A scientific categorization of the inhabitants of Tropicana Field

Greetings, I am not a scientist, I am just attempting to write like one.

In the last year I have been witness to a new type of species dwelling in the area of St. Petersburg, Florida. Although many deny their existence or claim they do not reveal themselves often enough for believability, I have seen them too often to think that they are not real. Through dozens of visits to the area and tireless observation, I have decided to take on the responsibility of document this new phenomenon for scientific prosperity.

The sun bears down on Tropicana Field, yet inside the 18-year old establishment the temperature is a cool, constant 72 degrees. A baseball field lay in the middle of the building and although some would say that is where the action is, my observations tell a far different story. It is in the stands surrounding the baseball field where these new, exciting, boisterous, charasmatic creatures dwell.

From my perch in the upper deck I can see most of the stadium. The only area outside my view is a small area beneath me, an area marked by announce booths and luxury boxes - hardly the subjects of study. More often than not I am surrounded by the beasts. They consume me and smother me with sounds of cowbells and voices. Led by a fuzzy whatchamacallit named Raymond, they call themselves "Rays' Fans" and have outshouted or drowned out every invading voice in Tropicana Field this year.

First, allow me to introduce "Cowbellicus Loudicus Fanicus". A staple at Tropicana Field, Cowbellicus has perhaps the loudest cowbell in the habitat. Combined with his flamboyant looks and optimistic demeanor, Cowbellicus Loudicus Fanicus is unmistakable. Despite the somewhat aggressive nature seen in the above picture, Cowbellicus Loudicus Fanicus is not considered dangerous. As long as you wear earplugs.

This species here is "Confidenticus Fanicus". New to Tropicana Field, Confidenticus Fanicus has faith were faith did not exist before. He cheers when things go right, and curses the visiting team when things go wrong. Although most Confidenticus Fanicus are fun-loving creatures, some do try to provoke alien species with derogatory chants and comments. When visitors to Confidenticus Fanicus's habitat attempt to respond, Fanicus usually replies with the phrase "Look at the standings."

Here you see a few examples of "Hotchickitus Rays Fanicus". Although Hotchickitus inhabited Tropicana Field before 2008, never before has the species been seen in such large numbers.

Here you can see "Exciticus Young Fanicus". The most new of new species to Tropicana Field, Exciticus Young Fanicus carries with it the hopes and dreams of a new generation. A generation that did not have to suffer through the Vince Namoli-era or have their eyes burnt watching Dewon Brazelton. This is the future.

This study inspired by Deadspin.com.

The Return of Thunder

When the Oakland A's traded pitcher Rich Harden, I did not think it would affect me in the least. I'm neutral on Harden and the Rays had already finished playing their season series against the Cubs. So although some people got excited, the latest baseball mega-blockbuster barely nudged my care meter.

How completely foolish of me.

Little did I realize that because of this trade I could once again be privy to greatness. Once again I had the opportunity to witness the awesome presence that is Thunder Matt Murton as his new team, the Oakland A's, visited beautiful Tropicana Field.

When I first saw his name in the lineup, I was pleasantly surprised. No longer denied by the oppressive Cubs organization, Thunder Matt not only started in left field for the A's, but he also batted clean-up, arguably the most important of all lineup positions.

And so it is with great honor that I may testify to my readers an eyewitness report of the July 22nd happenings of Thunder Matt Murton. Consider this, if you will, the hadith of the Redheaded Messiah.

1st AB: He struck out looking

2nd AB: He flew out to center

3rd AB: He grounded out to the catcher

4th AB: He popped a bunt to the catcher

5th AB: He reached on an error

To some, Thunder Matt may be a distant memory, but to me his legend lives on.

Yet, could there be another?

Defending the Rays Bandwagon

Hobo. Wanderer. Nomad. Vagabond.

Call me what you will, but I just completed my tenth move this decade. Eight years, seven apartments, two friends’ spare bedrooms, and one summer sublease.

I’m the Mike Morgan of the rental community.

One of the best aspects of my new place is the location. I am now only 30 minutes from beautiful Tropicana Field, home of the greatest trash can racers ever home of the Tampa Bay Rays.

Which, in turn, leads me to my topic du jour: the impact of the Rays newfound success. Particularly the use of the term “bandwagon”.

According to a BaseballCrank.com article posted way back in 2001, there are two types of bandwagon fans,

One is the frontrunner – the fan who switches gleefully from team to team, always in search of associating himself with a winner. The other is the fan who just doesn’t pay as much attention when the team is losing.

Although I have not yet met any of the former (a.k.a. the "LeBron James" Rays fan), many baseball fans here in the Tampa area are being accused of being among the latter.

I wholeheartedly disagree.

Even though you can’t spit without hitting someone in a Rays hat or a Rays shirt or any other type of Rays apparel, this should not be considered a bad thing. After nearly 10 years of mismanagement and front office ineptitude, the new Rays organization is finally starting to win. And of course the community has noticed. They would be foolish not to.

(Side note: when are the Rays going to make an American Express commercial like the one in Major League? How great would it be to see Joe Maddon say "We're contenders now," followed by Carl Crawford sliding across home plate with an American Express card? That would be priceless - oops, wrong credit card.)

Question: if you bought a CD by a local band to support them but found it was poorly done and sounded like someone farting on a snare drum, would you automatically buy their second release?

I wouldn’t.

Now imagine after you bought the first release, the band released 10 horrible albums, each more inept than the previous. Any rational buyer would probably be hesitant to purchase album 11.

But what if album 11 had three top hits? What if it was on the top of the Billboard charts? What if nearly every song was on the radio and people couldn’t stop talking about it? What if the band had finally gotten their act together and found their sound? Could you blame people for giving them another shot?

Sure, some people will always spend their entertainment dollar on baseball. They are fans; that’s what they do. But the majority need to see a good product. People want something that will convince them their money is better spent at the ballpark than at the movies, or the beach, or the mall, or anywhere else. I have no hate for these people. I don’t blame them for finally showing up. Some day, when the Rays border on average again, the casual fans will leave. It happens. And I won't blame the fans then either.

However, that said, despite my defense of the Rays bandwagon, there is one type of Tampa-area fan that turns me into the bartender in Star Wars. One type of fan that makes me say, “We don’t serve your kind here. You’ll have to wait outside.”

Unless the Rays are playing the Yankees, absolutely positively no Red Sox fan should be allowed to root for the Rays. Even if they sacrifice life and limb.

That's where I draw the line.

Seeing the Cubs vs Rays in 2008

Apparently the Rays were on ESPN Wednesday night. To be honest, even though I've lived in Tampa for the last two years, I've never seen the Rays on ESPN. I even missed this broadcast. You know why?

I was there.

Being that the Cubs and Rays both are among the best teams in baseball this year, to say I couldn't wait for this series was an understatement. I was curious to see how the Cubs would draw in Tropicana Field. I was eager to see this Fukudome guy. And I couldn't wait to talk a little back-and-forth with some my favorite fellow sports bloggers.

So because it is pretty late, I am going with the Readers' Digest condensed point style (kinda sorta like Tiger Style, but not as fatal):

- Before the game the local sports bar was completely covered in Cubbie blue (more on the "Cubbie" thing later). Being that good beer knows no enemies, I chatted for a bit with a few fans. Like I said, I was eager to know who traveled and who was actually from Florida. One guy I talked to came all the way from Des Moines. He said most of the flights to Florida leaving the airport were packed with Cubs fans.

- I'll admit, the Trop isn't even close to Wrigley Field. But it is our home, for now anyway. To paraphrase the ancient philosoph Donnie Rumsfeld, "You play ball in the stadium you got, not the one you want approved in November".

- Looking at the lineup, why was Mark DeRosa in left field? When did he become a LF'er? I thought he was a second baseman? What about the great Thunder Matt, the Mighty Matt Murton?

- Sure enough, DeRosa's shaky outfield defense proved to be a liability early, allowing the Rays to score first.

- In the third, with the Rays pestering Carlos Zambrano with numerous singles, I swear I almost saw smoke coming out of Zambrano's ears. He was not happy. I think I will dub him "Mount Zambrano". Not only is he a big dude, but he looks like he is about to blow at any moment.

- The last two games I've gone to have both been Andy Sonnanstine starts. Although I thought I was jinxing him earlier this season, he is actually not pitching that bad of late with me in the house. His JSIA ERA (Jordi Scrubbings in attendance ERA) is definitely a lot lower than it was.

- In the 6th inning, down 5-3 (maybe 5-2, I'm too lazy to look it up), Lou Pinella finally came to his senses and put Matt Murton in for 84-year old Jim Edmonds. Needless to say, the Redheaded Messiah came through with a single.

- During the seventh inning stretch, I did something I have always wanted to do. I sang "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" with thousands of Cubs fans. Ever since I first saw Harry Caray on TV singing at Wrigley, I've always thought singing with Cubs fans would be fun. Of course, during the part where they say "root, root, root for the Cubbies", I yelled "root, root, root for the Rays". Because if the Rays don't win, it is actually a shame.

- Ok, on to the "Cubbies" matter. Cubs fans have a chant, "Let's go Cubbies". Not the quicker, more aggressive "Let's go Cubs", which might strike fear into the heart of opponents, but "Let's go Cubbies". Cubbies. Hardly intimidating. They sounded like they were cheering for a group of Saturday morning cartoon characters - The Cubbies.

- Before I end, I just want to say I really, really hope in that long list of super prospects the Rays have in the minors that there is a future closer somewhere. Troy Percival scares me.

- Oh, and Cubs fans are a bit weird. They haven't won it all since Teddy Roosevelt was in office, but they remain totally optimistic. Some were even talking about when, not if, they make the playoffs. Shouldn't they be bitter and pessimistic? More power to 'em, I guess.

- P.S. Not that I think he will ever read this, but to the Cubs fan who was talking smack and asking Rays fans "When was the last time the Rays made the playoffs?": keep in mind while the Rays have not made the playoffs in their 10-year existence, the Cubs went from 1945 to 1984 without making the postseason. That's 39 years, if my math is correct.

Rooting Against Florida

This weekend posed an interesting dilemma for me. Before I moved to Tampa, I didn’t care a wit about the Tampa Bay then-Devil Rays. Throughout all my travels and no matter where I've lived, the Mets have been my team. For those who have read this site for any amount of time know, I’ve discussed my feelings for Mets quite a bit.

Although I was and remain a die-hard Mets fan, the Marlins presented me my first internal fan conflict. Sometime after becoming a big league franchise in 1991, the first owners of the Florida Marlins decided to host their spring training in Melbourne, Fla., where I lived as a teenager. Needless to say, I went to see the Marlins and their minor league teams on a pretty regular basis. Being that the ballpark was 10 minutes away, I gathered my share of autographs, memorabilia, and memories. Even though I still loved my Mets, the Marlins were my hometown team. I even dared call myself a Marlins fan.

Knowing the Marlins and their history, I've often stood alongside true Marlins fans and defended the team through the years. I've countered arguments with people who disagreed with the team's trade-and-reload management style, those who thought the team should be relocated, and even those who believe the team should be contracted or somehow combined with the Tampa Bay franchise. And in what may be possibly my biggest display of Marlins fandom, I drove nearly eight hours from Tallahassee to Dolphins Stadium with my college roommate, an absolutely die-hard Marlins fan, to watch the Fish reveal their 2003 World Series banner on Opening Day 2004 (see pic).

But now, four years later, I’ve found myself pulling one of the cardinal sins of fandom. Last night, I went to the Rays-Marlins game and rooted wholeheartedly against the team from South Florida. They were the enemy, same as any other team visiting Tropicana Field. Like the thousand and thousands of other Tampa Bay Rays fans in attendance, I cheered the Rays and booed the Marlins. Then, to top it all off, I even sent a few obnoxious text messages to that same former college roommate, bragging about the Rays victory.

(Side note: In response to one of my barbs, my former roommate responded with the Patrick Roy-inspired “I can’t hear you with my two world series rings in my ear.” Say what you want about the Marlins and their fans, but they do have that going for them.)

So am I a sports flip-flopper? Am I an unloyal Marlins fan? Or can my brief dalliance with the Marlins be written off, as I have moved on and they no longer train in Melbourne? Although I don’t see my Marlins-Rays internal conflict comparing to my torn heart, I do think once again, I am one of the most internally confused fans I know.

It Sucks To Be a Florida Marlin

Before I begin, I have to admit the title of this post is strictly to get attention. Of course, the Marlins don't actually suck. But I couldn't resist any headline that even vaguely resembles the delightful tune of “It Sucks To Be a Florida Gator”.

That said, this weekend posed an interesting dilemma for me. Before I moved to Tampa, I didn’t care a wit about the Tampa Bay then-Devil Rays. Throughout all my travels and no matter where I've lived, the Mets have been my team. For those who have read this site for any amount of time know, I’ve discussed my feelings for Mets quite a bit.

Although I was and remain a die-hard Mets fan, the Marlins presented me my first internal fan conflict. Sometime after becoming a big league franchise in 1991, the first owners of the Florida Marlins decided to host their spring training in Melbourne, Fla., where I lived as a teenager. Needless to say, I went to see the Marlins and their minor league teams on a pretty regular basis. Being that the ballpark was 10 minutes away, I gathered my share of autographs, memorabilia, and memories. Even though I still loved my Mets, the Marlins were my hometown team. I even dared call myself a Marlins fan.

Knowing the Marlins and their history, I've often stood alongside true Marlins fans and defended the team through the years. I've countered arguments with people who disagreed with the team's trade-and-reload management style, those who thought the team should be relocated, and even those who believe the team should be contracted or somehow combined with the Tampa Bay franchise. And in what may be possibly my biggest display of Marlins fandom, I drove nearly eight hours from Tallahassee to Dolphins Stadium with my college roommate, an absolutely die-hard Marlins fan, to watch the Fish reveal their 2003 World Series banner on Opening Day 2004.

But now, four years later, I’ve found myself pulling one of the cardinal sins of fandom. Last night, I went to the Rays-Marlins game and rooted wholeheartedly against the team from South Florida. They were the enemy, same as any other team visiting Tropicana Field. Like the thousand and thousands of other Tampa Bay Rays fans in attendance, I cheered the Rays and booed the Marlins. Then, to top it all off, I even sent a few obnoxious text messages to that same former college roommate, bragging about the Rays victory.

(Side note: In response to one of my barbs, my former roommate responded with the Patrick Roy-inspired “I can’t hear you with my two world series rings in my ear.” Say what you want about the Marlins and their fans, but they do have that going for them.)

So am I a sports flip-flopper? Am I an unloyal Marlins fan? Or can my brief dalliance with the Marlins be written off, as I have moved on and they no longer train in Melbourne? Although I don’t see my Marlins-Rays internal conflict comparing to my torn heart, I do think once again, I am one of the most internally confused fans I know.

Confusion is tearing my heart apart

There was a time as a teen when I felt something similar to as I feel now. During my high school years, a certain local interest caught my eye. She was hot, young, and exciting. Back then, my affection for a distant lover was not as strong. Eventually, this sexy local interest lost what made her exciting and my heart overcame its dilemma.

Now, however, I don't know if I can be as strong.

Last year, hanging out with the local interest was a fun way to pass the time. I had no problem differentiating between the object of my desire and a friendly associate. I was head-over-heels in love with my long-distance love; anyone else was just a friend.

How things have changed.

My long-distance love has let her life go to hell. I feel bad saying this, and maybe I am too hard on her, but it's true. Since last summer, since we laughed and loved and talked about our October plans, she had become lazy, listless, and completely uninterested in being the best she can be. As I have mentioned before, watching her digression has become maddeningly frustrating.

Meanwhile, the local interest has become the talk of the town. After pulling herself out of the basement, nee the gutter, she has totally reinvented herself with new found confidence. She has gone from not-so-super to supermodel.

Although I used to talk openly about our friendship, her recent success has me curious about how life would be if we were exclusive. I even find myself slightly jealous whenever anyone talks about her lovingly. In a way, I guess I feel as if I found her first. But I know as long as my heart lies elsewhere and I stay committed to a struggling relationship, being jealous of my local interest's new fame is not fair to her, me, or my long-distance lover.

This is the most confused I have ever been. If only love was easy.

From the Bigs to the Buses

(This post originally appeared on Bus Leagues Baseball.com)

From the rural sandlots to the city stadiums, the basic premise of baseball – three strikes, three outs, nine innings, etc – remains constant. Sure, the talent level rises with every step to the majors, but does an increase in whiz-bang glitz and glamour make for a more entertaining game? Is happiness and emotional attachment at the ballpark directly related to cost and hype? Or have I been reading too much Freakonomics?

These questions are a result of seeing two games of various levels this past weekend. Last Friday night, I used one of my season tickets and saw James Shields of the Tampa Bay Rays one-hit the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. The next night, I traveled to Viera, nee Melbourne, Florida, received a free ticket and watched the Class-A Florida State League Brevard County Manatees take on the Tampa Yankees.

As anyone who has followed my past writings knows, I am a closet Rays fan. Although I grew up a Mets fan, since moving to Tampa two years ago, I’ve had an interest in the Rays, especially in regards to the team’s transformation from doormat to dominant. So as an admirer, and not yet a full-blown fan, I was on my feet applauding what may have been the best pitching performance in franchise history.

Unlike my newfound fascination with the Rays, the Brevard County Manatees have been my favorite minor league team since their inception in 1994. Formerly a Marlins’ farm team, the Manatees are now the A-ball representative of the Milwaukee Brewers. Personally, I still wear the teal Manatees hat. I think it looks better than the newer red and blue version.

My two weekend destinations, independent of the score, couldn’t have been more different. A trip to the Trop is almost like a journey to the amusement park. Despite its reputation as a bad place for baseball, the Rays ownership has turned Tropicana Field into a fan friendly experience, with batting cages, speed gun contests, and plenty of other bells, whistles, gizmos, and doo-dads. The coup de grace of this new Trop is the new large video score board installed before the 2007 season. Every stat the above-average fan needs is broadcast, from OPS to pitch count, WHIP to walks per nine innings.

Even the fans at Tropicana Field have their own vibe. Whereas a growing number are starting to pepper the stands with Upton and Shields jerseys, many still wear generic merchandise mixed with attention-getting flare such as clown wigs and boxing robes. Topping off this group of new fans was an American Idol contestant in town to sing the National Anthem.

A Manatees game at Space Coast Stadium, on the other hand, is a far different experience. Instead of a celebrity singing for America, for example, the Manatees had two anonymous local crooners. Instead of a promotional foul line race between characters dressed as Pepsi, Aquafina, and Sierra Mist, the Manatees featured two local little league coaches dressed in generic ketchup and mustard bottles. Instead of amplified stereo noise, blinking lights, and new-age scoreboard, Space Coast Stadium relied on an old fashioned public address system and a video screen fit for an Sega Genesis.

So was the Rays’ game I paid for that much better than the low-budget Class-A Manatees contest I saw for free? Well, in this case, yes. But only because of the magnificent pitching artistry of James Shields. If not for the great Mr. Shields, it might have been a toss-up.

One small pitch for baseball, one giant event for Commodore alumni

Saturday was a glorious day in the history of my high school alma mater. Yesterday, for the first time ever, former Eau Gallie Commodore Class of 1984 Tim Wakefield faced former Eau Gallie Commodore Class of 2002 Prince Fielder. Since only one other baseball player from my high school has ever made the big leagues, former reliever Jeff Tam, this is kinda a big deal.

Unfortunately, due to the Brewers league shift back in '98, the Brewers don't play Boston regularly. So I, and all the possibly dozens and dozens of EGHS fans that care about stuff like this, have had to wait nearly three years into young Prince's career for a highly anticipated match-up against Wakefield.

So what did these Commodore legends do against each other?

In the top of the second, Fielder grounded to short.

In the top of the fourth, Fielder doubled to deep right.

In the top of the sixth, Fielder flied out to center.

So overall, Fielder went 1 for 3 with a double against his Commodore predecesor. As the Brewers won't face the Red Sox again until 2011 and Wakefield is already 49 years old (give or take a few years), this might be the only big league match-up of the two Eau Gallie High players and maybe the last one of its kind for a while.

Until the next Commodore makes the majors.

From the Bigs to the Buses

(This post originally appeared on Bus Leagues Baseball.com)

From the rural sandlots to the city stadiums, the basic premise of baseball – three strikes, three outs, nine innings, etc – remains constant. Sure, the talent level rises with every step to the majors, but does an increase in whiz-bang glitz and glamour make for a more entertaining game? Is happiness and emotional attachment at the ballpark directly related to cost and hype? Or have I been reading too much Freakonomics?

These questions are a result of seeing two games of various levels this past weekend. Last Friday night, I used one of my season tickets and saw James Shields of the Tampa Bay Rays one-hit the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. The next night, I traveled to Viera, nee Melbourne, Florida, received a free ticket and watched the Class-A Florida State League Brevard County Manatees take on the Tampa Yankees.

As anyone who has followed my past writings knows, I am a closet Rays fan. Although I grew up a Mets fan, since moving to Tampa two years ago, I’ve had an interest in the Rays, especially in regards to the team’s transformation from doormat to dominant. So as an admirer, and not yet a full-blown fan, I was on my feet applauding what may have been the best pitching performance in franchise history.

Unlike my newfound fascination with the Rays, the Brevard County Manatees have been my favorite minor league team since their inception in 1994. Formerly a Marlins’ farm team, the Manatees are now the A-ball representative of the Milwaukee Brewers. Personally, I still wear the teal Manatees hat. I think it looks better than the newer red and blue version.

My two weekend destinations, independent of the score, couldn’t have been more different. A trip to the Trop is almost like a journey to the amusement park. Despite its reputation as a bad place for baseball, the Rays ownership has turned Tropicana Field into a fan friendly experience, with batting cages, speed gun contests, and plenty of other bells, whistles, gizmos, and doo-dads. The coup de grace of this new Trop is the new large video score board installed before the 2007 season. Every stat the above-average fan needs is broadcast, from OPS to pitch count, WHIP to walks per nine innings.

Even the fans at Tropicana Field have their own vibe. Whereas a growing number are starting to pepper the stands with Upton and Shields jerseys, many still wear generic merchandise mixed with attention-getting flare such as clown wigs and boxing robes. Topping off this group of new fans was an American Idol contestant in town to sing the National Anthem.

A Manatees game at Space Coast Stadium, on the other hand, is a far different experience. Instead of a celebrity singing for America, for example, the Manatees had two anonymous local crooners. Instead of a promotional foul line race between characters dressed as Pepsi, Aquafina, and Sierra Mist, the Manatees featured two local little league coaches dressed in generic ketchup and mustard bottles. Instead of amplified stereo noise, blinking lights, and new-age scoreboard, Space Coast Stadium relied on an old fashioned public address system and a video screen fit for an Sega Genesis.

So was the Rays’ game I paid for that much better than the low-budget Class-A Manatees contest I saw for free? Well, in this case, yes. But only because of the magnificent pitching artistry of James Shields. If not for the great Mr. Shields, it might have been a toss-up.