Crazy and Crazier

“Go crazy, folks! Go crazy!”

Jack Buck, 1985 NLCS

Old Jack nailed that one. In baseball, sometimes all it takes is people to go a little crazy.

Of course, he was talking to the Cardinal’s folks but, hey, who won the Series that year? Jack most likely didn’t mean it that way but it doesn’t hurt if the First Base Ump goes a little crazy and blinks at the right time, too. Going crazy can be a good thing for some people.

Hi. My name is Bamboo and I’m a KC Royals fan. It’s been 22 years since our last title. I’m not just crazy. I’ve been insane since the 21^st century began.

You see, most baseball folks are technically wrong in the way they pity poor small-market KC. They like to point out that the KC Royals have a ridiculously low payroll and lost 100 games or more in 4 of the last 5 seasons, suggesting that the team hasn’t been very good lately. When I read or hear stuff like that, I get this little nervous twitch in my left eye, my lips tremble and I start weakly stuttering too myself, “You-you, you don’t know the half of it, man!”

I know those paltry 94 losses in the ’03 season are the problem. That year is really misleading. It short-changes me and the average 17, 158 of my closest friends who attend these games which end before they begin, collectively numb in our disbelief of such certain and repetitive failure, insanely watching the long nights of the last few summers drift away from us at The K.

It’s only the end of February now but I’m sitting here with my old KC cap on my head. I’m wearing a tired Buck O’Neil Monarchs t-shirt. It’s easy to hide my disease here in the office but I know what will happen a month from now. I’ll be making midnight calls to compatriots in Denver and Tampa Bay just to feel better about myself. I will go around town on business wearing my cap, declaring my faith in the team with no chance while somber men and women will occasionally stop me, shake my hand, look directly in my reddened eyes and say, “Hang in there, pal, we’re with you.”

It’s so hard to maintain. We toyed with the 1915-1916 Phillies who lost 226 over two consecutive seasons. We respected the Mets’ 340-loss record over the three years from 1962-1964 but we’re not giving up on that lofty goal just yet. The truth is the KC club has lost a total of 681 games since we partied in Y2K. That’s an average of 97 losses per year over the last 7 years. Nobody knows what that feels like, man. The Royals haven’t been just bad recently; they’ve been historically bad for several years now. They’re so bad, in a crazy way they’re almost funny.

Just in this century we’ve seen 3 different managers, 2 GMs, and an annual parade of new pitching coaches. We’ve witnessed busted plays, foolish base running, routine fly balls dropped, and players hit in the back by thrown balls from the outfield. Our first baseman once injured himself by running into the rolled up infield tarp while chasing a short pop-up in foul territory. A starting pitcher was lost for the season due to “personal reasons.”

We moved the outfield walls in a few feet but we might move them back out before it’s all over. We had a manager who just quit one day and never came back. If any of our players ever get “good” then they suddenly turn into the MLB equivalent of Cuban boat people, escaping the oppressive failure and low pay of The K to go wherever the nights might be shorter, the days sunnier and brighter. I once watched Jermaine Dye, Johnny Damon and Carlos Beltran play in our outfield. Now, every time one if not all three of those guys are in a playoff game, vying for Series MVP in some other town’s uniform, I’m so confused I don’t’ know whether to cheer or cry.

We’ve grown accustomed to the madness now. We expect to lose and lose often. While quietly sitting in our standard seats in the left field corner of The K, the boys and I don’t expectantly replay scenes from “The Natural” in our mind. Instead, we’ve memorized the lines to “Major League”, that 1994 comedy about the hapless Cleveland Indians. When an opposing player blasts another home run, one of us will calmly say, “That’s too high” as the white blur arches into the night. “Yeah,” another will mutter dejectedly, “that’s way too high.”

Last year, a play that everyone saw as another contestant for “the only time I’ve ever seen that” category, our center fielder ran and leaped blindly against the outfield wall to make a Sports Center highlight homerun-stealing catch while we in the stands groaned to watch the batted fly ball land quietly and harmlessly in front of him, bouncing a few feet short of the warning track.

A few feet short of the warning track accurately describes the last seven years in KC.

Our starting pitchers are usually lucky to survive the first three innings. Our relievers can’t ease the pain or stop the bleeding. Before their new uniforms are soiled, even before the hopeful spring dew completely evaporates, The Baseball Season in KC is typically over now sometime around the middle of May.

We may not hold the record for the worst ever yet but it’s probably been at least a century since another team was quite as bad as the modern Royals at any given time.

Those crazy Cleveland Spiders had a magical year in 1899, losing 134 games while only winning 20. But it was different game back then. Balls hit into the stands counted as singles and the pitchers could approach the plate at acute angles taken from a wide box. That was when ball clubs often had two different guys nicknamed “Pop” on the roster, a center fielder called “Ginger” whose real first name was Clarence and an Irish right fielder nicknamed “Patsy”. That was the year that Jay Parker pitched in his only major league appearance for the Pirates, quickly pulled from the game after walking two who later scored, eternally left with a record-setting lifetime ERA notation of “infinite”.

Setting infinite records for ineptitude was easy back then. Those lucky days are long gone now.

Today, the Royals have to work at being lousy. The have a lot to overcome. They are entering Spring Training with a new GM and a 21^st century attitude that only comes from practicing in Surprise, Arizona. They won the Gil Meche sweepstakes during the off-season, signing a man who will by 2012 earn more than the entire team was paid last year. Beside the usual suspects, they’re also hosting a crazy crew of talented wannabes in Surprise this year. That kid Alex Gordon is expected to make a name for himself at the hot corner in ‘07. Zack Grienke, the remarkable kid from a couple years ago, seems to finally have his head on straight. Mike Sweeney’s back feels better than it’s felt in, er-umm, a long, long time.

In fact, the 2007 Royals have a lot more going for them than the old Cleveland Spiders ever had. One can’t deny that over the first seven seasons of this century the Royals did manage to win a lot more than 20 games per season. Even through the tough times, they somehow won an average of 64 games each year. I don’t remember how they did it but they even blew a few teams out here and there. When you witness something like that, then you know how insane this game really is. In spite of all this madness, in honor of their potential success or maybe assuming the worst is over, management is even raising ticket prices at The K for the ’07 season. Now that’s crazy.

And, on the only sane and promising note for the start of this season, Royals’ veteran radio broadcaster Denny Matthews recently earned the Baseball Hall of Fame’s Ford C. Frick award. I was 11 when Denny first started calling games for the brand new 1969 KC Royals. I grew up with him and I’m very happy to see him honored. When I hear his voice, I’m mostly reminded of the good times. Maybe Denny’s special recognition will spark an unusual and crazy fire under the lazy butts of this year’s team.

Well, why not? Who knows? Anything is possible, right? With a little help, with a little luck, maybe with a little lunacy thrown in between, maybe some of these new boys in Royal Blue shoot out of Surprise and end up turning a corner in history.

So, it’s still early but I know what you’re thinking. In the immortal words of Lloyd Christmas … you’re saying we have a chance.

I have to agree. I hate to say it. It’s a four-letter word that starts with “H” and I can’t believe I’m saying it. I can’t just conveniently forget every Royal blunder I’ve witnessed during the first seven years of this fresh century but I’m going to say it anyway.

Call me crazy, Jack, but I’m a KC baseball fan in spring and I have hope!

Cheers,
Mb