Would You Name Your Child After This Man?

Tony Campana has looked uncomfortable at the plate all season. He's batted .262 in 33 games, including two doubles, but generally doesn't offer much but a threat to bunt. Campana did enough in Monday's 7-3 win over Colorado, singling in the 3rd, and working his at-bat long enough in the 4th to allow Geovany Soto to score on a wild pitch.

In center field, however, is where Tony shines. Not because he's a particularly good fielder, although his speed does allow him to cover a bit of ground, but because he's not alone. Tony has friends, and plenty of them in center field.

This is nothing new. The bleacher bums love embracing their outfielders, especially the undersized, overachieving ones that have "Career Minor-Leaguer" written all over them. Tony was drafted by the Cubs in the 13th round of the 2008 Draft. He's stolen 144 bases in his minor league career, and carries a cumulative average of .303. Not bad, but he's still 5'8 and doesn't hit for any power, and has been told countless times he'd never make it. Adversity! That's the ticket.

I presume, it's difficult to boo him because of the adversity he's overcome. Even if his on base percentage continues to hover around .300 (from the 2-hole), Tony is well aware of his get-out-of-jail free card. One has to look no further than the different ways Soriano and Campana interact with the fans to witness the sort of privilege Campana enjoys.

Soriano and the left-field bleachers play a little game. "How many outs Sori," the fans yell, and Soriano more often that not obliges. He waves his index to indicate one out, and his index and pinky to indicate two. Sometimes he'll turn around and watch the crowd. His willingness to engage is usually determinate on his performance. It's unclear, to me at least, the purpose of the "How many outs" game. I've sensed the left-field bleachers feel Soriano will likely forget the number of outs, and are just trying to keep his head in the game. Or maybe they're seeking the thrill of a celebrity response. Can I get a retweet?

Beyond the number of outs, Soriano is generally disinterested in what the fans have to say. He carries himself as if he's heard it all before, probably because he's heard it all before. Or he doesn't understand English too well. I don't know. He seems to get the most joy out of tossing the third out into the crowd. He waits for everyone to stand up and get frantic and teases a few people before pointing to the lucky winner. I suspect he enjoys imposing his will on the game within the game. And tossing a ball is easier than hitting a 1-2 slider in the dirt out of the park.

Thirty-three games later and Campana is still reveling in his new found celebrity. Fans in left center and right center (mostly in right) shout things that I cannot make out. Tony seems to hear them just fine. He's the type of celebrity that takes all autograph requests. It doesn't matter if his reservation is in five minutes, there's people that came to see him, and these people need things signed. Tony flashes his boyish smile as if a female fan offered to blow him after the game. She might have, I can't hear what they're saying, remember. And then he does the cutest thing. He waves at a young fan. Not with his free hand, but with his glove. That big bird's nest of a thing. He'll do this a number of times and the 25-year old will look thirteen doing it. He can hit .150 and you still can't boo him. You just can't.

A drunk woman stands up and makes slaughterhouse-appropriate sounds. Tony smiles at her too. Jesus, this kid is a saint. "Tony," a guy yells. "I'm naming my first-born son after you." Tony laughs and is probably blushing. He has the best job in the world and now will be the namesake of someone's child.

Rockies catcher Chris Iannetta hits a high fly to short center field. Campana camps under it and records the final out of the game. Right center begins chanting Tony's name. The Cubs won and a bunch of people would rather cheer for him. Take your time getting healthy, Marlon. Tony could use a few hundred more friends.

Jimmy Butler and the Heroic Journey

David Stern stepped to the podium. With the 30th overall pick the Bulls select Marquette senior Jimmy Butler. Before mentioning physical attributes, collegiate accomplishments, or anything basketball-related, the ESPN analysts tripped over themselves to peddle "The Jimmy Butler Story: Great Kid, Great Story." Butler's childhood adversity, happy ending and inimitable spirit were the talking points. Similar to Derrick Rose during his MVP campaign, Butler's demeanor will probably take on a life of its own. Chad Ford even took the time to recommend Butler's story to all of his Twitter followers -- the story he wrote.

At first glance, Butler's transition from homeless, to adopted family member, to professional athlete seems like the basketball version of The Blind Side. But look closer and you'll find the elements of Joseph Campbell's monomyth, often referred to as the "Hero's Journey."

In his seminal 1949 work, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Campbell argued that all cultural myths share the same fundamental structure. The monomyth also holds up when applied to contemporary works of fiction. Campbell describes three sections of a hero's journey: Departure, Initiation, and Return. Each section includes a number of stages that need to be completed in order to move on to the next section.




http://www.whatmyworldslike.com/


We're currently at the end of the "Departure" section of Jimmy Butler's journey. The lumps he takes against NBA-caliber talent will serve as his "Initiation" stage. Employing Maricopa Community Colleges' nice summary of Campbell's "Departure" section, here's how Butler's life parallels the Hero's Journey.

DEPARTURE

1. The Call to Adventure: The call to adventure is the point in a person's life when they are first given notice that everything is going to change, whether they know it or not.

Butler's mother kicks him out of the house at age 13. A hero's journey cannot truly begin until he or she is separated from their comfort zone, which in most cases, is family.

2. Refusal of the Call: Often when the call is given, the future hero refuses to heed it. This may be from a sense of duty or obligation, fear, insecurity, a sense of inadequacy, or any of a range of reasons that work to hold the person in his or her current circumstances.

Butler initially has trouble finding a home to harness his abilities. He bounces around from friend to friend. Extraordinarily, to his credit, Butler's refusal of the call is not due to his own fears or insecurities, but of those around him.

3. Supernatural Aid: Once the hero has committed to the quest, consciously or unconsciously, his or her guide and magical helper appears, or becomes known.

Butler meets Jordan Leslie and develops a friendship with him. After much hesitation, Leslie's mother decides to take Butler in. With a roof over his head, support system, and structure in his life, Butler is afforded enough stability to harness his basketball talents. Depending on your perspective, Leslie or his mother could be the supernatural aid, or both.

4. The Crossing of the First Threshold: This is the point where the person actually crosses into the field of adventure, leaving the known limits of his or her world and venturing into an unknown and dangerous realm where the rules and limits are not known.

Butler leaves behind the high school and Juco scrubs and heads to Marquette University. He finds it isn't as easy to score at the next level. He struggles to find playing time and his coach Buzz Williams is harder on him than any coach he had ever played for. Butler wants to come back home.

5. The Belly of the Whale: The belly of the whale represents the final separation from the hero's known world and self. It is sometimes described as the person's lowest point, but it is actually the point when the person is between or transitioning between worlds and selves...By entering this stage, the person shows their willingness to undergo a metamorphosis...

The transition from amateur to professional basketball. Butler's possible rookie struggles will likely serve as the "low point," and continue into the "Initiation" section. His metamorphosis is from an orphaned teenager to a solid NBA player.

* * *

Butler spoke to reporters about his defense after the draft, "I'm going to guard. I think that's where I'm going to make my mark in this league. I'm going to put in that work to be able to guard LeBron and Dwyane Wade." A heroic endeavor indeed. 

Big Z's Burden

Carlos Zambrano breaks bat over powerful left leg; sends chunks of wood flying.

Zambrano isn't the first or only baseball player to break a bat over his leg, but the act is most commonly associated with him. Pure, unbridled rage is how some choose to view this act, and really, Z's career up to this point. Similar to how Dennis Rodman used to take off his jersey and whip it into the stands after being ejected, Zambrano's bat-breaking takes on the same measure of unpredictability. Rodman could fling his jersey into the stands one hundred times without incident, but that 101st time could very well be the day he chooses to manufacture his jersey into a self-made noose and ring the neck of the nearest fan. Zambrano breaks his bat into two even pieces and does nothing more than bang them together as if to call his dog in for supper. But would anyone be surprised if he tossed them at an unsuspecting spectator, or even threatened to attack Houston pitcher Jordan Lyles with the sharp side?

This is what many of the media types would like for you to believe. That Zambrano is uncontrollable, and an inherent ball of rage. His spats with Michael Barrett and Derrek Lee, his demolition of the Gatorade machine, and his other scattered tirades over the last 11 years serve no greater purpose. They're simply who he is.

Wrong.

Consider Zambrano's most recent bat-breaking incident: May 31st against Houston. Zambrano had given up 5 hits through the first 5 innings, including a solo homer in the 4th to Brett Wallace; the only run on the board at this point. Surely, he senses this might be one of those solid performances wasted because of lack of run support.

Blak DeWitt leads off the bottom of the fifth with a double. Tony Campana sacrifices him to third. Geovany Soto strikes out with one out and a man on third. With the pitcher batting next, the RBI was Soto's responsibility and he failed. But Carlos Zambrano doesn't view it that way. After working the count to 2-2, Zambrano stuck out on the fifth pitch of the at-bat. His anger and subsequent bat-breaking were most likely directed at himself for not getting the run home. Even though that RBI should have been taken care of by Soto. Such is Big Z's burden.

National League pitchers aren't expected to hit. They are expected to pitch well and then be able to lay down a sacrifice bunt when the situation arises. This is why so many of us can become flummoxed when we see Zambrano put so much pressure on himself to succeed at the plate. We don't expect pitchers to hit, and therefore, pitchers shouldn't expect to get a hit either. But Zambarno prides himself on being a complete player because, by nature, he's accustomed to placing the burden on himself.

Not to rail on Sammy Sosa, but Sosa was content with going 1-5 with four strikeouts, a home run, and a fielding error. He recognized his role as an entertainer, and as long as he hit long balls, he was doing his job. Hitting a home run is an individual accomplishment. It helps when people are on base, and pitchers definitely change their approach (i.e. more or less hittable pitches) based on the merits of the rest of the lineup, but a teammate cannot hit a home run for their teammate.

Carlos Zambrano cannot win a game without the help of his teammates. They need to make the routine defensive plays and an occasional spectacular one, and they need to provide a decent amount of runs. Players like Zambrano, who look to assert themselves in every way they can, are uncomfortable with the amount of control afforded to them. I'm not suggesting that Zambrano doesn't trust his teammates, but that he places an unbelievable, even unrealistic burden on himself to succeed. When he doesn't see the rest of his teammates do the same, it frustrates him.

Here are a few quotes from ESPN's "Zambrano Apology" article to illustrate my point. These comments came a day after Zambrano's now infamous rant in which he criticized Marmol's pitch selection and said the Cubs were playing like a Triple-A team.

"I really feel for this team. I think sometimes I care too much. I just want this team to do good. I don't like to be in this position where we keep losing and keep losing, and we don't do nothing about it. I just want to win with this team and do the best I can."

Zambrano speaks like a man who takes the Cubs' failures personally, even though he's been one of the lone brights spots this season. Also notice the apparent disconnect between him and his teammates, "I think sometimes I care too much." As opposed to his teammates, who don't seem to be as bothered by losing as him. I can't help but read "I think sometimes I care too much" and feel like Zambrano is condemning himself. As if being passionate about winning is a bad thing.

"I have a mission here. I've said it since I've been in the big leagues, and that mission is to win with the Cubs. Anything can happen in the big leagues. Anything can happen in the next two months. The previous two months we didn't play well, we didn't pitch good."

Say what you want about Zambrano, but he's been intensely loyal his entire career. It's rare in today's athletics to see an athlete intent on winning with a particular franchise.

"It's not over yet. Believe me guys, it's not over for the Cubs."
              
Even the most optimistic of Cubs fans don't feel this way.

Zambrano hasn't always handled things well. The less-mature Zambrano probably would have strangled either Ramirez, Marmol, Lopez, or all three, after the game. He instead took the more diplomatic route, going to the press, and was blasted for that as well. While Zambrano probably didn't need to call out Marmol by name, his comments were veracious and necessary. Some folks haven't come to Zambrano's defense, I suspect because they mistake his anger for selfishness, rather than an unparalleled will to win. 

Imagine making it your life mission to win with a franchise that is best known for finding every conceivable way to lose. That is the self-imposed burden Zambrano walks around with all day. Live like this for eleven years. How even-keeled would you be? 

A Wolf In Genie's Clothing

The day has finally arrived. Shaquille O'Neal has decided to retire and I'm overcome with the sentiment I always thought I would be: It's about time. Shaq's beaten and bloated body checked out three years ago. His media personality -- the attention-seeking egomaniac that cunningly masqueraded as a charming quote machine has run its course. At age 39, Shaq finally retired and don't think for a second that his timing -- a Wednesday, on the day off between NBA Finals games -- was not strategic. He wanted the spotlight all to himself, and the media will undoubtedly comply. It's the least they could do, really, for someone who provided week's worth of headlines and talking points during his 19-year career.

I'm probably being too harsh on Shaq. For all of his perceived character flaws, he was a tremendous player. Probably the most physically dominant basketball player I've ever seen. My appreciation for Shaq's offensive prowess divvies up nicely into three parts, which coincide with his stints in Orlando, Los Angeles, and Miami.

I was five years old when the Magic selected O'Neal with the first overall pick in the 1992 Draft. Growing up, I remember hearing about the physically imposing presence that Shaq was. He unabashedly dunked on his opponents, he brought down backboards, and did so because he was so much bigger and stronger than everyone he went up against. According to the people around me, Shaq was basically a brute. He dominated more because of his strength, almost in opposition to a fruitful set of basketball skills. This partly accurate understanding seems to have stuck.

When Shaq joined the Lakers in 1996, I was mostly preoccupied with the Bulls. Shaq's turn-of-the-decade championship years were when I really started to pay attention. I was intrigued by Shaq because he was still the most physically dominant player in the League -- capable of 30 and 15 every time out -- but possessed skills that I rarely heard people talk about. Sure, many if not most of his points were catches within five feet that he easily threw down. But I remember Shaq's footwork in the post being much more advanced than I would have thought for someone his size. I also thought he was never properly credited for his excellent touch around the basket. This was also around the time when team's began employing the "Hack-a-Shaq" philosophy. Shaq will always be remembered for his poor free throw shooting, mainly because sending him to the line in the early 2000s was the only chance you had at containing him.

Shaq joined the Heat in 2004 with plenty left in the tank. He almost won the MVP after his first year in Miami and was rewarded with a 100 million dollar contract. He began to break down the following year and was never truly the same. Shaq could no longer play major minutes and had lost some of the underrated athleticism that made him more than just a dunker. Forced to contribute in other ways, Shaq became a great passer, particularly out of double-teams in the post, and was a huge reason the Heat won the title in 2006.

O'Neal's last three years have rubbed me the wrong way. He was dealt to Phoenix and made some disparaging remarks about his teammates and coach in Miami on the way out. This was Shaq's specialty through out his career: he burned bridges everywhere he played, and disregarded the efforts and importance of the star player that played alongside him; and even non-teammates such as Yao Ming and Dwight Howard who threatened to take his spot as the next big thing at the center position. He blatantly chased championships during the last two years of his career in Cleveland and Boston. All of this has been swept under the rug though because he's Shaq. And the good-natured, 7-foot goofball couldn't possibly be in it for any other reason than to dunk a few basketballs and share a few laughs.

* * *

It's time to open up "The Box." "The Box" is a white, 16 x 25 cardboard box that weighs roughly 15 pounds and sits atop my bookshelf. It is filled with basketball memorabilia I collected during my childhood, mostly between 1993-2003. I start digging around inside whenever I feel the urge, or something like Shaq's retirement happens. I found a few interesting Shaq artifacts.

Here are a couple of cards from Shaq's Lakers days. Notice the way the back of both cards focus on his size and strength. Click on all of these pictures to enlarge.

The only player with a 40-20 in each of the first two games of a Playoff series. When you accomplish something having to do with points and rebounds that Wilt Chamberlain didn't, you're other-worldly.

In 2000-01, O'Neal scored 974 more points than any other center. By contrast, Dwight Howard led the League in scoring amongst centers in 2010-11. He scored 111 more points than Brook Lopez.

Here's a Shaq action figure. He's donning his 1993 NBA All-Star jersey. This once belonged to my brother. Hopefully he's not still looking for it.

And a Shaq basketball (the signature is not real). I remember taking this ball outside and playing with it once. Then a voice inside my head said, "What the fuck are you doing, Joe? You're going to want this to be in good condition so you can look at it when you're older." Foresight.

This is a Shaq rookie card in which he yams on Alonzo Mourning. Mourning probably got away with the foul.

Also making an appearance: Ol' Jud Buechler from the back-lookin' Tom Tolbert.

Remember me? I was the bald white guy that used to annoy the shit out of you during halftime before Jon Barry. Suck it, Jon. You'd be unemployable if it wasn't for me.

Shaq rookie card equipped with shiny, silver encasement. I thought this one would be worth at least 50 bucks. I saw it on eBay for as low as $1.25.

            
Shaq should be a controversial figure. Instead, he endeared himself to the media early and kept fans wrapped around his finger. Shaq was great at deflecting his own personal shortcomings into funny quips. He was also a hell of a basketball player, and a cultural icon. We'll remember him mostly for the latter two, and it's probably better that way.