DAVID VERSUS GOLIATH REVISITED

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ARIZONA DIAMONDBACKS BASEBALL CAP
by New Era Cap Company
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"...For who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of The Living God? ... Then David said to the Philistine, 'You come against me with a sword and with a spear and with a shield; but I come against you in the name of The Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. ... And all this assembly shall know that The Lord saves not with sword and spear; for the battle is The Lord's and He will deliver you into our hands'... And David put his hand in his bag and took thence a stone, and slung it..." 
~ 1 Samuel 17
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Certainly there have been many upsets in world history: Buster Douglas knocking out Mike Tyson; the Jets beating the Colts in Superbowl III; the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team triumphing over the Russians. Of course, when Al Gore lost the 2000 Presidential election to George "W", he was plenty "upset", too! And there's no denying that when Eve tasted the forbidden fruit, she really "upset" the applecart.
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One of the biggest upsets in the world of professional baseball was the 2001 World Series when the New York Yankees, 3-time world champions with the most storied legacy in professional sports (and not coincidentally the deepest pockets) met the 4-year-old underdog Arizona Diamondbacks -- a team comprised mostly of has-beens, cast-offs, and overachievers. It was supposed to be "no contest" and it very nearly was, but not in the manner that the Yankees had imagined.
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After many years of inattentiveness to baseball, something about that team from Airheadzona caught my eye early on. Come-From-Behind Victory after Come-From-Behind Victory was gradually making a believer out of me. ("My gosh!", I thought, "They really remind me of the '88 Dodgers -- 'The Little Team That Could'.")
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I'll never forget my Brother walking into the room one June afternoon and stopping to stare, dumbfounded. He looked at the TV. He looked at me. He looked at the TV, and back at me. "What're you doin'?"
"I'm watching the ballgame," I answered.
"What! Are you a Diamondbacks fan now?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, I watch 'em once in awhile," I confessed.
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By July I had informed my Ma (the REAL D-Backs fan) that she could get me a Diamondbacks baseball cap for my upcoming birthday.
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September 2001 saw history's most devastating attack on U.S. soil occur in New York. It was quickly followed by the most exciting World Series in baseball history: David (Arizona) versus Goliath (New York). Even if the result had been reversed, I'd still be calling it the greatest Fall Classic ever played (although admittedly less gleefully). The record book shows that David prevailed over Goliath (again), 4 games to 3, in a Series that saw great pitching, 3 remarkable last-gasp victorious finishes, and one historic drubbing: the D-Backs "must-win" Game 6, which ended  AZ 15 -- NY 2. (*It was REALLY 16-2, but the umpire horribly missed one call at home plate. And that STILL makes me mad!)
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My Brother and I had driven to our Ma's house to watch Game 7 with her. With Airheadzona losing 2-1, Mariano Rivera struck out the side consecutively in the 8th inning, and my Brother headed for the door. He was sure it was over and that The Wealthy Giant had purchased yet another championship. But I had been watching this little team all season long. "I don't think you should leave just yet," I nearly cautioned him. But then I thought: No, let him go if he has no faith.
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I sat down next to my dear Mother and said, "I might as well watch the end of it with you." I later learned from my Brother -- who had the game's broadcast tuned in on his car radio -- that when Mark Grace led off the bottom of the 9th inning with a single, he stomped on the accelerator and got to our apartment's TV just in time to catch the final, astounding Come-From-Behind Victory of the Diamondbacks' improbable 2001 season.
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For me, the Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap symbolizes every unlikely victory against overwhelming odds. It is an excellent way to tell the world that you support life's underdogs, its overachievers and never-say-die combatants. It says to all of the philistines that you believe in the little guy -- David over Goliath; you believe that dreams DO come true; a determined person CAN fight City Hall; and that money doesn't necessarily determine every outcome! You, too, can own and wear this Everyman badge and silently celebrate every "David's" victory. Of course, this cap is also a pretty decent way to keep the bright, hot sun outta yer eyes and off of yer headbone.
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The hat is made in the U.S.A. by New Era, a company that has been in the baseball cap business since 1920, and supplies the actual Major League Baseball clubs with theirs. This is really Big League and top quality. It's life-affirming headwear. You ladies shouldn't shy away from purchasing this authentic piece of Diamondbacks' uniform either. You may be interested to know that some guys find a baseball cap on a woman to be unexplainably cute!
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True, this is the Arizona D-Backs' "road" cap, and every game of the 2001 World Series was won by the "home" team, but here in Phoenix, we all prefer the logo on the road cap. (A rattlesnake in the form of the letter "D".) And since it's predominantly black, it goes with everything, and is acceptable attire at Airheadzona black-tie affairs, as well as our funerals. Visit us sometime and you'll see 10 to 15 "road" caps on Phoenician heads to every 1 "home" cap worn.
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After the D-Backs dethroned the mighty Yanks and broke their magic spell (N.Y. hasn't been able to BUY a championship since), naturally, the loud-mouthed New Yorkers loudly protested that Arizona "just got lucky". Let's see what the 2001 World Series statistics have to say about that...
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AZ. TEAM STATS:
65 Hits / 31 Earned Runs / 17 Walks / 3 Errors / .264 Batting Avg. / 1.94 Earned Run Avg.
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NY. TEAM STATS:
42 Hits / 14 Earned Runs / 16 Walks / 8 Errors / .183 Batting Avg. / 4.41 Earned Run Avg.
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The Diamondbacks were superior in virtually EVERY SINGLE IMPORTANT CATEGORY! We may be pretty stupid here in Airheadzona, but we don't call that "luck"; we call that, "A good, old-fashioned azz-whuppin'!" We call that, "Bringin' the Phoenix Heat!"
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The truth is that the Yankees were very fortunate that a couple of last-minute heroics snatched victory from certain defeat. This Series really shouldn't have gone beyond 5 games. But then that's what made the 2001 World Series baseball's best!
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Remember the great Series and celebrate the overachievers everywhere by proudly donning the ultimate underdog's baseball cap. No, the "D" doesn't only mean "Diamondbacks", it also stands for "DAVID".
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~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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THE WORLD BEGAN ON AUGUST 14, 1953...

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WIFFLE BALLS
inventor: David N. Mullany
1953
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"Of course I got a bat! What, do you think I'm a fag?"
~ Johnny Crowder
'The Lord Of War And Thunder'
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The world began on August 14, 1953 . . .  that's the day that the first WIFFLE BALLS (invented a year earlier) went on sale in this baseball-crazy country. Mr. David Mullany created the first Wiffle Ball in Fairfield, Connecticut, after seeing his 12-year-old son struggling to throw a curveball. Mr. Mullany (to whom we bow down and show obeisance) cut eight oblong slots into plastic orbs that were used to package cosmetics and the Wiffle Ball, an American institution, was born.
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Oh, Wiffle Ball, Wiffle Ball, it nearly compels me to wax poetic. I'm now 46 years old, but the love that I have for the game of Wiffle Ball will possess my heart long after my body has any capability to throw a breaking pitch!
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My Brother and I were born to a beautiful, baseball-loving woman. Shirley grew up following the Cincinnati Reds, and as a child she acquired a nickname based on a long-forgotten Big League pitcher. As an adult, she worked for the Los Angeles DOdGers and the Los Angeles Angels (that was before they became the California Angels, and then the Anaheim Angels, and then the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, and then the Chicago White Sox Victims). She instilled in her two boys and one daughter a love for America's pastime. (In fact, my sister was the first girl we ever heard of to play on a boys' Little League team.)
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But when we weren't on a baseball diamond with 7 other guys, and when we couldn't scrounge up 2 other guys to play a game of "Over-The-Line" at the park, my Brother, Napoleon, and I were battling it out in a game of Wiffle Ball in the yard.
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We had some outrageously competitive games in our "Glory Days." We perfected the art of pitching a Wiffle Ball and baffled many a batter who tried to hit us. I remember 1990 and a young, athletic college student who, claiming to have played Wiffle Ball throughout his childhood, challenged this old geezer on the UCLA field behind the John Wooden Center. Well, my screwball was only breaking about 10 feet that day, and after taking it for strike three about a dozen times, he just shook his head, and I concluded that whatever game he was playing as a child, it WASN'T what my Brother and I called, "WIFFLE BALL."
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If you have never owned a Wiffle Ball, you've never really been alive, my dear friend! Although they do tend to crack between the oblong cutouts after some time (especially if you hang too many curveballs for my Brother who swings with great authority), they will last for countless hours of baseballesque bliss and excellent exercise! They can be used anywhere outdoors because the Wiffle Ball weighs only two-thirds of an ounce, and if Nappy never knocked one through a window, neither will you!
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And although the Wiffle Ball is light, it does not follow that it should be taken lightly. After San Francisco Giant (man, do I hate the Giants!), Kevin Mitchell, won the 1989 National League MVP award, he publicly stated that he had really learned to hit the curveball by playing a lot of Wiffle Ball the previous off-season. One of the greatest hitters of all-time, San Diego's Tony Gwynn, used to hit Wiffle Balls off of a batting tee because he could tell from the spin where he had struck the ball. Play with a Wiffle Ball and you're in Big League company!
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And SURPRISE! Wiffle Balls are still made in the U.S.A. The day production moves to Communist China, I'll jump. Twelve Wiffle Balls are currently going for $14.95, that's only $1.25 per ball. Do you have any idea how much fun you can have with a Wiffle Ball? Well, take my word for it, you'll get more than a dollar and twenty-five cents worth!
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Now all you need to do is get the regulation, Old School, plastic yellow ("banana") bat. Of course, if you really want to splurge you can purchase the newly invented aluminum Wiffle Ball bat. Funny story: My dear ol' Ma bought an aluminum Wiffle Ball bat as a gift for my Brother on his birthday. But she wasn't sure what size to get, so she called the company. "How old is your son?" the representative asked. When she said, "Forty-one", he laughed loud and said, "I think you'll want to go with the heaviest model."
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One of the great disappointments in my life (SERIOUSLY!) is that they didn't think to organize Wiffle Ball competitions until Nappy and I were in our 40's. We scouted out the competition at the "Wiffle Ball World Series" here in Phoenix a few years ago. (Players fly in from all over the country!) We figured that even at our advanced age and with my arthritis, we could still give those young studs all they bargained for and more, if we polished our long-neglected technique over the next year. Alas, it never happened, what with work and life and all the other crap that gets in the way of Wiffle Ball play.
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But that doesn't mean YOU can't fly into Phoenix next year and win the title! Get to it, man! Get yourself a dozen Wiffle Balls, a "banana" bat and start practicing. Hint: The ball breaks in the direction of the solid half. Want to throw a 'Drop'? Make sure the solid section is on the bottom at your release point. Then get inventive -- there are innumerable variations on that theme! You can thank me for the hint when you see me. You'll recognize me because I'm always the guy who picks up the suitcase that comes around on the airport luggage carrousel with a plastic yellow bat strapped across the top of it!
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~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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EXAMINES EVERY FACET OF THE DIAMOND

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THE BASEBALL FAN'S COMPANION:
How To Watch The Game Like An Expert
by Nick Bakalar
published: 1996
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OK, I've got good news and bad news.
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THE BAD NEWS: I read Nick Bakalar's book, 'THE BASEBALL FAN'S COMPANION' in its entirety and only encountered a couple of things about baseball that I didn't already know.
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THE GOOD NEWS: I'm forty-six years old, I've spent my entire life watching, following and playing baseball. I have a lifetime's worth of baseball knowledge crammed into my grey bean and this book covered all of the information that it took me over four decades of devotion to baseball to acquire. So what I'm really saying here is that if you are new to baseball and want to gain a full understanding of how the game is played and the strategies that are employed by managers and players in an attempt to score at least one more run than their opponent does, then this book is all ya really need.
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Some people claim that BASEBALL IS LIFE. I won't go that far, but I will say that baseball is far and away my favorite sport (followed by football and then chess. And if you don't think chess is a sport it's only because you've never sat across a board from me. Chess is not only a sport, but I prove it to be a CONTACT sport!)
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When my Pa married my Ma, he didn't know much about baseball, after all, Los Angeles was football territory and professional baseball didn't reach that city until 1958, the year my parents tied the knot and the same year that the Dodgers moved West. My Ma was already a baseball junkie coming from Cincinnati where she'd dated a couple of the Reds players at different times and followed the team almost like a religion.
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When the Dodgers followed my Ma West to L.A., she took a job with the organization. While Dodger stadium was still under construction, she was told to go down on her lunch break and select her seats if she wanted to purchase season tickets. Being a very smart woman, she went down and chose the two best seats in the stadium. (No, I'm not kidding.) Subsequently, my Bro, my Sis and I all literally grew up at Dodger stadium, raised on Dodger Dogs, peanuts and Cracker Jacks.
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I have photos hanging on the walls of my house that show me hanging out with the likes of Sandy Koufax, Duke Snider, Jim Gilliam, and Dick Bass, etc. (If yer a real sports fan you know that the last name belongs to a famous Rams running back, not a baseball player.)
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Even when our family was fairly poor in later years, with financial help from my Grandpa, we still managed to keep the season tickets and now my Aunt Jane owns them. I'm telling you all this only so you will appreciate the fact that baseball has really been a very significant part of this reviewer's life. I KNOW THE GAME! And if you want to know the game as well as I do, all ya gotzta do is read 'THE BASEBALL FAN'S COMPANION'.
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Nick Bakalar does a fine job in explaining the sport and examining all of its nuances; everything from the art of pitching, defensive positioning, hitting, and even the largely misunderstood science of baserunning / basestealing -- this is where even many serious fans fall short in their understanding. In other words, Bakalar's "got all of the bases covered." (Sorry, sometimes I can't help myself.) He explores the thinking of pitchers, hitters, position players, managers and even umpires, which he claims "are people, too" (although he didn't prove that to this reader's satisfaction). And Bakalar does it all with clarity, humor, and an obvious passion for the game.
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If you've been sitting there watching a baseball game and thinking that it's slow and boring because nothing seems to be happening, it's only in your mind where nothing's happening. You simply haven't grasped the game yet. As my friend, Rick Bass (son of Dick Bass), who played professionally says, "There's ALWAYS something happening in baseball!"
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This book will get your head in the game. I won't say it's a home run; I'll say he's hit the ball into the gap for a three-bagger, only because I take exception to his analysis comparing Dave Kingman with Tony Gwynn. (Gimme Gwynn any day! Bakalar didn't factor in where the two hit in the order: Kingman's job was to drive 'em in; Gwynn's was to be on base to BE driven in. Which one completed his assignment most often, and what was the quality of the players surrounding them?) And in his fun chapter, 'CHATTER: How They Talk Baseball And How You Can Too' (which will have you speaking "Baseball lingo" as well as I do in no-time flat) he missed one of the most obvious: A "Twin Killing" means a double play.
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Ladies, are you sick and tired of hearing your husband say, "Not now, honey. It's the bottom of the tenth with two outs, a full count, the winning run in scoring position, the closer is wild and the cleanup hitter's in the box" and wondering what in the world he's talking about? Then get 'THE BASEBALL FAN'S COMPANION'. The next time you'll be able to answer your husband with, "When he strikes out chasing the high cheese, come here and give me a hand" and yer couch potato hubby's gonna fall right outta the cushion's indentation.
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I need to close this review with one of my favorite baseball stories (not included in Bakalar's book) about Ted Williams -- in my opinion, the greatest hitter who ever lived:
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There was a young pitcher new to the major leagues. He was facing a batter by the name of Ted Williams. "Ball three", said the umpire; and the pitcher walked halfway to the plate and screamed, "What was wrong with that pitch?!" The umpire dusted off the plate without answering. The young, frustrated pitcher wound up and threw; Williams whacked the ball and it flew over the Fenway Park fence for a home run. The umpire walked out toward the pitcher and said to the rookie, "You see, son, when you throw a strike, you don't have to look to me; Mr. Williams will let you know."
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~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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Hitting It Right On "THE SWEET SPOT"

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[This review was published at Amazon.com on March 17, 2005. I was so pleased with the results that, for the first time in my life, I began to consider myself a genuine writer. I celebrated by taking my Ma -- the greatest lover of baseball I've ever known -- to her favorite Thai restaurant for dinner. A few days ago, I had an enjoyable discussion about Old School baseball with John Holton HERE, and felt inspired to re-publish this review here and now.]
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DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER:
Artists And Writers On Baseball
edited by Peter H. Gordon
published: 1987
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Can it really be that no one has posted a review of DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER before now? Wow! "WHO'S ON FIRST?" It looks like I am!
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The recent pennant-clinching victory of the Boston Red Sox (hate 'em) over their arch nemesis the New York Yankees (hate 'em) and curse-busting Series sweep over the St. Louis Cardinals (hate 'em now -- the chokers!) inspired me to revisit my copy of DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER.
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"Whoever wants to know the heart and mind of America had better learn baseball", Jacques Barzun tells us on page 138. But I think Foghorn Leghorn said it best: "There's something - ah say - there's something kind of eew about a kid that's never played baseball."
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And although Football has now overtaken Baseball as America's favorite sport, the game played out on a green diamond is so ingrained in the American psyche that its idioms are commonly accepted facets of our lexicon. This is illustrated by Lesley Hazleton. Moving to the U.S., she was surprised to find that much of the English she had learned in Israel originated with our National Pastime: "I could touch base, give a ballpark figure, strike out and reach first base long before I realized that these were baseball terms." (page 15)
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DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER is a "gem" of a compendium celebrating the sport with baseball-themed art, photographs and excerpts from a variety of books, essays and poems. It truly reflects the mythology, the emotions, the poetry, and the mystique of the game. I like very little of the featured art, but the writing, being "uniformly" top-notch, more than compensates, and each of the smattering of photographs are worth a thousand top-notch words. This book really does get to "the heart of the hide"; a double-delicious dose of "Doubleday".
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Although free agency and the record-skewing, steroid-laden hulks like Barry Bonds with the 'Frisco Giants (REALLY hate 'em!) have killed off much of my interest, Baseball will forever be a part of who I am. Twice I witnessed perfection while in a Baseball stadium: Kirk Gibson's Game One-winning World Series homer in 1988, and the 1991 mound mastery of Dennis Martinez -- Major League Baseball's 13th Perfect Game. (Of course the combination of grilled Dodger Dogs and cold, tap beer was yet another type of "perfection" I often experienced at the old ballpark.)
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And if you're like me, then you learned some of life's most important lessons while on the green fields of Summer:
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* I once got drilled between the eyes by a hardball thrown by Craig Richardson, our team's strongest (and most erratic) arm. LESSON: Never sit on the grass behind the "Hot Corner" when Richardson is playing First Base.
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* After that, I always had one foot "in the bucket" at the plate. This was responsible for me striking out 21 times that season -- a team high that I was never able to quite match again, but leading to another LESSON: the importance of setting and trying to achieve personal goals.
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* The kid slid into second base on a steal attempt. I took the throw down from the catcher and applied the tag. And even as the umpire was signaling "Safe" I saw that no part of the boy's body was touching the bag, but the ball in my glove pressed against his calf. LESSON: Sometimes the "authorities" are wrong!
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* Called to "the hill" to pitch the Little League Yankees out of a jam, I saw that girl I had a crush on, Yolanda, was watching the game from behind the fence near our dugout. In my haste to get over there and talk to her, I fanned 3 consecutive batters. My Grandfather (the manager) came out to meet me. "You just struck out the side in order!" he excitedly informed me. I didn't know what that meant at the time and furthermore I couldn't have cared less -- I had nothing but that little cutie on my mind. LESSON: A man's love for a woman will supersede his love for the "diamond", but conversely, the diamond is a girl's best friend.
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* Growing up po' (not Third World po', of course, but American po'), one Summer my Brother and I played for a team in the "economically challenged" part of town. One day our Ma asked, "Do you realize that you're the only White guys on the team? Everyone else is Black." We both had to pause for several moments to contemplate that before answering, "Oh yeah, that's right, huh?" She later confessed that it was the proudest she ever felt of us. And she realized then and there that she had raised us well! LESSON: It don't matter what color your skin is, because when your team loses a ballgame, every player is BLUE!
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DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER really captures the magic of Baseball on several levels, but best perhaps in the photo on page 63: There's Wally Joyner, a California Angel in 1986, leaning against a thigh-high stadium fence, hand on hip, one leg casually cocked over the other, gazing off into the distant outfields -- oblivious -- flawless -- looking like a Greek god. There next to him on the other side of the fence, two blonde brothers, maybe ten years old, their heads tilted upward, mouths ajar, awe radiating from their eyes, and with their bodies leaning slightly away from Joyner -- one does not crowd a god!
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If you are a literate person and a true aficionado of the game of Baseball, but my review has failed to convince you that you need DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER in your bookcase, then there is no joy in DotComville -- mighty Stephen has struck out... again.
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~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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