The second foul ball broke a bone in her knee. âThe fan, Alice Roth, was the wife of the sports editor for The Philadelphia Bulletin who was there with her two grandsons,â Bill Chuck notes. âThere was blood everywhere.â
Today's #YankeesTrivia question leans more towards the Baltimore Orioles.
So when I saw the question, I instantly thought of Paul Blair. I forgot Brian Roberts played with the Yankees in 2014. He was a solid player alongside Adam Jones for the Orioles. The true surprise in this trio is Don Baylor.
When I think of Baylor, the California Angels and the New York Yankees come to mind. And its power not speed that I think about. Baylor came up with the Orioles in 1970 and played with them through 1975. He had four season of 20+ SB with the Orioles, swiping 32 bags twice in 1973 and 1975. Even more impressive was the 52 bags that Baylor swiped for the Oakland A's in 1976. Baylor was truly an underrated player.
Type: Y/N insert shorts, strangers to enemies-ish to lovers, series
Requested: No
Warnings: standard swearing
There was no fucking way. Y/N stared at Thatcher as he talked, but the words he was saying werenât computing. No fucking way was Josh Anderson on his way to Vancouver. It was like fate had heard her think that they would never meet again and laughed as she sent Josh in Y/Nâs direction. âEarth to Y/N, where the fuck did you just go?â She snapped back to the present, shaking her head and smiling at the mountain of a man in front of her instead of responding. Thatcher gave her another weird look before continuing. âWeâre gonna have the end-of-summer barbeque at my place after the last day of training camp, and I expect you to be there. Someoneâs gotta help me man the grill.âÂ
It was tradition. End-of-summer barbeques had become a thing beginning their sophomore year at BC, after the pair had become close during their freshman year. Almost eight years later it was still a yearly tradition, though now the barbeque was extended to the entirety of the training-camp team rather than just a few friends. âTook you long enough to pick a date,â Y/N retorted, slapping the bill of Thatcherâs baseball hat. â I thought I was gonna have to have a barbeque all by myself.â Thatcher slapped the bill of her hat in response, and it turned into an all-out war. As an only child, Thatcher had become the closest thing she had to a brother, shenanigans included. It was refreshing to have someone to mess with who wouldnât get upset when she roughhoused a little.Â
Even while trying not to let Thatcher and his professional athlete muscles overpower her much smaller frame Y/N found her mind wandering back to Josh. There was really no reason for her to be freaking out as much as she was. It was one hook up. There were no strings implied, no numbers exchanged, itâs not like she ghosted the guy, not really. Thatcher had never really expressed any distaste towards her dating other NHLers, but it was different when it came to his teammates. They were like his brothers, and were therefore her brothers by extension. In other words, off limits.Â
She really just needed to relax. He wasnât even on the team when they got together. Everything would be fine. Josh was part of the family now, and she would follow his lead. If he wanted people to know they hooked up then fine, but if he wanted to act like a stranger that was even better. Thatcher was a little bit too protective of Y/N at times, and she religiously avoided getting into it with his teammates just to make sure she didnât mess with team chemistry. Honestly, there was a chance Josh wouldnât even remember her. Itâs not like the guy had a glowing reputation anyway, and they had been drinking. It would be fine. Maybe if Y/N repeated it to herself often enough, she would start to believe it.Â
Y/N sighed heavily, giving in as Thatcher managed to wrestle her into a headlock. âSeriously, Y/N, are you okay?â Thatcher released his arm and turned her so they were facing each other. Crap. Here comes the interrogation. âYouâve been on another planet since we started talking. What gives?â She shrugged. There was no way she was going there right now.Â
âI guess Iâm just tired, bro,â she said with a shrug, âconference play just started. Iâve got a lot on my plate.â Thatcher reached up to squeeze her shoulders, and Y/N struggled not to cringe at how easily he ate up her lie. It sucked to lie to him, but there was no way she was going to tell him about Josh, not without talking to Josh first. Her response seemed to placate Thatcher, and he gave up on that line of questioning after making Y/N promise to take care of herself.Â
Keeping things from Thatcher was tough; he was there for her after her boyfriend of three years broke up with her halfway through their junior year of college, he drove her down to UConn the summer after graduation so she could begin her first internship as a college grad, and heâd been the one to welcome her to Vancouver with open arms after the completion of said internship. He was there for every important part of her adult life, and now the one thing she hadnât told him was going to bite her in the ass. The universe was out to get her.Â
Training camp would begin tomorrow, and in a couple of weeks Y/N would have to face Josh in the same backyard she was sitting in at the moment. There went any sleep she had planned to get before basketball was added to her workload.Â
âSo thereâs no one in your life? No girl at all? Not even a hookup?â The questions were getting annoying, to say the least. It wasnât the guysâ fault; they just wanted to get to know him. The problem was that he shouldnât be doing this. He was supposed to stay in Columbus, live his life there until he retired and then move back to Canada.Â
Josh shook his head. âNo hookup. Although there was this one girl,â he said with a small smile, âshe was something else. We talked for hours at the bar, and she knew so much about baseball and hockey history. We hooked up, and then she was gone when I woke up the next morning. No note, no number, nothing. And she was from out of town, so I couldnât even try running into her at the same bar again.â All of the guys groaned sympathetically, and they finally let that line of questioning go. Truthfully, he hadnât thought about that girl in months. She had been fun to talk to, and tough enough to dish back everything Boone and Seth had thrown at her, but it wasnât like he wanted to fucking marry the girl or anything. Mostly, it was the fact that she had left that stuck with him. He was always the one leaving. The girls usually tried to hang around, maybe try to get more than one night. It was an asshole thing to think, he knew that, but damn it sucked to be on the other end of it. He didnât even know where she lived. In all of their time talking he only learned she worked at a university. He didnât even know if it was in the States or Canada.Â
A tape ball connected with the side of his head, and Josh shot a glare at Bo from across the locker room. A middle finger almost followed, until he noticed video cameras catching the exchange. Josh waved at the intern behind the camera sheepishly. They would have had to cut that for their welcome back video if he hadnât caught himself. Another tape ball came flying at his head, courtesy of Stecher, and Josh whipped that one back at his teammate with a grin. The guys were alright, even if some of them could be pretty childish. Even Hughes acted older than some of the guys, and he was the team baby. A body slumped down into the stall next to Joshâs, and he looked over to find Thatcher watching him. ââSup, Dems?âÂ
Thatcher smiled up at Josh, a shock considering the choice words heâd thrown in Joshâs direction after a particularly nasty dangle heâd put past the goalie at the end of practice. âBarbeque at my place this afternoon.â Shit. Heâd planned on exploring the city, maybe finding a hookup tonight. âNon-negotiable, everyone comes,â Thatcher interrupted, almost like he knew Josh was about to refuse. âItâs a tradition. One of my college friends and I get together and man the grill. Weâve been doing it for almost eight years now. Bring yourself and your booze of choice if it isnât beer or wine.â Josh nodded. Your goalie says you come to some end-of-summer party, you go to the party. Donât mess with a goalieâs traditions or superstitions. Thatcher stood, punching Joshâs shoulder. âEverybody starts showing up around 4. See you then.âÂ
Thatcher made his way around the locker room repeating the same announcement, and it was met with shouts of excitement and reminiscing on barbecues of yearâs past. Clearly it was a hit. Brock and Petey somehow roped Josh into riding to the party with them, promising that Josh would be happy heâd taken an Uber with them instead of driving himself. âThe drinking is legendary,â Brock had promised, a solemn nod of agreement coming from both Petey and Stecher, who flanked Brock. Legendary parties were his thing. This would be even ground, and he could keep up. Bring on the drinking.
Y/N woke up the day of the barbeque feeling sick as the Dropkick Murphys blasted on her alarm. It didnât matter how many times she told herself it would be fine, running into the guy she had ghosted was going to suck. Hopefully he was as interested in revealing their hookup as she was, and it would never get mentioned again.Â
She groaned as her alarm continued to scream the lyrics to Rose Tattoo, reaching up to swipe the alarm off her phone. Thatcher was expecting her at his place before he left for camp in an hour with a list of groceries for him to pick up on the way home. The desserts Y/N had prepared the night before were sitting on the counter when she stumbled into the kitchen for coffee, mocking her with their chocolatey stare. It was going to be one of those days. She caved, shoving one of the cupcakes into her mouth with a groan. If she didnât get a handle on herself before she made it to Thatcherâs he was going to get suspicious. The last time she acted this strangely some poor kid from the Comets almost got punched for flirting with her. The guys had good intentions, but sometimes they took the caveman shit too far.Â
With her coffee brewed and cupcake eaten, Y/N shuffled into the bathroom to get ready for the day. She washed her face and brushed her teeth on autopilot, debating if mascara were really necessary. The guys had seen her at her worst, and she didnât really care what they thought about the sprinkling of acne on her jawline that just wouldnât go away. Itâs not like she was interested in any of those idiots. Well, any of the idiots that had been with the team before a couple of weeks ago, anyway.
A hat would be necessary, even if she was just going to be in Thatcherâs house until it was time to grill. Her nose would burn something awful if she didnât wear something with a bit of protection, and the soccer games she was working that week would just add to the burn. Hat protection for sure. She slapped on an old BC Hockey hat, one sheâd stolen from Thatcher, and looked into her closet with a sigh. The decision on what to wear took far too long. The guys loved to throw her in the pool, especially Brock when he got drunk, so her bathing suit needed to be reliable. The problem was that they also loved to take photos for their social media pages, and her most reliable swimsuits were also the least flattering. The black and white striped bikini was the most durable, but Y/N really wanted to wear the strappy midnight blue one-piece sheâd gotten on a whim during a day trip to Seattle. Durability won out in the end, and the bikini was stuffed into her bag beside the pajamas that would inevitably find use when she didnât want to go all the way home at the end of the night.Â
Y/Nâs drive to Thatcherâs was relaxing. She lived in the middle of the city, fond of the ability to walk down the street to the grocery store or the bars, but Thatcherâs place was right outside the city, on a quiet sidestreet that better resembled a neighborhood in her hometown. She stopped at their favorite coffee shop on her way out of the city, picking up another coffee for her and a breakfast sandwich for Thatcher. It didnât matter how many times the nutritionist told him to knock it off, Y/N knew he relied on those sandwiches to get him through morning skates. In no way was Thatcher a happy camper in the morning. His attitude rivaled even hers. Thatcher was waiting outside when she arrived, sitting on his front stoop like she had missed curfew or something.Â
âYouâre late,â Thatcher called as she opened her door, âand youâre gonna make me late for camp if you donât hurry it the fuck up.â Y/N raised her middle finger in response, leaning back into the car for the desserts. Thatcher appeared behind her to help carry things, and Y/N had to slap his hand away from the trays when he tried to reach for a cookie. If he ate one now, heâd eat them all by the time the actual party started. Sheâd learned that lesson the hard way. Y/N placed the breakfast sandwich on top of the tray of cookies Thatcher was carrying, and he leaned down quickly to kiss her cheek. âYouâre the bomb, bro, my saviour.â Y/N rolled her eyes. He was so dramatic about his breakfast sandwiches.Â
Y/N finally managed to get Thatcher out the door and off to camp with a promise to get the backyard ready for that night, so long as he grabbed the necessary groceries on the way home. It was their agreement since theyâd both settled in Vancouver; she brought dessert and got the house ready for guests, Thatcher bought all the food and alcohol. Everything was ready for the night, really, with the exception of the grill. It looked like it hadnât been cleaned since she cleaned it last summer, so Y/N grabbed all of her cleaning supplies with a sigh. She needed a clean grill if they were going to make burgers tonight. That was non-negotiable.Â
Brock and Stecher were far too loud when they were tipsy. Petey was fine, if anything even more quiet than normal, but the other two were borderline obnoxious. The pregame had begun the moment everyone rolled up to Brockâs place, and Josh had to admit he hadnât expected it. Pregaming a team party was a little weird, but hey, he was with a bunch of fellow hockey players. They didnât always do things that made sense. Herding them into the Uber waiting on the street outside Peteyâs apartment was no easy feat, and Josh felt himself sweating a little bit as the responsible one of the party. This never happened. He was always the one being herded.
The ride was long, as apparently Thatcher lived outside the city, and Brock kept Josh entertained with stories of barbecues past. âI think the worst, though, was that time Jake almost drowned.â Stecher started laughing, and Josh stared at him uncomfortably. A teammate almost drowning was funny? Brock must have caught his expression, because he hurriedly continued. âHe wasnât actually drowning, he was just so drunk that he sat in the shallow end and yelled for help. It came up to like his chest.â Stecher roared with laughter again, and Josh joined in a little bit. That mustâve been a sight.
Thatcherâs house was far too nice for a bachelor, a moderately large home that was built for a small family and not a single hockey player who basically lived on the road. It was homey-looking, covered in gray wooden shingles and boasting a wrap-around porch Josh envied. It was perfect for sitting with a small group of friends. He could only imagine the inside, if the outside was any indication. The landscaping and yard decorations gave away that Thatcher hadnât decorated the place himself. The inside probably looked like a design catalogue vomited on it.
Cars lined the long driveway and the street in front of it, all Range Rovers and fancy sports cars guys who didnât know how to spend their money splurged for. Josh caught himself as the wave of negative thoughts continually rolled over him. These were his teammates, not the enemy. Those thoughts werenât helpful.Â
Josh was pulled out of his line of thinking by the stopping of the Uber, and he was the only one to thank the older guy driving as they all piled out of the car. Petey led the way into the house, though Stecher made his presence known with a shouted hello as he brought them through a hallway that indeed looked like a design catalogue and into a bright and airy kitchen. The cabinets were white, as were the countertops, though most of the walls were covered in some kind of dark teal tile.Â
Thatcher was slumped on a countertop, flicking the bill of the baseball cap on the girl in front of him. He laughed when she raised a middle finger at him, flicking the hat again. The girl mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a threat, in a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. She reached up and smacked Thatcherâs hand when he went to flick her hat again, and Thatcher laughed harder as he swept three beers off the counter and walked back outside through the accordion doors to his left. The girl shook her head after him, though the moment was broken when Brock stumbled into the room behind Josh.Â
âY/N!â Brock yelled enthusiastically. He threw his arms around the girl from behind, and the laugh she let out made Josh freeze. It couldnât be. âBabe,â Brock continued, âyouâve gotta meet our new teammate. Heâs your kind of player. Likes to hit things.â Brock began to turn the girl around by the arm still slung over her shoulders, and Josh almost shouted at him to stop. He knew that laugh, and the girl attached couldnât be here. Their eyes met, and Josh saw the panic he felt reflected in her eyes.
Feliz Domingo mi gente. Here is my MLB Immaculate Grid number 650 for Saturday January 11, 2025.
Man, this is one legendary grid that I put together here. Six Hall of Famers (Carlton, Halladay, Palmer, Ripken, Gwynn and Walker) and three legends (Schilling, Gooden and Teixiera.)
The Silver Slugger for the pitching position is hard to guess, especially when you throw a 20+ win season into the mix. Luckily the Silver Slugger was created in 1980 so the number of pitchers to have won it is manageable. The key for me was to think about NL pitchers since pitchers batted in the NL until 2021 when the Universal DH rule was enacted in 2022. I had no idea who to pick. I got lucky with Doc Gooden. I though that he won the award in 1985 when he won 24 games. But he actually won the award in 1992.
I made a comment on a post the other day concerning Tony Gwynn. How was he not voted to the Hall Unanimously. He received 97.6% of the vote. Come on now.
Curt Schilling is one of the best postseason pitchers in the history of the game. 11-2 with a 2.33 ERA, 4 complete games, 2 shutouts, 120 Ks and only 25 BB in 19 games and a WHIP of 0.968. Add that to his 20-year regular season stats of 216-146 with a career 3.46 ERA, 83 CG, 28 SHO, 3,116 K's and 711 Walks and a 1.137 WHIP. Political views, business issues and personality aside, there is no reason in terms of Baseball why he isn't in the Hall.
Happy Saturday one and all. Here is my MLB Immaculate Grid number 649 for Friday January 10, 2025.
Otis Nixon was one of the most consistent base stealers during the late 1980s to the late 1990s. From 1998 to 1998, Nixon stole 498 bases with a career high 72 in 1991. He stole 50 or more five times and 40 or more ten times. Surprisingly, Nixon never made an All-Star team.
On my Yankees line, I chose three members of the 1996 World Champion Yankees team. Gerald Williams, John Wetteland and David Weathers played pivotal roles on that title winning team.
Teddy Higuera joined his fellow Mexican pitcher Fernando Valenzuela as 20-game winners. Both Fernando and Higuera reached fhe 20+ win plateau in 1986. Fernando was the first to 20 and finished the season with 21 wins. Higuera is one of four Mexican pitchers to win 20+ games in a season (Valenzuela (1986), Higuera (1986), Esteban Loiaza (2003), Julio Urias (2021.)
Well that's all for now folks. Have a great weekend.
Happy Friday!!! Here's my MLB Immaculate Grid number 648 for Thursday January 9, 2025.
The grids can be real funny sometimes. For example, yesterday's post had a grid which had one of the highest scores I've had at 179. Today I scored 13 WITH Pete Rose in one of the boxes. And he didn't even have the highest percentage in the grid. That honor belongs to Brian Downing at 7%. Sometimes you just can't predict your score.
I have a nice mix of 1970s, 1980s, 1990s and 2000s in today's grid. "The Bull" Greg Luzinski was a pure masher for the Phillies and White Sox. I would put him at a notch higher than his mashing contemporaries Rob Deer and Pete Incaviglia. Where he differs from today's players is in his relatively low strikeout rate for a power hitter. Take the 1975 season where he finished second in the NL MVP race. Luzinski finished with 151 Ks. But he played in 161 games, racked up 179 hits (35 2B/3 3B/34 HR) with 102 RBIs and 89 walks. He finished exactly at .300 and his slash line was .300/.394/.594 for an OPS of .988. He never had a season of more than the aforementioned 151 Ks. It's amazing how the game has changed from then to now.
Well thats all for now folks. On to grid number 649.
Happy Thursday!!! Here is my MLB Immaculate Grid number 647 for Wednesday January 8, 2025.
This has to be one of the highest scoring grids that I've had in a long time. With the exception of the Cubs line and to a degree the MVP line, the grid was busted by the St. Louis Cardinals. I almost went with Pujols for Cardinals/.300+ AVG hitter. But I wasn't sure if his average stayed over .300 after his California tenure with the Angels/Dodgers. Hint: it didn't.
Not surprisingly Stan "The Man" Musial got 67% of the vote in that box. How can you not pick him with his CAREER .331 BA. And what's even more impressive is that his .331 BA leaves him tied for 25th on the all time list. Ty Cobb is at the top with a .366 career batting average.
I thought that picking Steve Carlton or Bob Gibson would break my Cardinals/200+ wins box. Wainwright did a good enough job doing so with 32% of the vote. And he finished with exactly 200 wins for his career.
Another 32% voted for Andy Van Slyke for the Cardinals/Pirates box. For the life of me I couldn't think of anyone else for that box. Still can't. Any suggestions?
Well that's all for now folks. On to grid number 648. Have a good night?
Happy Wednesday everyone!!! Here is my MLB Immaculate Grid number 646 for Tuesday January 7, 2025.
Im going to jump head first with this one. For those of you who say that Derek Jeter is overrated, check this out. While he takes lumps for his defense, Hall of Famer Jeter had a stellar overall career. It took me a while to try and find someone else aside from him who was drafted in the first round AND had a 200+ season. Jeter didn't have one 200+ season. He had eight. Who has the most? Just two guys named Ichiro and Rose. Jeter is tied for 4th all-time with 8 200+ hit seasons with Gehrig, Waner and Keeler. Only the aforementioned Ichiro, Rose and Ty Cobb have had more 200+ hit seasons.
Speaking of 200+ seasons, Darin Erstad might have had the most quietest 200+ hit season in Baseball History. I knew he had hit 200 for the 2000 Angels. But damn, he had 240 hits!!!! And he only finished 8th in the AL MVP voting.
Marquis Grissom was quite the underrated player in his day. He was a beast on that 1996 Braves team hitting .308 with 209 hits, 32 2B/10 3B/23 HR with 74 RBI. He was an even better player on those early 1990s Montreal Expos teams.
Bake McBride!!! I was trying to find a way to use him and Dusty Baker in the same grid. Unfortunately Dusty didn't fit any of the other boxes. I've always loved the name Bake McBride. Such a classic baseball name. Well thats all for now folks. On to grid 647.
