Has South Park Jumped the Shark?

I still remember sitting down 12 years ago to watch a brand new episode of The Simpsons, the season 9 premier, entitled “The City of New York vs. Homer Simpson”. At the time I probably laughed, but, even then, I remember having this nagging feeling in the back of my head that something wasn’t quite right in Springfield.

It took me years to put my finger on it, but after a season or two of watching a family I had come to love but could now, suddenly, barely recognize, I latently realized the alarm bells that episode had set off. Starting around season 9, The Simpsons transformed from a show that featured characters which managed to strike a very personal cord with its viewers to, well, a cartoon family. No longer were these just yellow people with slightly exaggerated real-life faults: Homer went from dullard to mentally disabled, Marge turned from strong female figure to downright neurotic, and Bart crossed the line from mischievous to deeply troubled.

It’s really difficult to prove that one specific moment was the tipping point or catalyst for the downfall of one of the greatest television shows ever, but then again, it’s not like there isn’t a precedent for that idea. The obvious cliché to use here is that at some point The Simpsons ‘jumped the shark’, a phrase which derives from an episode of the classic show Happy Days; a cliffhanger in which (I kid you not) Fonzie attempts to jump over a shark on water skis. Now, the show had probably been going downhill long before that, but for many fans that episode -- an ill-fated attempt to boost ratings during a season where the movie Jaws and daredevil stunts of Evel Knievel were the two hottest trends in pop culture -- has been forever crystallized as the moment when Happy Days died.

On October 8, 2008 I had the same feeling I did when watching my ‘jump the shark’ Simpsons moment. I don’t watch much television anymore, but I am obsessive about South Park, which, in my mind, has been the smartest thing in pop culture for the better part of a decade. On that day I was sitting down to watch the first episode of the second half of season 12, the first time a new episode had aired in about 6 months. Obviously my anticipation was high, but unfortunately I would end up quite disappointed that evening. Without giving a long synopsis of the episode, “The China Probrem”, suffice it to say that -- always the racist sociopath -- Eric Cartman’s paranoid theories and misguided prejudice became not only far too cartoonish and unbelievable, but just didn’t seem to serve any larger message other than to obnoxiously shove Asian stereotypes unto the viewer.

“With Apologies to Jessie Jackson”, season 11’s opener, utilized a similar strategy by repeatedly using ‘the N word’ throughout, but at no point did its use feel unnecessary or forced, and more to the point contained some of the sharpest satire the South Park writers had ever come up with, and perhaps their best since taking on the Terry Schaivo shitstorm. But when Cartman starts to think that the headquarters for the impending Chinese takeover of America are located within a P.F. Chang’s, and that all he needs to do to fit in is wear bucked teeth, squint, and use the phrase “herro prease” over and over, what is it accomplishing aside from producing the shock value of seeing these stereotypes on a television screen?

Granted, South Park has always made its hallmark on shock value. However, in the show’s less refined early days, shocking people was still worth something, as the team was legitimately pushing the boundaries of what you could and could not do on cable television. And as it progressed and utilized more social satire, they continued to shock by taking on subjects normally looked at with Holy Cow sentiments, such as religion or abortion. When a subject that came up that was finally considered taboo by their network -- depicting the Muslim prophet Muhammad -- the writers decided to bite the hand feeding them and did everything they could to point out the hypocrisy of being allowed to depict Jesus defecating on an American flag (really), but not Muhammad holding a football helmet.

What is troubling is that there are signs all around that South Park has ‘jumped the shark’. Since their “Imagionationland” trilogy aired in October 2007, it’s very difficult to argue that the South Park team has put out anything truly great, whereas before they seemed to come up with something which turned heads several times a season. While there have been a couple moments since then which have led me to hold out hope that they may still have some magic left (“Tonsil Trouble” and “Margaritaville” for example) even their high points just don’t have the same kind of depth as an episode like “Trapped in the Closet” which actually gets better with repeated viewings.

So, season 13 of South Park resumes on October 7. I’ll be watching. However, my expectations will certainly be tempered. As much enjoyment as I’ve gained from the series, it’s equally uncomfortable to watch something you’ve followed with such reverence slowly becoming a shell of its former self. So that being said, here’s hoping that the South Park team have a couple more stories to tell to close out the last couple seasons of their remarkable run.

The Day That Green Day Died (To Me)

Some time in 1995, months after it was first released I bought a copy of Dookie, probably the first album I ever found by someone I didn’t hear about through my parents. Thereafter I bought every Green Day album the day they were released into stores and continued this tradition even as my interested in punk rock waned, if only as just a debt of gratitude to a band who was very important to me at one point in time. Amazingly, over about a decade of buying the band’s albums, and despite the fact I grew less interested in the genre of music they helped define and bring to a mass audience, I never lost respect for the Oakland trio.

Perhaps Green Day’s biggest contribution to music in a broader scope was bringing into clearer focus the idea of ‘selling out’ and what that term meant to punk rock purists. Nirvana, a couple years earlier, faced many of the same issues of maintaining respect and integrity in the face of the music industry, but the die-hards of grunge never shared quite the same level of fervor against mainstream success. Green Day, on the other hand, very much belonged to a close-knit scene on Gilman Street in Berkeley whose credo was entirely Do It Yourself.

When the band put out Dookie, their major label debut, in 1994 and, coincidentally, its sound was something which overtly lent itself to radio play -- at least far more so than anything they had created before -- longtime fans used to seeing the band at small clubs took this as abandonment. In their minds, Green Day were now writing disingenuous songs aimed at capturing larger audiences, leaving personal accessibility and that DIY ethic behind for a short-lived cash grab.

Looking back, that seems like a difficult position to take. Most songs from Dookie were written long before the album was ever put together, and moreover it’s just too hard to paint a picture of Billie Joe Armstrong locked away somewhere slaving meticulously over that next hook. They just never seemed to take themselves that seriously.

Unfortunately, after listening to Green Day’s new album, 21st Century Breakdown, that can no longer be said. In fact, for a band which -- years before Blink 182 came along -- found success by singing about masturbating, the surprising problem with this record is that it is so masturbatory. The reason Green Day was always so appealing was that they were one of the few mainstream artists who never seemed to treat their ‘art’ with any sort of reverence. Rather, irreverence was their art.

For instance, much of the impact of “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” was that it was a unique reflective moment hidden amongst an album, (my personal favorite) Nimrod, full of bombastic noise. More importantly, it was executed with Billie Joe’s characteristic snarkiness: those of us who knew laughed every time an effective ‘fuck you’ song was played at a high school graduation, or the series finale of Seinfeld. Shouldn’t the title have tipped more people off?

The first warning sign that 21st Century Breakdown would be bad, blinking yellow months before the album dropped, was when the band revealed that longtime collaborator and producer Rob Cavallo, for the first time since Dookie, would not have any hand in its production. The result -- much like former touring mates Jimmy Eat World, who put out three great albums with Mark Trombino before jumping producers and the shark simultaneously, but probably not coincidentally -- is that while the album still mostly sounds like Green Day, no part of it comes off as edited or pared down in the least. It’s bloated with too many half-baked ideas.

“¡Viva la Gloria!” creates an archetype for several Breakdown cuts, beginning with a wholly unnecessary piano-driven piece, barely connectable to the following song, before blasting into something which, while at least vaguely resembling a more familiar Green Day, is undoubtedly cheapened by that overwrought prelude. “Last Night on Earth” sounds like what it likely is, a cheap Beatles rip -- which, considering their b-side cover of John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero”, ought to come as no surprise -- and “Restless Heart Syndrome” sounds far too much like a Guns N’ Roses-style ballad (with awful/cheesy title to boot) to be taken seriously.

However, my main beef with this record is not just with the music itself, but also the band’s second take at a concept album. While it may seem somewhat contradictory to criticize Green Day for their jaunt into high-mindedness on Breakdown while American Idiot really set the precedent for their attempts at political grandiosity, at least the story of the latter is somewhat intelligible, and -- despite the unnecessary jigsaw puzzle of a song like “Jesus of Suburbia” -- doesn’t distract the listener to the point where the album can’t just be enjoyed as a normal 13 track record.

Songs like “Wake Me Up When September Ends” and “Are We the Waiting” do veer disturbingly into arena rock, but others such as “American Idiot”, “Holiday” and “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” are great singles, and work in the context of the Green Day who put out an album like Warning. And if you were really jonesing for some classic early 90s-sounding punk rock, then all you had to do was look up any one of the band’s side projects (Pinhead Gunpowder, Foxboro Hot Tubs, or The Network) who sound more like Green Day then, well, Green Day.

But going back, what exactly makes Breakdown a concept album? The fact that the first song and the last song feature the same piano riff? Is that what passes for ‘artsy’ nowadays? I’m not exactly sure, but on this attempt at storytelling it’s nearly impossible to tell who the characters are, much less discern any plot or message behind its lyrics. Granted, just about every song is steeped in a paranoia borne against some invisible enemy, but they just end up coming off like the rants of a stereotype über-liberal undergrad: lots of exuberance and a chip on the shoulder in regards to ‘the man’, but containing little real substance or insight.

Growing older and having families; dealing with going on the road and leaving those families behind; living up to the high levels of critical success people have come to expect from you; living up to the punk rock stereotype while approaching 40. These are the sorts of things I would like to hear Green Day sing about, these are the sorts of subjects that Billie Joe began to touch on in Warning. American Idiot may have been an acceptable foray into political writing -- they were pissed off at the government, we were all pissed off at the government -- but at a certain point you have to get over it and tell your own stories.

If the band had always made their mark using platitudes, then perhaps I would be willing to give them a break. But hell, isn’t “Nice Guys Finish Last” satirizing clichés like ‘nice guys finish last’? Quite frankly, I don’t want to listen to a Green Day with a mission statement. Or wearing eyeliner. Largely what makes American Idiot passable is the fact that, despite its purported concept, it isn’t always so organized, with large portions featuring the same kind of unrefined passion that always made the band great. However, 21st Century Breakdown's very essence is so contrived it’s too hard to get past its obvious delusions of grandeur.

So, in closing, I pose this question to Green Day: do you even know who your enemy is? Are you sure they even exist?

Nimrod-era Green Day... before the eyeliner

Why Pedro Martinez is the Greatest Pitcher Ever

Though it is very much a matter of opinion, and there is the well known paradox of comparing players of different eras, I will contend that the question of who the greatest pitcher baseball has ever seen is actually not as difficult to answer as you might think.

The names that usually get thrown about include Koufax, Spahn, Walter Johnson, and -- until his inclusion in the Mitchell Report -- Roger Clemens, but the purpose of this article will not be to surmise who has had the biggest (or smallest) career totals, nor the most incredible single-season flameouts, but a middle ground of who was the most dominant pitcher over a reasonably-long peak period in their career.

When measuring the greatest seasons ever by a hurler, who befuddled hitters the most? The answer is Pedro Martinez, and it’s not particularly close. To really understand just how incredible Pedro was, we will first take a look at his statistics between 1997 and 2003 before comparing those numbers to other pitchers’ historically great seasons, and finally put those numbers in a historical context. In short, between those 1997 and 2003 seasons, Pedro Martinez’ average numbers were as good as any pitcher in the live ball era has put up over their single best campaign.

One of the most useful statistics that Sabermetrics has provided the average baseball fan, now appearing in common player profiles alongside wins and ERA, is WHIP. Why this stat is useful is because it essentially yields a ratio of the number of base runners a pitcher gives up per inning, probably a more accurate judge of a pitcher’s effectiveness than just the number of runs they are actually responsible for, which brings in many more variables outside of that one player’s control. That being said, between ’97 and ’03 Martinez’ WHIP was a paltry .94. For any pitcher, giving up about one hit per inning is very, very good; Martinez did not even allow one baserunner per inning over a period of 7 seasons.

During this time he also struck out 1.25 batters per inning, an incredible rate. Compared with Nolan Ryan’s 1973 season -- where he set the single season (modern day) record with 383 punchouts, but did so over 326 innings for a rate of 1.17 strikeouts per inning, one of the best ratios of his career -- Martinez does better over a much longer period of time. The point is that even Ryan, considered by many to be the best strikeout pitcher ever, may have put up staggering totals but did not strike out batters as frequently as Martinez even in just his peak single seasons, much less over 7 years.

So not only did Pedro not allow baserunners, he didn’t even allow the opposition to make contact. In 1999 through 2001, especially, Martinez’ numbers became just plain silly. During these years he put up strikeout rates of 1.47, 1.31, and 1.40, respectively. Though 2001 was slightly truncated by injury, the overall enormity of these stats is staggering. Particularly in 2000, where Pedro put up a corresponding ERA of 1.74 and WHIP of .74 (!!!), the man was simply dominant on the mound.

So why are these numbers so special? Quite frankly, there is no modern referent for these statistics. Even among the best pitchers in the history of the game, a full season with a WHIP under 1.00 is extremely rare, and even the best strikeout rates year to year are usually just over 1 per inning; there are only so many other players with whom Martinez is even worth comparing. So let’s do just that and look at Martinez’ 2000 season next to four of the very greatest in the modern era.

First up is Sandy Koufax in 1965 where he put up a record of 26-8, an ERA of 2.04, a WHIP of .86, and recorded 382 strikeouts in 335 and 2/3 innings; second is Bob Gibson’s 1968 at 22-9 / 1.12 / .85 / 268 / 304 and 2/3 IP; third is Greg Maddux’ 1995 with 19-2 / 1.63 / .81 / 181 / 209 and 2/3 IP; and finally is Randy Johnson’s 2001 season with a record of 21-6 / 2.49 / 1.01 / 372 / 249 and 2/3 IP.

What is remarkable about all of these numbers is that in none of these seasons were these pitchers able to match Martinez’ knack for both striking out batters, and keeping them off base entirely. While Nolan Ryan, as already mentioned, was one of the great strikeout pitchers in history, he was nearly as well known for his wildness, and often relied on the strikeout to get himself out of trouble.

While in 2001 Randy Johnson managed to best Martinez’ career-best K/IP ratio from 1999 with a staggering 1.48 k/IP, his overall numbers don’t quite match Martinez’ during his prime. In 2004 Johnson did post a WHIP of .9, but even that number doesn’t match Martinez in 2000. The closest competitor in that category -- Maddux in 1995 with a WHIP of .81 -- did not have nearly the strikeout rate Pedro had at any point during his career.

So perhaps the next best season to Martinez’ peak years would be Koufax in ’65; all the more impressive due to the number of innings he threw. However, discounting the extra workload, Koufax’ overall numbers that summer don’t quite stack up to Martinez’ magical 2001 campaign. Moreover, even Koufax in his noteworthy, brief career did not put up consistent greatness on the level of Martinez between 1997 and 2003.

So why was Pedro Martinez the most dominant pitcher in Major League Baseball, ever, during his prime seasons? Because of the amazingly few number of hitters he allowed to so much as touch first base, and the fact that they usually didn’t even manage to get out of the batters box. To bring attention back to the fact: Martinez posted a WHIP of .74 during the 2000 season. Point. Seven. Four. Only one other pitcher, as was showed, has even come within a tenth of a point of that number over a full season.

But perhaps the most impressive fact about Martinez’ career: he did all this smack dab in the middle of the steroids era. Pedro put up the best pitching statistics in the history of baseball during a time in the game when run production was at an all-time high. Assuming that he himself is clean, there can be absolutely no doubt that Pedro Martinez was the most dominant pitcher baseball has ever seen, and the only thing we have left to wonder is, such as with Koufax, what amazing career numbers could he have put up had his body been able to hold out longer.

Review: Doves - "Kingdom of Rust"

I’ve always found it very challenging contextualizing Doves. On the one hand, their music cannot be discussed without mentioning the larger Brit rock movement that they are, unwilling or otherwise, undoubtedly a part of. However, on the other, their sound is such a huge departure and, let’s be honest, so much more mature than their more commercially successful peers that it seems almost insulting to mention them in the same sentence as a band like Coldplay.

Then again, “Caught by the River,” from their second full length, The Last Broadcast, was featured in one of those episode-closing, really formulaic and cheesy musically-backed narrations in an episode of Scrubs. And “Words” was used for an NBA basketball commercial. So maybe they aren’t that far removed.

I was a relative latecomer to Doves, being turned onto them by a friend telling me to listen to the utterly gorgeous single “Snowden” from Some Cities in 2005. That song is still one of my very favorites ever, and I have grown quite fond of a large part of the band’s back catalogue since then, eagerly anticipating their newest release, Kingdom of Rust. And while no song may illustrate how Doves distinguishes themselves from their UK contemporaries better than “Snowden”, this album is easily their most successful in terms of accomplishing their strategy across an entire album.

Around the 2:15 mark of “Snowden” -- a perfectly balanced single in its arrangement -- the song seems about ready to hit its apex and take the listener up a notch on the intensity meter. However, when the guitar comes into relieve singer Jimi Goodwin’s repetitive lead in to this interlude, the result isn’t a U2-style blast of distortion, but the unnerving crackling of a dying amplifier tube burning out. The message is this: while so many other Brit rock bands aim for the moon and launch their songs with the kind of grandeur deserving of arenas and lighter-substituting-cell phones, Doves don’t operate with those same kind of pretentions, preferring instead to challenge the listener with something less sonically massive, but ultimately more rewarding.

There’s an old saying amongst baseball pitchers about ‘reaching back for a little less’ when they’re in a jam; meaning challenging the hitter’s expectations by throwing something offspeed rather than slaving to adrenaline and trying to blow a fastball by them. This is what Doves do with their songs. While their British brethren continually try to go bigger and bigger, when those song-defining moments arrive, Doves live by the adage ‘less is more.’

Now, this isn’t to say that there isn’t a lot going on with any Doves record. Kingdom of Rust is flush with the dense shoegaze-ish layering of sound that distinguishes the band and gives them their identity, as opposed to being pigeonholed to either Brit rock or indie rock no man’s land. Tracks like “The Greatest Denier” and “House of Mirrors” glisten with the kind of ambience that stoners claim they can see, while others such as “Birds Flew Backwards” bring a more focused approach to the type of down tempo songs that the band typically uses to break up their albums. Like the vaguely Zero 7-sounding track “The Storm” from Some Cities, “Birds Flew Backwards” provides some strings-laden reflection. “Compulsion” even has some Misfits-worthy vocal wails.

Opening track “Jetstream” is yet another foray into electronic dabbling for the band. It is vaguely reminiscent of something like Muse’s “Take a Bow”, the kickoff song for their last record, but, in characteristic Doves fashion, does not feature a similar moment of impact which takes a band like Muse into a prototypical soundtrack-to-the-apocalypse episode. Instead, “Jetstream” hints at a climax that never quite arrives, and while some may consider this a tease, Doves strings the listener along with such precision that they’re really just along for the ride. Any preconceived notions of what constitutes ‘dramatic’ rock music are (joyously) thrown out the window.

Much like Some Cities, Kingdom of Rust really is defined by a single track. Amazingly, both albums as wholes actually hold up to scrutiny, which really serves as a testament to how great Doves are at capturing their very best ideas. But on this album, that song is “Winter Hill”, somewhere in between the aforementioned “Words” and a faster-paced “No Surprises” by Radiohead; which is appropriate as this is one of two tracks on the album produced by John Leckie, who manned the knobs of landmark album The Bends. Not only does the song contain some of the loveliest melodies ever crafted by the band, but they are complemented by musicians finding a perfect harmony between ambience and focused clarity in their instrumentation and tones. Just as “Snowden” serves Some Cities, “Winter Hill” is not only the album’s most aesthetically pleasing song, but also its most flawlessly constructed.

Like so much of Doves career, Kingdom of Rust is highlighted by its shying away from overreaching to artificially produce that routinely Wal Mart-bought faux grandiosity. While this has probably prevented them from achieving the same level of notoriety acts like Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Travis, or the Gallaghers have enjoyed, it has (most of the time) also made them much more interesting to sit down and listen to. On this album, Doves have not only perfected ‘reaching back for a little less’, but have conversely learned how to keep this strategy more focused and less meandering. The result is something special. A lot of listeners may not appreciate the subtle changes in the band’s approach, and the less familiar may pass it off as ‘just indie rock’, but ultimately this record is going to be one of the most rewarding listens of 2009.

9/10

Can We Finally Agree Manny Ramirez is a Jerk?

It should be no surprise that when I awoke this morning to the already ubiquitous headlines that Manny had tested positive for – wait for it – a female fertility drug that is used to help the body recover after a period of steroid use, I cracked a distinct smile. One, as I’ve already stated, I don’t like Manny. But two, I will admit, as an Angels fan, to harboring a certain resentment towards the Dodgers for continuing to trump the Angels’ media coverage during a time when they are run by a two-faced owner in Frank McCourt, and have been far less successful on the field in recent years than that other LA-area ballclub.

When the Dodgers first acquired Ramirez and soared into the playoffs on his dreadlocked shoulders, I began to resent them, and their fans, even more for making an icon of a man who had gotten himself traded in the first place by doing something worse than steroids: intentionally dogging it on the field. And though I know that ultimately you can’t blame the fans of Chavez Ravine for cheering a player who was doing for their team what Ramirez was – regardless of his past behavior – there was still something really bitter about having Ramirez, of all people, casting his media shadow over the Angels during a season in which they, in fact, were the best team in town (any town, for that matter) by plain wins and losses.

But if I hate Ramirez so much, why have I dedicated so much time to writing about him? Well, quite frankly the guy is interesting; we all love to hate. But more to the point, the longer and longer his antics are allowed to continue, ‘Manny Being Manny’ serves as a belligerent euphemism which allows fans to overlook the worst behavior from a ballplayer since Pete Rose bet on games involving his own team. And, quite frankly, I am flabbergasted that so many baseball fans don’t recognize this.

Last night during the Rockets/Lakers game, Houston coaches took exception to Von Wafer’s lack of effort on the defensive end on the ball, and when they called him out on it on the bench Wafer said something (presumably) insubordinate, and was sent to the locker room early in a game in which they were already short Ron Artest. I haven’t scoured the Texas newspapers, but I’m assuming Wafer is going to be vilified by the local media. I fail to see much of a difference between Von Wafer’s insubordination and Ramirez intentionally dogging it to hurt the Red Sox last year. Both players are under contract for millions of dollars, and they are not fulfilling their obligations to those contracts by just not listening to their coaches nor, you know, actually trying.

So for the last time, can we all just agree that Manny is a jerk?

In my mind, this last offense on Manny’s part puts beyond any reasonable doubt that Ramirez is completely selfishly motivated and will do anything to accomplish whatever he wants to, at the expense of anyone, particularly teammates. Granted, there have been a couple times when what he wanted was a World Series title, but no one’s really sure when that is his goal or when it is securing his next contract.

There are, of course, those who are going to try and explain this away, as I have already seen several comments on the LA Times’ website to the effect of ‘all Manny is guilty of right now is making a bad decision in trusting a bad doctor.’ And, to be fair, this has been the common defense of a litany of other players who have been caught up in similar circumstances where an independent doctor gave them something to take, for which they claim to have a legitimate medical condition, and that the doctor did not know contained something on the MLB banned substances list. Phillies’ situational left-hander J.C. Romero is currently serving a 50 game ban for a very similar incident involving a supplement he supposedly bought at GNC. This excuse, however, is ridiculous.

I had two conversations about Manny today; one with a medical student friend of mine, another with a Massachusetts native and lifelong Red Sox fan. My doctor friend admitted that it is certainly plausible that an independent doctor could have been ignorant to the fine print on the MLB banned substances list. But Ramirez’ argument still didn’t pass muster with him, questioning why an MLB player, who is presumably provided the best possible medical care available, would even go to an independent doctor in the first place.

My extension of this query was that even if there were a way to justify seeing a doctor not recommended by the team, wouldn’t a player, particularly one of Manny’s stature, have that much more reason to ensure that what he was putting in his body wasn’t banned? I believe Manny is eccentric and egoistic, but I don’t think he is stupid. To suggest Manny is just a victim of a bad doctor or his own carelessness is just not thinking critically. And that’s not even mentioning that the fact checkers at ESPN and the LA Times have already noticed that Manny’s “physician was a cousin who can't be found, working out of a storefront that no longer exists.”

But, as always, the more important question is not whether Manny is culpable, because only those in complete denial will decry his guilt, but rather how, as fans, do we react to this and where do we place Ramirez in a historical context given this new revelation? First, Dodgers fans have the unenviable task of having to fully support Ramirez upon his return. Unfortunately for them, while their team should still have enough offensive weapons to hold on for 50 games and win their (very weak) division, LA’s lack of rotation depth means that Ramirez has to be an integral part of the team for them to accomplish anything in the playoffs.

For the front office, the offseason becomes a bit more tricky. The part about this entire episode which irks me the most is the fact that, in negotiating his two year 45 million dollar contract, when it became apparent that Ramirez was not going to receive the six year deal he sought, he became insistent upon controlling his contract, namely the fact that he can opt out of it after only one year and making $25 million (before his suspension forfeited $8 million) of that total this season. So, since Ramirez didn’t procure the contract he originally wanted, given his past actions in Boston it’s not hard to assume that he was highly motivated to perform well in 2009 so he could opt out of his Dodgers contract and get the deal he wanted in a better economy.

So, even if you forgive him for it, was Manny’s usage motivated by a desire to help his team to a title, or was it for his own personal gain? Obviously this is very much speculation, but whether it was pure greed or just doing something incredibly stupid in trying to gain that competitive edge, Ramirez, yet again, let his team down.

As for the Hall of Fame? Really, who knows. It’s certainly going to be very interesting over the coming years to see how baseball writers vote regarding players implicated in the steroids era, and it’s going to be very difficult to be consistent considering there’s really no way to know who did what. Still here’s guessing that lines will be drawn very starkly between players who were named, and those who weren’t. This isn’t fair, as there are undoubtedly many players in MLB clubhouses who have used banned substances and never been caught, but Hall of Fame voting for ‘roids era players will still likely be guesswork.

As for me, I don’t really have a strong opinion yet as to how players like Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens (who were potentially Hall of Famers before they touched ‘roids) should be treated by Hall Voters, but I do have a strong opinion on Manny Ramirez and all the times he let his team down, created drama to benefit his wallet, or flat out quit playing hard. So, regardless of historical context and all the larger issues, yeah, I would smile a bit if Ramirez never got a plaque in Cooperstown.

Who Cares About the PGA Tour?

I feel like I’m plagiarizing the following phrase, but the words have likely been repeated many times before me in the incredible number of keystrokes from professional journalists and amateur bloggers alike dedicated to the topic at hand. Yes, the PGA Tour got a glimpse of what ‘life without Tiger’ would be like and the results, predictably, were not pretty.

Even as a legitimately compelling story was emerging as Padraig Harrington won his second consecutive major championship at the ’08 PGA Championship, the absence of Tiger loomed large over the tournament as television ratings were about half of what they were the year prior when, of course, Tiger won. Moreover, they were down even further than that compared to the thrilling ’08 US Open, which (for a day) actually managed to draw more viewers than a simultaneously broadcast NBA finals game.

Granted, that was completely unheard of, and even Woods’ inevitable future major victories are unlikely to repeat that feat given the special drama that unfolded during that tournament between him and Rocco Mediate. But looking at the bigger picture, over the long months that Tiger was away from golf it became painfully obvious that, without him around, an amazingly few number of people care about the professional game.

Now, before I try to seemingly defend those bandwagoners, let me say that this is obviously not completely fair. All the golfers on the tour compete at an amazingly high level, and, regardless of whether or not Tiger plays, it truly is golf performed at its highest level.

That being said, I would rather go shoot in the 90s at that local course where the bunkers are really filled with dirt than sit around on a Sunday to wait and watch Zach Johnson lift a trophy. However, I have spent many a Sunday afternoon sitting on my couch transfixed on what Tiger Woods was doing on the TV screen.

I enjoy the sport of golf a great deal and, despite this confession, actually keep very informed on the Tour. But there is undoubtedly something to the old adage (really, let’s be honest here) that golf is not the most exciting sport to watch on TV. I encourage people to attend tournaments if they haven’t already done so, as the television really does no justice to just how good these guys are, but you couldn’t pay me to watch Thursday coverage of the RBC Canadian Open. It really just seems to be an inherent part of the game that its pace doesn’t translate well to television viewers more likely to sit down and watch Paul Pierce dunk over Kobe.

So how is Tiger Woods able to overcome this handicap?

The first thing he has going for him is the historical context of what he’s doing. Every victory is a part of something much larger, akin to the dominance of the early century Yankees or ‘90s Bulls, or the near perfection of the ’07 Patriots. Sports are always more compelling when there’s more on the line. And though fans seem to have an easier time attaching themselves to teams rather than individual-sport athletes, this doesn’t necessarily apply to individuals like Pete Sampras, Roger Federer, or Tiger whose triumphs have a greater importance in the history of their respective sports.

However, I don’t think this tells the whole story as to why Tiger is not only able to command a respectable TV viewership in general, but compete with the NBA finals for a day. More than just historical context, sports fans like to see events unfold with an ‘I don’t believe it’ appeal. Kirk Gibson’s famous game winning home run was only game one of the ’88 World Series, a series which wasn’t even particularly close, but the dramatic image of seeing Gibson, who could barely walk, beat one of the most dominating pitchers of his era in Dennis Eckersley, easily gets replayed more than Joe Carter’s game seven walkoff homer to win the ’93 series.

In short, Tiger just has a way of creating unparalleled drama.

Like Gibson, when fans tuned in to see whether or not to see Tiger could pull off his eventual US Open victory, a large part of that drama was provided by the fact the he, too, was completely hobbled. And while Tiger doesn’t play most tournaments using his driver as a cane, he does continually have a way of making the seemingly impossible happen.

The ’00 Pebble Beach Pro Am is remembered for Woods’ famous comeback from seven strokes down with seven to play -- including a hole-out eagle at 15 -- and the PGA that same year featured him making a 25 foot putt on the 72nd hole before beating journeyman Bob May (the original Rocco Mediate) in a three hole playoff; and these are just two examples from nearly a decade ago. One could also look at his most recent victory this year at the Arnold Palmer Invitational and his unnerving closing putt.

Granted it helps that by the time he’s done Tiger Woods will have smashed every career statistic the PGA Tour could possibly invent, but here’s guessing that if Woods weren’t around more weight would be on Phil Mickelson’s shoulders in terms of comparing him to the all time greats, even if he weren’t the very greatest, as Tiger will likely be considered. Celebrity in sports is easily manufactured by being successful compared to your peers.

However, while guys like Mickelson and Harrington have shown they are capable of winning, they have not shown the some flair for golf theater that Tiger has been able to produce. At the US Open, most golfers professed that they would have withdrawn from the tournament if they were in the kind of pain Woods appeared to be in. Tiger didn’t withdraw, he won the damn thing.

The real problem with the marketability with golf can be overcome. However, none of the current crop of Tiger’s supporting cast has shown the ability to create a truly great moment when he’s not there. Luckily for us, Tiger should be around for quite a while to provide those moments. But let's hope, for the good of the sport, that, when Tiger does leave us, his successors have at least a fraction of his knack for drama.