Baseball, Boxing and Say it Aint Sosa

On Baseball


Back on the job, back on the blog.


Didn't mean to leave you guys hanging this long, but I just spent about 10 days off work and offline. I returned full time to the office and the blog on Monday, just in time to realize that baseball (you know, that sport I actually get paid to write about) has no off season. Just a series of meetings, transactions and, above all, rumours to liven the dead time between the World Series and Spring training.


And as they did this past summer, the rumours I care about surround the Blue Jays and their ace, Roy Halladay.



Roy Halladay leaves the mound after his last, last, final last start as a Jay...Perhaps


On Boxing


Of course, if you know the World's Greatest then you know baseball is only half the story this week. And if you know me then you already know the other half is the sweet science -- specifically Saturday's welterweight showdown between Manny Pacquiao and Miguel Angel Cotto.


If this fight doesn't have you excited then you don't love boxing. And if you don't love boxing then you need to watch this fight and let two of the top fighters on the planet change your mind.





Later this week, when I've had a few more hours to think and the guys who pay me have publish a story I wrote recently on the Pacquiao Effect, I'll weigh in on how this fight should unfold. Until then, check out Greg Bishop's highly readable feature in the New York Times about the relationship between Pacquiao and trainer Freddie Roach. I wish I could say my upcoming Pacquiao piece outshines this one, but Bishop's story is likely the best read anyone will pen on this fight, period.


Say it Ain't Sosa


I don't even know what to say for Sammy. 




First saw the image last Satuday, when the GF pulled it up and asked me to identify the man next to buxom brunette.


I couldn't.


I could tell from the background that the photo was snapped at the Latin Grammys, and in my head I ran a slideshow if every salsa singer I could think of and a few I can't even name, and none of them matched the photo.


I was stumped.



Then she filled me in.


Sammy Sosa.


Yikes.


Now, I understand that a man can change. I saw Sammy Sosa morph from a scrawny outfielder with a juicy jheri curl and warning track power to a 220-pound home run machine.


I also watched him evolve from a fringe player at Comiskey, to Wrigley fan favourite when he was bashing balls on to Waveland Ave., to a pariah when people figured out he had some pharmaceutical help in becoming one of the game's premier power hitters.


The one constant through all this change has been Sammy's skin colour.


He was a black dude when he struggled through his early career with the Sox and Rangers, and just as black when he took the witness stand in a congressional hearing about steroid use and suddenly forgot how to speak English.


But now, two years past his last major league game, he's lighter than Julian Bond? 


Did he trade drug tests for paper bag tests?


Makes no sense.


His friends have tried to explain away this latest change in Sosa's appearance, telling media outlets that he's simply undergoing a process that "rejuvenates" his skin.


But scroll up and tell me if that explains why his eyes, which used to be brown, are now Erick Sermon-hazel. Or if it explains why his hand is three shades darker than his face. Or if it explains his hair, which is strangely straight even by jheri curl standards. Back in the day folks called that a "conk," and Chris Rock just made a documentary about how painful, expensive and unhealthy that process is.


But I could be wrong.


I don't know the man or what's motivating this latest change. 


All I know is what I see, and what I see is, frankly, freaky.

Contreras y Ramirez -- What didn't make the paper...

You wouldn't know it by checking this blog lately, but I'm still covering baseball at the Star, working toward becoming the world's greatest, walking 'round the planet earth making money and having fun.

Latest stop, Chicago, where I covered the Jays/Sox series and interviewed Chicago's Cuban twosome, Jose Contreras and Alexei Ramirez about the recent warming of relations between the U.S. and Cuba.

Upset at his team's performance in the World Baseball Classic, Fidel begins training for a comeback...

Now that you've read the story, here's the story behind it:

Although both men are optimistic that they might one day reunite with relatives back home, neither feels comfortable returning to the island as long as one of the Castro brothers runs it. Yes, the U.S. now allows Cuban emigrants to travel to the island freely, but Contreras explained as far as the political establishment is concerned, guys like him -- high profile athletes who defect for big money contracts in the U.S. -- aren't just emigrants.

They're traitors.

So until Cuba has a ruler more sympathetic to guys who leave the island to chase their dreams, Contreras says he'll continue living in the U.S., seeing his relatives when they receive special clearance to travel to the Dominican Republic, and pining for a return to his island.

Those are pretty important details, and I'm sure you're wondering why they're missing from the story. There might be an explanation that makes sense, but for now we'll have to blame a newspaper industry that still doesn't know how to interact with the Internet.

The story I filed was a little too long for the space reserved for it in the newspaper, so a few paragraphs had to go. I get that. But why those paragraphs couldn't run online, where space isn't restricted, is a mystery I still haven't solved.

A little further behind the story....

If you've been following this blog (and I know some of you were before I went AWOL), then sabes que yo he estado practicando mi espanol. Todavia no es perfecto pero esta mejorando un poco cada dia.

Still, that doesn't qualify me to interview guys like Contreras and Ramirez en espanol, so a day before sitting down with them I enlisted White Sox media relations staffer Lou Hernandez to translate.

Understand that I don't always need the help. Jays shortstop Marco Scutaro, for example, is a good sport. He lets me practice my Spanish on him in interviews and I usually understand about half of what he's telling me. And earlier this month I started interviewing Tigers slugger Magglio Ordonez when I heard his halting English and stopped him short.

"Si estas mas comodo hablando en espanol," I told him. "Podemos hacer la entrevista en espanol."

He sighed in relief and we moved on.

So while we waited for the translator I chatted with Contreras en espanol, and learned that he loves Toronto -- especially Babaluu -- but hates the cold weather up here.

I told him I felt his pain.

He and Ramirez were also intrigued that I've actually been to Cuba, and when I showed Contreras the Cuban tourist money I still carry in my wallet he explained proudly to a disbelieving Dominican teammate that the money is worth as much as U.S. cash.

While talking with Contreras I got to use one of my favourite Spanish words: Aunque.

Translation: "Even though."

As in, "Aunque Canada es mi pais, Chicago es mi ciudad."

And interviewing Ramirez allowed me my first ever opportunity to use a phrase I've been eager to drop in conversation: Vale la pena.

Translation: Is it worth the sorrow/heartache/trouble.

Like Contreras, Ramirez talked a lot about the difficulty of leaving relatives behind in Cuba, so I asked him si "vale la pena estar aqui?"

For the record, he said si, vale la pena because he's living an entire family's dream by playing in the majors.

Anyway, as my former AfAm studies professor Charles Payne used to say, I said all that to say this:

I'm glad I made the effort to learn more Spanish over the winter and I'll be back in the classroom as soon as time and my budget allow it.

After Ramirez finished his interview Hernandez told me he had never spoken so freely to a reporter since coming to the White Sox last season.

Now it might have been simply that he was in a talking mood that afternoon. He might have been just as talkative with any of the other reporters who stalk locker rooms before and after games looking to scavenge a quote or two.

But I'm betting I'm the first mainstream reporter to ask him in (halfway decent) Spanish how he felt about the political situation back home. And I know I'm the first person to interview him who has also seen Manolito Simonet in concert.

Pretty sure that scored some points too.