The New Rox: Losing Games and Girlfriends with J.C. in Tow
(Note: Guest post for you today as Denver D's takes the reins for the morning session. A.F.O.M.G. will be in with a post later this afternoon.)
It probably happened to all of us at some point this fall. After watching him hit, run, clap and—god help us—dance though the playoffs, our girlfriends fell in love with Jose Reyes.
It started innocently in my case. “Is he good?” “How old is he?” Then a little bit closer to home: “Is he married?” But finally the real knife twist. “So basically he is cooler than any player the Rockies have ever had. Ever. Right?”
My girlfriend is free to crush on whomever she wishes, with the exception of Tom Brady of course (long story). But this last comment hurt. I was surrounded by all of my Met-fan college buddies in New York, had just watched my team sputter through July, August and September, and now I had to be reminded by my girlfriend that even one Met was way cooler than all of those New Rox put together.
Everything had collapsed so quickly. Little known fact: last year started off promising for the Rockies. Sure there hadn’t been any big acquisitions, and I along with many others had suspected that some of our young talent was a bit overrated.
But with a staff of homegrown pitchers and the humidor up our sleeves, it seemed that things might actually turn out OK. Jason Jennings, Jeff Francis and Aaron Cook were pitching out of their heads at times, and Brad Hawpe, Garret Atkins and Matt Holliday were stepping it up when Helton wasn’t playing well, and later when he caught some ridiculous stomach virus that cost him a few weeks and more than a few “L.B.s”.
They were no Blake Street Bombers, no beer guzzling greasy-haired Larry Walkers or Dante Bichettes, no matador Vinny Castillas and no friendly giant Galaragas, but the team could play ball, and heading into June they were over .500.
That’s when the news hit the wire. It turns out that the trick up their sleeves wasn’t young pitching and it wasn’t even the humidor. It was big J.C. upstairs. In trying to reinvent themselves the New Rox had been “reborn.” There was word of prayer sessions in the clubhouse and bibles on the coffee tables. Galaraga’s chains had been replaced by a big wooden cross hanging conspicuously around Helton’s neck.
Truth be told, as one of their 68 Jewish fans, this didn’t really bother me. They claimed to be accepting and tolerant and there were no signs to the contrary. Plus, I didn’t give a shit as long as they kept winning.
But then they stopped winning, and then I started caring.
The slide was precipitous. The humidor started to hurt our hitters more than the opposing ones. (There were 1-0 games at Coors for god’s sake!) And the New Rox were hitting .227 with runners in scoring position and two outs by the end of August.
Worst of all, though, it never seemed like any of them cared. They didn’t care when they won, and they didn’t care when they lost. Sure, they tried hard as hell, but it seemed like as long as they tried it didn’t matter to them how they finished.
Their stoic, quiet brand of character had backfired in a disaster that culminated with A.F.O.M.G. poking me in the side with a broom after a disappointing sweep at Shea. At a certain point in a 162-game season you need a spark to keep things interesting, and the New Rox didn’t have one.
The point of all of this isn’t that J.C. hurt the New Rox. I always agreed with their basic philosophy that character and chemistry were central to success. The problem it seemed was that their convictions fostered a specific misguided notion of good character.
To the Rockies' front office (most notably owner Charlie Monfort) good character meant things like clean living and not having porno in the locker room. But what does not having porno in the locker room have to do with success on the field? Or success anywhere for that matter?
In order to have a team of good character, you need to have a team of characters. Some of those characters will be workhorses. Others will be goof-offs. There’ll be a Yeah-Yeah and a Squints and a Benny the Jet and of course a Smalls.
These guys will still be good dudes who care about the game. Most of them will live clean, but that won’t be central to their identities. They will each be a different expression of good character. This means that there may be some porno in the locker room, but it also means that the players will get pissed when they can’t hit with runners in scoring position. Sometimes they’ll even get in fights about it.
When they are playing poorly there’ll be a catalyst for changing course, and when they are playing well it will be way more fun for everyone.
Sometimes you may even catch one of them dancing in the dugout.
- Denver D's
It probably happened to all of us at some point this fall. After watching him hit, run, clap and—god help us—dance though the playoffs, our girlfriends fell in love with Jose Reyes.
It started innocently in my case. “Is he good?” “How old is he?” Then a little bit closer to home: “Is he married?” But finally the real knife twist. “So basically he is cooler than any player the Rockies have ever had. Ever. Right?”
My girlfriend is free to crush on whomever she wishes, with the exception of Tom Brady of course (long story). But this last comment hurt. I was surrounded by all of my Met-fan college buddies in New York, had just watched my team sputter through July, August and September, and now I had to be reminded by my girlfriend that even one Met was way cooler than all of those New Rox put together.
Everything had collapsed so quickly. Little known fact: last year started off promising for the Rockies. Sure there hadn’t been any big acquisitions, and I along with many others had suspected that some of our young talent was a bit overrated.But with a staff of homegrown pitchers and the humidor up our sleeves, it seemed that things might actually turn out OK. Jason Jennings, Jeff Francis and Aaron Cook were pitching out of their heads at times, and Brad Hawpe, Garret Atkins and Matt Holliday were stepping it up when Helton wasn’t playing well, and later when he caught some ridiculous stomach virus that cost him a few weeks and more than a few “L.B.s”.
They were no Blake Street Bombers, no beer guzzling greasy-haired Larry Walkers or Dante Bichettes, no matador Vinny Castillas and no friendly giant Galaragas, but the team could play ball, and heading into June they were over .500.
That’s when the news hit the wire. It turns out that the trick up their sleeves wasn’t young pitching and it wasn’t even the humidor. It was big J.C. upstairs. In trying to reinvent themselves the New Rox had been “reborn.” There was word of prayer sessions in the clubhouse and bibles on the coffee tables. Galaraga’s chains had been replaced by a big wooden cross hanging conspicuously around Helton’s neck.
Truth be told, as one of their 68 Jewish fans, this didn’t really bother me. They claimed to be accepting and tolerant and there were no signs to the contrary. Plus, I didn’t give a shit as long as they kept winning.But then they stopped winning, and then I started caring.
The slide was precipitous. The humidor started to hurt our hitters more than the opposing ones. (There were 1-0 games at Coors for god’s sake!) And the New Rox were hitting .227 with runners in scoring position and two outs by the end of August.
Worst of all, though, it never seemed like any of them cared. They didn’t care when they won, and they didn’t care when they lost. Sure, they tried hard as hell, but it seemed like as long as they tried it didn’t matter to them how they finished.
Their stoic, quiet brand of character had backfired in a disaster that culminated with A.F.O.M.G. poking me in the side with a broom after a disappointing sweep at Shea. At a certain point in a 162-game season you need a spark to keep things interesting, and the New Rox didn’t have one.
The point of all of this isn’t that J.C. hurt the New Rox. I always agreed with their basic philosophy that character and chemistry were central to success. The problem it seemed was that their convictions fostered a specific misguided notion of good character.
To the Rockies' front office (most notably owner Charlie Monfort) good character meant things like clean living and not having porno in the locker room. But what does not having porno in the locker room have to do with success on the field? Or success anywhere for that matter?
In order to have a team of good character, you need to have a team of characters. Some of those characters will be workhorses. Others will be goof-offs. There’ll be a Yeah-Yeah and a Squints and a Benny the Jet and of course a Smalls.
These guys will still be good dudes who care about the game. Most of them will live clean, but that won’t be central to their identities. They will each be a different expression of good character. This means that there may be some porno in the locker room, but it also means that the players will get pissed when they can’t hit with runners in scoring position. Sometimes they’ll even get in fights about it.When they are playing poorly there’ll be a catalyst for changing course, and when they are playing well it will be way more fun for everyone.
Sometimes you may even catch one of them dancing in the dugout.
- Denver D's
posted by A Friend of Mr. Glass' at 9:30 AM
2 Comments:
Is he married? No. Does he have two kids? Yes.
I can stand hearing about the Rockies annually. Please dont allow Rockie talk here on the main post more often than that.
I thank you for listening. No disrespect to the author your writing style actually allowed me to read though the entire piece. But being 2500 miles or so away, I just dont care about them. Have the humidor dude find out who keeps shooting porfessional athletes.
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