The Final Season: What’s In A Name?

Braves 6 – Phillies 2; CJ: 2-4, HR (10), RBI (43), 2 R

So, I love the Braves, if you hadn’t noticed. I write about them every day, literally. But… do I love their name? Is their name offensive? Random question, I know, but one that comes up from time to time when the sports world is light on controversies.

It’s not something I think about that often, but it’s a question I’ve contemplated in my fandom. For the most part, I just call them the Braves like I was calling them Sammy or Sara or Tommy or some other generic name. But it isn’t one. There’s stigma attached to their name and, in the past, people have called for them to change it.

I’m not sure what made me start thinking about them, but I was thinking about the Washington Redskins today, and my thoughts drifted to how incredibly insensitive their name is. Redskins. I’m pretty sure that was (and still is) a very derogatory name for Native Americans when this country was first being created. Red skins. Think about it. That’s pretty bad. Now think about some of the potential equivalents for other races. That’s really bad. If I was Native American, I would be offended, and probably would be every time I heard it. It would never loose that twinge of dissonance in my ear. Really sucks if any Native Americans are football fans, particularly Redskins fans.

I can also understand Cleveland Indians being offensive, given that it’s the incorrect label for the people that inhabited this land before the Europeans. It’s really just a reminder of early ignorance. If anything, we, as descendants of European settlers, should want to change it out of shame for our ineptitude. Yay, I landed in the West Indies! No, smarty pants, you didn’t.

I can also understand the concern with the Florida State Seminoles. Not the name, however. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Florida using the name Seminole after a group of people that lived in the area. It would be like being called the Texas Austinites or the Montreal Canadians. (Hey, what a second.) I think the issue is with their mascot, the outfit he wears, the painting of his face, the war cry, and all those very stereotypical things. Even if they are (and I doubt it) historically accurate, in that the Seminoles behaved somewhat in that way, it’s still offensive by disregarding the purpose for the ritual. It denies the rich heritage and meaning behind the actions. So, yes, I think it’s offensive.

However, I don’t think that way when I hear ‘Braves.’ And, no, I’m not just being a homer so hear me out. First, it’s commonly believed that they are referring to Native American warriors, but couldn’t they also be referring to anyone that goes ‘bravely’ into battle? Why just Native Americans? Just a thought, if also a bit of a stretch.

So, as we know where it came from, why is this particular name offensive? Maybe this one I would need explained to me by someone with far better knowledge on the subject, but from where I sit, calling a warrior a Brave isn’t a bad thing, nor a particularly derogatory one. The Springfield Nurses or Teachers or Fighters. Most of those are boring but you get the point. It’s a simple title for what they do, uet it’s a positive one. That’s all I’m saying.

I know in the past the Braves used to have an offensive mascot much like Florida State. I think they eventually went for a “friendlier” one that looked kind of like Mr. Met but with a feather on the back of his head – so, yeah, still racist. But now, I think they’ve scratched the majority of the stereotypical Native American references from the team, unlike Florida State.

They have left one key thing – the tomahawk and the ‘chop’ that goes with it. Those, I agree, offensive. Again, I doubt the tomahawk they use is historically accurate. Seems more like a carbon copy of something you saw in old West movies. And, as well, it’s devoid of all meaning and purpose, which I know it had when it was being used as an actual tool by the Native American population.

So there you have it. I think the name can stay because, relative to other names out there, I don’t believe it’s offensive. However, I would like to see the tomahawk and the chop fazed out, but I have a feeling that will be a long, long, long time coming. You’ll probably have to see the end of the Seminole down in Florida first before the Braves consider changing.

And I can also see why people of Native American heritage might find the name ‘Braves’ offensive. I don’t think I’d have a problem watching the Springfield Pasta Makers, but it certainly wouldn’t be my first choice.

The Final Season: Can I See That Again?

Atlanta 2 – Miami 1; CJ: DNP

Can you believe the Mets finally had a no-hitter go in their favor? Well don’t! Because, technically, it didn’t happen! (And, yes, I’m aware this incident occurred a few days ago. Excuse me for just getting to it.) Oh, it did happen – make no mistake about it. The record books will always say Johan Santana pitched a no-hitter for the New York Mets on June 1^st, 2012. But, well, let’s just say the replay shows otherwise.

Everything was going great for Santana in that game. His unbelievable change was, well, unbelievable, and he was dominating the St. Louis Cardinals’ hitters. No one can deny that. Flash to the top of the 6^th inning, and he’s walked a few people but struck out even more. Then Carlos Beltran comes to the plate. And he thwacks a ball down the third base line. That the umpire calls fair. But. In replay. It clearly hits the chalk of the foul line, making it a fair ball. In fact, it even leaves a clearly defined mark in the foul line. Ooops. Ump misses the call and, as there’s no way to review it, say, through video replay, the no-hitter remains.

All this reminded me of another incident involving a pitcher’s amazing performance and an umpire’s glaring error that easily could have been fixed with instant replay. Remember Armando Galarraga? Pitched for the Tigers in 2010, but is now with the Astros? Remember his perfect game that wasn’t. In his game, the incident happened in the bottom of the ninth. Two outs. The batter, Some Dude for the Indians (and I believe that was actually his name), hits a ground ball in between first and second, not particularly hard, but just right that the first baseman, Miguel Cabrera, has to move to his right to make the play. Galarraga then covers first, catches the ball cleanly, steps on the bag a good step before the runner, and – first base umpire Jim Joyce calls the runner safe. Safe! Perfect game – gone.  A huge, HUGE mistake costs the kid his chance at history.

I remember watching that replay and, much like the Beltran call, it was pretty obvious. The runner was obviously out. Like, no question. Like, only rarely in any major sport have I seen an umpire or referee blow a call so badly. When I saw it, I had a verbal outburst, and I never have verbal outbursts. I’m a quite person. But this one was pretty bad.

When something like the Galarraga or Beltran blown calls happen, the argument always is: umpires are human. And they are. I agree. And who knows what they see at the moment of a play except them. But it’s a rough, rough way to lose a perfect game or to keep a no-hitter. Trust me. I know Santana, inside, would rather that controversial play didn’t happen. Now, if this is the only no-hitter he ever throws, he’ll always be reminded that it really wasn’t one. That’s rough.

I know I’d hate it if, say, Jim Leyritz’s homerun in the 1996 World Series off Mark Wohlers that cost Atlanta the Series could have been ruled as hitting off the top of the wall for a double, but it wasn’t and forever I have to think about what would have happened if that ump hadn’t blown the call. That’s way more painful than knowing Wohlers just threw a bad pitch.

But, hey, there’s an easy way to avoid all this, and you know what it is. Why not more instant replay, Bud (Selig, baseball commissioner)? It’s not like you don’t have the technology. And holding out just makes your umps and your sport look bad. When even a lay person can tell a call is terrible, isn’t it time to allow evolution to take its course? Holding out just makes your sport look like you’re all unwilling to accept that the times, they are a changin’. And don’t tell me it’d slow things down too much. A, #1) So far, when reviewing questionable homeruns, your boys in blue have been really quick about it. Much quicker than their NFL counterparts. And B, #2) It’s baseball! It isn’t exactly on pace to set any land speed records for playtime, if you know what I mean. I think we fans can handle tacking on a few more minutes to a game.

But I’ll rant no more. Because yes, even with replay, umps and refs can still get it wrong, so I know that’s not a perfect solution. I know NFL ref Ed Hochuali got into some trouble a couple seasons ago and cost the Broncos a win even after looking at the replay. But I don’t think anyone would argue replay in football has been a bad thing, even with the waiting for refs to conduct their reviews. I think I’d be hard pressed to find a majority of people that want it to go away. One thing I do know for sure, though, is that umpires aren’t supposed to be the story. They’re supposed to be anonymous, and I’m sure they prefer to stay that way, too, for the sake of everyone involved. And I think replay helps them do that.

Finally, I would like to say, congrats to the Mets on their no-hitter. Honestly. I don’t like them, it’s true, given their NL East rivalry with the Braves, but it was good to see them finally get one. Truly. Well done, Mr. Santana.

The Final Season: How I Help My Team Win

Philly 4 – Atlanta 2; CJ: DNP

I’m convinced the Braves don’t win when I watch them on TV.

Before I take that thought further, allow me to offer some background. I don’t have cable. I had cable but canceled it because I found I could watch most of the TV I wanted online. That, and it was crazy expensive. I excised it three years ago and haven’t missed it. It does mean, however, when the Braves are on a national broadcast, be it ESPN, MLB, FSN, etc., I can’t watch them from the comfort of my home. Instead, I have to pester a friend or go to a bar or, more than likely, head over to my folks’ house. That way I can watch the game with my dad and let my mom feed me. Tonight was one of those nights. Got it?

So, as I was saying, over the past couple years, I swear to you, they don’t win when I make a special trek to see them. Honestly. It’s like they know I’m watching and tank. And, trust me, that idea is in no way crazy. It did get me thinking, however, about other ideas I’ve had about the Braves that were crazy.

Something I love about baseball is the superstitions. They’re prolific in baseball. And I’m not talking about player superstitions. (Although that, come to think of it, would make for a good post.) I’m talking about fan superstitions, of which I can speak from personal experience, yet I know I’m not alone in having.

Let’s see… what haven’t I don’t to help my team win? I wouldn’t allow myself to feel excited about the Braves playing well against St. Louis in the ’96 NLCS, when they came from 3-1 down to win the series, because, if I showed excitement, it would lead to their demise. More generally, if Atlanta started a rally, I wouldn’t move from my spot on the couch. To be exact, I wouldn’t move at all. I would hold the same position – arms crossed or legs bent under me or arm resting on a pillow, whatever position – until the hitting stopped no matter how uncomfortable it was. (I would also move when it became apparent my position was having no impact on the outcome of the game, despite my deeply held belief to the contrary.)

But what sports fan hasn’t done this? Who hasn’t continued what they were doing until the impact faded? Who hasn’t slowly flipped through a magazine because you’ve noticed every time you turn the page the pitcher throws a ball? Sure it gets tricky when you get to the end of the magazine, but you find a way to make it stretch. After all, you gotta do what you can for the team.

For me, in the 90’s, that meant one surefire routine to help the Braves win. Before a game, I would head out to the basketball hoop in the driveway and shoot around. But not without rhyme or reason. I had a pattern. I went ‘around the world,’ as it was called in basketball practice, shooting from various spots around the lane. And I completed each Earthly rotation twice. And once that was complete, I would tempt fate to reveal itself. I would pick a spot on the court, usually from one of the elbows, and I would stand there and think, ‘If I make this shot, the Braves will win tonight. And if I don’t, they won’t.’ Then I would dribble a few times, breath deep, and take my shot.

Now, as a youngster, that shot truly determined the rest of my evening. Ok, maybe not truly. I did know, deep down, that shot had no impact on the outcome of the game.  I mean, I did make that shot a lot (I practiced it enough), yet there were plenty of times they wouldn’t win. And, of course, vice versa. But it was nice to think I had some cosmic way to influence the outcome, that I was doing my part as a fan.

The playoffs were different. After all, those games mattered. They weren’t on TBS. They were on the big stations. And, as there was more at stake, victory was paramount. So, naturally, the routine had to change to reflect the gravity of the situation. I would still complete my trip around the world, twice. But, during my fate predicting shot, I’d take a couple steps in or just plain go for the high percentage shot off the backboard. And, well, I often had a tendency to disagree with fate.

“Ok, if I make this shot, they win.”

Miss.

“No, that one didn’t count. If I make this shot, they win.”

Miss.

“This one. If I make this one, they win.”

Make.

“See, I knew they were going to win.”

That way, in my world, the Braves won every postseason game they ever played.

Now, I have one particular memory with this routine where no do-over was necessary. And it happened, of course, during the 1995 World Series. I swear to you, on the night of Game Six, I made the determining shot on my first try. No do-overs. No wait, wait, that didn’t count. I took one shot, I made it, and they won. It blew my little mind, as if God was speaking directly to me and letting me know they’d win. Had this not happened, I probably would have abandoned this routine a lot sooner. Instead, I inadvertently sentenced myself to five more years, all through high school, of tempting fate before games.

Good thing now all I have to do is not watch them on TV to guarantee a victory.

The Final Season: My Dad Calls the Shot

Pirates 9 – Braves 3, CJ: 0-4

The Braves lost, so… I’m going to ignore that for this post. Focus on something else, on better times. Much better times. Like the October day back in 1995 when they won the World Series. One of my favorite memories from that game, and there are many, is how that night made me think my dad knew baseball better than anyone else on the planet.

Pause for scene setting: It’s game six. 0 – 0. Bottom of the sixth. I’m sitting on the couch watching the game with my dad, and I’m nervous. Excited, but nervous. I know the Braves have a good shot at winning the game and, thus, the Series. For a kid like me, the idea of that is almost more than my little heart can handle. But to win, they have to score at least one run, and so far they haven’t looked very capable of doing it. Dennis Martinez (remember him?) is pitching a great game. Or are the Braves bats just silent? I can’t remember all the specifics. I was 13! And that was a while ago. All I know is that nobody’s hitting much at all.

Something else I remember clearly is David Justice coming to the plate in the bottom of the sixth. I don’t remember the count or the pitch. I’m not that good. But I’ll never forget the result, and the ballhe pulled into the right-field stands for a homerun. 1 – 0, Braves.

You wanna know the best part of that homerun? It wasn’t the fans going nuts or the players celebrating or Justice’s fist pumping. It wasn’t even the homerun itself. The best part, for me, happened early on in Justice’s at bat, when Bob Costas made a comment about how long it had been since Justice had homered. In response to his comment, my father, lounging languidly in his recliner, uttered two words: ‘He’s due.’ And not a pitch or two later, Justice hits a solo homer that turns out to be the only run the team needed to win the World Series.

After I stopped jumping around with excitement, I realized my dad had just predicted that homerun. He had called that shot. You could have picked my tween-aged jaw off the floor. How did he know? How could he possibly have known Justice was going to hit a homerun? My childmind came to one conclusion: ‘He must be a baseball genius.’ I was in awe. I even remember asking him, ‘How did you know that he;d hit a homerun?’ My dad, I’m guessing in an attempt to keep up the mystique, told me he just did. Amazed, I tell you. I was flat out amazed.

Now, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve heard my Dad make similar predictions during other sporting events. And I’ve seen him proven wrong many times. I know now he just likes to play the odds, as most people do. If an announcer says someone hasn’t caught touchdown pass in six games, inevitably on the next play the ball is going to that player. Seriously. It happens more often than you’d believe. And if you think I’m crazy, just test the theory next time you watch a game, any game. Now, to continue the football example, I don’t mean the wide receiver’s going to catch the ball, just that the ball usually goes his way.

Back to my dad. He also predicts, fairly accurately, penalty calls in football. I used to think he could see everything in a football play – and I mean everything – because he always knew what the penalty call was before it was made. It wasn’t until I was about 16 I realized he knew the call based solely on where on the field the flag landed, indicating which ref/umpire probably threw it. If the flag was near the line of scrimmage, thrown by the ref, the call was holding. Guys on the sidelines watching the linemen usually call offside, false start, encroachment, etc. You get the idea.

So, I realize my dad has no special gift. No psychic ability. He doesn’t see something nobody else sees. But on that night – that night when MY team won THE game – he was psychic to me. He was the smartest baseball guy ever. And it just added to my joy.