We didn't know much about him but here's the kicker: He wore coke bottle glasses an he was wild. If you were
willing to stand strong in the box you could get walked. You could also gets your ribs broke.

I remember my times at bat, where I heard the ball whistle and the catcher's mitt pop like a firecracker.
I also remember the ball going behind me forcing me to almost step on the plate. I never connected
except for one foul. I remember walking twice and being thrilled to subbed for on my third at bat.

[shawnw]

Favorite baseball memories:

My sixth grade choir got to sing the national anthem at Veterans Stadium before a Phillies game in 1985. That was pretty cool. I got to meet Von Hayes at that game. Also, the Phillies tied it up in the 9th and it ended up going to 14 innings, might have been the first walk-off win I saw in person, so an overall awesome baseball day for me.

Every game I attended that I got to witness Mike Schmidt hit a homerun was special, and there were several.

My high school band did the giant flag opening on the filed on opening day at Veterans Stadium all four years of high school, so that's a pretty sweet experience, being on the field itself for opening day.

Also in high school I worked part time a couple years at the Vet, and got to work the game that Mike Schmidt's number was retired. I miss that dude being on the diamond.

I was at the game at the Vet on August 12th, 1994, the last day of the season due to the strike, and the game went long, past 11pm. We kept hoping the game would go to midnight to see if the players would walk off the field. Not exactly a spectacular moment in baseball history, but interesting to be there for.

In 2002, I took my 6-year old daughter back to Philly and to her first MLB game at Veterans Stadium. Always a special moment when you take your child to their first game.

In October 2000, I was in New York on the day of the Mets/Yankees World Series game 2. Had an offer to go to the game, but skipped it because I was in New York to spend time with my mom and sister. And I've yet to have another opportunity like that to attend a world series game.

Attending the Inaugural World Baseball Classic was pretty sweet (USA run-ruled their opponent), but going to Toronto for the second WBC to see USA vs Canada was probably a little better.

I could go on...

[catcherinthewry]

I used to be a huge baseball fan and a member of SABR, but the greed of the players and owners during the strike in the 90s turned me off. At the time I had seen every MLB ballpark except Mile High Stadium and had scheduled a vacation in September to check it off my list. The strike started before I could get to Denver and the Rockies moved into Coors Field the next Spring. I was so mad that I didn't go see a major league game for years (I still went to Redhawks games). I have since returned to MLB and have added most of the new stadiums. I think I have gone to 38 different MLB ballparks, but I still don't follow baseball the way I used to.

Stadium Rankings:

Best Setting: San Francisco
Best View: Pittsburgh
Best Game Day Experience: Chicago Cubs
Most Overrated: New York Yankees

[shawnw]

Dang you've got me beat by a lot. I've only been to 16 MLB parks. BUT I've also been to 16 MiLB parks, single, double, and triple A. Basically, if I go to a town and there's baseball, I get tickets.

[ljbab728]

I really only have one favorite memory because I'm not much of a baseball fan. I got to see Mickey Mantle hit a home run in Dodger Stadium against the Angels. That was when the Angels and Dodgers played in the same stadium.

[Prunepicker]

I want to attend the World Serious game when the Dodgers win it from
the Yankees in 4, but I'd settle for any win.

I remember Yogi Berra running to Don Larsen after the Perfect Game.
That was 1956. Stan was 70 that year.

I'll never forget the '63 series. The Dodgers swept the Yankee in 4.
Koufax struck out 15 in one game and Drysdale three hit them. THEN
Koufax 2 hit them. Incredible.

I remember teachers turning on the TV so we could watch the games
during class. The sound was off but we still had lessons. That's how
important the World Serious was.

[zookeeper]

I remember teachers turning on the TV so we could watch the games
during class. The sound was off but we still had lessons. That's how
important the World Serious was.

I remember the same thing! Now, they have to put the games in prime time for the money. There was nothing better than catching a World Series game during the day. I don't know why this stands out so much for me, but I remember so clearly going downtown when I was a kid to visit my mother at the office. I took the bus. I ended up one day at John A. Brown watching the last several innings of a world series game with people all standing around watching the game on a small TV with rabbit ears (which is all there was at the time). It stuck with me. Good times, good memories.

[Stan Silliman]

Check this Texas Ranger story, back from when it was for sale. Also, look here for the Mike Krawczyk cartoon: Chuck_Norris_Texas_Rangers

If Chuck Norris Buys Texas Rangers

Here’s the main reason Chuck Norris might purchase the baseball Texas Rangers - to battle Nolan Ryan. No lie, this is the theory described in the blog “The Common Man” on July 8: “Chuck and Nolan meet at Rangers Field, battle to a draw where the men collide emitting a mushroom cloud of testosterone to rain down on all Texans forcing everyone, women included, to grow facial hair.”

I’ve driven around Texas, this may have already happened. But, seriously…
wouldn’t Walker, Texas Ranger, be the perfect guy to guide the baseball Rangers out of bankruptcy? Say he teams up with Mark Cuban or Nolan Ryan, we’d have a competitive team that could round-house-kick its way to the World Series.

Some say the “Washington Senators” moved to Arlington and changed their name just to bask in Chuck Norris’s aura. Who can blame them? Follow the history of the Rangers and you see the Norris influence every step of the way. When George W. Bush presided over the Rangers, Norris told him to build a new stadium and the citizens will gladly tax themselves. When the Arlington council balked at this idea, Chuck Norris paid them a visit.

Jose Canseco, A-Rod, Sosa and others shot up so their muscles wouldn’t experience Norris envy in the presence of Chuck. The Great Norris has influenced our national pastime for years. He is the reason baseball has no time limit, he doesn’t want one. When Chuck Norris pulls a groin it’s always someone else’s. Chuck Norris doesn’t steal bases, he takes what is rightfully his. The Blue Angels do a fly by to light Chuck’s cigar.

Can you see the benefits of a Norris owned team? Traffic jams will no longer exist because vehicles on the same roads as Rangers fans will gladly pull to the shoulders. During seventh-inning stretches everyone uses “Total Gyms.” The celebratory fireworks will just be Chuck blowing smoke rings. The beer will be Beard Beer sweetened with the earthy aroma of Chuck’s facial hair. When a late night game threatens to roll over into the next morning, Chuck Norris halts the earth’s rotation so we can finish on the same day we started. Why, because, he wants it that way.

I can see it happening. A-Rod, who is now claiming the Rangers owe him $ 25 million in deferred compensation, will drop his claim. In return, Chuck Norris will drop his foot. The banks, who list themselves as secured creditors, drop their claims for the security of having their vault doors remain in one-piece. The aura of Chuck Norris will glow over the stadium. The Rangers save a fortune in lighting bills. If rain threatens to delay the start of a game, Chuck Norris is one phone call away.

I see it as a win-win, just so long as Chuck Norris doesn’t write a column. In one paper Chuck’s column ran next to mine and it was… it was… the best piece of literature ever penned by a mortal person.

[Stan Silliman]

Here's an oddball baseball story involving a guy - Tom Murro - who calls himself the Celebrity Magnet trying to deliver a gift from Yogi Berra to President Obama.
The Magnet guy wrote me and said he liked the humor I put in sports stories and wanted to give me a heads up on his mission to deliver this gift
with the hopes I would take his exclusive and write it up in a humorous manner. He had read my stories in the Allentown, Pa Morning Call and
also in Bleacher Report. I got the story into the New York Post, Forbes On-Line and in Bleacher.

Check here for the Mike Krawczyk Cartoon: Yogi_to_Obama

Here's the story as it ran in Bleacher Report: Yogi-to-Obama-Latest-Mission-for-Celebrity-Magnet


Here's the follow up story in Bleacher Report: The-Gift-of-the-Yogi-A-Follow-Up

As it appears in Silliman on Sports:

Yogi To Obama: Latest Mission For Celebrity Magnet

From the time he started playing baseball, Yogi Berra has met every sitting President. It was an honor, it was a goal; each occasion brought joy to Yogi.

BUT, Yogi has not met Obama. He wanted to, hoped to, but conflicting schedules prevented the meeting. In the absence of a face-to-face, Yogi still has a valued possession he wants to give to our president – a signed picture showing Jackie Robinson sliding into home plate as Yogi is making the tag.

So what do you do when you’re trying to get a special gift to the biggest celebrity in the world and you can’t be there yourself? You call the Celebrity Magnet – Tom Murro. That makes sense, doesn’t it? If your house is populated by ghosts, who you going to call? Why Ghostbusters, of course! Same thing if you need to get next to a celebrity, you enlist the services of a celebrity-getter-next-toer, this Magnet guy, a professional celebrity sider-upper.

This guy has his own Celebrity Magnet blog, parlayed the blog into a column in International Watch Magazine, a monthly publication about wristwatches, which, by the way allows The Magnet, as if he needed it, even MORE access to celebrities. Even more access because, more than anything on earth, celebrities love to talk about wristwatches.

Do you doubt me? Tom Murro stands outside a Broadway Theater where Daniel Craig stars in A Steady Rain and then meets Daniel Craig (don’t ask me if it happened to be raining when Murro was waiting outside the theater) and immediately they start gabbing about wristwatches. Murro, the Magnet, was a former banker who knows his watches and hear this, Craig holds up his arm and offers Murro his Rolex.

Mr. Celebrity Magnet refuses to accept, of course, because if he took everyone’s watch who falls into his magnetic spell well… it would be like abusing his super powers. It would be like if Clark Kent entered a skydiving contest or someone bet their house against Peter Parker in rock climbing; like getting duped into playing a game of hide-and-seek with the Invisible Man.

Being a “celebrity magnet” has responsibilities. Yes, your gravitational pull draws in stars like elf bell shoes to the North Pole. You can’t interview or hob-nob with every celebrity sucked into your vortex, therefore you must have a strategy. Tom Murro culls and picks. When he bumps into or places himself in a spot near an unsuspecting superstar, he sets the stage for the “chance” meet-up. Anyway, the question remains, can he make it through secret service and deliver Yogi’s gift to Obama?

You might be asking how did Tom Murro become the Magnet? What cosmic alignment spawned this creature? What Kismetic event bestowed celebrity drawing super powers onto this mild mannered banker? It all started one year ago this week when Murro and his daughter were on the same Martha’s Vinyard golf course when Obama was on vacation. Murro decided to approach the president to see if his daughter could get a picture with him. To Murro’s luck, Spike Lee was in the president’s foursome, knew and vouched for Tom so he was let through. Kismet. Shockingly long odds Kismet.

Yogi’s picture, the one from the 1955 World Series showing Yogi at home plate preparing to tag out Jackie Robinson, has the inscription “Dear Mr. President, he was out” signed by Yogi Berra. Yogi, 85, has been recovering in a hospital and unable to walk since taking a fall in July. He was not able to attend Hall of Fame ceremonies this year at Cooperstown, an event he never misses.

Will the picture make it into the president’s hands? Can the Magnet pull off another miracle? We’re writing this prior to an answer. Tom Murro assured us he would give it an all-out try. Can he do it? We think “Yes, he can!”

[Bill Robertson]

Since I'm a huge Cards fan one my greatest memories was driving 8 hours to get to game six of the 2011 World Series. I was sitting in a nosebleed seat in 28 degree weather with a 30 MPH wind but I was there. It was an elimination game for the Cards. I was listening to the play by play on my phone. Bottom of the 11th inning and David Freese is at bat. You could hear the hit even from where I was and then the call..........."It could be gone,,,,,,,,,,and we will see you tomoooorrrroooowwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Unfortunately a game 7 ticket cuold not be had for less than a nice car so I drove home the next day and watched my Cards win the World Series on TV.

[Prunepicker]

I remember the same thing!

Cool! We all know that Baseball didn't rule our lives but when something
important was going on we wanted to see it. The World Serious was
very important.

Now, they have to put the games in prime time for the money.

Which I have nothing against.

There was nothing better than catching a World Series game during the
day. I don't know why this stands out so much for me, but I remember so
clearly going downtown when I was a kid to visit my mother at the office.
I took the bus. I ended up one day at John A. Brown watching the last
several innings of a world series game with people all standing around
watching the game on a small TV with rabbit ears (which is all there was
at the time). It stuck with me. Good times, good memories.

Day games are magic. Night games aren't.

[Prunepicker]

Since I'm a huge Cards fan...

Prunette saw the Cardinals in Sportsman's Park.

Drool fool!

I believe an LOL is necessary. But DROOL FOOL!

[Stan Silliman]

Both these Yankees were good with the quotes:

bleacher report Yogi-vs-Casey-quote-war-Top-That

[Stan Silliman]

Some of the craziest stories come from the minor leagues:

Check here for the cartoon done by my dear departed friend, Mike Krawczyk Amarillo_Sox
For those interested, Mike's Memorial service is Saturday at 2 pm at the Unitarian Church in OKC


AMARILLO SOX, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

Amarillo Sox, what were you thinking?

With regard to the design of your new mascot uniform, that is? Who designed it anyway, Anthony Weiner?

Okay readers, do we need to back up? Some publications will print a picture of the mascot, some will not. For those without a picture, I’m going to explain.

If you have a pic, just look at it. That’s the new mascot, the Sock. And yes ma’am, it does look like a big yellow sock pulled tight over a huge 36” long foot, with a red reinforced ring in the toes portion of the sock and red reinforced heel where the heel should be.

This is where it veers off track. The mascot has a cute face, super cute, under a baseball cap, two arms… because what would a mascot be without arms? But the sock, which is very realistic, looks just like a baseball sock EXCEPT… the foot portion of the sock is coming right out of the mascot’s crotch.

It’s a crotch-foot.

Comprende’?

A crotch-foot. A three-foot long, rather girthy, crotch-foot. Folks, readers, do you get the picture?

Mr. Sock has morphed into “What have you got in that sock?”

We realize a crotch-foot mascot lends itself to a “Camptown” type song and maybe the designer was hoping for this although I doubt it:

“Crotch-foot Mascot, here he is.
Doo-dah, doo-dah
Crotch-foot mascot, here he is
Doo-dah, doo-dah
Crotch-foot mascot, here he is
Mr. Sock will scare the kids!
Doo-dah, doo-dah, day”

I’m not sure but you’d think that’d be a little embarrassing, in a phallic symbolism sort of way! Kiddos, you haven’t heard the half of it. Sit down, take a sip. Please!

I will go on, but it pains me to do this story because Amarillo is my favorite city in the entire Texas Panhandle and I know they’ve had their share of ribbing in the past. I like Amarillo but, inadvertently, Amarillo finds a way—it always does—to work its way into embarrassing situations.

Let’s set the scene. The Amarillo Sox of the American Association wants to trot out their mascot and, like all good promoters, they work to keep the uniform secret so that it can be revealed to the maximum number of fans on a special night with heavy attendance including families and children. Did they ever!

Well, they got it: heavy attendance, strong promotion, and the mascot under wraps until just the right moment. Mr. Sock was under wraps until time to expose him.
Was that the wrong choice of words, “expose him”?

I’m not sure but they did… and what they got was a creature with a cute face under a cap and three long foot sticking out from you-know-where.

I’m not saying it’s overtly phallic but on the east side of town folks are looking up at Big Tex, sadly, worried if he’s missing something.

Some say, hey, it’s Amarillo and they don’t call the canyon, west of town, the Palo Duro Canyon for nothing. Which if you know Spanish, Palo Duro means hard wood.

Need we go on? Sure we do. Down the road from Big Tex is a ranch with a bunch of Cadillacs sticking out the ground like an automotive phallic bonanza.

I’m not saying there’s a connection but the Amarillo Sox’s new mascot didn’t help matters.

Did I mention only the designer and a few others knew what the mascot looked like? It was like keep a secret, then voila’, the cover lifted, mascot runs around, big foot flopping, Palo Duro style, with all eyes glued… then popped… then covered.

According to the Amarillo Globe-News, Sox general manager Mark Lee said “If we offended anybody, I apologize.” Then he promised to revamp the costume.

I suggested all they had to do was show Mr. Sock a picture of my hair. And if that doesn’t work, a bucket of cold water. “Have you got a size 30 foot in there or are you just happy to see me?”
Embarrassing, perhaps? Just a bit?

Until this event, I always considered the famous Amarillo-very-prosperous-body cavity-search-recovery as the most embarrassing. Never heard of it? Amarillo’s finest recovered $ 8100 from a druggie’s backside, what we in the Southwest like to call “a buttload of money.”

The recovery made national police officer news, a new record for cash in a cavity search: eighty one hundred dollar bills plus two fifties. Don’t ask why the two fifties. Nor why, for the following year, every time someone was picked up jaywalking, they were told to spread ‘em.

That’s the embarrassing part, the force thinking you strike it rich once you might hit pay dirt again.

Perhaps Mr. Sock will make everyone forget about the perp and his Benjamins. I’m sure Ben Franklin would prefer everyone remember Mr. Sock over the perp.

[Urbanized]

[Urbanized]

The Western Kentucky mascot gives the Sox mascot two thumbs up.

[Stan Silliman]

Another strange minor league baseball story:
Check the Zyk cartoon here: London_Rippers

London Baseball Rippers Rile Community


“Lurking at LaBatt Park… the Rippers. Dare you?”

That’s a slogan, no lie, for a baseball team in London. Any question why the city might wish for a name change? You’re thinking “Nah, they wouldn’t be. They’re not ripping off a famous serial killer, are they?”

Let’s answer it this way. Their mascot’s name is Jack, and he’s wearing a cape, hiding his face and the team is in London. Ontario, that is. Joe Fontana, the mayor of London, Ontario in Canada wrote a letter to team president, David Martin, asking that they might be a little more sensitive, consider the women folk of London and… uh… change the bloody name!

“But it’s not Jack the Ripper,” responds Martin. “Our Jack was a hockey player. The only blades he knew were on his shoes. And when he could no longer play hockey (Canada’s national sport) he turned to baseball and found he could RIP the hide off the ball.”

Have you ever seen such side-stepping, dancing, back-tracking, rationalizing, from a team owner? Some folks want him to man up and quit the back-tracking. Rush Limbaugh doesn’t buy the hockey excuse. Limbaugh says “I admire creativity and I admire crossing the line.”

Hold it, Rush. Jack the Ripper killed women, a lot of them, and not in a nice way.

“I love offending people,” says Rush. “People are so wound up, tightly wound, waiting to be offended.” Rush went on to assume some of Jack’s victims were on the dole, or worse, femi-nazis.

Not cool, Rush. Not cool, David Martin. We realize the Rippers are in the Frontier League with a lot of crazy named teams but none of them, repeat not one has ever used a serial killer for a mascot. There are no Bellingham Bundys, Boston Stranglers, Waterloo Gacys nor Milwaukee Dahmers.

True, there are some odd names in the Frontier League. For instance, The Traverse City Beach Bums, and before that there were the Zanesville Greys, the Slippery Rock Sliders, and the old team in London, Ontario was the London Werewolves.

We think Werewolves was a better name. At least the Werewolves were imaginary. We also think Martin should admit he associated the name London with the famous London, England serial killer and had planned a marketing campaign with the Jack. Then he should either change the name or… as Rush advises, go full Psycho.

On second thought, forget full Psycho and all the cute Norman Bates uniforms and the screeching music whenever the Rippers have a rally. Go with a real Londoner, instead. The city is home to hundreds of famous people, like Jack Warner (movie mogul), Victor Garber, Hume Cronyn, Gene Lockhart, Guy Lombardo, Lolita Davidovich, Paul Haggis (director), Ryan Gosling (hot, at the moment), and several dozen hockey players. Or how about Justin Bieber, he’s pretty well known. The London Biebs, that’s it.

Not as fierce as the Rippers, but what a campaign and between inning songs you could bring. You’d be a hero, Mr. Martin. You can thank me later. A Bieber autographed baseball should do.

[Prunepicker]

Watched the Dodgers no-hit the Phillies! Great game.