Oh No Ichiro!: How Did MLB Legend Not Obtain Unanimous Induction into Hall of Fame.

Shall we play a game?

Yes?

Okay, take a look at these two numbers and decide for yourself what is significant about them.

4367 Vs. 4256

To ensure you're playing along, I'm going to skip a few lines before I give you the answer for dramatic effect. Keep scrolling until I tell you to stop.

Hello!

No peeking!

I'm serious, no peeking!

I miss Bob Uecker

I'm hungry, want to grab dinner?

Have you seen the TV version of Ted? Funny show.

You may now stop scrolling.

So, what do those two numbers have in common?

The number on the left represents the number of combined hits Ichiro Suzuki got in his career, and the number on the right represents the total number of hits Pete Rose got in his career.

We'll revisit the significance of these number later on, but for now, I must question why one singular sensation, one singular person with the privilege of casting of vote for the prestigious honor of baseball immortality, chose to rob Ichiro Suzuki of unanimous selection to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

Whenever there is a vote taken, there always seems to be one person who feels the need to separate themselves from the pack. Why do they dare to be different? Do they want notoriety? Do they have something personal against the person being voted on? Who knows?

Yesterday, someone (as of this writing it remains unknown), chose to take away Ichiro Suzuki's opportunity to become the first hitter in baseball history to be unanimously voted into the Hall of Fame.

That's right, 99.7% of the electorate determined Ichiro Suzuki was worthy of enshrinement to baseball's holy grail. But one person, ONE person, one coward decided Ichiro Suzuki was unworthy of induction and refuses to come forward to tell us why.

Maybe that person will eventually be transparent enough to come forward and tell us why they chose not to vote for Ichiro,  but for now, all we can do is speculate.

Well, this is my blog, and this is my forum, so allow me to provide three possible reasons as to why someone denied Ichiro Suzuki unanimous induction into baseball's hall of fame.

1. They felt the need to penalize Ichiro for his career in Japan: True, Ichiro came to the major leagues as a fully developed product. He was already a seven-time all-star and three-time MVP in Japan. Had he not been a productive player in America, he would have been a bigger bomb than Howard the Duck. Still, it's important to note that our National Baseball Hall of Fame does not necessarily restrict itself to those who played in the major leagues, as several Negro League players have been enshrined. Even if we focused solely on Ichiro's Major League accomplishments, he's still a ten-time all-star, ten-time Gold Glove Winner, two-time batting champion, and he holds the record for most hits in a season. I'd say those are hall of fame numbers? Wouldn't you?

2. He played in the major leagues until he was 45: The only legitimate argument towards this theory is that Ichiro may have hung on too long to ensure he got to the magical 3000 hit plateau. Even so, all the aforementioned accomplishments that I listed in the last paragraph were accomplished before Ichiro turned 36. Thus, it's pretty safe to assume that he would have waltzed into the Hall of Fame had he hung it up then

3. Pete Rose's legacy: I know this theory is out of left field, but hear me out. Remember those numbers we talked about earlier? Ichiro has 111 total hits more than Pete Rose, the all-American hit king. The man who got more hits in the major leagues than anyone else.  A person who has not yet been elected into the Hall of Fame for various transgressions against baseball. This was also the first vote that took place since Rose's death four month ago. All Rose ever wanted late in life was the immortality he never got. Perhaps the person who voted against Ichiro chose to honor Rose by silently protesting the indignity of Rose not being enshrined by voting against someone who was by all accounts a total shoo-in.

So, why was Ichiro Suzuki denied unanimous selection into the National Baseball Hall of Fame?

The world may never know.

No Mr. Baseball, You're Not In the Front Row, You Belong in the Most Exspensive Suite.

 Truculent: truck-u-lent, verb, Act of Howard Cosell lending his truck to Bob Uecker.

If you've ever seen Al Michaels being interviewed about Bob Uecker on a talk show, you immediately understand the genesis of that phony definition.

If you don't, here's a quick synopsis. One night in the 1970's, Uecker, Michaels, and Cosell were paired together on a broadcast of an MLB playoff game. Cosell was being his usual arrogant, stuffy, know-it-all self. and kept imploring the team at bat to bunt in a situation that clearly didn't call for it.

Not wanting to embarrass Cosell over his lack of common sense when it came to baseball strategy, Uecker at first ignored the pleas, then gently decided to convince Cosell bunting was a silly strategy to implement under the circumstances.

If you're unaware of who Howard Cosell was and what he stood for, know this, he always thought he was right, and any challenge to his beliefs was an invitation for a heated argument. This was the true essence of truculence.

Surprisingly, albeit begrudgingly, Cosell agreed with Uecker, although he couldn't resist an opportunity to have the last word by attempting to undermine Uecker's intelligence.

"I get your point Uecky." Cosell boastfully proclaimed. "You're awful truculent tonight." "You do know what truculent means, don't you?" 

Without missing a beat Uecker dryly retorted, "Sure I do Howard, if you had a truck, and I borrowed it, that would be a truculent."

That took guts. Uecker seized upon the cruel attempt by Cosell to make him look dumb, and made a joke so cleaver and brilliant that it made Cosell look stupid.

In a way, it was the perfect example of the type of sarcastic, smart aleck remark that was so cleaver the other person didn't realize they had been insulted until much later. I can't help but think Uecker was a heavy influence on people who took the same approach to comedy like David Letterman or Jimmy Kimmel.

What's most amazing about Uecker is that he was a rare breed, a jock who was able to parlay a .200 career batting average into a lifelong career in baseball and several years in the entertainment industry.

His entertainment career as a sitcom star, talk show guest, and commercial pitchman was built upon a persona that combined prideful self-confidence with a starling lack of self-awareness.

Uecker was a master of using comedy to mock his misplaced sense of self-importance or sense of insecurity.

Put another way, he possessed an everyman quality in which he wanted you to believe he was famous and well-connected, but in the end he was forced to reconcile with the fact that he was no better than us.

This is illustrated no better than in the following commercial:

 Perfect, just perfect. Here's Uecker too wrapped up in his own self-worth that arrogantly insults the fans with his "front row" remark only to end up where he truly belongs.

It was a persona that was on the surface predictable but so smartly manifested that you never knew where the punchline would go. 

It was always hilarious, and represented the mark of a truly talented comedic mind.

There was also a more true to life side to Bob Uecker, one that made him a shining example of loyalty, love, and a fan's passion for the game.

For 54 years, Bob Uecker was the soundtrack to a Milwaukee summer. While many Wisconsin residents fired up their grills to cook bratwurst while they drank their Miller's, their radios were tuned to Uecker describing the fortunes of their beloved Brewers.

True be told, Uecker wasn't the most pleasant broadcaster to listen to when he was doing play-by-play. His singsong cadence and strict adherence to what was happening on the field was sometimes disappointing to listen to through my satellite radio.

I always expected him to be funny, but I had to admire that he was just doing his job, but if you listened long enough, the quick wit would eventually show itself. 

If the game was a blowout, a bunch of funny stories about his playing days were sure to follow.

Uecker represented the type of baseball broadcaster that is quickly becoming a dying breed, one who understood that describing a baseball game on the radio could be a slog, and that it was best to try and be entertaining when the situation warranted.

With the possible exception of Vin Scully, no baseball broadcaster was more entwined with his team and city than Uecker with the Brewers.

I'm sure there were more lucrative opportunities to expand his entertainment opportunities and call games in a bigger market with a larger fan base, but Uecker never forgot his roots, and remained loyal to his team and his city. 

That sort of small market loyalty was endearing and rare. 

Uecker was beloved by the organization. He was a close confident of players and owners alike, and in later years was the brutally honest uproariously funny Grandfather figure who was just as beloved by the modern players.

Just this past September Brewers manager Pat Murphy told his players that no one meant more to the team than Uecker, and invited him to take part in their celebration when they clinched another division title.

Amid the loud shouting and frequent pouring of champagne over their heads, Uecker commented on the proceedings with a comment that bellied his persona.

"I peed my pants", he exclaimed. 

That brought the house down among young and old.

For the past few years, I always thought that this would be the year the Brewers and Bob Uecker would finally win the title they richly deserved, alas it was never to be.

When Brewers closer Devin Williams grooved a fastball to the Mets Pete Alonso that eliminated the Brew Crew from yet another postseason this past October it was a loss in more ways than one.

Following the game, Uecker tried to make sense of his emotions as he valiantly tried to put a brave face on yet another postseason disappointment.

"I'm telling you, that one... had some sting on it" Uecker somberly told his audience.

Sadly, it was the last profound words he would ever speak to his legions of fans.

Go forth from this earthly existence Mr. Baseball, and enjoy the rights and privileges afforded by heaven's sky box.

And every once in a while, make sure you sneak down to the front row.

  

Goodbye Mr. Lil: They Don't Make Them Like You Anymore.

 I remember the day I disappointed an elder I respected like it was yesterday.

It was a cold, drab, ugly grey day, not unlike many here in the Northeast corridor, and a middle gym class was headed outside to engage in an activity many of them were eager to partake in, running.

Yes running. This was a special kind of running no adolescent teenager wants to do. The temperature couldn't have been more than 50 degrees, and we were all in shorts. I half expected Nelson Muntz to emerge from the back door of the gym just to point and laugh at us over how ridiculous we looked.

After we gathered on the near side of the soccer field, the purveyor of this punishment gave the instructions. He was a diminutive figure who was balding and had a voice equal parts gunpowder and helium. In other words, he was your typical middle school gym teacher minus the height. 

He instructed us to run around the perimeter of the school, come back out the other side, and then walk in the back door into the gym. At no time were we allowed to use the soccer field as a cut through. 

Of course me being the average middle school student, my head was in the clouds. I was probably thinking about how I could charm the cute girl in my homeroom into liking me, or how exciting it would be to watch the Sox that night because Pedro was pitching.

Suffice it to say, I wasn't listening to the instructions, and because I wasn't listening, I took off in the wrong direction and eventually cut through the soccer field. 

He saw me. Of course he saw me. He saw everything.

"Pierini!" he barked, (he never could get my last name right) "Get over here!"

I knew I should have listened, but how could I convince him I didn't mean to cut across the soccer field? Maybe if I was just honest with him he'd forgive me and forget about it.

I sheepishly jogged over to where he was standing "Yes sir!" I said in my eager beaver brown nosing tone.

"Did you cut across that field?"

"If I did I didn't mean to." "I must have had my head down." "I'm sorry."

Sorry wasn't good enough. I defied an order and he was going to make me pay.

He instructed me to sprint all the way across the field as fast as I could. When I took off, he yelled at me to go faster. When I finished, I was as winded as a chain smoker. It was a valuable lesson in respect and humility. 

That was Mr Reynolds Lilibridge in a nutshell. Tough, demanding, tenured, but fair.

Every town has the type of teacher who's career spans generations, your parents had them, and you had them. They were so legendary and old school, that you knew they didn't take crap from anyone, and if they hurt your feelings, too bad.

Mr. Lilibridge was that too.

But beneath that hard exterior, lied a soft interior. It was hard to penetrate but it existed. 

Sure, he hated black socks, passivity, and showoffs on the basketball court, but also hated intolerance and would stand up for anyone who he perceived was being bullied.

A friend of mine who was also my neighbor had recently come to this country from Italy. Her name was Costanza, she didn't much English, and a group of boys in our gym class were bullying her over her name and her shyness.

Mr Lilibridge overheard them and made them run. He then went over to an obviously shaken Costanza and told her to never be ashamed of her identity and her name. After all. his first name was Reynolds, and they wouldn't dare bully him over his name.

It was one of the sweetest things I ever saw.

Another time we were playing a game that was a variation on soccer. One team would be on one side of the gym and elect an individual shooter to kick the ball past a wall of members from the other team. I am not very athletic and was usually the last member of a hastily formed gym class team to be picked. When it was my turn to shoot, I kicked the ball as hard as I could and hoped for the best. It went past the wall of goalkeepers. As I turned around to join my cheering teammates on the other side of the gym, I passed Mr. Lilibridge on the way by. He stuck his hand to high five me. "That a boy!" he said. "I knew you could do it."

To get a "that a boy/girl/way" from Mr. Lilibridge was the ultimate validation. It meant you had his respect and you tried your best in class, which was all he ever wanted from you.

He was also a wise sage. Once I got to know him, I learned he was a big baseball fan. In 1997, the then Cleveland Indians were playing the then Florida Marlins in the World Series. 

I thought there was no way a young upstart Marlins team would ever beat a stacked veteran Indians team and shed their expansion label to win baseball's ultimate prize

"I think they will Pierini" a confident Mr. Lillibridge told me, "In fact I'll bet you an ice cream over it."

"You're on!" We shook hands. I never should have made the bet, but a bet is a bet. I had to pay up.

The day after the Marlins clinched, I passed by the gym entrance where I knew he'd be standing.

"Here" I said reaching into my pocket to hand over the dollar that represented his sweet victory. "Go buy yourself an ice cream, you deserve this."

He quickly swatted my hand away and told me he didn't want my money and asked me to come with him so we could talk privately.

He went on to explain to me that he couldn't accept the dollar because it would look like he was accepting a bribe and his job would be at risk. He wanted me to know that he was proud of me for paying up. I was a man of my word and that was going to go a long way in life. He then left me with one of the greatest pieces of advice I've ever gotten.

"Never gamble, it only causes misery." It sure sounded like he was speaking from experience.

It's hard to believe he was only my gym teacher for two years, but in those two years I learned so many lessons about respect, tolerance, and work ethic.

His recent death saddened me, and ironically I found out about it the same day I learned the magazine I wrote for was shutting down. It was not a red letter day in the least.

I hope he rests peacefully with the knowledge that he impacted the lives of so many students at Gallagher Middle School, and we're all better people for having known him and striving to live by the example he set.

I couldn't help but reflect on the last time I saw him over twenty years ago. I stopped into the high school gym to retrieve a couple of practice bats for the baseball team. I couldn't find them, so I went into the locker room to ask the gym teachers if they knew where they were.

There stood Mr. Lilibridge just shooting the breeze.

"Hey Dan!" he bellowed. "Good to see you." How've you've been?"

"Good" I said.

He asked if I was doing well in high school, and if they were treating me well there. When I replied in the affirmative, he responded the only way he possibly could have.

"That a boy!"

Patriots Decide to Hold the Mayo: Realistically, He Never Had a Chance.

What is the first image that comes to mind when I mention the following name?

Phil Bengston.

I'm willing to bet that the vast majority of you reading this blog post have never heard that name before. You probably associate a name like Phil Bengston with a stock broker, an attorney, or a mob informant on The Sopranos.

In reality, Phil Bengston was a football coach, and a darn good defensive coordinator, spending several years in that  capacity with the Green Bay Packers and the San Francisco 49ers.

I mention the name Phil Bengston as an illustration to show that both he and recently fired Patriots coach Jerod Mayo have one very important commonality, they both had to follow in the footsteps of a legend.

You see, in 1968, Phil Bengston was promoted to head coach by the Packers and he was the one who had the unenviable task of following the legendary Vince Lombardi, much like Mayo had to follow in Bill Belichick's vast shadow.

Bengston went 20-21 in three seasons with the Packers, then ironically became the interim coach of the Patriots in 1972. He then faded into obscurity.

Mayo, at 38, is too young to disappear completely. He may well latch on with another NFL or reinvent himself in another capacity.

Three days after his firing two important questions still linger: Why was Mayo hired for a job he was highly unqualified for, and was his firing unfair in light of the circumstances surrounding him?

Jerod Mayo was hired as Patriots coach for two reasons, he had the support of the veterans in the locker room, and more importantly, it was promised in his contract. 

A broken promise could lead to litigation, and that was a risk Robert Kraft was unwilling to take. Forget the fact that Mayo didn't have head coaching experience, forget that he wasn't even a coordinator. Jerod Mayo was a star, a leader, and a person of high moral character. That was enough for Kraft and his brain trust to give Mayo the keys to the kingdom, experience be damned!

After a 4-13 season, characterized by sloppy and undisciplined play, poor communication, and fan apathy. Mayo was quickly shown the door shortly after the Patriots played an inspired but meaningless game in a win over the Bills. 

To blame Jerod Mayo completely for this disaster of a season is both shortsighted and unfair. Much of the blame should go to Elliot Wolfe and Bill Belichick for hamstringing Mayo with a roster predicated on poor drafting and uninspired, nonathletic, and undisciplined castoffs from other teams and making it hard  for him to succeed.

The Krafts should shoulder some blame for being for having a ton of cap space and choosing to be tightfisted cheapskates in refusing to help the front office make the necessary upgrades through free agency.

In truth, Mayo couldn't succeed under those conditions, but going into the season not much was expected from this team anyway. However, Mayo could have fulfilled two short-term goals that would have set him up for future success and endeared him to the media and fans. He failed miserably.

In Sports Illustrated's NFL preview issue, Albert "Bert" Breer contributed a piece on Mayo that illustrated the fact that there was a new sheriff in town and things would be done differently. For example, Mayo positioned the desk in his office closer to the door rather than around the corner as it was under Belichick to foster a need for closer communication. There was also a commitment to step away the total immersion to football within the facility. Families were welcomed inside the facility regularly, and ascetic touches like ping-pong tables and basketball hoops were added to enhance the player's enjoyment.

There is nothing inherently wrong with this approach, although such a mindset requires positive results. A four-win season is hardly a step direction. Plus, Mayo didn't do himself any favors when following an October 20th loss to the Jaguars he labeled his team as "soft" during his post-game press conference. Mayo may have been correct in that assumption, but his inability to make that claim in the privacy of the locker room may have turned a faction of players against him in that he was perceived as untrustworthy. Further incidents in which he subtly threw offensive coordinator Alex Van Pelt under the bus over his play calling in a sideline interview, and a broken promise to running back Antonio Gibson that he would start in the December 27th game against the Chargers raised suspicions about Mayo's lack of accountability. 

Mayo was not expected to work miracles with the roster he was given, but outside of rookie quarterback Drake Maye and corner Christian Gonzalez there weren't any players that made significant improvements or contributed to the team's success.On offense Wide receivers could not gain separation and dropped too many passes, the running game was inconsistent, and the less said about the leaky turnstile also known as the offensive line the better. On defense, the lack of a pass rush and no speed or play making ability in the secondary were significant red flags. 

In essence, Mayo's inability to provide a sense of optimism for the future and his startling lack of accountability  made his presence an untenable environment for the organization, the players, and the fans.  He had to go.

It is unfortunate that Mayo will likely be viewed as a test case for owners who act upon fear of losing hot young assistants to other teams or a sense of morality even when they know the person they are hiring is under qualified and could possibly be way over their heads by season's end.

In the press release announcing Mayo's firing, Robert Kraft referred to himself as a "Custodian of a public asset." His own realization that the public was angry and that the asset he is in charge of was rapidly depreciating under Mayo's watch caused him to act swiftly and unceremoniously in sealing Mayo's fate.

Kraft took accountability for his mistake in hiring Mayo publicly, but that still doesn't quell any suspicions over his motives. Was it good pr? Accountability? Increased popularity with the fans? Who knows?

What is known is that this organization needs an infusion of talent, a dash of discipline, and a heaping helping of accountability to stem the tide. No magic wand will fix this overnight.

Good luck!

"We're on to North Carlolina!": Bill Belichick Goes to College

Pardon me while I utter a guttural question from my vocal cords.

"Huh?"

Indulge me  while I try to make sense of the bombshell that has swept through college football in the last day.

"Really?"

"Him"?

"Why?"

"How?'

I just can't seem to wrap my brain around the fact that an all-time great NFL head coach who is just 15 wins away from breaking the record for all time victories would want to spend his golden years on Tobacco Road teaching some future business leaders the intricacies of the 3-4 defense.

Did I mention that this man does not have a lick of college coaching experience, and his worldview of college football consists of a small idyllic setting at a small Division III school in Middletown Connecticut, or a service academy where young men are being trained for far noble pursuits than football?

But alas, sports often defies logic. Bill Belichick is going back to school, away from the glitz and glamour of the NFL, away from the record book, and away from his gilded cages in the media where he uses his expertise, track record of success, and smug attitude to judge others and tell you how he would have done things differently, and better.

Perhaps most surprising is that Belichick has agreed to become the head football coach at a university not particularly known for college football, The University of North Carolina, whose list of all-time great players consists of Lawrence Taylor, Julius Peppers, and maybe Drake Maye.

Why would Bill Belichick  even think of coaching at a school where basketball is clearly and undeniably king, and football has long been an afterthought?

While I was investigating the answers to my questions, several theories were floated around. The Athletic's Jeff Howe reported that one NFL team with a coaching vacancy had already ruled out any thought of hiring Belichick  and others with potential vacancies didn't believed there would not be enough support from people within their facilities to make the hire. The same piece went so far as to quote a high-ranking NFL team executive who stated on the record that "Belichick burned a lot of bridges in his career."

Was it true? Had Belichick become persona non Grata in the NFL after just one year?

Perhaps the residue of the Spygate and the Deflategate controversies still linger. Perhaps teams are aware of his age and don't believe he'll be in it for the long haul. Most likely, perhaps teams are very cognizant of his ego, and his need for control  and that it's just too much to take at the present time.

Circling back to the questions of why Belichick would want to coach in college and at UNC, Howe's article points out that Belichick's father Steve was a UNC assistant in the 1960's, and he has plenty of friends among current and former college football coaches like Chip Kelly and Greg Schiano  he can lean on for guidance and support. Maybe the answer lies in a simple truth, he just wants to coach football anywhere.

Now that this is just about a done deal, there are still many potential red flags and questions to consider. Can Belichick's old school style of coaching mesh well with young people whose feelings and values are more respected and tolerated nowadays ? Is Belichick in it for the long haul? Does this hiring represent a pr move, a shot at redemption, or both?  

Whatever the answer may be, you cannot deny that this will be the most intriguing plot of the 2025 college football season.

Just don't expect to see Belichick at a fraternity keg party anytime soon.