“Yesterday I went shopping, buddy, down to the mall”
Well, I guess it wasn’t a debate so much as it was one sportswriter (and Crocker Park resident) willing to go to great lengths to argue with much more sensible, reasonable individuals about whether or not he lives at a mall.
The writer in question shall remain nameless here, but he would prefer Crocker Park be identified as a “High-End Shopping District,” rather than an “outdoor mall.”
His point, to the extent that he had one, is that if Browns and Indians players are inhabiting Crocker Park’s self-described luxury apartments and Michael Symon can open his burger joint there and Coach can sell its overpriced purses there, it is as high-end as a person could come to expect in suburban Cleveland.
Maybe that’s true, but a rebuttal — and a pretty darned good one, at that — is offered merely by reading aloud some of Crocker Park’s retail offerings and evaluating whether the term “high-end” indeed applies:
Gap (we’re off to a bad start)
Bath & Body Works (getting colder)
Nordstrom Rack (not Nordstrom, mind you, but the place where Nordstrom sells all the stuff that didn’t sell)
Best Cuts (do we really need to keep going?)
OfficeMax (seriously… what are we doing here?)
Giant Eagle (the high-end crowd doesn’t typically go crazy for Fuel Perks)
And here’s the kicker, which the Crocker Park web site is proud to announce as “Coming Soon!”…
Sears Appliances (not to be confused with the Sears Appliances on Rodeo Drive)
Understand, none of this is meant as a knock on Crocker Park, which is certainly more high-end than the wheat pasture that used to inhabit that land. It’s just that Crocker Park is one roof shy being the kind of place where you’d find a Spencer’s Gifts. It’s a mall. A mall where people can live and dine and socialize. But a mall just the same. It has a Buckle.
This is, however, one of the great traits of the human species, our ability to reframe reality to our liking, be it positive (Parmatown Mall, by the way, is now known as “The Shoppes of Parma”) or negative. And we see this in baseball — simply as a byproduct of it being played every freaking day — all the time.
We see it, especially, with these 2013 Indians, who have been streaky enough this season to offer plenty of opportunity for debate. You’re either convinced that Ubaldo’s turned a corner and the rotation is going to hang tough or you’re just waiting for the wheels to fall off and burn. You’re either undaunted by that stretch of six losses in seven games and the betrayal provided by the bullpen or you’re convinced Chris Perez is one setback away from shoulder surgery and Vinnie Pestano’s going to blow out his elbow and a funk is going to envelop the late-inning efforts. You’re either utterly enamored with the offense or concerned it is too home run-reliant and strikeout-prone. The Trevor Bauer-penned theme song is either music to your ears or 99 seconds of your life you wish you had back.
I’m on record, for better or worse, that I believe this is a fundamentally different ballclub than the ones in recent years past. I don’t believe the Indians are going to completely collapse. Do I think they can give the Tigers an honest, earnest run for their money (quite literally) in the AL Central? Well, that’s complicated, to say the least. But with two Wild Cards on the table, if you can simply hover north of .500 into the late summer, you’re in the conversation. And this is a town that could use a good conversation.
But the Indians will frustrate you, no doubt. They have a way, at times, of playing into the less-than-positive perceptions and negative noise. Certainly, when a cemented strength such as the bullpen becomes such a gaping, glaring hole in such a short span, it rattles the senses. But just as adamantly as the mall resident defended Crocker Park, Terry Francona defends his ‘pen. He seems genuine in his enthusiasm over the bullpen depth guys like Cody Allen and Bryan Shaw have afforded him. He is unfazed by the current absence of a proven closer, and with good reason. Look around the game: The “proven closer” label is almost worthless, anyway.
Because the Indians are so power-prone and because their rotation doesn’t have a great deal of track record on which to rely and because all bullpens – not just the Tribe’s – can be a disaster waiting to happen, the streaks and stretches, both good and bad, are going to keep coming. This is not what you’d call an elite team — not a “high-end” team, if you will — and so at times it can be an utterly maddening team.
But it is a team that’s already shown it is capable of some serious, sustained runs of positive play and one that could make things awfully interesting around here in the months that matter.
Maybe even the months when the weather cools and you need a coat to stroll the grounds of that outdoor mall in Westlake.
PS: Do people still do “shout-outs”? Is that still a thing? Because I want to send a shout-out to Ramon Diaz.
Ramon has worked for the Indians — first as a batboy, then as a clubhouse attendant — for the last eight seasons, and it’s been a real pleasure to get to know him all this time. Born with nothing, Ramon’s worked for everything he’s got. And he’s got a lot. Degrees from St. Ignatius and Columbia University, an extensive shoe collection and, now, a job opportunity with Jay-Z’s Roc Nation in New York City (where I assume he will be pushing hard for Trevor Bauer’s lucrative rap deal).
Because he’s headed to bigger and better things, this is Ramon’s final homestand with the Indians, and I just wanted to use this space to wish him well. Ramon used to ask me for my “Writing Tip of the Day.” I ran dry after about three days because, well… you’ve read this blog, so you know my availability of advice in this area is probably pretty limited. But as a writer, I do know a good story when I see one, and Ramon’s is both a great life story and a great baseball story. The connections and experiences he’s made in his time with the Tribe will stay with him wherever he goes, and I’m sure glad I got to cross paths with him along the way.
PPS: You want to know something not-so-fun? When the Indians rattled off wins in 18 of 22 games, my boss and I wondered, “What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked Elias to look up the worst final records among teams that won 18 of 22 at any point, thinking that would probably be a pretty high floor.
Well, uh, it’s not.
1978 A’s: 69-93
2004 Rays: 70-91
1978 White Sox: 71-90
1914 White Sox: 70-84
1994 A’s: 51-63
2008 Tigers: 74-88
1966 Reds: 76-84
And there were several more in that range, but you get the idea. The lesson, as always: Never underestimate how long a 162-game schedule really is.