HometownSource Blogs

I’ve been watching some of the recent Twins games on FSN North, and I must say it’s been.. well.. disturbing. No, I’m not talking about the Twins’ up-down play (this week: down). Minnesota’s fate in the American League Central is fairly well sealed; this clearly isn’t 2006. But hey, not to worry, we’ve got a new ballpark on the distant horizon, and enough good young players for optimism going into next year.

The disturbing element is the Twins broadcast team, which has been carrying water for Barry Bonds in a manner most degrading. As Bonds seeks to eclipse Hank Aaron’s home run record, Blyleven, Bremer, LaPanta, and Coomer rarely miss an opportunity to paint Barry and his fancy storebought forearms as a persecuted superstar. They wonder how we, the unappreciative fans of this game, can’t embrace his magnificent career; and why we can’t simply recognize these next few weeks as the historic, record-breaking period of wonder that it must be, a thing that we’ll surely describe to our grandchildren in glowing terms.

Last night was particulary stinky. During the postgame show, Ron Coomer belittled Commissioner Bud Selig, who dared to suggest in a recent announcement that Bonds might have some trouble ahead of him. Never mind that Selig has agreed to attend Giants games during this coming stretch, a clear act of goodwill toward Barry and the sadly drawn-out legal proceedings. No, apparently since old Bud didn’t come right out and bow toward the temple of Balco, he’s just no good for the game, to paraphrase Coomer. Uh, okay.

If it was just Coomer lecturing us on Bond’s greatness, so be it. I could throw that away with his other useless observations. But I expect far more from longtime broadcast veterans Dick Bremer and Bert Blyleven. Together they’ve called games for many years with a combination of wit and talent. When they team up to saddle me with the Barry-as-martyr routine, I just grab the remote and move, scowling, up the dial.

The difference in perspective, I believe, is this. I love baseball, the greatest spectator sport ever invented. And while I greatly admire the on-field talent of baseball players - at every level, from little league through town ball and on to the majors - I tend to view players as participants passing through a game much bigger than any of us.

When a pitcher scuffs a baseball or a baserunner steals a sign, it’s a tactical maneuver, worthy of a wink and a smile. A corked bat is merely borderline offensive in my book, an equipment infraction of somewhat minor proportions. But using steroids to enhance your performance and break long-standing records? Sorry, that’s just lame, an affront to the game’s core, and it deserves no small amount of scorn.

So when I tell my grandkids about Bonds and McGwire, suffice to say the terms will not be glowing, and the summer of 2007 isn’t likely to come up at all. Probably, I’ll shift the infield and bring out Aaron and his classic 715th shot against Al Downing, when I was but a boy. Perspective beats blind admiration, every time.

Sunday we took the family down the hill to our local town ball game, where St. Michael dispatched Dassel-Cokato in the final regular season matchup of the year. The St. Michael club struggled earlier in the summer, but finished with nine straight league wins to gain a tie for the North Star Central crown. They’ll take a break now with a bye in the first round of the 8B playoffs, then try and resume their run of success on August 8 at the tourney in Dassel.

Town ball is low-key compared to MLB of course, and substantially tamer in the stands than the circus-like atmosphere at Midway Stadium in St. Paul. For the record, I profoundly approve of all three alternatives. But here’s the deal. When a guy in amateur ball connects with a key hit, or a shortstop snatches one up to start a double-play, I give the same simple approving nod and clap of hands that I’d send toward Bartlett or Morneau. Same exact thing, because they’re playing the same perfect game.

UPDATE 7/26/07: As The Onion expertly reports, maybe I’m being a little harsh on the Barry. I should live and let live, like Bob Costas, whose knowledge of the game could run circles around Bonds for about a week, without requiring 3 days off after the effort.