Blue chip guile

Steve Chitren, 1991 Fleer Ultra Prospects Series

This is Steve Chitren. Here is a riddle: How do you know a kid can throw?



You know a kid can throw when he is a highly regarded Major League prospect

Oh, okay! Makes sense.

for an already bullpen-rich Oakland team.

I have to admit, I love the ol’ roundabout grammatical “You know X can Y because Z”-formula, especially when “Z” is something less than succinct and to the point, and when “Y” should be implied by “X’s” career choice. Personally, I would have gone with: You know a kid can throw when he throws baseballs for a living. Now that is a lede. I greatly enjoy the term “bullpen-rich” by the way, and would like to record a baseball-themed rap album called, “Get Bullpen-Rich or Die Tryin.’” I would like the chorus of one of my tracks to be nothing but the latest and hippest DJ scratching a sample of Joe Morgan saying, “There are no bullpen-rich teams anymore,” which is something I assume he has said many times. Anyway, back to this Chit…ren.

Steve’s credentials are impeccable. At Huntsville,

So many great success stories have started this way. Here is the first scene of a screenplay I have just now created.

In the top floor of a high-rise office building in the middle of Manhattan, two handsome men in designer suits sit across from one another in a beautifully-furnished office with a view, separated only by a Brazilian hardwood desk. Ronald McMurray looks at the white piece of paper in front of him with a slight smirk, occasionally nodding his approval. Martin VanSussman sits with his hands folded, patiently but nervously, staring longingly at the “McMurray, Weiner & Wannamaker” insignia on the back wall. McMurray leans back in his chair and gently tosses the paper onto his desk. He looks out the window, and for a brief moment, into the future. He turns to VanSussman. “Your credentials are impeccable,” he says. “Tell me about Huntsville.”

That was fun. Let’s find out though how Chitren fared initially in the majors:

In eight games, Chitren used his guile and grace to take 19 batters down swinging in 18 innings and earn his first Major League win.

I can understand using guile to take down 19 batters swinging in 18 innings. A feat like that would, inherently, require at least a little guile. I would, however, like an additional explanation re: grace. Were the batters so in awe of the gracefulness with which Steve Chitren threw baseballs that they could not maintain their focus? Or did Steve Chitren execute his pitches with the grace of God by his side? I guess, either way –- that is some serious grace.

This guy is as blue-chip as they come

I realize that the media’s influence in 1991 wasn’t nearly what it is today, where we are subjected to hype of Strasburgian proportions. Still, this seems like an exaggeration to me.

and with the possible movement of Todd Burns to the starting rotation, Steve may get his big chance just two years removed from his appearance in the College World Series with Stanford.

I am confused. Is the “big chance” being the seventh-inning guy out of the bullpen for the Oakland A’s? I feel like there might be a bigger chance out there. Allow me, if I may, to rewrite this lede once more:

You know a kid can throw when his biggest career opportunity is predicated on the potential promotion of Todd Burns.

There. Better.

The Man Who Wasn't There

Bob Lillis, 1986 Topps

Here is the ever-popular managerial baseball card. What kid doesn’t want one of these? I feel like somewhere in Brooklyn a sarcastic hipster has taken it upon himself to organize baseball-card-trading parties featuring only managerial cards, and everybody has to wear the full uniform of his favorite team, and everyone must spit tobacco and/or smoke, and drink whiskey, and say old-timey manager things like, “Get Johnson outta there, fer cryin’ out loud!” I would like to attend one of these parties.

What makes this particular card more special than most is the fact that Bob Lillis was not the manager of the Astros in 1986. He was fired before the end of the 1985 season and replaced with Hal Lanier, who actually went on to win Manager of the Year in '86. It appears then that Topps lazily produced its 1986 set in the summer of ’85—“How much is gonna change, really?” they figured—which preceded its future campaign of lazily asking players to pose during spring training of the actual season in question. Topps: working hard for your child’s hard-earned money!

You would think the company would have rectified this error for 1987, but featured on its ’87 “Astros Leaders” card was bench coach Yogi Berra. This continued Topps’ bizarre campaign of refusing to acknowledge that Hal Lanier managed/led the Houston Astros during this time period. Lanier, it should be mentioned, once cut Timmy Topps—the enthusiastic son of company CEO Thompson Topps—from Houston’s Single A-affiliate, the Jacinto City Jacintos. So, there was that.

Anyway, with regards to this particular card, it could be noted that Lillis is well aware of his impending fate, as he stares into the stands and contemplates what the future holds. “Possibly they will make me DEAN OF THE ASTROS instead,” he thinks, hoping against hope. Oh, what is “DEAN OF THE ASTROS” you ask?





I don’t know either. But it sounds awesome. If somebody has card # 186, please send it my way. But only if it features somebody who is not Bob Lanier wearing glasses and sitting at a desk in a formal office, trying to decide which applicants to admit to the Houston Astros and drafting an eviction notice for Kevin Bass, who has been partying way too hard off campus.

Scott Ruskin Of All Trades

Scott Ruskin, 1991 Score

I like Scott Ruskin. And I like a card that tells me what I should think.



Wouldn’t you think that a first baseman-outfielder who hit .355, .297., 301 and .292 in his first three minor league seasons would deserve a shot at the major leagues?

Well, the first thing I would think is: Four averages in three seasons is reason alone to become a major leaguer, especially if you’re a first baseman-outfielder. Then I would think: You don’t need a decimal point before and after an average. Then I would think: Not really. I mean, those averages are pretty good, I guess, but they are just averages and I have never seen this hypothetical person play and thus do not feel comfortable saying that he deserves a shot that approximately .000001 percent of the population deserves.

Well, you’re right

Really? Cool!

and Scott was on the Opening Day ’90 roster of the Pirates –

Oh, okay. That is a rather long-winded means of informing me that the Major League Baseball card I am holding features a Major League Baseball player.

as a pitcher!

The hat that I was wearing just blew off my head and my bulging eyes just fell out of my face. Besides the fact that Scott Ruskin is pitching on the front of this card, I couldn't have been more caught off guard.

How could that be, you ask?

I didn’t ask that. But: Because he pitches, too? I realize that sounds unfathomably insane, but I had to guess something.

Deciding that his best course was from the pitchers mound, he switched in ’89, developed a tremendous curveball and by season’s end was voted the Carolina League pitcher with the best breaking pitch.

Said Scott Ruskin, “Despite what my okay batting averages might suggest, I kind of suck at hitting relative to my peers in this profession. I am going to be a pitcher instead, and develop a freakin’ awesome curveball that will be declared the best breaking pitch of the Carolina League, which isn’t even an award but will become an award because that’s how awesome my curveball is going to be. Eventually, this will attain me a brief career in the bullpens of several major league franchises, which sarcastic bloggers can poke fun at all they want, but which will earn me hundreds of thousands of dollars. After that’s over, I will return to school and get my degree in computer and information science, at which point I will invent software that enables companies to blah, blah, blah—why I’m an even bothering? Whatever I do will be awesome. Enjoy writing about your never-ending supply of Score baseball cards and the zero dollars it earns you.”

Hey man, I don’t do it for the money! I do it for the … comments? I don’t like Scott Ruskin anymore.

UD3 & The Establishment

Kenny Lofton, 1999 UD3

Do you like baseball? Do you like technology? Do you like colors and shapes and lines and dots and stuff? Do you like half a pair of sunglasses? Do you like Kenny Lofton? Do you like looking at something that is so overloaded with data and sensory devices that you feel as though you are being transported into another dimension? No? Maybe? You’re not sure? Possibly? Well then have I got the card for you!

This card looks like something Kanye West would wear to the Grammys. Here are the thoughts that go through my head as I look at this card: Red means stop, green means go. Circle. Green blinds. I am blind. Star! Linear. That’s all folks! Lightening. Inception. And so on and so forth. All of these things serve as an adequate distraction from the reality that one is holding a 1999 Kenny Lofton card, and not a 1994 Kenny Lofton card, or a (any year) (any other player) card. Still, it’s a little much.

This is part of the UD3 series, Upper Deck’s ULTIMATE EXTREME experiment to fuse together everyone’s two favorite things: 1) baseball, and 2) random objects that seemingly serve to represent advancements in technology. Also, take note:



Upper Deck, UD3 and the card-hologram combination are trademarks of The Upper Deck Company, LLC.

In layman’s terms this means: In the event that you have not spontaneously combusted or simply stopped liking baseball altogether as a result of viewing this card, we do not recommend that you attempt to copy this formula in order to make a profit, as it is not only illegal, but also harmful, as replicating this card correctly involves traveling to the year 2002, a time in which we live in a linear universe and Kenny Lofton is known as “The Establishment.” THAT is how far ahead of our time we are. You’ve been warned. Sincerely, Upper Deck.

By the way, I twisted this card every which way and it is not a hologram. At least not in the sense that it reveals a different but equally impossible-to-distinguish image. Like a real hologram should. Kind of makes me miss the good ol' days.

Adversity

Jeff Shaw, 1991 Score



Look at Jeff Shaw, with his happy-go-lucky mustache and carefree attitude. Hot-shot major league rookie prospect. Ya’ know, I’d like to tell this guy a little something about adversity.



You don’t have to tell Jeff anything about adversity.

Oh.

He knows all about it.

Geez, I’m sorry, Jeff Shaw. I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I didn’t know that you were raised by your grandmother in the rough part of Washington Court House, Ohio. Or that you were once trapped inside a revolving door for six weeks and managed to escape only by pulling out your own tooth and using it to cut the glass. Or that nobody gave you a chance because of your prosthetic ear, which looks so real that nobody notices, although you can’t hear that well out of it, so you never heard the multitude of people say to you, “Here’s your chance.” I can’t imagine what all that must have been like. So tell me, Jeff. Tell me about adversity.

Pitching in the Double-A Eastern League in ’88, Jeff started off with a splendid 5-2 record

There is frequently splendidness before the storm. And I can think of few things as splendid as a 5-2 record. 6-1? Maybe. But that’s a little much, no? This isn’t Hollywood here. It’s real life.

and a scintillating 1.72 ERA.

This is too good to be true. Leave it to Jeff Shaw to leave others scintillated before adversity hits. I am so nervous.

Then, it happened.

I am going to throw-up. WHAT HAPPENED?

He never won another game the rest of the season, ending up with 17 losses in a row.

Oh man. Self-induced adversity is the worst kind of adversity! How on earth did the formerly splendid and scintillating Jeff Shaw implode so drastically?

Jeff actually didn’t pitch that badly as his 3.63 ERA attests. He also led the league with 27 starts and tied for third in complete games.

You shouldn’t be able to tout the fact that you led the league with 27 starts if you lost 19 of them. (Unless you’re a workhorse.) Not mentioned is the fact that, in 1988, Jeff Shaw walked considerably more batters (75) than he struck out (61). This typically induces adversity. Still, I hope redemption is on the horizon.

In ’90, still one of the Indians’ top pitching prospects, Jeff was brought up from Colorado Springs three times. Despite the disruption,

Being called up to the majors = disruption.

he had a solid 10-3 record in 16 starts for the Sky Sox.

5-2 Double-A record = splendid.

10-3 Triple-A record = solid.

Let us never forget the story of how Jeff Shaw pitched himself into 17 consecutive losses in 1988, and how he rebounded from this adversity to beat "the Rangers 3-0 on four hits in 6.2 IP" in 1990. It’s the story of redemption, and of not being able to throw strikes, and of misleading pitching statistics. It is, in many ways, the most splendid story ever told.

At the local Elks club in 1996, Jeff Shaw sat a bar stool sipping on a vodka tonic, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt having just attended a formal dinner honoring adversity. He was surrounded by older men, all vets, comparing scars and war stories over endless mugs of beer and shots of whiskey. One man loudly told the story of how he survived three months in Japan as a POW. Another man topped that with a graphic tale from ‘Nam, and the horrors that keep him up at night. A brief moment of silence occurred as the men nodded their heads in disbelief that they were fortunate enough to be sitting there talking. That silence was interrupted by the “pretty boy” in the corner.

“That’s nothing,” said Jeff Shaw, as he stared straight ahead into his vodka tonic.

The men all turned around, not hiding their disgust and skepticism. Jeff Shaw turned around in his stool to face them.

“Let me tell you guys about 1988…”