When Hitters Aren't Hitting

Remember all those wiseguys and talking heads making jokes about watching to see who would struggle at the plate this season as more steroid allegations became public? Remember sports columnists and observers wondering if the threat of federal prison time might affect the timing in a guy’s swing?

I present the following for your consideration. You’ll note that every statistic below is after Kirk J. Radomski’s arrest and subsequent spilling of guts went public.

Pop quiz, hotshot: which former batting champion is currently hitting 65 points below his career average?

If you said Manny Ramirez, you win.

Bar Bet Number 2: which former 40-home run sluggers are both currently well below the Mendoza line?

If you said Richie Sexson and Paul Konerko, you win again.

Double or nothing: of Sexson and Konerko, which man is hitting a cool 80 points below his career average?

Okay, it’s a trick question. They both are. Sexson is cooling the infield at .183, some 84 points below his career average, and Konerko couldn’t hit sand if he fell off a camel at .194, a mere 87 points below his career average.

It gets worse. Carlos Delgado, at .212, is hitting 69 points below his career average. Jim Edmonds, at .218, is hitting 70 points below. Bobby Abreu, at .236, is 65 points below. Jermaine Dye, at an anemic .203, is 72 below. Pudge Rodriguez, at .239, is 64 points in arrears. Scott Rolen, at .216, is beating the air at 67 points below his career average.

And Albert Pujols, the finest hitter in a Cardinal uniform since Mr. Musial, is hitting .239, an amazing 90 points below his career average.

What are we to make of this? Is this just some statistical anomaly found by a pajama-clad loony? Or is it evidence of something more?

I’m just going to say it out loud. At no point in BASEBALL HISTORY will you find ten of the games top sluggers scuffling this badly at the same time. Except for Ramirez, not a man among the aforementioned is hitting over .240, and we’re a quarter of the way through the season already. Just for funsies, I looked some stuff up. While it is true that one can find evidence of men like Hank Aaron, Mickey Mantle, Al Kaline, Willie Mays, or Duke Snider hitting well below their career averages after 40 games, you will not find them all at minus 65 or worse at the same time in the same year.

Maybe they’re all just injured. At the same time. And no one has reported it. In this day of 24-hour sports reporting and up-to-the-minute fantasy baseball stats, that hardly seems likely. If nothing else, the wiseguys would put the injuries out there to get a better number. No, this is all just a little too cute for me. It makes me wonder.

It makes me wonder if they have gotten subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury in connection with Kirk J. Radomski’s testimony. It makes me wonder if they are already lawyered up in anticipation of a media firestorm the likes of which will make the O.J. trial look like something on C-SPAN. It makes me wonder what they know, and what they are afraid others might know.

I am not accusing any of the above players of having taken steroids, but, in this day and age, one cannot help but to be suspicious. I’m not taking anyone’s word about anything because the sweater is still unraveling, but faster now. Names have been named. Checks have been signed. Deposits have been made. Phone numbers have been collected. Radomski’s testimony, sung in four part harmony with the hope of a drastically-reduced federal sentence, will only give the investigators that many more doors to open with search warrants, and that many more bank accounts to examine, and that many more cell phone numbers to collect, which will lead to more names and numbers and bank accounts, because people will talk with a stretch in Club Fed facing them.

Yogi Berra once said that you can’t think and hit.

I wonder what these ten guys are thinking about.

Below The Radar

The NFL is still on everyone’s radar, what with the draft, Pacman, Michael Vick and his dogs, Brett Favre’s mouth, Donovan McNabb’s mouth, and, of course, T.O.’s mouth. And somehow Randy Moss ended up playing for the New England Belichicks. Allegedly, this is the NFL’s “off-season.”

We got Pistons-Bulls in the NBA playoffs, and if it’s not the bloodsport that it was in the Jordan Rules days, it’s still compelling basketball. The Spurs and the Suns are slapping each other around out West, and Jerry Sloan is getting some old school love from guys like J.A. Adande as his Jazz look to advance to the Western Conference finals. And we haven’t even mentioned the fact that the Cleveland LeBrons are one game from the Eastern Conference finals.

MLB? So many topics, so little time…let’s see: there’s Barry “The Vilest Human Alive” Bonds and his tainted pursuit of St. Henry’s home run record; there’s Kurt Radomski, hidden by Eraser Arnold Schwarzennegger, spilling his guts for every recording device known to man; there’s The Rajah, The Rocket, the best part-time pitcher in history, Roger Clemens, returning to the Yankees for a prorated salary that would pay every Devil Ray in history, Dice-K in Beantown, the Mets on top of the world, J.J. Friggin’ Hardy in Milwaukee…yup, the Grand Old Game is doing just fine, and I haven’t even insulted Tim McCarver yet.

What’s missing? Horse racing? Nope, some two-year-old just won the Derby, the first one since Spectacular Bid (and all you degenerates know that horse…). Boxing? Didn’t one of the Mayweathers fight Oscar De La Hoya, or did they all just whup each other in a Fatal Three-Way at Caesar’s Palace? Hell, we even had a Wrestlemania, with the Undertaker winning the World Heavyweight Championship after defeating Batista (and by the way, the Dead Man remains undefeated at Wrestlemania…not that I’m counting or anything…).

Something is missing…hey, didn’t Little E tell the Stepmonster where to put his dad’s sinking company? That’s right, Dale Earnhardt Jr. told Theresa (I Married Into Money) Earnhardt to take DEI and shove it. If he can’t have the company with his dad’s name, he’ll take his dad’s name and genes to a company that will actually build a competitive NASCAR racer, perhaps Richard Childress (ooohhh, the very thought of Little E running the Number 3 car for Richard Childress seems like scripture…).

What have I forgotten? No, the oven’s off. No, my keys are in my pocket. No, I paid that bill and I have the receipt in my barbecue-stained fingers. No, the doctor said that it wouldn’t spread if I kept putting the cream on it…er, never mind…

OHHHHH…now I remember. Somewhere, in agate type, amid the box scores and meaningless NFL transactions, somewhere on cable channels that only insomniacs, schizophrenics, and Republicans watch, the League Formerly Known As The NHL is having a little playoff. Something about a Cup…?

I’ve forgotten already. Besides, Ray Buchanan and Chris Landry are having a urinating contest about Michael Vick’s dogs…