The premise is dumb. The message supposedly sent doesn’t resonate, the execution of the “fight” after the pitch is the equivalent of diamond stud collared chihuahua’s barking at each other from 10 feet away, and the retaliation beaning after is less exciting than a drunk fan on the field being chased by calorically challenged mall cops.
Let’s start at the beginning.
A pitcher, who since they were a tyke on a diamond, has given up many home runs over hundreds of innings. Is upset that a player equipped with a ball crusher, who has had well above average success with the stick to get to this point in his career, has smoked a seed over the wall. In Hunter Strickland’s case, he’s given up 57 long balls in his career, counting the minor leagues. He’s 28 years-old and has been hurling the rock professionally since 2007. This means he has been on the bump for well over 15 years. He has seen many rockets launched all over the yard, many legs have crossed the plate. It’s an occupational hazard. I’m sure it bruises the ego to see a ball hit so far it needs an oxygen mask.
This is where it gets tricky and where sports in general loses me. I’ll openly admit I have been cursed with the athletic ability of a three-legged blind cat suffering from vertigo, and unsurprisingly it has not improved with age. Having said that, in an arena at the highest level of competition, why is everyone so offended? I get it, you don’t get to the stage these ultra athletes have ascended to without strong belief you are the best and an ego to match. This isn’t little league, you’re not going to dominate all the time, and good sportsmanship isn’t required. But all those zeros on your check should ease the searing pain of your battered self-esteem.
There is going to be an epic moon shot blast leading a player should admire his work, a dunk so vicious a player has no physical choice but to let out a violent scream as the crowd erupts, a hit so hard that it registers on the richter scale. These outward signs of success most times are not attacks on the opponent, but true joy from the accomplishing player. You can show emotion, but it can only be so much, and it has to be respectful, l and that decision has to be made in a split second with your adrenaline on red alert. It has to be the right time and place, and you can’t be a young player who hasn’t earned it against a veteran who has, and I think and it can only happen on the first Thursday of the month. By the way, these aren’t rules in a book, and you should know them by the time you get here, got it? Good.
In the case of baseball, there is little to no reason for an on purpose beaning. Dirty slides are way down thanks to new rules. Replays most times correct umpire gaffes. I guess you could be offended by a disrespectful or cocky player on the field. Maybe an opposing player popped off and irked you in the media. That said, “because I beat you and watched it” is not on my hit list. Isn’t the best revenge 95 in the leg or 98 above the letters accompanied by a mighty swing and a miss and a lonely sulk back to the bench? That’s what sports is.
A beaning admits I can’t get you back any other way — I give up. You have frustrated me to such a level, here is the last resort, *plunk*. Competing and winning is the ultimate payback. If Strickland darts high cheese past Bryce Harper with no acknowledgement that he is any different than any other batter with a piece of wood in a been there, done that fashion, he wins. Professional sports is part physical, part mental. Right now, Harper knows Strickland doesn’t believe he can get him out in a traditional sense. If the Giants reliever uses his 98 MPH heater correctly, he has major doubts.
The final tally? People question Buster Posey’s team loyalty, because after all there is a code for that too. Mike Morse has a concussion. Hunter Strickland and Bryce Harper will lose time on the field due to suspensions, Bruce Bochy had to tax his bullpen additionally, because his player was kicked out of the game and one of the game’s biggest stars was removed as well. Somewhere down the line, Dusty Baker will order one of his pitchers to drill one of the Giants players, likely their best player, Posey. Hopefully the missile will be below the belt and not in the skull, risking further injury and the carousel will spin again. Benches and bullpens will clear, players who don’t want to risk harm to their golden tickets will hurl idle threats from 20 feet away, and after several minutes we can play baseball again.
Beanbrawls are stupid.
