View From the Brewers Bandwagon, Vol 1: Time to abandon ship?

I go to about 20 Brewers games a year, and watch nearly all the rest of them. Though I'm a casual fan, I do care enough about the team enough to write about them. I don't think I could be a full-time Brewer blogger -- I don't care that much -- but at the same time I think it would be fun to check in on them periodically and give my (mostly worthless) opinions.



Approximately one-eighth of the season has been completed and the Milwaukee Brewers sit at 9-12. With a supposedly bolstered starting rotation, a strong bullpen anchored by the heretofore ageless Trevor Hoffman, and promising youngsters Alcides Escobar and Carlos Gomez setting the table for the sluggers, this is not where fans want the team to be. Can you blame them?

Well, yes and no.

I am not Mr. Sunshine, but I still have hope that the Brewers can compete this season. I know it's not exactly fashionable to be positive on the internet -- and perhaps for sports fans in general -- where blog commenters more closely resemble 4chan (NSFW) than they do Cute Overload. I hate to repeat that tired old mantra "It's still early," but I will: It's still early. Get a grip.

The Brewers' woes pretty much begin and end where you would expect them to, which is with the pitching staff.

The big story on everyone's mind right now is obviously Trevor Hoffman. Is he washed up? Injured? Why isn't he throwing his changeup? Is he the second coming of Eric Gagne?

I'll answer the last question first: No. Gagne was mostly washed up before he even got here. In hindsight, it was easily a mistake to sign him for any amount of money. On the flip side, Hoffman had a ridiculously good year last year, and there was really no reason to think he wouldn't keep it up to some extent other than the fact that he is 42 years old. Unless there was a cheaper, guaranteed* option waiting in the wings, I don't think any GM in the league would pass up on the deal.

*(I say guaranteed because when you have a team that's expected to contend for a division or wild card, you don't hand over the closer's role to someone who has never pitched in the bigs. Do you?)

As for being washed up or injured it's entirely possible on both accounts. He's lost his control (answer to #3) as well, which doesn't bode well. But at the same time one must remember that in his blown saves, the team won one (and could've won yesterday's), lost one on a fluke home run that, given the chance, the guy wouldn't be able to recreate 99 out of 100 times, and finally the Hoff gave up two homers to some guys named Albert Pujols and Matt Holliday. The home runs are troubling to be sure. But I don't think it merits immediate demotion to mop-up guy along with the 12 million dollar mistake Jeff Suppan. Perhaps a few days to get his head straight will do him some good, though upon returning I would keep the leash short, to one the tune of one or two more games. As for options, you've got Villanueva, Coffey, Hawkins, and maybe even Parra**. The closer role isn't a lost cause quite yet.

**(Yes, I know he's a starter and a "mental midget" as some like to say, but he's been good out of the pen and is capable of having some nasty stuff. Imagine the confidence boost that could be to him.)

As for the starting staff, the conventional (in hindsight) wisdom is that if last year's staff was merely average, they would have at least contended for the Wild Card. This year's staff needs to do pretty much the same thing, and I see no reason why it can't. Of course, there is much room for improvement.

Yovani Gallardo needs to learn how to be more efficient with his pitches. If he's going the be the ace, he can't be going only 5 innings with 100 pitches. It isn't good for him, and it's even worse for the bullpen. Randy Wolf doesn't look half bad so far. As long as Bush doesn't get hit on the arm with another line drive (and keeps the starts like his last one to a minimum), he will be all right. Narveson overcame his first-start, first inning jitters to record four scoreless. That's something he can build on. (I hate sounding like a coach, but it's true.)

Doug Davis, on the other hand, is worrying. He did improve in his first start, but not being able to make it past the 5th inning in the other two is inexcusable. No one will confuse him Cy Young, but the man was brought in to eat up innings and get the ball to the bullpen with some semblance of winning. Davis has not really done that thus far.

* * * *

How about that offense? Can you really complain about an offense that leads the league in runs scored, averaging 6 per game? (That is, besides that there's no way they keep up that pace.) Braun is Braun, Prince is coming around from his slow start like he always does, McGehee is proving thus far that he is no fluke. Rickie Weeks is looking like the player everyone wishes he could've been the past few years. Even Corey Hart, whipping boy extraordinaire not just because he collapsed at the end of 2008 and was mediocre in 2009, but because -- and I say this because people at JSOnline can't fucking stop talking about it -- the man was being honest. (Funny, that: in this age of extreme openness, [cynically read: narcissism] an athlete responds in a way other than robotically and the fan base shits all over him for hurting their delicate sensibilities.) So far, so good, huh?

Mostly, yeah. Some question marks rise with the players up the middle, namely Escobar and and Gomez. The knock on this team the last few years has been that they rely far too much on the home run, and this is probably true. These guys have the potential to change all that with their speed, but first Escobar needs to stop swinging at everything he sees and Gomez has to stop hitting the ball in the air. Easier said than done, I know.

Considering those two flash some serious leather in the field, it doesn't make sense to bench them for any long period of time. However, if there is going to be any serious change in playing time, I wouldn't have a problem with an Edmonds/Gomez platoon in center. If a small-ball type player isn't producing, and there aren't many other of those type of guys on the team, then you need some pop in the lineup and Edmonds is perfectly capable of providing that.

At the catcher spot, I'm not particularly enamored of Zaun or Kottaras' performance thus far, nor do I think that by changing catchers is the big change this team needs to turn it around. Zaun has been a backup most of his career, and Kottaras isn't starting material either, so in this case I'd have no problem with them splitting time evenly behind the plate.

There really isn't much more to say about the offense. If they keep on keepin' on, they'll be just fine.

* * * *

You'll notice that I didn't really use any numbers to back up any of my opinions. I know I'd get ripped to shreds on any respectable comment board, but I did it for a reason: I just don't care. I think these stats have their time and place -- namely when trying to win an argument on the internet/showing off your e-peen -- but to a casual fan such as myself, they are mostly irrelevant. Don't get me wrong, I don't think we should go back evaluating players based solely on AVG/HR/RBI and W-L/ERA. It's just that, aside from winning an argument for the sake of winning it, advanced stats are most useful to the front office of a baseball team. They are the ones spending millions of dollars on players, thus they should have the most advanced ways possible to attempt to predict what they're getting for their investment.

As for me, stats aren't the end all be-all of anything. If that we're the case, they would play the game on paper and I could save the $400 I spent on my 20-game pack. Of course, they don't. And as a fan -- casual and somewhat detached as I may be -- I think watching a game is much more fun than endlessly debating statistics, actions that already took place. Needless to say, I won't be writing about Craig Counsell's VORP or Doug Davis' FIP any time soon.

However, there is one number I am concerned with, and this is the amount of money it will take to sign Prince Fielder.

At their current payroll, I don't think it is possible to sign him. It just isn't financially feasible. The only way it could possibly work is if the Brewers' payroll expanded. If it takes $25 mil per year to get the big man, and Milwaukee's payroll is pushing $90 million as we speak, then that amount must be pushed to $115 million. Probably a hard pill to swallow for Mark Attanasio and company.

With the team's subpar start, some of the early ledge-jumpers are already bleating about trading Fielder for pitching. This, along with some article/blurb I read (don't remember where) that crunched some numbers saying that Fielder couldn't possibly live up to the contract that he'll be given, adds up to me thinking: "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Now is not the time to trade Fielder. Neither was this off season. I know great pitching is what the team needs, but the truth of the matter is part of the reason the Brewers have been competitive the past three years is because they've been able to put 3 million asses in the seats. Make no bones about it, Prince is the heart and soul of this team and to trade him now would be to say "we're giving up." Now some people might say "Hey, smart fans would know that by trading Fielder, the Brewers would be even more competitive for years to come even if they got some good pitching -- and they would be right. Except that "smart" fans aren't buying the majority of the tickets. Casual ones are. And you know what? An affable, intense, hardworking guy that can hit the ball a mile is going to sell a hell of a lot more tickets than a low ERA can. Besides, who's to say that The Crew would get Tim Lincecum or something back, anyway? I wouldn't be surprised to learn that top prospects is all they could get. Good for the future, bad for right now.

As for living up to the contract, that's all fine and good, but if he were to re-sign and the Brewers were to win the World Series, even if he got hurt and was never the same, would you really care all that much if he put the team in the hole for seven years? I wouldn't. I think the nucleus of Braun, Fielder, and Gallardo give us the best chance to win. It might take one more big move (or perhaps a small one) to put the team over the top, but I don't believe they make that leap without those three.

The View From Opening Day

Seven Songs: Song 3 - "No Surprises" by Radiohead

Despite the fact that I'm not exactly your average human being, I spent my high school years wanting to be with a girl. I wanted to be touched, held. I wanted to get laid, for Christ's sake. About halfway through my sophomore year, I would finally find someone not completely creeped out by my dour demeanor.

It was a typical teenage relationship. We didn't go out on dates so much as we spent most of our time together making out on somebody's floor or couch. It was great for what it was, but at the same time there was really nowhere to go with it. Is there anywhere else to go when you're sixteen?

Like all good things, the relationship eventually had to come to an end.

It was late summer in my parents' basement. She said it was over and handed over her copy of OK Computer by Radiohead and started to cry. I bawled my eyes out in front of her, perhaps more vulnerable than she'd ever seen me. After regaining my composure I think she kissed me for the last time and left.

I can remember my mom asking me if I was okay – I don't remember the answer – and retreating back down to the basement and putting the CD in. After listening to “Karma Police” I switched to “No Surprises” – her favorite song – and the rest is history.

The song isn't affecting simply because it was a favorite song of my first love. Certainly that resonates with me, but there's more to it than that. With “No Surprises,” Radiohead completely nailed what it feels like to be numb.

A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal

Those first three lines, sad but sung with such a lack of palpable emotion. Certainly I felt something; but I didn't know what I should be feeling. Sadness? Anger? Indifference? All of the above?

You see, this was my first break-up. I wasn't sure what went wrong or what I could do to make things right. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it through all right. All I could do was throw up my hands, shed some tears, and sink further into my music. I searched for answers but came up blank, much like the narrator in the song.

Common sense would indicate that I should have grieved for an appropriate amount of time, but gotten back up on that horse and find some other girl to make out with. It was high school! But I didn't. I listened to songs like “No Surprises” and slipped further down that fucking rabbit hole. I surrounded myself with walls, some of which are still up to this day.

That relationship – for better or worse – fucked me up. I opened myself up to someone for the first time and got burned. I would not be hurt like that again. Thom Yorke spoke to me at the time (and times to come): “I'll take the quiet life / A handshake of carbon monoxide / No alarms and no surprises please”

Now, in a bit of irony that only took me 10+ years to realize... “No Surprises” was an apt title to begin with. The relationship was going nowhere and had to end at some point. I think, at that point in my life and for some years to come – that the song was to me as “The Wall” was to Roger Waters. It was my way of saying to the world, “that's enough of this bullshit!”

Years later, in a happy, contented, mature relationship I don't need the song, at least not in the way I needed it then. But I would be a liar if I said there weren't days when I wouldn't mind taking that “quiet life,” to melt away in a calm, numb world where there aren't any surprises.

Mundane Minutiae, Vol III: Spaghetti and Meatballs

A couple of weeks ago at work I was preparing to put my lunch in the microwave when a guy made the comment "Lasagna with a side order of lasagna, huh?" (The Tupperware container I was using had compartments, and they were all filled with pasta.)

"Yep."

"Nothin' like homemade food though, right?" he said.

"Indeed."

And that was the end of the conversation.

I was thinking about that conversation while I was walking home from the bus stop when I got to thinking about how I like Italian food, but only the common kinds. I like spaghetti, lasagna, and chicken parmesan, but you're not going to find me going much further than that.

Certain people like to kid me about my "pickiness" when it comes to food, chiding me by asking "Well, how do you know you don't like something if you haven't tried it?"

The truth is I don't know, but what does it matter? I know that if I order the chicken parmesan that it'll more than likely be good and I will enjoy my meal. What's wrong with that? (You're boring, you're not willing to take chances, that's no way to live life, I know...)

Then a weird thought popped in my head: My aversion to trying different foods is sort of like being a married couple -- or being in a long-term relationship, for that matter -- in a way.

Think about it: When you marry someone, you've decided that this is as good as its going to get. You don't know that this person is perfect in every way; maybe there's still someone out there with the same record collection, or who shares the same love of whiskey and the Brewers. (Note: I'm quite certain this person doesn't exist.) But you don't need to know, do you? If it feels right it feels right. When you're comfortable enough with someone to want to spend the rest of your life with them that's all that matters, right?

Of course, unlike taste in food no one's going to get on your case about not testing unknown waters. (Unless the marriage/relationship is a train wreck.)

So there you have it - marriage is like spaghetti and meatballs to me. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Concert review: Vampire Weekend at the Riverside

(h/t to @haleylandsman for the pic)

Vampire Weekend might be one of the most polarizing indie-rock bands around today, but that didn't deter their Milwaukee fans from selling out the Riverside Theater on Tuesday night.

Amidst a backdrop of a gigantic picture of their latest album cover -- apparently the girl's name is Kiersten -- and a bunch of chandeliers, the band played 60+ minutes of their polished, somewhat-wordly, but definitely danceable indie-pop.

Considering Vampire Weekend only has two albums under its belt, I was pleasantly surprised to find how tight and comfortable the band sounded. They opened with two tracks from their new LP Contra, "White Sky" and the sunny, should-be-the-next-single "Holiday." The crowd that was formerly subdued by openers Abe Vigoda was now on its feet and wouldn't sit down for the rest of the set.

Lead singer Ezra Koenig didn't talk much, but was unfailingly polite when he did. He acknowledged that though the show was in a theater, that people could still dance. "Sometimes the most fun you can have is in restricted spaces!" he said, as the band launched into the fantastic "A-Punk." You might not believe me, but in the floor area where they took out some of the seats there was indeed a couple of crowd-surfers for this song. I wasn't aware hipster douches knew how to have fun unironically.

The rest of the set was a mix of tracks from Vampire Weekend's debut album and their new one. I particularly enjoyed "M79" and "Oxford Comma," while the deliberately Auto-Tuned "California English" was a lowlight for me. Also, during the rather boring "Diplomat's Son" I went on a beer run for a $3 PBR Tallboy.

Vampire Weekend came out for a three-song encore, which was highlighted by set-closer "Walcott," which is probably my second-favorite song of theirs ("Oxford Comma" is the first). Overall, they set the tone perfectly; it was a show full of good vibes and fun times set to breezy, infinitely catchy pop music, lack of balls be damned.

Openers Abe Vigoda did not fare nearly as well. They sounded generic and the lead singer tried too hard to sound like Robert Smith of the Cure. The actual Abe Vigoda may or may not have been more entertaining.

List of songs played in no particular order:

"Night Sky"
"Holiday"
"M79"
"Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa"
"Campus"
"Oxford Comma"
"California English"
"Cousins"
"A-Punk"
"One (Blake's Got A New Face)"
"Run"
"Giving Up the Gun"
"Diplomat's Son"

Encore:
"Horchata"
"Mansard Roof"
"Walcott"

Seven Songs: Song 2 - "Santa Monica" by Everclear

For most of my pre-pubescent to early pubescent life I was immersed firmly in the music of my parents. Sure, I once convinced my parents to buy me a Vanilla Ice tape ("Those lyrics are horrible!") and was sorta-kinda into really gay club music (Technotronic, Right Said Fred) and gangsta rap (Dr. Dre, Snoop Doggy Dogg), but I didn't have much emotional attachment to it. Aside from The Beatles -- and my feelings for it -- it was all Beach Boys and Herman's Hermits for me.

At 14 years old I had nothing music-wise to call my own. As a shy kid who mostly lived inside my own head -- as a grown man I still do most of the time -- it was imperative that something could speak for me. For all intents and purposes I had no voice.

/sidetrack time

This brings me to one of my favorite stories my dad told me about me.

I was a quiet little boy -- ya fuckin' think -- all of 2 or 3 years old and my parents were visiting with my dad's mom and his uncle. This is paraphrased because it was over 25 years ago, and I couldn't possibly remember it.

Me: /plays with alphabet blocks on the floor.
My dad: He doesn't talk much yet. That's not normal, is it?
Uncle Donnie: It'll come. Maybe he just doesn't have anything to say.

I smile every time I think about that little story.

/end sidetrack

Well, I discovered "alternative" rock radio in the 8th grade. I loved Nirvana (more sidetrack: my dad yelled at me when he saw the booklet for Nevermind with Kurt Cobain flipping off the camera; I thought that was awesome) and Oasis and the Smashing Pumpkins. And then there was Everclear.

I dared not ask for the album that first year -- in fact I bought Sparkle and Fade at a used CD store on my own -- because of song titles like "You Make Me Feel Like a Whore" and "My Sexual Life." But I loved the hell out of that album. It was just music to me at that point, but I still loved it.

Then I started high school. A public school. In a town I had lived in for all of a year and a half. I was optimistic, but I was also scared out of my mind. Still being shy and voiceless, being that proverbial fish out of water, I needed an anthem. I needed something to describe perfectly how I felt. I found "Santa Monica."

Say what you will about Everclear, but Art Alexakis knows his way around a hook. Those opening chords kicked in and I was taken away to my own little place. The first two verses represented my ticket out of Cudahy. I didn't hate suburban life as much as I hated being thrown in with a bunch of people I didn't know. It didn't help, being me, not being able to strike up a conversation with people. In September of 1996, I would have given just about anything to take "my big black boots and an old suitcase" and "find myself a new place."

And then that chorus. Jesus Christ that chorus influenced my worldview, and still does, as sad as that may seem:

We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die

Aside from the obvious angst in those lines, he does start it off with "we." Much like imagining myself being held to "With A Little Help From My Friends," I imagined swimming out past the breakers of Lake Michigan, finding some non-existent island with someone, anyone (hopefully a girl, though) to spend the rest of my days with, watching the world die before our eyes. She would soothe the pain of every pretty girl that would sneer at me -- of course, I never would have the courage or confidence to counter that, but what's the difference now? -- and every jock asshole that would make fun of me. Damn, the solution seemed so simple then.

That chorus is great, no doubt, but the couplet at the end of the song brings it all home. If there are two lines in all of 90's rock that I would have to pick as my favorite, I would be hard-pressed to pick something other than this:

I just want to feel some sunshine
I just want to find some place to be alone

In those high school days, it would take me away from those aforementioned sneering girls and laughing jocks; today it's a celebrity-obsessed culture; it's a bickering political wasteland; it's the guy with a high-paying job that he loves, who consumes things just to consume, obtains things just to obtain. I know I can't be bothered to just let go and have a good time -- this much I've known for years -- but I sure as hell can be bothered not to be deluded into thinking this world isn't just puppy dogs and rainbows.

Don't get me wrong, though. "Santa Monica" is far from a downer for me. It makes me feel wonderful every time I hear it. It gets my head bobbing -- and my fist pumping for the 'place to be alone' line -- whenever it comes on. It reminds me -- despite all of the confusion and hurt and hate -- of a time much simpler then the present. Then again with a present full of economic uncertainty, bitter political partisanship, soulless advertisers, pop music based on image (I'm looking at you, Lady Gaga) not songcraft, and reality television, who wouldn't want to swim out past the breakers and watch the world die?

Seven Songs: The Long-winded Intro/Song 1

I recently finished reading Nick Hornby's novel High Fidelity for the second time. If you've read the book or seen the movie – both are wonderful – you know that music plays a prominent role in both. In some promotional footage for the film, John Cusack – who plays Rob, the lead character – talks about how we experience music autobiographically. I have to agree with him wholeheartedly here.

Even more poignant than that, however, is this passage from the book (which also serves as the opening lines in the movie):

“What came first – the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music? Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?

People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos.; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands – literally thousands – of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.”

Hornby took those points one step further with 31 Songs, (not quite as good – I didn't recognize most of the songs) a series of essays about songs that affected him in some sort of way. Various authors took notice of this, and McSweeney's even published a bunch of them.

After reading through the songs I knew, I thought that I could do the same thing.

I picked seven songs that, throughout my life, really got to me. Going through them, I noticed that the tracks weren't necessarily connected to specific events; rather, they're concepts and themes that reflect who I was, who I am, and perhaps who I may become.

I hope writing about them doesn't take too long. The longer I get away from an idea, the easier it becomes for that idea to fade away. The songs will appear in roughly the chronological order of my life.

Without further ado, here is the first song in the series:

“With a Little Help From My Friends” – The Beatles

from: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band

The short version: Henry Rollins already described it better than I ever could.

***

I was 12, maybe 13 when I would come home from school each day and turn on the television. I watched after-school programs like everyone else – Animaniacs, anyone? – until I got bored. This is when I would scavenge through my dad's CD collection. Aside from the car radio, this is where I discovered the Beatles.

My favorite albums at the time were A Hard Day's Night and Sgt. Pepper. Right off the bat, I heard something in “With A Little Help From My Friends” that resonated with me. Only thing is, something was a little bit off: I didn't have any friends. Sure, I had guys I played basketball or video games with, but I wasn't close with them. I couldn't confide anything in them. They were just dudes who enjoyed my company enough not to tell me to fuck off.

That camaraderie in the chorus (“I get by.../I get high.../I'm gonna try... with a little help from my friends”) was something I longed for. It would kill me every time Ringo got to that second verse:

What do I do when my love is away?

(Does it worry you to be alone?)

How do I feel by the end of the day?

(Are you sad because you're on you're own?)

The third verse doesn't get any happier:

(Do you need anybody?)

I need somebody to love.

(Could it be anybody?)

I want somebody to love.

There were nights then (and throughout my adolescence) where I would hear those lines and imagine myself being held. If it wasn't out of loneliness it was out of the fact that I knew even then that those years of my life were going to be tough. To my feeble mind being held was adult and exotic; it was my ticket out of Hell.

As a child – and probably still somewhat as a grown man – many felt I was afflicted with this profound sense of sadness. Hearing those verses certainly brought it out in me then. I continue to be affected by such lyrics to this day.

Listening to the song now – and I think even then – I can find hope amidst the sadness. Ringo does have his friends to help him get by; I would eventually find friends of my own. Ringo believes in love at first sight; I would find love. Really, I could have picked any Beatles song here. As sad as that song made me feel at 13, it also made me feel human. In those seven years (1962-69, Let It Be was done way before it was released in 1970) the Beatles recorded music, they made songs of joy, exuberance, despair, hurt, love, loss, and a million other emotions and experiences. I can put on any one of those tracks, experience those feelings, and feel alive. It brings me back, in a way, to a time when those feelings were new and exciting.

To listen to the Beatles is to listen to life itself happening before your ears. “With A Little Help From My Friends” was the first song to lead me down that wonderful, terrifying (and, yes, long and winding) road.