2016 MLB : NL Central--Cubs Poised to Pounce but not to the World Series

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The division maybe, but the World Series, nope!

The Chicago Cubs are both the sentimental and the odds-on favorite to win the World Series this year, but they get no such love from me. The Cubs will struggle to win the NL Central and I don’t  see them getting to the October Classic. I will pick them to win the Central, but you can flip-flop any of my top three.

Predicted order of finish: Cubs, Pirates, Cardinals, Brewers, Reds.

The Chicago Cubs have outstanding young players, the key word being “young.” Anthony Rizzo has established himself, but many  others—Fowler, Bryant, Russell, Schwarber need either to sustain or live up to their promise. Getting Ben Zobrist was a smart move, but Jason Heyward is a ne’er do well tease whom they vastly overpaid. If the Cubs prevail in the Central, pitching will prevent the Cubs from exorcising the Billy Goat curse. Jake Arrieta is the reigning Cy Young, but is he due for a Corey Kluber-like letdown? Then it’s Jon Lester—the ten-million dollar arm with a ten-cent brain—a declining John Lackey, and two serviceable but underwhelming arms (Hammel, Hendricks). This doesn’t spell championship to me.

The Pittsburgh Pirates, a so-called “small market” team (with a filthy rich owner) has let some talent walk, but I actually think the everyday lineup—Polanco, McCutchen, Marte, Kang, Cervelli—will keep pace with the Cubs, and don’t be surprised if Gerrit Cole takes away Arrieta’s Cy Young crown. If—and this is admittedly a big qualification—Liriano still has gas in the tank and guys like Locke, Niese, and Vogelsong return to normal form, the Pirates could out-pitch the Cubbies. And I’ll take the Bucs’ Melanchon over the Cubs’ Rondon as a closer.

The St. Louis Cardinals always seem to be in the chase even when you look at their lineup and wonder how. This time, though, injuries to Peralta and Molina, plus free agency loses leaves the Cards looking pretty thin once one gets past Matt Carpenter. Holliday needs to earn his contract and they will need career years from folks like Matt Adams, Kolten Wong, and Steve Piscotty, or this team’s offense will look like San Diego’s. There’s hope in the pitching staff if Adam Wainwright is sound, as Wacha, Leake, Garcia, and Carlos Martinez are very good. Watch Martinez; I think he’s poised for a breakout. The Cards are always well-managed, but they are among the year’s biggest question marks. First? Fourth? Either could happen.

Fourth is unlikely for the Cardinals simply because both the Milwaukee Brewers and the Cincinnati Reds will be terrible—as in the potential to lose 100 games. I give the Brew Crew a slight bump in the standings simply because I think their best hitters---Lucroy, Braun, Hill—are more consistent than Reds’ streaky bashers Phillips, Votto, and Phillips. Which team finishes above the other could boil down to which 2015 disappointment improves: the Brewers’ Chris Carter or the Red’s Billy Hamilton. (Hey, Billy—you can’t steal bases if you can’t get on base.) Neither team has much pitching, though many see Milwaukee’s Wily Peralta as on-the-cusp of something special, and I don’t think Matt Garza will be as awful in 2016 as he was last year.

Should You Quit Your Job? The Next Phase.

Heraclitus

 I've joked that life goes like this: In your twenties you worry about whether you'll ever have a career; in your thirties you worry about keeping it; in your forties you wonder if you've made anything of it; in your fifties you begin to muse upon things that have nothing to do with your career; and then you hit sixty and you decide that those other things are really what's important and you stop giving a damn about your career. It turns out my comedy routine is pretty much on the money! 

Does the name Barbara Bradley Hagerty ring any bells? You might recognize her as a former stalwart of National Public Radio. After 30 years in journalism and more than 20 with NPR she suffered from what is often tritely labeled "burnout," literally lost her voice, and resigned. She has a new book titled Life Reimagined: The Science, Art, and Opportunity of Midlife in which she discusses some of the details, but the essence is this: Ms. Hagerty reached a point where she couldn't keep calm and carry on; she needed a change. As she reports in an Atlantic article, she is among the great majority of workers who stopped finding meaning and joy in her work. According to her research, just 1/3 of Baby Boomer or Gen Xers experience those things in their jobs. But here's the cool part–you can quit and move on. Her research shows that making a change is good for your health, your sanity, and all the things that really matter (friendships, family, physical robustness, happiness, warding off Alzheimer's…).

Hagerty doesn't suggest a dreamy Flower Child do-your-own-thing solution, nor does she advocate jumping into the dark regardless of money. What finds, though, is that there is tremendous benefit in recognizing when you've reached your growth potential in your current post. At such a point, a change is needed, and it doesn't have to be a radical one. In fact, most people end up making lateral moves, not dramatic ones–it's the change of scenery that reactivates creativity and satisfaction quotients, not the task itself. Hagerty shifted into writing, hardly a radical departure from radio journalism. As she notes, radical reinventions are very rare and there's not much evidence they induce any more happiness than small shifts. Two things stand out: you have to disengage your auto pilot and your next job needs to be challenging in ways the one you want to chuck isn't.

In my view, there are factors Hagerty hasn't considered or soft sells. She doesn't look at the structure of power and work. There's nothing new in her findings–alienation studies were a staple of 1960s/70s sociology. Moreover, American society needs to hold accountable the ruinous economics polices of free marketers, bean counters, and ideologues that have created toxic workplaces. Burnout is pretty easy to explain when you consider that many jobs now done by one person used to be done by three. And we simply need to stop worshiping amoral CEOs and investors who use workers as play toys, whipping posts, and lackeys. (A resurgence in unionism would be a useful first step, as would a workers' bill of rights, tighter business regulations, oversight of investment practices, and the construction of significant obstacles on movable capital.)

So maybe Hagerty isn't the keenest sociologist out there–but she's still right: there comes a time in which the healthiest thing you can do is change. It's a palpable moment–the realization that you've reached the end of what you can do where you are. Too many of us hang on thinking that either the job or we will change. The first is seldom true. It's a basic axiom of sociology: people change faster than institutions. Is your job too small for your soul? Move on.

One of Hagerty's sunniest findings is her finding that as we get near 60, happiness tends to increase. Got that? We get happier when we stop caring about work! I've been lucky–I adored my life as a high school teacher in my 20s and 30s, a researcher in my 30s, and as an academic in my 40s into my 60s. I even dare to imagine that I've been pretty good at these things. But here's the deal: my hearing is failing in ways that make the classroom harder. Can I continue, or is it time to leave? I don't care! I no longer think that Western civilization needs my research or, more accurately, I realize I've made a few contributions of which I'm pleased to have made, but Western civ never did need these to survive. Moreover, the academy has changed in many ways I find distasteful. I still love my students, but they too can carry on without me and I won't miss grading their papers. I'm starting to feel like this whole work thing just isn't needed for the next phase of my life. Retirement? I don't know what that means other than it's a change from what I have been doing. I don't fear or dread it; career simply doesn't matter as much as it used to. I'd like to think I've become wise, but self-importance is among the things I've jettisoned. So let me quote someone who truly was wise, the Greek philosopher Heraclitus: " There is nothing permanent except change."

2016 MLB Preview: National League West

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2016 MLB Preview: NL West

T. S. Eliot once remarked that April is the cruelest month. One of the ways in which that's true is it's the opening of the MLB and a few teams that have no chance of winning the Big Enchilada will have brilliant opening months. But, Alexander Pope was also correct when he wrote, "Hope springs eternal in the human breast." I'm as guilty of this as anyone. Each year at this time I launch into my MLB predictions—a bit of prognostication with as much likelihood of being accurate as running the bracket for the NCAA basketball tournament.

Have I learned my lesson? Of course not! Here we go, starting with the National League East. Here's my order of predicted finish:  Giants, Diamondbacks, Dodgers, Rockies, Padres.

10, 12, 14 and 16

The San Francisco Giants win in even years and my calendar says 2016. They are betting that Johnny Cueto and Jeff Samardizija are better pitchers than their records suggest and that Matt Cain's injuries are behind him. That's hoping for a lot, but a staff headed by Madison Bumgarner still looks better than anyone else's in a year in which the NL West is poised to return to its status as MLB's worst division. The SF offense, spearheaded by Posey, Belt, and Crawford, isn't fearsome but will get the job done.

If the Giants falter, for the first time since it snowed in Phoenix, the Arizona Diamondbacks have a shot at the division, though it would require breakout years from a few guys to complement the magnificent Paul Goldschmidt—an MVP candidate—and A.J. Pollock. But stealing Greinke from the Dodgers was a coup and I like the upside of Patrick Corbin. But it says here that the pitching is too thin and that a roster headed by Red Sox flops like Miller and De La Rosa won't get it done. I'll say second, but fourth wouldn't surprise me.

For once, the Los Angeles Dodgers don't come close to have to having a fearsome henhouse of hurlers. There is perennial Cy Young candidate Clayton Kershaw and then not much: hot/cold Scott Kazmir, an untested Japanese import (Maeda), a so-so Korean who missed all of last season (Ryu), and still-wet-behind-the-ears Alex Wood. Not enough. What date do you have in the annual "When Does Puig Become a Distraction" pool? I've got July 1. I like Adrian Gonzalez and Corey Seager, but then it's a steep falloff. And, yes, that includes Joc Pederson, my vote for the most overrated prospect in the NL.

The Colorado Rockies held onto Carlos Gonzalez for the moment, Gerardo Parra is serviceable, and Nolan Arenado is a star in the making, but the Rox are always several pieces short. Pitching? All one needs to say is that Jorge De La Rossa (9-7, 4.17) is the ace and Jason Motte the closer. Ouch!

Last year a lot of people (not me!) saw the San Diego Padres as a possible playoff team. Nobody feels that way now. They have exactly one guy that another team would give major prospects to acquire: pitcher Andrew Cashner, and his stock is falling. Things are so bad in San Diego that Fernando Rodney is the closer and management is considering a swap of bad contracts: James "Longball" Shields for Pedro Sandoval. Who in their right mind wants the Beluga Panda?  If things go very well the Pads will stay out of the basement, but I'd not wager on that!

Rams a Hard, Cold Icelandic Gem of a Film

RAMS  (2015)

Directed by Grimus Hákoarrson

Aeroplan Film, 93 minutes, Icelandic with subtitles, R (naked old men)

* * * * *

My father and my aunt held a grudge for 25 years before they abruptly stopped feuding for the simple reason that neither could remember why they were mad at each other. Such foibles are central to this glorious little gem of a film from Iceland.

Sheep herders Gummi (Siguroùr Sigurjόrsson) and his older brother Kiddi (Theodér Jùlísson) live side-by-side in a remote section of Iceland, but the wire fence running between their properties has less to do with ovine management than with the fact they’ve not spoken for 40 years. Both raise an heirloom sheep that is the wooly Rolls Royce of their region, yet are fierce competitors in local fairs where little more is at stake than yearly possession of a forked stick for best ram in show. It doesn’t take long to realize that Gummi and Kiddi are the titular rams of this film. We also infer that the dispute probably has something to do with the fact that their parents entrusted Gummi to maintain the stock because the elder Kiddi is a drunkard.  

Though Gummi is the brooding sensitive brother, each is hard-headed in ways that explain why each is a gray-bearded bachelor. Their gray beards and stocky bodies also alert us that each has become more ovine than human; in fact, it’s not an exaggeration to say that they love their animals, especially their respective prized rams. Gummi and Kiddi are perversely content in their spiteful silence, but must confront the twists that fate puts in life’s skein. Shortly after Kiddi’s ram bested Gummi’s by a half point at the local competition, Gummi notices the telltale signs of scrapie in that ram. This is serious business; if scrapie is detected, the only way to eradicate it is to destroy all of the herds in the area, their pens, and hay. Is it scrapie, or Gummi’s revenge? Or is Gummi actually trying to preserve the family flock? Will the brothers pursue a vendetta to the end, or cooperate in the name of a greater goal?

There’s probably not much in this description that makes you to see this film. Let me add that it’s very slow, nearly silent in long stretches, and subtitled. I can hear you mocking: “Oh sure, Rob—I’ll make a mad dash to view a film in Icelandic about cranky sheep herders where very little happens and the old farts appear nude. Woo-hee!” And I’ll tell you that if you miss this one, you are passing on a gorgeous film that is more moving than a mall full of overwrought Hollywood tripe. In structure it’s a black comedy stitched to a drama, with its gags analogous to the offbeat humor of a film such as Fargo. Its drama is either heartwarming or heartbreaking, depending upon how you interpret material that is deliberately open-ended.

Iceland nominated this film for Oscar consideration, but the Academy passed. Although I’d certainly not dispute its choice to bestow top honors on the stunning Ida, I’d put Rams just a notch down from it. Don’t judge this film by its setup; it’s like Nordic furniture: stark, clean, sharp-angled, and enduring. --Rob Weir

New and Upcoming Releases: McNary, Dillingham, Phillips, Bridges, Freakwater

Those looking for material for a tragic novel could do worse than borrow from the biography of Tim McNary: raised in a cheerless Chicago evangelical home, a bout of homelessness, two band breakups, depression, and the theft of his van and all of his equipment…. At the very least you could get some good country music out of that. And he has—his forthcoming EP Above the Trees resulted from a move to Nashville and catharsis with guitar and pen. His voice has been compared to that of Damien Rice and that's a pretty good analogy in that both are capable of high-level drama and low-level pain. The vocals also evoke Richard Shindell's mix of reedy and guttural tones. My favorite track is "The Other Man," a song about the proverbial third wheel in a doomed triad: You've got another man… and I don't give a damn/I'm the one loving you now. Now if that's not a country song, I don't know what is. In style, though, McNary is more on the acoustic end of things, with flights into theatrical and robust arrangements. The EP releases April 8, but you can sample tracks now at Noisetrade.

All I can tell you about Dillingham is that it's an acoustic rock band based in Charlottesville, Virginia. The lead singer, Tucker MacDonald, sounds as if he might be English. Apparently the entire for-sale output is three tracks available for download. I liked all three. "Chicago" has the sad feel of a man pouring out his sorrows at a 2 am café as an accordion squeezes out the pain. "Night Run" is a different thing altogether—a metronome-like beat, some acoustic guitar playing over it, and vocals on, in-between, and behind the beat. The lyrics aren't really the point; it's more like being washed in sound. "Ships" features very strong vocals from a very fine singer, whoever he might be. Go to your favorite download site, sample these, and see if one makes you want to shell out a buck. It's worth it. Now enough with the mystery. Who are these folks?

I haven't heard the whole thing yet, but I'm hopeful that the new release from Grant-Lee Phillips titled The Narrows will return him to the promise of the early 1990s, when he toured with (and as) Grant Lee Buffalo and caught to praiseful notice of Michael Stipe (R.E.M.). His more recent solo work has been good, but lacks variety. At his best, his high tones are reminiscent of Neil Young with some of the rawness smoothed out, but an overabundance of slow-paced material borders on the laconic. But "Smoke and Sparks" from the new record lives up to its title. The circular strumming of the guitar is robust and his Young-like voice is dotted with colors and mannerisms that are like Springsteen in a country mode. I'm hopeful there will more of this.  

Speaking of Young, an outfit calling itself Bridges is actually Athens, Georgia-based Alex Young and some sidekicks. Their debut EP Bridges has a sort of Dave Matthews vibe to both Young's voice and the way in which songs begin one way and veer off in other directions. Bridges are a bit grittier, though. A favored technique, which we hear on the song "Young," is to open slow and mournful then segue to some crunchy power chords. This song has a bit of rock opera drama to it—as does "Stand Up, Fall Down"–but others spin differently. "No Ordinary Night" is a Van Morrison-like song with its jazzy horns and soulful grooves, yet the punfully named "Saxy" uses the same horns to deliver the power jazz/progressive rock of bands like Jon Hiseman's Colosseum. And then there's the heavy metal-meets-country "Departure (Yours)," whose very title lets us know a happy ending is unlikely. This one is another pay-what-you-wantdownload and its five tracks are well worth a few bucks.

The Louisville-based band Freakwater has been around since 1989 and I still can't figure out what I think about them. They have a nice recording titled Scheherazade (Bloodstone Records) that will either be your cup of tea or send you running for a beer. The first thing you need to know about this band is that they specialize in dissonance. The harmonies between Janet Bean and Catherine Irwin are, depending upon your point of view, raw, twangy mountain at their unfiltered and honest best; or Emmylou Harris on a dead drunk. I sampled "The Asp and theAlbatross," which has fine backing electric instrumentation, and the backwoodsy "Number One with a Bullet," a dark song done as if it were a two-step. Each has its appeal as alt.country living up to its label. There aren't many bands with such unusual vocals, so you can be excused if you think Freakwater is best imbibed in small sips, not big gulps. They're worth a taste test, though.

Rob Weir

Black Panthers Documentary (all too) Relevant for Today

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BLACK PANTHERS: VANGUARD OF THE REVOLUTION (2015)

Directed by Stanley Nelson, Jr.

PBS Distribution, 115 minutes, Unrated.

 * * **

If you’ve not yet seen this powerful documentary on the Black Panthers, see it ASAP. If you wonder why you’d want to take a trip—and not always a pleasant one—back in time, Google “Black Lives Matter” and you’ll have your answer.

Director Stanley Nelson, Jr. isn’t always entirely on the level, but his film is remarkably balanced in showing both the attractions and weaknesses of the Black Panthers from a black point of view. This alone is a revelation. As one old enough to recall, it often seemed that whites had one of two views of the Black Panther Party (BPP): romantic or fearful; that is, those who glorified the BPP and thought everything it did was justified, and those who agreed with FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover that they were terrorists. Nelson shows them as more complex and he—through former Panther William Calhoun—reminds us of their “youthful vigor.” Like many 1960s social activists, youthful Panthers were a sometimes volatile mix of idealism, impatience, insight, and naiveté. It also had what Kathleen Cleaver called the “swagger” of youth. Several commentators remarked upon the seductive coolness of Panthers in their shades, leather jackets, and defiance. To fearful whites they were a raised fist to the face of propriety and comfort—and that was the point! The BPP actually formed first in Alabama, but it was in the streets of 1966 Oakland where it took off. As Calhoun observed, there was no difference between how African Americans were treated in Alabama vis-à-vis Oakland. The BPP was originally called the Black Panther Party for Self Defense, and those automatic weapons they carried were there because they had, for too long, been gunned down by racist cops for reasons roughly as good as those that led to Trayvon Martin’s murder in 2012, or Eric Garner’s in 2014.

Nelson mines archival video and crosscuts it with recent interviews, talking heads analysis, and voice-overs. He has some superb footage, like Bobby Seale on a talk show cohosted by John Lennon and Yoko Ono, old Soul Train episodes, and Ronald Reagan at his tough-cowboy worst. Numerous movement figures discuss their involvement in the organization and why they joined. The only reenactments are those involving FBI head J. Edgar Hoover (Stu Richel) and that’s because Hoover’s role was crucial in defining and declawing the BPP. Hoover was singularly obsessed with preventing the rise of a “Black Messiah” and the sight of Panthers ringing the California legislature carrying automatic weapons firmed his resolve to crush them. (It also led the National Rifle Association to call for strict gun control laws!) Huey Newton was railroaded on a manslaughter charge in 1968; though public pressure forced his release, he was ultimately too volatile to be that messiah. Ditto Eldridge Cleaver, who escaped prosecution by fleeing to Algeria. Bobby Seale had his own legal woes, and Stokely Carmichael was never a good fit. Soon, Hoover’s COINTELPRO spy network exacerbated the rift between Newton and Cleaver, which split the BPP into irreconcilable factions, one that wanted to emphasize revolution and the other community service. First, though, the most-promising messiah, Fred Hampton, had to go, a task accomplished when Chicago police and the FBI executed him in 1969. One of the more potent messages from the documentary is that the BPP, for all its revolutionary rhetoric, contained more victims than rebels. As was the case for most groups on Hoover’s watch list, civil liberties and legal niceties seldom stood in the way of eliminating “subversives.”

Does Nelson romanticize the Panthers? Though he’s no doe-eyed worshipper, the objective answer is yes. He assiduously avoids discussing the fact that many of its leaders were doctrinaire communists, or that the BPP did, on occasion, precipitate violence rather than simply react to it. He argues that the Panthers were not anti-white, but ignores lots of (admittedly heated) rhetoric that took that tone. In a related vein, the BPP’s relationship to the broader New Left is not developed. Perhaps most glaring is his gloss of BPP sexism. Let’s just say that women got a more respectful airing in this film than most got in BPP meetings, and that you’d never guess that Elaine Brown, who chaired the Panthers from 1974-77, was one of the biggest critics of Panther sexism.

If Nelson sugarcoats a bit, he doesn’t shy from BPP weaknesses such as the cults of personality it fostered, the egoism of Newton and Cleaver, and the very idea that Panthers could win an armed struggle against the federal government. For the most part, Nelson serves up a first-rate history lesson. The BPP did not accomplish a revolution, but remember that Nelson called it a “vanguard.” Black Lives Matter, Martin, Garner, and others remind us that history’s final chapter is yet to be written.

Rob Weir

Postscript: The NRA’s response to armed Black Panthers shielded by the Second Amendment spawned an idea for the gun control movement: give every illegal immigrant a firearm!  

          

Goodbye Blue: March Album of the Month

GOODBYE BLUE

Worth the Wait

Wondermore Records/Noisetrade

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This album is everything I generally dislike: wall-to-wall wholesomeness, family values, and parents singing about their children. Mind, I've nothing against kids—but I nearly always find songs about parenthood embarrassing in their sentimentality. So why do I suddenly adore an entire album of this stuff?

Let's start with the obvious: the talent of the couple featured, the husband-wife team of Charlotte Kendrick and Dan Rowe, she a Pawling, NY native, University of Vermont grad, and Peace Corps vet; and he a multi-instrumentalist, veteran of the Northeast music scene, and a producer of indie label records. Okay—good values. Now let's go deeper. Ms. Kendrick doesn't just have a nice voice—it's one that stops you in your tracks and makes you ask, "Who is that?" Her vocals are often compared to Patty Griffin, but Lori McKenna is a better choice.

Kendrick and Rowe have three kids and the last one is the reason why the album is christened Worth the Wait; it was almost eight years between Kendrick's I Get Stupid and the new record. The album evokes Lori McKenna in the way in which family comes first and music second. Appropriately, it opens with the sunny "Another One on the Way," rendered in soft country folk style and oozing family values, but not in a mawkish or romantic way. One of the album's many joys is that Kendrick and Rowe simply embrace their choices and move on: There’s no question we’ve got ourselves a handful/So little time for us/But we’re never given more than we can handle/We’ve got this babe, another one on the way. There's nothing preachy about them and no sugarcoating what it takes to get by. On "Complicated," Kendrick sings, Nothing's simple as it seems/We both have our dreams/And we know nothing worth having comes easily/But, oh, it's complicated/Oh, it's complicated. Check out also the up-tempo, bluegrassy "By Firelight," which might be destined to become an ode to exhausted moms everywhere—a veritable litany of the ways in which kids and duties can drive a person to the point where, …you’re hiding in your basement/‘Cause you can no longer take it/Watching Youtube on your phone/ You should be folding clothes/Prepping dinner, wiping a nose/But all you need is one small minute alone.

Call this an Americana album that's both sweet and refreshingly honest. There's some folk, some bluegrass, a touch of hoedown, and the vibe of the title track is that of an anticipatory "Circle Game" update. But, like Ms. McKenna, not a peep of complaint from Kendrick—just that voice that makes you ask again, "Who is that?" and shames curmudgeons like me.  Rob Weir