Let me restate for the record (or CD, or mp3 if we're going to stay current and I'm going to feel "cool" amongst the younger crowd), I am not speaking to the press. The "press" in my case is defined as:
1. Print media
2. Online media
3. Television media
4. Radio media
5. Telepathic media
"Media" is defined as the stuff you read, watch, see, hear or sense, respectively.
In other words, if you're in the media and you want a quote from Jimmy Scott (that's me), you need to come here.
You know where you don't go? You don't go to my father, "Red" Scott, currently a TV analyst for the Vets' network, NYS (New York Sports). He's not my spokesman. Yes, he's the male reason for my birth, but since an incident in spring training, we haven't spoken.
The incident? I've purposely not alluded to it over the last month out of respect for the elder Scott's new position at NYS. I didn't want him to get off to a bad start, even though he did something to me in March that made me look foolish for a news cycle and bloggers in general look irresponsible for two to three news cycles. It also showed this man's true colors, which are self-promotion first, family second.
Back in March, "Red" told me that management was going to appoint Felipe Castro as team captain. I wrote about it, questioning the thinking on management's part while trying to support the decision, as Felipe is a great teammate who's currently going through the hell of wondering about the fate of his kidnapped mother in Venezuela every day.
For my comments, I was broiled under a hot, fiery furnace. I was criticized as someone looking to promote one's self. Hey, I never denied the fact that a scoop would be cool. I thought I had a scoop because I trusted the then unidentified source. Instead, I was lied to and caused unnecessary friction within my clubhouse for a short time.
Fast forward to today. Headlines in the NY Post and Daily News (just a note in Newsday) and North Jersey's Bergen Record state how my injury last year was self-inflicted. In a nutshell, the report states I caused the UCL in my pitching elbow to snap and ruin my 2007 season 2 pitches in on my own. Little did they realize my season was ruined 1 pitch in when Lyman Gaye hit it for a Home Run (that I believe is still traveling).
The source of this new story? "Red" Scott, my father. He says I told him in the spring that, because I was out of shape at the start of the season last year, and my overweightness (that's not a word, is it?) added undue stress to my UCL. Pop! Out for the year because I'm fat. He says I said this to him. Read the articles. He's quoting me.
Of course, my mailbox fills up in seconds on my cellphone with calls from local and national media from the 5 categories above (which is weird; the telepathic media shouldn't have to call if I can read their minds). I deleted each voicemail. My email in box filled quickly. All deleted (including, accidentally, an email with a great offer from a Nashville porn shoppe selling the best in Southern pornography [note: if you're from Nashville, you don't spell shop with two P's and an e]). Being in Albuquerque for our series against Albuquerque Sunshine, I'm a half-step further out of the loop than had I been in New York. Thus, this all came rather quickly and was a complete surprise.
So, I'm due a rebuttal and some other remarks.
JIMMY'S OFFICIAL REBUTTAL
I didn't arrive into 2007 camp out of shape. I didn't hurt myself in the first game of the year last year. By no means was my UCL damage "self-inflicted." It hurt too much to be something I'd do to myself.
What I think happened here is I told my father in the off season, while I was going through some contract issues with the team, that I was out of shape then. In November. I was fat and going bald. The baldness couldn't be helped (I'm told). The fatness could. Once our contract issues were ironed out, I worked my tuckuss off to get to spring training in good shape. I wasn't perfect, but I was damn close. Currently, I'd say I'm in the best physical shape I've been in for years. (Mentally I'm a mess, but that's neither here or there nor somewhere less fun than the aforementioned two.)
In essence, my father either misheard comments I made (that gives him an easy out) or he twisted them to make this story (I was going to describe the word "story" as "cockamamied," but I don't know how to spell "cockamamied." [spell check helped, never mind]). Either way, they are false, untrue, and not something I ever said.
END REBUTTAL HERE
"Red" and I have had our missteps over the years, but this is the first time that he's thrown me under a bus so publicly. He hurt me last month and he hurt me this weekend. I guess I'll be due again in May.
Nevertheless, I put in a call to my super agent, Jack Perry, who put in a call to ownership. "Red" is out of control and needs to put a damper on his mouth. I can't imagine a father doing somethings like these to his son, then again, it's happened to me twice now so I should get a little more creative quickly.
What does my mother think? Good question. I asked and here was her official response (media, please don't bug her, she has a good right hook):
Dear Jimmy,
I'm sorry your father behaved irrationally again. Next time you're together, I'll let you give him his medication, as much of it as you like.
Love you,
Mom
I think that about sums it up. My plan is to overdose my father into pulling a Jimi Hendrix.
So now you have all of the official statements:
1. From my dad, which was false.
2. From my mom, which gave me permission to medicate my father against his will.
3. From me, who is angry but feeling better now.
If you have any questions, don't call. I'll just delete your voicemail. That goes for you too, "Red." Don't dial the number. It won't work for you.
Showing posts with label Felipe Castro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Felipe Castro. Show all posts
Monday, April 21, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
My Protege
I'm not sure if I ever gave you my line about how stalking is really just an intense form of goal-setting. But I figured out a little more. Many times the goal-setting stalker is really an opportunity for the stalkee to develop your own personal protege. I've rarely had them on the big club. The older you get as a player, the more the press makes of the fact that this player or that player has been taken under some older veteran's wing. Maybe sometimes, but in general, there is not too much wing undertaking.
A lot of younger players come up and either 1) Think their hot sh*t and don't want to listen to coaches, much less their teammates, or 2) Are so scared they don't want to ask too many questions for fear of rousing suspicion that maybe, just maybe, they don't belong in the big leagues.
Meanwhile, most older veterans are desperate to hang onto their careers. The few who want to seriously go into coaching eventually realize that, to coach, you have to be able to speak with players other than the ones who look back at you in a mirror. But otherwise, the generations stick together in the clubhouse, just like the Spanish-speaking guys stick together and the religious right guys stick together.
Down here in the minor leagues, it's not much different. The veterans down here on rehab assignments don't want to forge too many relationships because 1) They don't want to jinx themselves into thinking they'll be spending more time in the minors than they need, and 2) They're pissed off that they're in the minor leagues and can't get over themselves.
Meanwhile, the young guys are usually too shy to walk up to the veteran guys down here for a cup of coffee and ask questions. It's just like high school. The career minor leaguers are the dorks, the geeks are the guys in the minors dying to make it all the way to the top and the most popular guys are the ones who are down for a week or two rehabbing a hamstring or rotator cuff.
Since we all knew I'd be down in Nashville for up to four weeks (it's already been two, but who's counting) and then, by weirdness and unfortunate illness, I ended up indirectly owning the Nashville Hounds, I've gotten more attention from the players on this team than most guys down here temporarily do. For example, Felipe Lopez was here for 6 days and 5 games. He was called up to New York after yesterday's game (we won and are now 2 and 9, not a good way to start the season). We all knew Felipe was going to be here for a week at most. He's a shy guy anyway, plus his mother still being held against her will somewhere in Venezuela made it hard for guys to go up to him and ask if they should stand in a batters box with their feet 18 inches apart or 19.
A number of players have spoken to me and tried to ask questions, but most kind of fade away out of fear that my Hall of Fame pedigree (you know how great I am, right?) will force me to appear surly and nasty. Then there's Rey Marcose.
Rey Marcos is not the protege I expected to have stalk, I mean, follow me around constantly. For starters, he's not a pitcher. He a shortstop. Second, he's 17 years old. I turned 40 on Saturday (virtually unrecognized beyond a Happy Birthday wish on the scoreboard - I guess even the coaching staff didn't want to pull a prank on me, like leave 40 turds in my new underwear or something [disgusting, but you weren't there for my 30th]). Let me re-read. I got lost in all my () and []... Uh...okay. So, we're talking about Rey Marcos, the 17 year old wonderboy shortstop who's now my protege. Another weird thing about our relationship. He doesn't speak one word of English. Totally serious. The team has an academy and a whole bunch of systems set up so young Latino guys coming up through the minors can learn English and basic life skills, like not to spend all their money at McDonald's (that's true - some Latino American guys make it to America and only eat McDonald's for their first six months, thus they gain 15 pounds that sure as hell ain't muscle). Rey Marcos has passed through the system so fast, he hasn't had a chance to learn how to speak English. When he sits down with me, it's like I'm Robinson Crusoe and he's Friday. I'm stranded down here, he's my only friend, so it's up to me to teach him English.
There are more parallels to the Robinson Crusoe metaphor. Like how I made my home in the jungle, only the jungle in my sense is the parking lot of Pepsi Field, where the Hounds play. My trailer is like my treehouse, only there are only three steps from asphalt to entrance (I have a fear of heights, except when I'm on airplanes - go figure). Rey hangs out all the time, then leaves for his hotel room somewhere nearby. There are people we need to be afraid of, generally groupies who want to find their way into the trailer and are thwarted off by Andy, my personal trainer turned security guard who now has his own trailer right next to mine (the team made Andy pay $750 to park for the month, which, of course, I'm paying since I'm the one who asked Andy to provide security for me. And, of course, I'm not really paying the $750, since New York is paying it, knowing I needed security (and knowing they're saving $$$$ since I bought my own trailer and didn't rent a house or suite at the Hilton for the month on their dime). Thus, New York is, in effect, paying Nashville for Andy to park in the parking lot. And since I, in effect, own the Hounds, New York is, in effect, paying me. Here's how the structure of payment looks:
I got lost again using () and []. I didn't use any {} and refuse to use <>. One day, maybe I'll use a full blog of . But that's way in the future, probably when Rey Marcos is playing in New York full time.
See how I got back on track? I'm a smarty pants.
Jimmy Scott continues...
Rey hangs with me and watches me eat. He watches me not talk to the press after games (some here think I'm a bad influence on him in that capacity). He watches me blog. No, his head doesn't rest on my shoulder as I type, but he's there, lurking, eyes always watching... Spooky, huh?
But he's a good kid. I've heard him speak on the phone with his parents in the Dominican. They allegedly invited me down for dinner sometime. Funny how I've played with so many guys from other countries and never, ever been invited to their homes. Maybe it's because I never invited them to mine. I'll ask Vanessa tonight when we talk on the phone, after Rey has left and headed back through the throng of groupies to his room, alone, the way I explained in my broken Spanish he should sleep. Hey, at 17 I would have done anything to have groupies want a piece of me. But I was a junior in high school with zits on my face and a fastball that was just being found. I didn't date (any relationship I had with a girl lasted no more than 2 weeks before she/they broke up with me on account of them not liking me anymore and, possibly, never liking me in the first place). Rey could have a "date" every night if he wanted. I'm teaching him not to. I was a father at 24 (while married, I was still a little young). I don't want Rey, with his lack of English and American life skills, to be a father at 17.
So now you know about my protege. He's hitting .419 with 2 HRs and 5 stolen bases. No errors. The plan is for him to play here and get called up in September. He'll probably be up sooner. So after I'm back in New York by May 1, I may have my protege with me before the summer is over. Maybe I'll have a chance to invite my first Dominican teammate over to my house for a nice dinner.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sock Puppet Night
Sunday was Sock Puppet Night at Pepsi Field for my Nashville Hounds. Don't ask me who thought it up, just like don't ask me why we had a Sunday night game when we had to leave right after to get to Oklahoma City for a Monday night game. Thank God we could fly since it would have taken us 10 hours by bus. The AAA level isn't as bad as it used to be - better stadiums and clubhouses, slightly better pay (although I'm on my big league contract, so I'm fine), somewhat nicer hotels. But still, we arrived at our hotel outside of Oklahoma City a little after 4:30 AM on Monday. I can't sleep on planes. I try and try, but the pressure is too much for me. Ask me to throw a strike with 2 men on and 2 men out in the bottom of the 9th in front of 55,000 fans and I can do it without sweating. Ask me to fall asleep on an airplane at two in the morning and I suffer performance anxiety. I become more wired than a an old telephone company. Plus, the excitement from attending a Sock Puppet Night kind of carries over for a few days, don't you think?
Sock Puppet Night was sponsored by Champion, which makes tube socks. In an effort to get the city of Nashville to by more socks, I guess, Champion sponsored Secret Puppet Night for fans to come out, in the seventh inning stretch, onto the field and show off their sock puppets. Some people got pretty elaborate with their designs. The winner, a woman named Pam who turned her two hands into soft, cottony replicas of Byrne Cassa, who holds the team record for home runs in a season with 39, and Jose Tomas, who once struck out five men in one inning here (true story - happened in 1969). I thought it was a little unfair that Pan won, since in her day job she has her own business hot-gluing sparkly beads onto clothes. Sock puppets are in this woman's blood. I believe her prize was a year's supply of Champion tube socks. Lucky lady.
I did not pitch over the weekend. After throwing Thursday and Friday in my first relief back-to-back days, we decided to give me two days off. My ERA is a solid 36.00, which means I've gotten off to a slow start. Still, it's only two games for me. The team is 1 and 3. We're only 1 game out of first place, so I'm not going to lambaste myself for blowing my first save opportunity which, if I had been successful, would have put us in a three-way tie for first. If a player is suicidal 4 games into the season, he's in store for a very long year.
The pleasant surprise we had on Sunday was the arrival of Felipe Castro. He missed all of spring training because of his mother's being kidnapped and held for ransom in the jungles of Venezuela. She's still there. And Felipe's here on minor league assignment in the hopes he can use baseball as a diversion. There's nothing he can do to help his mom, he was told, so someone somewhere convinced him to come to the States and try to hit a ball really far. The plan is for him to play with us for a few games (as few as possible, the big club is 2 and 3 with little offense) to get the timing on his swing back. He pinch hit on Sunday night and struck out. His face was twisted in pain when he came back to the dugout. It was obvious that his body was in Nashville but his heart and mind are in Caracas.
Most of the guys here tried to keep their distance from Felipe. Not because they didn't like him, but they didn't know what to say. Felipe is a big star here in America and an even bigger star in Latin America. I'm sure some of the Spanish-speaking players didn't want their image of Felipe tarnished by getting to know him at this time in his life.
So, since I was in the dugout and not the bullpen, I made it my job to try to infuse Felipe with a love for sock puppets. I asked him about his childhood sock puppet collection. He just looked at me. I told him the story of Juanes, the Sock King, who used to bring all the little Latino boys and girls sock puppets if they did all of the chores for madre and padre. Did Juanes the Sock King ever pay a visit to Felipe's house? He just looked at me.
A clubhouse boy, for fifty bucks, was able to get his hands on Pam's prize winning sock puppets (literally - get it? since these are sock puppets?), brought them over to me. I slipped my calloused mitts into the Cassa and Tomas replicas (quite lifelike) and put on a sock puppet show for Felipe. No performance anxiety here. It was quite graphic, in a number of different ways. I especially liked the part where Cassa and Tomas got married in a Venezuelan oil factory.
Felipe got a kick out of my show and gave me $5. I thanked him and told him I'd give the money to Pam, who did such a good job with set design.
He sat by himself, eyes closed, on the flight to Oklahoma City. I can only hope he did so with a little bit of hope in his heart, hope that he'll be okay and his mother will be found. That's all any of us can ask for.
Sock Puppet Night was sponsored by Champion, which makes tube socks. In an effort to get the city of Nashville to by more socks, I guess, Champion sponsored Secret Puppet Night for fans to come out, in the seventh inning stretch, onto the field and show off their sock puppets. Some people got pretty elaborate with their designs. The winner, a woman named Pam who turned her two hands into soft, cottony replicas of Byrne Cassa, who holds the team record for home runs in a season with 39, and Jose Tomas, who once struck out five men in one inning here (true story - happened in 1969). I thought it was a little unfair that Pan won, since in her day job she has her own business hot-gluing sparkly beads onto clothes. Sock puppets are in this woman's blood. I believe her prize was a year's supply of Champion tube socks. Lucky lady.
I did not pitch over the weekend. After throwing Thursday and Friday in my first relief back-to-back days, we decided to give me two days off. My ERA is a solid 36.00, which means I've gotten off to a slow start. Still, it's only two games for me. The team is 1 and 3. We're only 1 game out of first place, so I'm not going to lambaste myself for blowing my first save opportunity which, if I had been successful, would have put us in a three-way tie for first. If a player is suicidal 4 games into the season, he's in store for a very long year.
The pleasant surprise we had on Sunday was the arrival of Felipe Castro. He missed all of spring training because of his mother's being kidnapped and held for ransom in the jungles of Venezuela. She's still there. And Felipe's here on minor league assignment in the hopes he can use baseball as a diversion. There's nothing he can do to help his mom, he was told, so someone somewhere convinced him to come to the States and try to hit a ball really far. The plan is for him to play with us for a few games (as few as possible, the big club is 2 and 3 with little offense) to get the timing on his swing back. He pinch hit on Sunday night and struck out. His face was twisted in pain when he came back to the dugout. It was obvious that his body was in Nashville but his heart and mind are in Caracas.
Most of the guys here tried to keep their distance from Felipe. Not because they didn't like him, but they didn't know what to say. Felipe is a big star here in America and an even bigger star in Latin America. I'm sure some of the Spanish-speaking players didn't want their image of Felipe tarnished by getting to know him at this time in his life.
So, since I was in the dugout and not the bullpen, I made it my job to try to infuse Felipe with a love for sock puppets. I asked him about his childhood sock puppet collection. He just looked at me. I told him the story of Juanes, the Sock King, who used to bring all the little Latino boys and girls sock puppets if they did all of the chores for madre and padre. Did Juanes the Sock King ever pay a visit to Felipe's house? He just looked at me.
A clubhouse boy, for fifty bucks, was able to get his hands on Pam's prize winning sock puppets (literally - get it? since these are sock puppets?), brought them over to me. I slipped my calloused mitts into the Cassa and Tomas replicas (quite lifelike) and put on a sock puppet show for Felipe. No performance anxiety here. It was quite graphic, in a number of different ways. I especially liked the part where Cassa and Tomas got married in a Venezuelan oil factory.
Felipe got a kick out of my show and gave me $5. I thanked him and told him I'd give the money to Pam, who did such a good job with set design.
He sat by himself, eyes closed, on the flight to Oklahoma City. I can only hope he did so with a little bit of hope in his heart, hope that he'll be okay and his mother will be found. That's all any of us can ask for.
Monday, March 24, 2008
The State of Things
One week to opening day. Kind of exciting if you're me, very exciting if you're a fan. You, as a fan, should be excited because the team looks like it could possibly be the best team we've put on a field since 2000, coincidentally the last time we won a World Championship Series. Only a few questions marks:
1. Lyman Gaye's health - His auto accident last week was more scary than painful. If you think it looked rough on TV, double that if you were there. Strange how my family and I drove past his up-ended car last week on our way to Disney World and had no idea he was inside. He was back with the team over the weekend, but still stiff and sore. The coaching staff is looking at trying to get him into 1 or 2 spring training games by the end of the week. His fiance, who was driving the car, will not be around. Lyman filed a restraining order against her on Friday. Apparently, she was the cause of his injuries, not the accident.
2. Felipe Castro's presence - His mother is still in captivity somewhere in Venezuela. He has not reported to camp, but is expected this week. Rumors are flying around as to his physical shape. When I spoke with him in February, he admitted he wasn't close to being game-ready. I guess we'll know in the coming days.
3. Jimmy Scott's elbow - This is my elbow. Feels good. I still haven't pitched two days in a row. Everyone keeps telling me the bullpen, where I will work from this year, is the perfect place for me at this point in my career. I'll be in more games, be more active with the team... My head isn't there yet, however, which leads me to...
Me. If you're me and the new season is coming, here are some updates:
1. My lawsuit - Team psychologist, Dr. Henry Cohegans, and I settled his lawsuit very quietly last week. As he likes, the terms are under a confidentiality agreement. He also will no longer work with me. So I'm looking for another head-shrinker to help me fine-tune the rough edges of my psyche.
2. My Media Status - I've held pretty firm to my pledge not to speak on the record with the media. A few of my off-the-record comments have been printed, and attributed to me, which makes me pretty upset. I will say that the beat reporters around here have been very professional. These guys work their tails off and are, in nearly every case, people I can trust. Still, a few have tried to "do me in," as a teammate said to me a ways back. When I broke the story of Felipe being named captain and then was told I was off my rocker (meaning the story was untrue), I really had it out with the source who gave me the misinformation. As a result, I learned my lesson. I'm out of the scoop business. Unless I know it's true.
3. Connie - She finally - FINALLY - flew home on Saturday. There were a few days we thought she'd latch onto another family down here, but that was all wishful thinking. She was back to her parasitic ways by last Wednesday and Vanessa had to gently (over three days) negotiate with the woman to leave us along and fly back home. Tough situation. You want the woman out of your life, but she is your neighbor and she is a little off-center. In the movies, she'd come back and do something violent to us (maybe take me hostage and force Vanessa to save me). Just as my lawsuit with Dr. Cohegans was settled, I asked (free of charge) him if we had to worry about Connie. He said probably not. But he also said you never know. Truly helpful information. Somebody tell me if I just broke another confidentiality agreement with the man.
4. Nashville - The team is researching places for me to stay near the ballpark. It appears I will be in extended spring training for about 10 days then report to Nashville for the start of their season during the second week of April. The goal is once I can pitch 4 times a week (broken up as 2 days in a row, one day off, and 2 days in a row again), they'll call me up to New York. Meanwhile, I've thrown around the idea of living with a host family, preferably in their basement, instead of a hotel. The food might be better. And maybe they'll have a 12 year old kid who idolizes me and will make my ego soar to new heights. Or I'll just live in a trailer in the parking lot. You never know.
1. Lyman Gaye's health - His auto accident last week was more scary than painful. If you think it looked rough on TV, double that if you were there. Strange how my family and I drove past his up-ended car last week on our way to Disney World and had no idea he was inside. He was back with the team over the weekend, but still stiff and sore. The coaching staff is looking at trying to get him into 1 or 2 spring training games by the end of the week. His fiance, who was driving the car, will not be around. Lyman filed a restraining order against her on Friday. Apparently, she was the cause of his injuries, not the accident.
2. Felipe Castro's presence - His mother is still in captivity somewhere in Venezuela. He has not reported to camp, but is expected this week. Rumors are flying around as to his physical shape. When I spoke with him in February, he admitted he wasn't close to being game-ready. I guess we'll know in the coming days.
3. Jimmy Scott's elbow - This is my elbow. Feels good. I still haven't pitched two days in a row. Everyone keeps telling me the bullpen, where I will work from this year, is the perfect place for me at this point in my career. I'll be in more games, be more active with the team... My head isn't there yet, however, which leads me to...
Me. If you're me and the new season is coming, here are some updates:
1. My lawsuit - Team psychologist, Dr. Henry Cohegans, and I settled his lawsuit very quietly last week. As he likes, the terms are under a confidentiality agreement. He also will no longer work with me. So I'm looking for another head-shrinker to help me fine-tune the rough edges of my psyche.
2. My Media Status - I've held pretty firm to my pledge not to speak on the record with the media. A few of my off-the-record comments have been printed, and attributed to me, which makes me pretty upset. I will say that the beat reporters around here have been very professional. These guys work their tails off and are, in nearly every case, people I can trust. Still, a few have tried to "do me in," as a teammate said to me a ways back. When I broke the story of Felipe being named captain and then was told I was off my rocker (meaning the story was untrue), I really had it out with the source who gave me the misinformation. As a result, I learned my lesson. I'm out of the scoop business. Unless I know it's true.
3. Connie - She finally - FINALLY - flew home on Saturday. There were a few days we thought she'd latch onto another family down here, but that was all wishful thinking. She was back to her parasitic ways by last Wednesday and Vanessa had to gently (over three days) negotiate with the woman to leave us along and fly back home. Tough situation. You want the woman out of your life, but she is your neighbor and she is a little off-center. In the movies, she'd come back and do something violent to us (maybe take me hostage and force Vanessa to save me). Just as my lawsuit with Dr. Cohegans was settled, I asked (free of charge) him if we had to worry about Connie. He said probably not. But he also said you never know. Truly helpful information. Somebody tell me if I just broke another confidentiality agreement with the man.
4. Nashville - The team is researching places for me to stay near the ballpark. It appears I will be in extended spring training for about 10 days then report to Nashville for the start of their season during the second week of April. The goal is once I can pitch 4 times a week (broken up as 2 days in a row, one day off, and 2 days in a row again), they'll call me up to New York. Meanwhile, I've thrown around the idea of living with a host family, preferably in their basement, instead of a hotel. The food might be better. And maybe they'll have a 12 year old kid who idolizes me and will make my ego soar to new heights. Or I'll just live in a trailer in the parking lot. You never know.
Friday, March 7, 2008
10 Seconds of Relief
Here's something interesting that came as a result of the controversy started by my inaccurate posting from the other day: I got to speak with Felipe Castro yesterday. As you know, Felipe's mother was kidnapped in Venezuela last December. He hasn't shown up at camp here in Fort Pierce yet. When I wrongly stated on Wednesday that he had been named team captain, Felipe got wind of my blog, found it, and started to read. He called me Friday morning.
With his permission, I'm posting parts of our conversation.
Me: Sorry for making you look the way you did.
Felipe: You looked a lot worse than me.
Me: Because I'm losing my hair, right? I look really bad, don't I?
Felipe: Yes.
I moped for a moment here. Then I sucked it up and tried to steer the conversation back to him.
Me: How did your mother get kidnapped?
Felipe: On December 16th, I was in Puerto Rico for a special softball game to raise money for Willie Cordero's charity. Around 3:00, I got a call from someone saying I should look out for my mother better than I was doing. That was not right, in my mind. So I called her house and she wasn't there. She's always home on Sundays. I left the game and called the police.
Me: What happened?
Felipe: I arrived home that night. The police were already at my mother's house. Her front door was on the street, partially burned. They'd blown it up. Part of the front room had been on fire too. The police said they could tell she had struggled hard because of broken glass and a cross broken into pieces near the kitchen. A slipper was also found. They think she was taken with a bare foot.
Me: When did the kidnappers contact you?
Felipe: Two weeks later. For two weeks, there was nothing. No word from the police. No ransom demand, no nothing, from the group that had her. Then on New Year's Eve, I got an email that showed my mother, wearing only one slipper, being held somewhere. She was alive. I was so happy! Then she spoke and said some terrible things.
Me: What'd she say?
Felipe: How I've been a terrible son... I have so much money and never use it for the people of my country. How I'm a disgrace to Venezuela.
Me: That's not how she feels.
Felipe: I know that now. Then, just to hear her voice was incredible, but to hear what she's saying, after nothing for two weeks... My heart was breaking.
Me: Then what?
Felipe: A man with a black drape over his head told me to give a ransom, uh, pay a ransom and I'd get her back.
Me: How much?
Felipe: I can't say.
Me: Did you do it?
Felipe: I can't say.
Me: Well, she's still being held so I'll pretend you didn't.
Felipe: Good. I talked to her on the phone on January 20. We had about 10 seconds to speak. She sounded very good, if 10 seconds means anything. She called me her Poppy. Which meant a lot to me. That proved she didn't mean the things she'd said on that video.
Me: Did you feel relief talking to her?
Felipe: Yes, for 10 seconds.
I was at a loss here. I felt like a tourist, or a gossip columnist. That wasn't my intention, even though Felipe had called me. Was this how real reporters felt? If it was, I felt a need never to become one.
Felipe: I haven't spoken or heard from my mother since. The people who have her reached out two weeks ago and asked for money again. Less than the first time. I was just about to fly to Florida for spring training and they do that, so I don't come up.
Me: Are you actively involved in the search?
Felipe: I try. I go to the police every day and ask for a report. Sometimes they have something. Most times they don't. I sit in my mother's house quite a bit and look at her door. I'm going to turn it into a table. When she comes back, we'll have our first meal at that table.
Me: Are you working out or in baseball shape?
Felipe: Ehh. I'd be lying if I said my body was ready. My mind is nowhere near ready.
Me: So coming up right now isn't an option?
Felipe: Not for me.
I can't imagine what he's going through. He thought it was interesting that my father, "Red" Scott, had offered to switch places with Felipe's mother during the winter since he hates the cold weather up north. Felipe said it wouldn't work. "I already asked if I could take her place and they said no."
I thanked him for his call and told him we all hoped for the best. He asked me to make a point of thanking the guys on the team for their phone calls and emails. He also said that, even if what I wrote the other day was true, that he'd been appointed captain, he wouldn't have accepted. "I'm not captain material," he said.
He's not. He's better than that. Pray for his mother and pray for that family. Let's hope this ends peacefully.
With his permission, I'm posting parts of our conversation.
Me: Sorry for making you look the way you did.
Felipe: You looked a lot worse than me.
Me: Because I'm losing my hair, right? I look really bad, don't I?
Felipe: Yes.
I moped for a moment here. Then I sucked it up and tried to steer the conversation back to him.
Me: How did your mother get kidnapped?
Felipe: On December 16th, I was in Puerto Rico for a special softball game to raise money for Willie Cordero's charity. Around 3:00, I got a call from someone saying I should look out for my mother better than I was doing. That was not right, in my mind. So I called her house and she wasn't there. She's always home on Sundays. I left the game and called the police.
Me: What happened?
Felipe: I arrived home that night. The police were already at my mother's house. Her front door was on the street, partially burned. They'd blown it up. Part of the front room had been on fire too. The police said they could tell she had struggled hard because of broken glass and a cross broken into pieces near the kitchen. A slipper was also found. They think she was taken with a bare foot.
Me: When did the kidnappers contact you?
Felipe: Two weeks later. For two weeks, there was nothing. No word from the police. No ransom demand, no nothing, from the group that had her. Then on New Year's Eve, I got an email that showed my mother, wearing only one slipper, being held somewhere. She was alive. I was so happy! Then she spoke and said some terrible things.
Me: What'd she say?
Felipe: How I've been a terrible son... I have so much money and never use it for the people of my country. How I'm a disgrace to Venezuela.
Me: That's not how she feels.
Felipe: I know that now. Then, just to hear her voice was incredible, but to hear what she's saying, after nothing for two weeks... My heart was breaking.
Me: Then what?
Felipe: A man with a black drape over his head told me to give a ransom, uh, pay a ransom and I'd get her back.
Me: How much?
Felipe: I can't say.
Me: Did you do it?
Felipe: I can't say.
Me: Well, she's still being held so I'll pretend you didn't.
Felipe: Good. I talked to her on the phone on January 20. We had about 10 seconds to speak. She sounded very good, if 10 seconds means anything. She called me her Poppy. Which meant a lot to me. That proved she didn't mean the things she'd said on that video.
Me: Did you feel relief talking to her?
Felipe: Yes, for 10 seconds.
I was at a loss here. I felt like a tourist, or a gossip columnist. That wasn't my intention, even though Felipe had called me. Was this how real reporters felt? If it was, I felt a need never to become one.
Felipe: I haven't spoken or heard from my mother since. The people who have her reached out two weeks ago and asked for money again. Less than the first time. I was just about to fly to Florida for spring training and they do that, so I don't come up.
Me: Are you actively involved in the search?
Felipe: I try. I go to the police every day and ask for a report. Sometimes they have something. Most times they don't. I sit in my mother's house quite a bit and look at her door. I'm going to turn it into a table. When she comes back, we'll have our first meal at that table.
Me: Are you working out or in baseball shape?
Felipe: Ehh. I'd be lying if I said my body was ready. My mind is nowhere near ready.
Me: So coming up right now isn't an option?
Felipe: Not for me.
I can't imagine what he's going through. He thought it was interesting that my father, "Red" Scott, had offered to switch places with Felipe's mother during the winter since he hates the cold weather up north. Felipe said it wouldn't work. "I already asked if I could take her place and they said no."
I thanked him for his call and told him we all hoped for the best. He asked me to make a point of thanking the guys on the team for their phone calls and emails. He also said that, even if what I wrote the other day was true, that he'd been appointed captain, he wouldn't have accepted. "I'm not captain material," he said.
He's not. He's better than that. Pray for his mother and pray for that family. Let's hope this ends peacefully.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Recants and Recusals
I posted yesterday about how the team, and more specifically, manager Rick Churches and GM Alvin Kirby, had appointed as captain Felipe Lopez, a man who has been on the team for only 1 disappointing season and has yet to appear (not his fault) in camp. Then I spent my remaining space giving my opinions on why this was done and why it probably wasn't a good idea.
Newsflash: I was wrong about the whole thing. Felipe was never named captain.
I received calls up the wazoo yesterday from people asking for my source. The team was inundated with calls and emails asking for details. Rick and Alvin received many bloodthirsty headlines filled with criticism of the decision.
The team officially denied everything. Rick and Alvin denied everything. Why? My story was untrue.
It's not that I was playing an early April Fool's joke. Rather, I think a prank was played on me. And "prank" is a kind word. More likely, I was purposely given misleading information to make me look bad.
It worked.
My super agent, Jack Perry, is also Felipe's agent. About 10 minutes after I clicked on Publish Post, I got a call from his #1 assistant, Sherry. (I once said to her, "If you married Jack, you know your name would be Sherry Perry?" I thought it was funnier than she did.) Sherry (last name Pollock) said Jack wanted to know what I was doing. I told her I was about to go pee. Why? She said no, not that. Why was I posting something made up and, frankly, unflattering about a teammate who's currently undergoing the most trying time of his life? I told her because it was true. She said she'd call later.
Jack himself called me an hour later. "It's not true. Take it back." He spoke with Felipe, who had no idea that this storm was brewing because he hadn't spoken with Rick or Alvin in weeks. (Thus refuting Rick's statement yesterday that Felipe would be here by March 15th whether they rescue his mother or not.) Felipe also said - and I give him credit here - that he never would accept the position as captain when there are so many other guys on the team who deserved it. He used me as an example. The guilt oozed out of my pores.
Let the wild rumpus start.
The press, and rightfully so, are writing about how they always (not always, but they won't say that) get a secondary source to confirm a story before they write something. This is going to begin a whole new round of blogosphere criticisms, how readers should trust professional journalists before trusting people like, uh, me.
Rick called me into his office first thing this morning and threatened to fine me $50,000 if I ever write another "inflammatory, untrue account" of "team dynamics." His statement was pretty broad. When asked to elaborate, he told me he had real work to do. He left me standing in his office while he took his bat and glove out to practice field #3 to shag balls.
The main question: Who/what was my source? The other main question: Why did I publish this story? The third question: Is it really that big of a deal?
Since the press deluged me with questions and accusations at my locker, none of which I would answer since we don't speak on the record, I will answer the main question the way they'd approve of if I was one of them: I won't reveal my source. I don't have to. I can tell you this person avoided me today. I will tell you this person has a lot of questions to answer from me. Was I set up? I don't know yet. I'm going to try to find out. Why would I possibly be set up? I have some thoughts, but they're all paranoid. I'll sleep on it and work on my theories tomorrow.
I published the story because I thought it was true. Yes, I told Rick and Alvin a couple of weeks ago that I'd wait for them to make major team announcements before I posted anything, unless the announcement was about me. I broke my promise, but not on purpose. I figured everyone would have jumped on it right away. Nobody did because the story wasn't true. I was given misinformation; I was the only one given this misinformation. I was wrong to have published it. I am very embarrassed and very sorry.
I take it back.
Now, is this all a big deal? Not in the scheme of the whole world. It's a non-story when compared to who our next president is going to be or how many of our soldiers were hurt or killed in Iraq already this month. From a worldly perspective, it's not a big deal at all. I saw, however, that it is being treated like a big deal. Katie Couric did a whole thing about this last night on the CBS Evening News With Walter Cronkite. The NY Times had something on their front page - not the sports section - about how this story was symptomatic of the problem with "amateur journalism" and "the ego of the masses." Or, in my case, a "massive ego." Just take my embarrassment quotient and multiply it by ten. Summing this part up, it's not a big deal compared to the real world, but you'd never know it.
From a team and personal perspective, yes, it's a pretty big deal. I've already told you how embarrassing this is. But even more important, I was misled by someone who I never would have thought would have misled me like this; someone I've known for a long time. That's more than disappointing. I will have a conversation with this person. Just need to find him (or her) first.
Teamwise, I created dissension when there didn't need to be any. I wrote how a number of guys who've been with the team for a long time would be mad that Felipe was made captain. This was very, very true. There was some serious Felipe Bashing going on inside this locker room yesterday late. None of it needed to happen. Not one word needed to be said against this innocent man; my teammate. The reactions were based on an untruth. I owe a huge apology to Felipe. I owe a big one to my team as well. I'm sure they feel quite guilty today. They're embarrassed too. That part is all my fault and doesn't help us win a championship. It just distracts them from their - our - goal. Sorry.
Where do I go from here? Nowhere. I admit my mistake. I apologize for it. I won't make any excuses for what I wrote or why I wrote it. I can whine about how I was probably set up (I probably was), but without proof or reason, what's the point? Setup or not, I hurt Felipe and I hurt my team. I hope that's something I never do again.
Here's something that I think is very important: I am not going to stop writing this blog. My face is getting sore from the amount of blushing I've been doing since yesterday, yet that won't stop me from doing this. I'd be more embarrassed, my "massive ego" would take a bigger hit, if I did stop. I'd rather swallow my pride and apologize than stomp on it and quit. No, I'm in this for the long haul, taking my bumps and bruises as I go. I hope you stay along for the ride.
Newsflash: I was wrong about the whole thing. Felipe was never named captain.
I received calls up the wazoo yesterday from people asking for my source. The team was inundated with calls and emails asking for details. Rick and Alvin received many bloodthirsty headlines filled with criticism of the decision.
The team officially denied everything. Rick and Alvin denied everything. Why? My story was untrue.
It's not that I was playing an early April Fool's joke. Rather, I think a prank was played on me. And "prank" is a kind word. More likely, I was purposely given misleading information to make me look bad.
It worked.
My super agent, Jack Perry, is also Felipe's agent. About 10 minutes after I clicked on Publish Post, I got a call from his #1 assistant, Sherry. (I once said to her, "If you married Jack, you know your name would be Sherry Perry?" I thought it was funnier than she did.) Sherry (last name Pollock) said Jack wanted to know what I was doing. I told her I was about to go pee. Why? She said no, not that. Why was I posting something made up and, frankly, unflattering about a teammate who's currently undergoing the most trying time of his life? I told her because it was true. She said she'd call later.
Jack himself called me an hour later. "It's not true. Take it back." He spoke with Felipe, who had no idea that this storm was brewing because he hadn't spoken with Rick or Alvin in weeks. (Thus refuting Rick's statement yesterday that Felipe would be here by March 15th whether they rescue his mother or not.) Felipe also said - and I give him credit here - that he never would accept the position as captain when there are so many other guys on the team who deserved it. He used me as an example. The guilt oozed out of my pores.
Let the wild rumpus start.
The press, and rightfully so, are writing about how they always (not always, but they won't say that) get a secondary source to confirm a story before they write something. This is going to begin a whole new round of blogosphere criticisms, how readers should trust professional journalists before trusting people like, uh, me.
Rick called me into his office first thing this morning and threatened to fine me $50,000 if I ever write another "inflammatory, untrue account" of "team dynamics." His statement was pretty broad. When asked to elaborate, he told me he had real work to do. He left me standing in his office while he took his bat and glove out to practice field #3 to shag balls.
The main question: Who/what was my source? The other main question: Why did I publish this story? The third question: Is it really that big of a deal?
Since the press deluged me with questions and accusations at my locker, none of which I would answer since we don't speak on the record, I will answer the main question the way they'd approve of if I was one of them: I won't reveal my source. I don't have to. I can tell you this person avoided me today. I will tell you this person has a lot of questions to answer from me. Was I set up? I don't know yet. I'm going to try to find out. Why would I possibly be set up? I have some thoughts, but they're all paranoid. I'll sleep on it and work on my theories tomorrow.
I published the story because I thought it was true. Yes, I told Rick and Alvin a couple of weeks ago that I'd wait for them to make major team announcements before I posted anything, unless the announcement was about me. I broke my promise, but not on purpose. I figured everyone would have jumped on it right away. Nobody did because the story wasn't true. I was given misinformation; I was the only one given this misinformation. I was wrong to have published it. I am very embarrassed and very sorry.
I take it back.
Now, is this all a big deal? Not in the scheme of the whole world. It's a non-story when compared to who our next president is going to be or how many of our soldiers were hurt or killed in Iraq already this month. From a worldly perspective, it's not a big deal at all. I saw, however, that it is being treated like a big deal. Katie Couric did a whole thing about this last night on the CBS Evening News With Walter Cronkite. The NY Times had something on their front page - not the sports section - about how this story was symptomatic of the problem with "amateur journalism" and "the ego of the masses." Or, in my case, a "massive ego." Just take my embarrassment quotient and multiply it by ten. Summing this part up, it's not a big deal compared to the real world, but you'd never know it.
From a team and personal perspective, yes, it's a pretty big deal. I've already told you how embarrassing this is. But even more important, I was misled by someone who I never would have thought would have misled me like this; someone I've known for a long time. That's more than disappointing. I will have a conversation with this person. Just need to find him (or her) first.
Teamwise, I created dissension when there didn't need to be any. I wrote how a number of guys who've been with the team for a long time would be mad that Felipe was made captain. This was very, very true. There was some serious Felipe Bashing going on inside this locker room yesterday late. None of it needed to happen. Not one word needed to be said against this innocent man; my teammate. The reactions were based on an untruth. I owe a huge apology to Felipe. I owe a big one to my team as well. I'm sure they feel quite guilty today. They're embarrassed too. That part is all my fault and doesn't help us win a championship. It just distracts them from their - our - goal. Sorry.
Where do I go from here? Nowhere. I admit my mistake. I apologize for it. I won't make any excuses for what I wrote or why I wrote it. I can whine about how I was probably set up (I probably was), but without proof or reason, what's the point? Setup or not, I hurt Felipe and I hurt my team. I hope that's something I never do again.
Here's something that I think is very important: I am not going to stop writing this blog. My face is getting sore from the amount of blushing I've been doing since yesterday, yet that won't stop me from doing this. I'd be more embarrassed, my "massive ego" would take a bigger hit, if I did stop. I'd rather swallow my pride and apologize than stomp on it and quit. No, I'm in this for the long haul, taking my bumps and bruises as I go. I hope you stay along for the ride.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Absent Captain
Felipe Castro, our somewhat shy, "lead by example" $97 million outfielder, was anointed captain of the team yesterday by manager Rick Churches and GM Alvin Kirby. The news, delivered through the time-tested method of word of mouth, was met with a bout of jovial silence. In truth, most everyone on the team loves Felipe. He works as hard, or harder, than anyone on the roster. He runs and dives and never dogs it. Probably a good choice.
Probably.
Why my air of dissension? Number 1, Felipe hasn't shown up to camp yet. In effect, he was anointed Captain in absencia. I'm sure he'd like to be here in a perfect world, but since his mother's kidnapping in Venezuela, he's been home, I assume trying to help. Not really sure since we haven't had any contact (not that we should). My guess is that Rick and Alvin went about this course of action to pump up the man who is the key to this year's team. Which leads me to number 2...
Number 2, Felipe will be the first to admit that his first season with the team, last season, was his worst on the field since his rookie year in 2000. He only hit 16 home runs (they projected upper 30s), only had 69 RBIs (they projected 100+), stole only 12 bases (another 30+ projection) and only hit .261. I bet Alvin's glad that contract is backloaded.
Number 3, Felipe has been on this team for one year. One. There are guys here who've been here for ten times longer, who played for this team during its championship runs, who also command tremendous respect in the clubhouse. I tend to think that, upon reflection, there may be some unhappy campers in this space over the next few weeks.
Number 4... Well, I can stop at three.
Your first thought, possibly, is if I'm angry, or jealous, since this will be my 14th year with the club. No, not really. I mean, who doesn't still have dreams of leading their forces to victory? Sure, if they'd come to me I would have accepted the responsibility. But I doubt they would ever do that because I only play once every 5 days. I don't have any control over how we play the other 4 days and a captain, I think, needs to have his fingers in the pie all the time. Me, I'd just eat the pie and have to work off the excess calories before they found themselves lodged under my chin. Either way, my time with the team is running out. Felipe's got 6 years left on his deal. I'll have five chins and no scalp hair by the time he gets an extension or moves on.
Besides, the day I wrote Word One of this blog was the day I was taken out of the running. I'm nobody's best friend down here. Many guys are a little wary of me, concerned they'll say something in confidence and I'll break that confidence, spilling the beans here. My intention with this isn't to lose friends. But it has influenced some to consider becoming enemies.
Speaking of Rick (I'm pretty much kidding), he did give us an update on Felipe. He's been working out at home with a team-appointed personal trainer and said, no matter what, he'd be up here by the 15th. He'll get in 2 weeks of games, enough to (hopefully) get his timing down before the regular season starts on April 1. (I'm not counting the 2 games between Arizona and Philadelphia in Japan starting on 3/25.)
When Felipe shows up, I expect he'll get a warm welcome. He's been through a lot. And with his new appointment, he's going to go through even more. I hope he enjoys the welcome he gets, because none of this makes sense. It's a surprising call from the powers that be. For Felipe, it's only going to get harder.
Probably.
Why my air of dissension? Number 1, Felipe hasn't shown up to camp yet. In effect, he was anointed Captain in absencia. I'm sure he'd like to be here in a perfect world, but since his mother's kidnapping in Venezuela, he's been home, I assume trying to help. Not really sure since we haven't had any contact (not that we should). My guess is that Rick and Alvin went about this course of action to pump up the man who is the key to this year's team. Which leads me to number 2...
Number 2, Felipe will be the first to admit that his first season with the team, last season, was his worst on the field since his rookie year in 2000. He only hit 16 home runs (they projected upper 30s), only had 69 RBIs (they projected 100+), stole only 12 bases (another 30+ projection) and only hit .261. I bet Alvin's glad that contract is backloaded.
Number 3, Felipe has been on this team for one year. One. There are guys here who've been here for ten times longer, who played for this team during its championship runs, who also command tremendous respect in the clubhouse. I tend to think that, upon reflection, there may be some unhappy campers in this space over the next few weeks.
Number 4... Well, I can stop at three.
Your first thought, possibly, is if I'm angry, or jealous, since this will be my 14th year with the club. No, not really. I mean, who doesn't still have dreams of leading their forces to victory? Sure, if they'd come to me I would have accepted the responsibility. But I doubt they would ever do that because I only play once every 5 days. I don't have any control over how we play the other 4 days and a captain, I think, needs to have his fingers in the pie all the time. Me, I'd just eat the pie and have to work off the excess calories before they found themselves lodged under my chin. Either way, my time with the team is running out. Felipe's got 6 years left on his deal. I'll have five chins and no scalp hair by the time he gets an extension or moves on.
Besides, the day I wrote Word One of this blog was the day I was taken out of the running. I'm nobody's best friend down here. Many guys are a little wary of me, concerned they'll say something in confidence and I'll break that confidence, spilling the beans here. My intention with this isn't to lose friends. But it has influenced some to consider becoming enemies.
Speaking of Rick (I'm pretty much kidding), he did give us an update on Felipe. He's been working out at home with a team-appointed personal trainer and said, no matter what, he'd be up here by the 15th. He'll get in 2 weeks of games, enough to (hopefully) get his timing down before the regular season starts on April 1. (I'm not counting the 2 games between Arizona and Philadelphia in Japan starting on 3/25.)
When Felipe shows up, I expect he'll get a warm welcome. He's been through a lot. And with his new appointment, he's going to go through even more. I hope he enjoys the welcome he gets, because none of this makes sense. It's a surprising call from the powers that be. For Felipe, it's only going to get harder.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Crimes & Dinner Conversation
I didn't predict it and I didn't wish it upon him, but by now you've probably read that Cory Belle, my teammate and chief critic, was arrested last night. This isn't good for a number of reasons:
1. This is his third arrest in two years. Our owner, Mrs. Delaney, and the league commissioner, Elliott Pollock, are going to find a problem with that.
2. A judge will find problem with that as well.
3. If Cory is incarcerated on opening day and not in left field for us, we'll be missing a pretty potent bat.
4. More than one call has come in asking if I set the man up.
Note that Cory was arrested in a Kansas City nightclub. Since the city/town closes down at eight o'clock every night, I have no idea what kind of nightclub this was. That's Red Flag #1.
Red Flag #2: The other guys arrested with him have no connection to the sports world from what I can tell. I Googled their names. Nothing came up.
Red Flag #3: If shots were fired in the parking lot and a gun was found in Cory's car two hours later, the evidence leads to me being glad he hung up on my the other day.
I wish the best for Cory, whatever that is, and hope he can get his life in order. And no, I had nothing to do with calling the police. I get up now at 5:17 every morning. You think I'm going to call the cops at 1 AM to blow the whistle on a teammate who's mad at me for blogging? I'm sleeping at 1 AM, dreaming about cartoons.
In other news that's somewhat related, I got word that Felipe Castro's mother, while still being held captive somewhere in the jungles of Venezuela, had a brief conversation with Felipe over the weekend. She's apparently healthy, which is great. But I know Felipe must be going out of his mind trying to get her back.
My dad, "Red" Scott, the man who a month ago suggested he switch places with Mrs. Castro to save her and get him away from the Northeast winter, actually used whatever baseball connections he has to get in touch with Felipe and suggest it directly to the man. From what "Red" said, Felipe was very polite and thankful, but he declined the invitation out of loyalty to me. If Felipe would have asked my opinion, I would said two words: Take him.
I'm serious.
But that horrible saga continues. And instead of sitting in a crumbling Venezuelan jungle hut, Dad/"Red" comes over to my house three times a week and complains to me that my vow of media silence will crush all of his plans as a broadcaster for the team this year. Hey, I tell him, it's hard for me. Before every sentence I say to him, I have to remind him it's off the record. It gets monotonous, and not just for he and I, but for the whole family, especially if we're at the dinner table:
Red: Want me to pass the potatoes, Jimmy?
Me: If we're off the record, then yes.
Red: Here you go, son.
Me: Off the record, I give you my thanks.
Red: How about that Cory Belle stuff?
Me: (mouth full of potatoes)
Mom: He's a bad man.
Red: Peggy - please!
Vanessa: Red...
Red: I'm sorry, dear. Jimmy, how about that Cory Belle stuff?
Me: (mouth still kind of full) Are we off the record?
Vanessa: Jimmy...
Me: (after swallowing) Sorry, dear.
And so on. He suggested we eat dinner in front of a new blog posting so I can type the minutes of our meal together, like a court stenographer. I told him, off the record, that I can't eat and type at the same time. He grunted something and stormed off to the bathroom for fifteen minutes of solitude.
I doubt he's reading this, but I wish both Felipe and Cory all the best. I hope their immediate futures turn bright and they overcome either the bad men or the personal demons that have taken over their lives. If either of them want my help, I know a certain former ballplayer/current broadcaster willing to take one for the team - As long as he gets a good story out of it for his first telecast.
Good luck with that.
1. This is his third arrest in two years. Our owner, Mrs. Delaney, and the league commissioner, Elliott Pollock, are going to find a problem with that.
2. A judge will find problem with that as well.
3. If Cory is incarcerated on opening day and not in left field for us, we'll be missing a pretty potent bat.
4. More than one call has come in asking if I set the man up.
Note that Cory was arrested in a Kansas City nightclub. Since the city/town closes down at eight o'clock every night, I have no idea what kind of nightclub this was. That's Red Flag #1.
Red Flag #2: The other guys arrested with him have no connection to the sports world from what I can tell. I Googled their names. Nothing came up.
Red Flag #3: If shots were fired in the parking lot and a gun was found in Cory's car two hours later, the evidence leads to me being glad he hung up on my the other day.
I wish the best for Cory, whatever that is, and hope he can get his life in order. And no, I had nothing to do with calling the police. I get up now at 5:17 every morning. You think I'm going to call the cops at 1 AM to blow the whistle on a teammate who's mad at me for blogging? I'm sleeping at 1 AM, dreaming about cartoons.
In other news that's somewhat related, I got word that Felipe Castro's mother, while still being held captive somewhere in the jungles of Venezuela, had a brief conversation with Felipe over the weekend. She's apparently healthy, which is great. But I know Felipe must be going out of his mind trying to get her back.
My dad, "Red" Scott, the man who a month ago suggested he switch places with Mrs. Castro to save her and get him away from the Northeast winter, actually used whatever baseball connections he has to get in touch with Felipe and suggest it directly to the man. From what "Red" said, Felipe was very polite and thankful, but he declined the invitation out of loyalty to me. If Felipe would have asked my opinion, I would said two words: Take him.
I'm serious.
But that horrible saga continues. And instead of sitting in a crumbling Venezuelan jungle hut, Dad/"Red" comes over to my house three times a week and complains to me that my vow of media silence will crush all of his plans as a broadcaster for the team this year. Hey, I tell him, it's hard for me. Before every sentence I say to him, I have to remind him it's off the record. It gets monotonous, and not just for he and I, but for the whole family, especially if we're at the dinner table:
Red: Want me to pass the potatoes, Jimmy?
Me: If we're off the record, then yes.
Red: Here you go, son.
Me: Off the record, I give you my thanks.
Red: How about that Cory Belle stuff?
Me: (mouth full of potatoes)
Mom: He's a bad man.
Red: Peggy - please!
Vanessa: Red...
Red: I'm sorry, dear. Jimmy, how about that Cory Belle stuff?
Me: (mouth still kind of full) Are we off the record?
Vanessa: Jimmy...
Me: (after swallowing) Sorry, dear.
And so on. He suggested we eat dinner in front of a new blog posting so I can type the minutes of our meal together, like a court stenographer. I told him, off the record, that I can't eat and type at the same time. He grunted something and stormed off to the bathroom for fifteen minutes of solitude.
I doubt he's reading this, but I wish both Felipe and Cory all the best. I hope their immediate futures turn bright and they overcome either the bad men or the personal demons that have taken over their lives. If either of them want my help, I know a certain former ballplayer/current broadcaster willing to take one for the team - As long as he gets a good story out of it for his first telecast.
Good luck with that.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Home Security
Received an email today, and then the same stuff in regular mail, from NBL Security. A mass mailing to all players, coaches and management. It addressed the Felipe Castro situation, how his mother was kidnapped three weeks ago and how future kidnappings can be prevented. Scary stuff. Mrs. Castro has not been heard directly from since, although I know Felipe did receive some communication from her captors. From what I understand, he got an email from them that included video of her incarceration. She's alive and being treated as well as can be expected. Not sure if that's good or not.
I haven't spoken directly with Felipe since the abduction. What would I say? And why would he talk to me? He's got to be completely frazzled, worrying about the safety of his mother and the expectations from the team. If you're him, are you still working out? He uses this ocular enhancer machine that whips numbered tennis balls toward home plate at 150 mph. Is he using it to focus? Can he expend his negative energy toward swinging a bat extremely hard at balls being surged toward him even harder? Is he running and lifting and throwing? He had, for him, a horrible season last year (only 16 HR, down from 38 in 2006). I know he wanted to justify the $100 million the team spent on him. Now this.
Commissioner Elliott Pollock gave his state of the state, so to speak, address to reporters yesterday. In what was supposed to be his spin on how well the game is being run, much of the q&a period was about the collective bargaining agreement due to expire and security issues for players. Truth be told, there's not much the league can do in the off season for players in other countries besides send emails out with PDF attachments (and no pictures). Translation: Players care enough to open the attachments and try to read through the documents. They don't have the patience to make it through though. Just ask me. After page two of the first set of documents, my eyes grew as heavy as concrete pilings set into the ground to support a massive outdoor deck.
No, we're not putting a massive outdoor deck onto our house. Our neighbors are.
Elliott (our union head, Howard Philips, keeps begging me to call him Mr. Pollock) mentioned my situation with home security in his speech. As you've read here and also in the papers, we've had three acts of vandalism on our property over the last two months. One man was caught last week, but was released. Like our stalking neighbor, Connie, who was keeping an eye on our house for us, this man was doing the same under his position with the Star Ledger. Seems he lives nearby and thought he'd have a great scoop if he could catch the perpetrator in the act. He got a couple of good articles out of it. Unfortunately, they were more about him than the bad man, or men, or men & women, or just women, who have papered our yard with toilet tissue and iced our driveway so badly that I slipped and sprained my pitching wrist.
We have installed some security measures here, none of which I am allowed to divulge. We thought long and hard about erecting a fence or wall around the perimeter of the property. But the expense was going to be incredible. And people can climb over walls. I suggested an electric fence or something with razor wire at its zenith, but Vanessa said the town would probably consider bleeding bodies hanging from our fence an eyesore.
The neighborhood watch program Vanessa started has been successful so far, in the fact that nobody around has had any problems with break ins or vandalistic acts. I think it's more coincidence than anything. We just had the holidays. Like how crime is always lowest on Super Bowl Sunday, I think the bad people out to get us just went away for a nice break. There's a big university in town. Maybe it's college students doing this. Classes don't start for another two weeks.
I have no leads. The police have no leads. Yet I still work out. I don't focus on these events, as I have little control over the actions of others. Instead, life goes on and I act as normally as I can.
I wonder if Felipe can do the same?
I haven't spoken directly with Felipe since the abduction. What would I say? And why would he talk to me? He's got to be completely frazzled, worrying about the safety of his mother and the expectations from the team. If you're him, are you still working out? He uses this ocular enhancer machine that whips numbered tennis balls toward home plate at 150 mph. Is he using it to focus? Can he expend his negative energy toward swinging a bat extremely hard at balls being surged toward him even harder? Is he running and lifting and throwing? He had, for him, a horrible season last year (only 16 HR, down from 38 in 2006). I know he wanted to justify the $100 million the team spent on him. Now this.
Commissioner Elliott Pollock gave his state of the state, so to speak, address to reporters yesterday. In what was supposed to be his spin on how well the game is being run, much of the q&a period was about the collective bargaining agreement due to expire and security issues for players. Truth be told, there's not much the league can do in the off season for players in other countries besides send emails out with PDF attachments (and no pictures). Translation: Players care enough to open the attachments and try to read through the documents. They don't have the patience to make it through though. Just ask me. After page two of the first set of documents, my eyes grew as heavy as concrete pilings set into the ground to support a massive outdoor deck.
No, we're not putting a massive outdoor deck onto our house. Our neighbors are.
Elliott (our union head, Howard Philips, keeps begging me to call him Mr. Pollock) mentioned my situation with home security in his speech. As you've read here and also in the papers, we've had three acts of vandalism on our property over the last two months. One man was caught last week, but was released. Like our stalking neighbor, Connie, who was keeping an eye on our house for us, this man was doing the same under his position with the Star Ledger. Seems he lives nearby and thought he'd have a great scoop if he could catch the perpetrator in the act. He got a couple of good articles out of it. Unfortunately, they were more about him than the bad man, or men, or men & women, or just women, who have papered our yard with toilet tissue and iced our driveway so badly that I slipped and sprained my pitching wrist.
We have installed some security measures here, none of which I am allowed to divulge. We thought long and hard about erecting a fence or wall around the perimeter of the property. But the expense was going to be incredible. And people can climb over walls. I suggested an electric fence or something with razor wire at its zenith, but Vanessa said the town would probably consider bleeding bodies hanging from our fence an eyesore.
The neighborhood watch program Vanessa started has been successful so far, in the fact that nobody around has had any problems with break ins or vandalistic acts. I think it's more coincidence than anything. We just had the holidays. Like how crime is always lowest on Super Bowl Sunday, I think the bad people out to get us just went away for a nice break. There's a big university in town. Maybe it's college students doing this. Classes don't start for another two weeks.
I have no leads. The police have no leads. Yet I still work out. I don't focus on these events, as I have little control over the actions of others. Instead, life goes on and I act as normally as I can.
I wonder if Felipe can do the same?
Friday, December 21, 2007
Miscellaneous Notes
Got word today that Felipe Castro's mother wasn't kidnapped in her home in Venezuela over the weekend. She was kidnapped in Felipe's house. Forced entry. They broke right in through the front door. Also missing is Felipe's gardener. They're not sure if that man is kidnapped or a suspect. Obviously, I haven't been able to speak with Felipe. But I know this has to be a terrible time for him.
My dad, "Red" Scott, said if he could, he'd switch places with Felipe's mother. At first, I was tempted to reach out to Hugo Chavez myself and ask him to broadcast the offer throughout the country with the hopes of an exchange actually taking place. But then I got to thinking, this is exactly what my dad would want. He'd become the kidnapping victim just long enough to establish residency, then he'd escape and become a hero. I'd never hear the end of it. No, Dad, just come over to my house this Christmas and brag about something else you've done. I stopped listening in 1986 anyway.
I saw we traded for Sergio Dunn yesterday. He's an amazing athlete. I just hope he's in one piece when we see him in spring training. To be a tight end for the Dallas Cowboys and play left field for us, there's a lot of ice needed to keep that soreness away. If you think he's good now, how good would he be if he focused on just one sport? I'm just glad I won't be pitching against him this year. He's hit two grand slams off of me over the years. I'm unhappy when that happens.
My personal trainer, who I own, is trying to make me left handed. Since my right wrist is all wrapped up for a few weeks, Andy wants to take advantage and make my left side "stronger than one of those X-Men people." Since the X-Men are mutants (well, they as characters are mutants; real X-Men don't exist), Andy thinks my body will mutate from human to inhuman over the next three weeks with his patent pending Left Side Workout. I told him I should still have a strong right leg. And my right elbow needs the rehab, since it's the thing that was surgically repaired. And my right hip, right tricep, right pectoral, and right ear should all not atrophy just because my wrist reacted badly when I landed on it after slipping in my icy driveway. Andy listened carefully and quickly abandoned his patent pending Left Side Workout. Instead, he had me chasing roosters again. And yes, I am crapping thunder now.
We're having a holiday party at the house tomorrow night. A gaggle of strangers have been inside and outside the house, stringing up lights, greenery... That's really all they've done. But since they've been here for two days, I guess it's a lot of lights and greenery. It's a big house, so that makes sense. Mostly neighbors and family invited. Parents of Julia and Grace's friends. But I'll be keeping my eye open for anything out of the ordinary. I'm thinking the vandals will want to crash and try to learn more about the house and our habits. We've hired some security (Andy) for the bash, so nobody's getting past the door without a full crevice strip search.
I'm thinking Vanessa won't allow this for very long, so hopefully the vandals/party crashers come early. Plus, the food will be fresher too.
My dad, "Red" Scott, said if he could, he'd switch places with Felipe's mother. At first, I was tempted to reach out to Hugo Chavez myself and ask him to broadcast the offer throughout the country with the hopes of an exchange actually taking place. But then I got to thinking, this is exactly what my dad would want. He'd become the kidnapping victim just long enough to establish residency, then he'd escape and become a hero. I'd never hear the end of it. No, Dad, just come over to my house this Christmas and brag about something else you've done. I stopped listening in 1986 anyway.
I saw we traded for Sergio Dunn yesterday. He's an amazing athlete. I just hope he's in one piece when we see him in spring training. To be a tight end for the Dallas Cowboys and play left field for us, there's a lot of ice needed to keep that soreness away. If you think he's good now, how good would he be if he focused on just one sport? I'm just glad I won't be pitching against him this year. He's hit two grand slams off of me over the years. I'm unhappy when that happens.
My personal trainer, who I own, is trying to make me left handed. Since my right wrist is all wrapped up for a few weeks, Andy wants to take advantage and make my left side "stronger than one of those X-Men people." Since the X-Men are mutants (well, they as characters are mutants; real X-Men don't exist), Andy thinks my body will mutate from human to inhuman over the next three weeks with his patent pending Left Side Workout. I told him I should still have a strong right leg. And my right elbow needs the rehab, since it's the thing that was surgically repaired. And my right hip, right tricep, right pectoral, and right ear should all not atrophy just because my wrist reacted badly when I landed on it after slipping in my icy driveway. Andy listened carefully and quickly abandoned his patent pending Left Side Workout. Instead, he had me chasing roosters again. And yes, I am crapping thunder now.
We're having a holiday party at the house tomorrow night. A gaggle of strangers have been inside and outside the house, stringing up lights, greenery... That's really all they've done. But since they've been here for two days, I guess it's a lot of lights and greenery. It's a big house, so that makes sense. Mostly neighbors and family invited. Parents of Julia and Grace's friends. But I'll be keeping my eye open for anything out of the ordinary. I'm thinking the vandals will want to crash and try to learn more about the house and our habits. We've hired some security (Andy) for the bash, so nobody's getting past the door without a full crevice strip search.
I'm thinking Vanessa won't allow this for very long, so hopefully the vandals/party crashers come early. Plus, the food will be fresher too.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Prayers For Mrs. Castro
Heard the startling news last night that Felipe Castro's mother had been kidnapped from her home in Venezuela over the weekend. I saw Felipe at Mrs. Delaney's party Saturday night and could tell he was worried about her as she hadn't flown in as expected earlier in the day. From what I've heard, he found out very early Sunday morning and took the first flight home.
This is a sad and scary story and one that we hope is not repeated. I know of other teammates from Central America who have basically moved their whole families into the United States for safety reasons. Remember, a hundred dollars here is almost a full year's salary in many developing nations. So imagine what goes through the minds of the bad seeds down there when they hear of ballplayers, like Felipe, pulling down $90 to $100 million.
We haven't heard of any ransom demands and, like you, will be following the events in Venezuela daily. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Castro family today.
This is a sad and scary story and one that we hope is not repeated. I know of other teammates from Central America who have basically moved their whole families into the United States for safety reasons. Remember, a hundred dollars here is almost a full year's salary in many developing nations. So imagine what goes through the minds of the bad seeds down there when they hear of ballplayers, like Felipe, pulling down $90 to $100 million.
We haven't heard of any ransom demands and, like you, will be following the events in Venezuela daily. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Castro family today.
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