Encounter with Doctor Void, #1

Doctor Lloyd Void sat down and I quickly started peppering him with questions. It had been a long time since our last encounter.

He was mostly the same. A little stubble of a beard was noticeable. He still had most of his hair, although it was graying a bit more here and there. His dark eyes still lit up when he smiled and laughed that giggly, child-like laugh of his just like he always had.

He was definitely a sight for sore eyes but it immediately dawned on me that he seemed a bit plumper than I recalled. His typical Aloha shirt was unbuttoned, showing his bare and hairless chest and a round little belly that protruded and layered over the lap of his baggy khaki shorts. His belly definitely languished there a bit more than it did back in our younger days, I will say that. Yeah, but, hey, that’s not important here, and I should be the last one to point any fingers in that regard.

I can’t say I was all that curious to learn what he had actually experienced over the last decade or so, how he had gained his certain slice of notoriety and all that. In fact, my homework assignment was done and I was pretty sure I had that all figured out. I think I just really wanted to see if his initial responses matched what I already new or expected. I asked him to meet me in one of my favorite cafes, hidden in an alley just off a downtown street.

I laid my trap and waited, crouching behind a jungle of mundane questions, big leafy branches of inquisition interwoven with dead, thorny twigs of insinuation, looking for the opportunity to lunge forward at the first bold lie he would tell.

That is, after all, my way.

I nodded intently while he spoke, acting as if I was listening as he described all the unusual twists and turns he followed on his odd journey. In fact, I couldn’t have cared less and I don’t recall a word of what he said during that part of our encounter. It didn’t matter to me at all what kind of thick shit he thinks he may have suffered prior to our hasty meeting. He was now stepping into my world and I alone control the level of that muck.

Surprisingly, his lies were mild and veiled well, not worthy of note or attack, and soon the casual discussion turned to me, just as I had suddenly, spontaneously planned it.

“Very good, well, you see, Lloyd,” I began, “I’ve got this little problem. First, I must say, I really do appreciate you seeing me, you being so busy and all.”

“No, no, are you crazy? We’re friends, man. It’s great to see you again. Call me Doctor.”

“Now, Lloyd, err-umm, Doctor Lloyd, you know we were never really all that close. It’s just that I saw you were around and I thought, what the hell, it’d be nice to reunite for a bit, you know, have a few beers and chat and whatever.”

“Sure, sure, man, you know, it’s great.”

“Ok, well, back to my problem. See, I hate to bother you with this one, but I have really struggled with anything that resembles inspiration. With all your expertise in these matters, I was wondering, why do you think that is so?”

“Jesus Christ, man,” he laughed and squirmed in his chair for a moment. “Uhh, Jesus Christ! Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No, not at all, in fact, I was just getting ready to light up myself.”

“We can’t do this in California any more, ya know.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that. So …what do you really think here?”

“Well, man, Jesus Christ! Uhh … are you serious? I didn’t think we’d get into a session here.” He began fumbling with his pack of smokes.

“umm …yeah, I am … serious.”

“Oh, what, uh, ok then.” He lit his ciggy and began. “Well, dude, let’s face it, you’ve never been prone to tuning into this whole big wave of inspiration that swirls around us, ya know?”

He laughed loudly, took a deep puff and then leaned back in his chair.

“That’s it?”

He leaned forward again and pointed at me with his burning ciggy.

“OK, no, that’s not just it. No, seriously now, you treat inspiration like you’ve treated everything else in your life. You have no ambition or social skills, either. I know you. Sorry to say that, but it’s true.”

“Well, I sort of already knew that last part there, too, Lloyd,” I responded quickly with a bit of disgust. “I guess I just never caught the connection with inspiration, though.”

“Oh, yeah, man, it’s a cosmic deal and I really am a doctor. Now, listen to me, what’s the first thing you typically say when someone really gets ya, you know, when they really call you out, r-r-really stick it to ya?”

“Umm, well, I suppose I agree with them in some sort of subtle manner.”

“Absolutely! See? Now, next question, what do you typically respond with when someone gives you a compliment?”

“Fuck you!”

“See!” he grinned. “You could have done this all by yourself, man. You don’t need me.”

“But Lloyd, umm, Doc, what’s all that got to do with inspiration or my lack of it?”

“You don’t just lack it, man, you repulse it. You refuse to give into it, just like you do with all your other emotions.”

“Can I change?” I asked earnestly.

He started laughing uncontrollably, spittle and snot tossed about everywhere. He reached for the tail of his Aloha shirt to wipe his nose, stubbed out his ciggy on the floor and looked around. Finally, confident we were secure, he let me in on a little secret.

“Man, you’re not changing,” he whispered. “You can’t change any more than I can.”

“Ahh-ha,” I yelled, confident I had just found the edge of the entrance I had been so desperately seeking. “SO, you’re not so pleased as you outwardly seem either, eh, Mister Doctor man?”

“Are you kidding me? Look, shut up. I’ve done alright, I’ve got no complaints, but sometimes I wonder what the hell I did with my life. Just like you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I squinted my eyes at him and nodded knowingly, “but at least I didn’t spend all my time wandering the desert in a Santa Suit, disguising myself in this way and that. Like you say, I am pretty much a known quantity.”

“Hey! Back off, pal! The Santa Suit thing, that was just a lark, something that you’re obviously incapable of understanding.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Dude, you NEVER enjoy yourself. You hardly ever laugh. I’ve spent my whole life laughing. See? I’m laughing right now! At you!”

He laughed.

Then he laughed some more.

Finally, I held up my hand to stop his giggling.

“Whatever, let’s get back on track here. What you’re saying is that because I am inhibited emotionally, I will never attract inspiration, is that correct? Do I understand that correctly?”

“No, you don’t understand it, you dip. What I said was that you deny your emotions. It doesn’t matter if it’s inspiration, compliments or personal attacks, you always react in the opposite way that everyone expects you to react. And you do that on purpose, damn you! You don’t struggle with inspiration any more than anyone else does. In fact, you have it all around you and you don’t even know it. Half the time you don’t see it only because you refuse to accept it. That is your way!”

With that, he once again silently leaned back in his chair.

I sat there motionless for some time, letting the depth of his accusation sink within my mind. I recall looking around occasionally, seeing he had lit another ciggy and ordered some vile green drink in a small glass while he waited, swirls of heavy smoke circling about the room, highlighted by refracting rainbow rays of the afternoon sun entering at an angle through the windows from outside on the street, the staccato cacophony of people walking, cars honking, and life going on in the bustling city all begging for a piece of my mind while I sat there, trying to think of what to say next.

Finally, he placed his empty glass on the table between us and rose from his chair.

“Gotta go, man,” he said quietly. “Got a flight to catch.”

Awaking from my temporary slumber I breathed deeply then responded.

“Yeah, it was great to see you again.”

“You, too.” He held out his hand and I noticed his eyes looked darker, redder and baggier than when he had first walked in. “See ya next time,” he offered.

“Right. Right. Take care, pal.”

Cheers,
Mb

Waste and Inspiration

It’s the same old story. Any person who might start something as wasteful as this will understand completely.

Yeah, some huge expectations come as the first few baby steps are taken when the days are sunny and long. Then, as the dark nothingness settles around you, thoughts of attention and acclaim die a slow, painful death in the night, finally rattling off into a calm acceptance and sublime joy that the end is near. This is the truth about life when the days turn short and during those first few stabs at it I admit I waited for the threats, the complaints. But even my poor view of self-worth is often over-stated and nothing really big happened at all. No, not nothing big. Nothing, in fact.

Then, once the lasting and illuminating realization of negative result was comfortably reclined in the recessed areas of my thick skull, I was happy!

Now, knowing that I am alone, nobody is really watching, I can finally do whatever I want. I can bare myself completely, wander virtually naked in the virtual woods without fear.

This is freedom, friends, and it feels so good.

But the question does arise, what the hell happened from February to April, anyway? And, honestly, this is not the first time I’ve ever asked myself that question. Oh, yeah, many times I’ve looked back to wonder what was going on, where was I? And, I know what you’re thinking, no, those occasions were not the result of ingesting any odd hallucinogens. Most often those little trips down memory lane came during the many periods of annual review, when the results of my inaction may be highlighted and called in to question for possible redress by concerned superiors and family members and the like.

I wasn’t just hiding behind the couch this time, waiting for a surprise attack that was sure to come. I was definitely busy. There were many more pressing issues of the day to keep me occupied during this quiet period.

Uhh … there was ice fishing, an event, now annual, off to the wilds of the great northern areas where the Ojibweh once staked their claim and today force the white hunter to endlessly scratch his head in amazement, wondering how did we ever let this get away?

That event took up a good week of my time in February. There was preparation, departure, the long trip filled with more high expectations, the letdown of lackluster and pointless fishing, staring down the silent blue hole on a frozen lake in Minnesota, much drinking, eating, spending money and then the solemn ride home with summary decompression.

Then, I know, I KNOW, I spent some time dealing with taxes in April. That’s a fact. Let’s see, there was my taxes, a number of relatives’ taxes that I fumbled around with, there was even a recent acquaintance of mine who followed me around for days wanting to chatter on about his particular liability. Oh, that was a full blown experience there. Hard to think of anything casual with those kinds of heady problems weighing down your every move, you know.

Yes, yes, there were more stupid expectations, dare I say hopeful, arriving with the end of Spring training. Well, we all know what happened there, how those hopes faded so quickly, dashed and pounded as they were against the jagged rocks of mediocrity and profit sharing.

But March … March … Jeez, for the life of me, I can’t remember a damn … oh, wait a minute. Now I remember! I ran into an old friend that month. Yeah, old Lloyd Void, who is a doctor now living on the West Coast I am told.

Doctor Void was the one who convinced me to carry on, eventually. He’s very inspirational in his own way. A fascinating guy, really. I’ll have to introduce him to you sometime.

Cheers,

Mb

Role Playing

I must delve deeper into the situation that I've tried to describe earlier about the Royals baseball team. If you’re not into baseball, you don’t want to read what follows. Trust me.

I have serious questions about the way the KC pitching staff is being managed. (FYI, I am not a stat nut. I lean toward the old intuitive seat of your pants style.)

Watching the Royals pitching debacle, I am convinced that Buddy Bell (love him or hate him) can’t do what he wants to do with this staff. He’s stated that he wants to define roles but it seems obvious to me that he simply doesn’t have the talent to position his guys in traditional roles. In other words, I don’t think he can point to any guy on the Royals staff and identify a clear cut starter or closer in the traditional mode at this point.

The entire weight of this disastrous approach is sitting quietly in the closer’s bullpen. This ugly truth may have been revealed when Burgos and Cisco began their self-destruct act a couple of weeks ago, forcing Buddy into a rather random swap of some of the role players (Burgos to the middle, Dessens to the end, etc.).

Interesting that I get the impression that the middle relievers have done a fairly stable job in KC. I don’t know about that impression, the stats may not prove it, it may just be the work of one or two guys, the Surprising Dessens Effect or something. But it seems to me, of the traditional roles, the middle guys do seem to be holding on the best.

Meanwhile, the so-called “starters” performance remains spotty, nobody consistently performing like what you would expect of “starters”, constantly pressuring a bullpen that is very shaky to begin with.

What better place to start this complaint other than with the starters? What is expected of a starter, anyway? The quality start (QS) statistic comes to mind.

For review, read the exceptional piece on QS by David W. Smith here: http://www.diamond-mind.com/articles/qstart.htm

Now I am searching for Royals’ current QS percentage but can’t find it … assuming the worst. Assuming other than a couple of good starts by Elarton, and those were losses, we have little to talk about. (I thought I heard on radio the other day that the KC starter’s QS percentage was roughly equal to Berroa’s walks-to-at bats ratio. Eeeyew!)

Another random look at the stats (my own misperceptions hinted above) shows it has been 7 years since any MLB pitcher finished more than 9 complete games (Randy Johnson, AZ, 12 in 1999). The complete game trend has steadily declined to its lowest point ever, with no more than 5-7 complete games being expected from any one pitcher during the season across MLB. The “Ace” of KC’s staff, Elarton, has thrown 4 complete games in 7 years of MLB experience. There are many reasons for this trend, none of which are important to me right now.

The point is, I’m getting the impression here that the KC staff is (A) not able to present a rotation that regularly produces a large traditionally-defined QS percentage (something like 55-65 percent of the starts, holding through the first 6 innings) and (B), with regard to MLB trends and the talent level of this team in particular, we shouldn’t really expect KC starters to finish a game or even get close to that regularly.

Where does that leave us? With an unorthodox KC pitching staff trying to play traditional roles, with Buddy trying to force the square pegs into a round hole, that’s what we have here.

To fix this, I think that Buddy needs to consider something radical. As others have noted, a radical departure for a traditionalist like Buddy Bell may be impossible. He doesn’t seem like an innovator to me.

But I’m going to toss this out anyway.

Looking for a possible answer to this problem, I find myself wandering towards some extreme resolutions, many of which just won’t fly in a modern game where everyone is watching and waiting for the manager to look stupid. I know that.

This situation reminds me a lot of the preconceived concepts that the US Air Force held about itself prior to 1991. Before the first Gulf War, the USAF assigned aircraft to distinct functions, much like starting and closing pitchers. Fighters were considered “tactical” tools and bombers were considered tools only for “strategic” employment. As the war ensued, it quickly became apparent that those old rules didn’t apply any longer. Bombers (even B-52’s) were regularly used in “tactical” environments and fighters were pushed into different roles. Thus, the USAF had to rethink its position and eventually retired those old distinctions. The good news here is that the results of that dramatic change in perspective have been very effective, in my opinion.

Back to baseball, adding it all up, I have settled with a compromise, a policy that incorporates my more radical ideas for change into what I hope is a somewhat more digestible concept. That said, I know this is still a radical policy for the strategic/tactical use of KC’s pitching staff. The gurus on ESPN may shake their big heads and laugh and ridicule but it’s something which I think Bob McClure and Buddy should seriously consider. This team needs to do something different.

What are they going to do, lose more games if they change? Not likely.

First, we must forget what we know and what we’ve been taught about starting pitchers. KC should stop struggling to get deep into the 6th or 7th with these guys, it just ain’t happening. Don’t even worry about the starter getting a Win, a complete game or any other traditional nonsense that gooses up a starter’s ego (and salary). In KC, right now, those expectations are unrealistic. Forget the pitch count, forget it all. The goal should be a Team Win. The goal of a KC starter, the definition of a KC style QS, should be simply to finish the first 3 innings (not the first 6) with something far less than 3.5 ERA. The KC starters should be unleashed to attack, to pitch hard strikes while holding nothing back, using everything they have, almost to the extent of a traditional closer. It’s a complete reversal of the traditional thinking on pitching roles that have been developing over the last 30 years or so. The goal should be to set up the strength of this team, and that is the middle relief. Maybe guys like Burgos should be starting?

Second, the middle relief should also not be bound by generally accepted thoughts concerning their traditional role. In other words, the middle guys, the ones who come in innings 4-6, should play more of the traditional “starter” roles. This pool of relievers should contain the vast majority of this staff. They should look to go as far into the game as they possibly can, monitoring pitch counts and all that stuff to keep them fresh for rotation. Most importantly, and probably the most radical thought here, Buddy should not be pulling out the middlers for a traditional set-up guy in the 8^th as everyone expects him to do. If Gobble, for example, starts the 5^th and is cruising in the 7^th, then let him pitch on. (I think anyone who has watched this team over the last 40 days will know what I’m talking about here. Playing to set up non-existent closers in KC is just foolish.)

Finally, to the so-called closers. I don’t care who KC designates as a closer, that really doesn’t mean anything to anyone who watches this team regularly any more, but I want to see them get off of their asses. It freaks me out to watch our starter or reliever struggling to get through the 4th and then the camera pans the bullpen to see those loafers sitting there picking their noses. The reason for that is Buddy is still playing the role game. That’s over, pal! Take the guys that Buddy doesn’t trust or want to go 3 to 4 innings and use them as “spot” closers, rotating them in and out with abandon when things start going down hill at any point in the game as they most often do in KC. Don’t leave them in the bullpen, waiting for the bottom of the 9th, we don’t have any Eckersly’s out there. Use them as soon as you need them. If they screw up immediately, then bring in another and keep that door revolving until the bleeding stops. If they start off good and settle in then fall back to the middle reliever concept and use them up until they expire.

That’s my idea, anyway. I’m just trying to do what I can to help.

Cheers,

Mb

A New Apathy

Read and watch what you will. Just remember that “The Code” is pure fiction.

Interesting recent commentary in Asia Times On Line by one Sreeram Chaulia titled “Why all is quiet on the American home front”. In his essay, Chaulia suggests some very logical reasons why the US home front seems apathetic towards Iraq, why there’s not overwhelming public outcry similar to Vietnam. The points made:

- US body count not as massive as Vietnam

- No draft

- Mass media control by US government

- Lack of complimentary issue (Civil Rights), although Immigration may fit the bill

- Constant fear mongering since 9/11

All good reasons, I suppose, but there seems to me some missing piece of the puzzle.

At first, I thought that maybe it’s the lack of focus on the majority. The majority is lower and middle working class people, sending their sons and daughters to fight for the most part. The interests of the majority are not highlighted today. In our modern times, the focus of all attention is on the elite. The hot story today is the salary of CEOs, the rise and fall of celebrity, the Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous. I want to say that until the rich and powerful take on the plight of the working class as the latest fad disaster, the trendiest concern, like Darfur or East Timor, then nothing will happen, the Great Republic will remain slumbering.

But the poor just ride the back of the wealthy and I don’t have any proof that the rich have ever taken a lasting interest in improving the lot here in America. For that, I would only support a return to the draft if the result is that the rich complain about what’s going on around here. But that’s pointless since, as I’ve witnessed, the American rich have always had their way of escaping such civic responsibility with ease.

That does leave the home front majority in a precarious situation.

OK, ponder that for a moment while I weave this situation into the current State of Baseball in my fair town.

As you are aware, with every passing week records are being shattered here in Cowtown. This season is sizing up as something more than just another in a long line of futile efforts. As this mind-numbing team has collapsed to lose three-quarters of all games in the first 40 days, all hope for respectability has dissolved into the harsh reality of a long, hot summer. Our season is already over and, judging by the depth of this sink hole, it will take years for us to climb out of it. After reviewing such monumental failure, it’s going to take a major, dramatic shift in the Royals organization to get back on track. As a result, there are kids in high school, on the hot list for the next draft, even guys in the Royals farm system, who are all doomed to fail over the next 3-4 years. Owners will meet and demand something be done, money will be spent, the revolving door of coaches will be spun, but it won’t matter for a long, long time. Meanwhile, me and 7,900 of my closest friends suffer each night.

Royals manager Buddy Bell has been in this business a long time. He’s seen a lot of games. He knows there’s a certain amount of give and take in baseball, there’s a cyclic effect to it and all things have a mysterious way of leveling out over the course of a season.

Knowing that, he played the odds. In Spring Training, he tried to force players into roles, particularly pitchers, just like the way LaRussa, Torre, and every other manager in the game does it. The big problem with that technique is Buddy has his hands tied by upper management. Good players, everyday players, well-paid players who can fit those roles don’t find their way to Kauffman Stadium. So, when that ultimately began to fail and it was so painfully clear that the talent of the pitchers on this team wasn’t anywhere near the level needed to keep them in such roles, Buddy was forced to abandon that approach.

First, he tried to simply switch the roles within the system. Pitcher A becomes the middle reliever and Pitcher B goes to the end of the game and so on.

Finally, after that failed too, he started doing something radically different. I mean radical in reference to modern baseball management, anyway. He sorta gave up on the whole role idea and started to just let them play it out. If the starter, no matter who it was, got banged up to hell in the first two innings, Buddy let him pitch right through that on to the sixth or as long as his arm would hold on.

Losing games as a result? Yep, but, well, why not? What’s the diff? We are losing no matter what he tries to do.

To me, this is the kind of apathy that we’re faced with here in the US. It’s not tried and true, based on an understanding of the give and take, not something Sreeram Chaulia will find in the history books. This is a new kind of apathy, not painted like it was in 1965 when hope was still possible. It is acquiescence by a muted audience, a restricted audience which has thought things through to the end, knowing they have no choice but to watch failure after failure unfold in front of them.

This is a learned reaction, not a symptom of new logical events or the lack of a massive impact but a clear symptom of a captive society. This is the Stockholm Syndrome on a grand scale but with a twist. Buddy knows he’s stuck on a crappy team while we all identify with our captors and we both feel nothing we do will change our fate.

I sense this modern effect among average Americans not only regarding the Iraq mess but other messes as well, a general nonchalance regarding things ranging from Presidential elections to government policy of questionable legality.

I saw a bumper sticker on a car the other day that read, “Somebody Else for President.” My point exactly. Now, the driver of that car told me it doesn’t really matter anymore who the pitcher is, just as long as it is somebody else for an inning or two, since there are really no good choices in this matter. Besides, thinking it through, with all the difficulty we’ve witnessed during the election process, do we really have a say in who it is any more than Buddy has a say on who’s in the bullpen? Haven’t we all learned that is decided not by the general electorate but by somebody else, “the Deciders” who sit in their own luxury suites, those who have the power anyway?

I know it’s all anecdotal evidence but I am still amazed by the reaction of people when I ask them about eavesdropping. “Aren’t you afraid or even pissed off,” I ask, “that the Government may be monitoring your phone calls, reading your email?” Maybe I hang with the wrong crowd, but to a man they all respond with a shrug. They don’t care. Their mantra seems to be, “Hey, I ain’t doing nothing illegal. I’m not a terrorist. I got nothing to worry about.” If they say that enough times to each other then they eventually all begin to hum the same monotonous tune.

“Besides,” the choir moans, “only criminals in this country are worried about their personal privacy. It’s just a legal argument, used in the courts to protect themselves.”

But that’s just it, I proclaim. Don’t you see? YOU are not a criminal! But who is it that decides what is legal or illegal? YOU? Aren’t you just letting somebody else figure it out after the fact? Don’t you want to know about that crap up front? Aren’t you giving up your rights as a citizen? What if they decide that saying something bad about the administration in time of war is illegal? I’ve heard you speak on occasion at the bar, bitching as you watch the evening news, couldn’t you be charged with that?

More shrugs.

I’ve got to pin this one down a bit closer. I find this extremely interesting. How did this happen? When and where, exactly, between 1776 and 2006, did civil liberty, the right to personal privacy and probable cause all cease to exist in this country? Was I fooled to believe that it might have existed at one time? I don’t know the answer to that yet but it seems to me that something like that has happened. At least the citizens of this country seem all lined up at the bar to let it fade away, in any case.

Will the Royals suck for years to come? I see no other alternative. Will we not still be in Iraq come 2008, 2009, 2010? Of course. Are there not another few thousand young men and women in this country and abroad today, right now, who are doomed by that reality and our inability or unwillingness to change it? Absolutely. Will we not pour our country’s resources into the Middle East constantly over the next decade, public resources that could be better used right here at home? Most likely. Will the next administration be selected not on the principle of who we really want, of who is really capable but rather on the principle of the lesser of two evils? Yes, yes, and yes.

No, Sreeram Chaulia, I’m sorry but I guess it’s different now for us old folks. Logic is lost. It’s not about body counts and media control anymore. We can see through all of that. Today, because we have no hope we don’t care. It’s as simple as that. And like Buddy Bell, we’re just gonna let it play out, come what may.

D$ came home from work the other night and found me sitting uncomfortably in my leather recliner watching the Royals go down in defeat yet again on the telly. He walked in the room and looked at me for a moment.

“Are you really watching this?” he prodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled softly. “I gotta do it, man. It’s like a train wreck.”

“Why are you killing yourself with this?” he asked.

I replied with my Proper Lesson speech, a worn, tired old speech that I try to give plainly as often as possible but one that’s begun to irritate even my own ears.

“D,” I said, “Baseball’s not about just winning. It’s about winning and losing and how you deal with it all.”

“Well,” he sighed, seeing me lounging sideways in my chair, lighted ciggy drooping from my mouth, warm can of beer on the end table, “looks like your dealing with it well and at least it will be that much better for you when they do turn it around.”

Ahh, to be young, unwise and so full of hope again.

Cheers,

Mb