Ryan Braun sued by longtime friend
Updated: August 16, 2013, 5:38 PM ET
ESPN


A longtime friend of Ryan Braun's filed a lawsuit against the suspended slugger last month, charging that Braun defamed him after the friend provided help in his successful appeal of Braun's positive steroid test in 2011.


Ralph Sasson, 29, makes a number of personal accusations against Braun, saying in the lawsuit that Braun doped through his years at the University of Miami, committed academic fraud and accepted money while a student.

Reached this week, Sasson declined to comment and said the lawsuit speaks for itself.

Braun's attorney, Howard Weitzman, rejected the claims.

"This lawsuit is an unfortunate attempt to capitalize on Ryan's recent press attention for taking responsibility for his actions. The factual allegations and the legal claims have absolutely no merit. We believe the lawsuit will be dismissed," he said in a statement.

Sasson, who describes himself as a law student, says he was contacted by Braun's agent, Nez Balelo, in November 2011 after Braun was notified that he had tested positive for elevated levels of testosterone. Part of his assignment, the lawsuit says, was to conduct background research on the man who collected Braun's urine sample, Dino Laurenzi Jr.

The lawsuit says Sasson was forced to threaten Braun and Balelo with a lawsuit in order to recover $5,000 that he says was promised, and that he was paid last year when he agreed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. But Sasson charges that Braun violated that agreement when he made what Sasson calls defamatory statements about him to undisclosed parties. Sasson asks for unspecified damages in the complaint.

The lawsuit also says that Braun asked Sasson to "prank call" ESPN "Outside the Lines" reporter Mark Fainaru-Wada, who was working with reporter T.J. Quinn on a story in December 2011 that Braun had failed a PED test. According to the lawsuit, Braun wanted Sasson to say, "The original information Quinn and Fainaru-Wada had obtained regarding Braun was part of an elaborate conspiracy to assassinate the character of multiple baseball players and agents including, but not limited to, Ryan Braun."

Sasson says in the lawsuit that he refused.

OAKLAND, Calif. -- On Monday, Charlie Manuel won his 1,000th game as a big-league manager. On Friday, the Phillies fired him and I've got an idea how it went down.

Manuel has more managerial wins than anyone in Phillies' history. I would imagine GM Ruben Amaro Jr., one of Manuel's pupils when he was the Indians' hitting coach back in the late 1990s, asked him to step down at the end of this disappointing season. It would give the Phillies a chance to thank Manuel for his service and pass the torch to Ryne Sandberg, the manager in waiting. It would have been a nice clean cut.

But when the Phillies were in Cleveland earlier this season, Manuel made it clear that he wasn't ready to retire even though it was evident that's what the front office wanted. So rather than finish the season, Manuel made the Phillies fire him, just as he made Mark Shapiro fire him as Indians manager during the All-Star break in 2002.

Whenever possible, Manuel is going to do it his way.

Well, if they were going to let him finish the season if he retired, why not wait until then to fire him?

In other words, Manuel demanded an extension (just like in Cleveland). When he was told no, he probably threatened to be a pain in the ass. Which he has always been and the team had to get rid of him before he poisoned the current players against the organization.

Remember good old Charlie was the one that told Thome to go elsewhere.

By now Charlie is deep in the VO bottle.

The second firing of underrated, overlooked and completely admirable ex-Indians manager Charlie Manuel recalls the first: Bill Livingston


CLEVELAND, Ohio - After I belittled Charlie Manuel in a poor column straight from the land of sloth and stereotyping, he let me off after an admittedly heart-felt apology with a display of forgiveness that ennobled him as a person. It left me forever an admirer.

Friday, the Phillies fired the ex-Indians manager, who had become the most successful skipper in the team's history. He handled it with class, which was no surprise. It was pretty much the same way he left here. Manuel didn't like the chances of the Phillies team he had been given to win in the short term and he thought more of himself than to wait around for a management decision on how well he turned straw into gold.

Tribe executives used to chuckle over how "Charlie fired himself" by not waiting until the end of the 2002 season to take the fall for the impossible task of rebuilding while contending. The analytics and mission statement men in charge of the franchise were much more at ease with Eric Wedge, who spoke the same language and could finish business-school thoughts about "taking ownership," "empowerment" and "moving the needle" without rolling his eyes.

Manuel wasn't a great tactical manager, perhaps, but he knew how not to overthink with talented players. Behind only talent, he liked aggressive players. Many times, as a former hitting coach here, he would quietly sigh after poor at-bats by his Tribe players in critical situations, "Damn, son. Don't be afraid to try to win the game."

He wasn't afraid to, that's for sure. Manuel was a good manager for good players to play for because he treated them with the same respect he demanded for himself.

A nice man, Charlie could be tough. When Albert Belle was the "Raging Belle" with the 1990s Indians, it was Manuel, then in his 50s, who challenged Belle to a fight after one clubhouse tantrum -- and it was Belle who declined.

A country boy from Virginia like Manuel wouldn't have become one of the best American players in Japan without the ability to cope with a variety of difficult competitive and cultural situations. The "Red Devil" they called him for his once-fiery hair. He could hit, and he could survive.

Any chuckling about Manuel's jumbled sentences stopped when his Phillies won the 2008 World Series and went back in 2009, but lost to the New York Yankees.

He should have won two World Series. The 2011 Phillies had four certifiable aces in their rotation in ex-Indian Cliff Lee, Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt and Cole Hamels. They won 102 games and were heavy favorites over St. Louis, which squeaked into the playoffs after a historic collapse by Atlanta in the final month of the season.

If anyone was going to beat those Phillies, it was probably going to be in the shorter, best-of-five divisional round. So the Cardinals did in the maximum five games on their way to a storybook World Series victory over Texas in which they twice were one strike from elimination in the sixth game.

The final game of the division series, won, 1-0, by the Cards, ended in almost a Cleveland-like tableau of shock and grief, as the final Phillies batter, Ryan Howard, tore his Achilles tendon as he ran from the batter's box and collapsed as the Cardinals began celebrating the stunning upset.

I grew up as a Cardinals fan in Texas, thanks to the reach of the St. Louis flagship radio station at the time, KMOX, and I worked in Philly for 10 1/2 years. But I was not conflicted in my emotions in the 2011 divisional series.

I would have been for Charlie Manuel -- on either side of the Pacific, on any team, including the Yankees.

In games where Clayton Kershaw pitches and the Dodgers score 4 runs. Kershaw is 50 and 0.

Wow !

Another PED guy falls apart !


The Angels have shut Albert Pujols (foot) down for the remainder of the season.
Pujols had been holding out hope that he could return from the partial tear of his left plantar fascia before the end of the season, but it was never likely to happen. He won't undergo surgery but is expected to be fully healthy by the time spring training rolls around.


Source: Alden Gonzalez on Twitter Aug 19 - 6:55 PM

August 20, 2013
Baseball ProGUESTus
Giving Up the PED Guessing Game
by Gabe Kapler


Most of our writers didn't enter the world sporting an @baseballprospectus.com address; with a few exceptions, they started out somewhere else. In an effort to up your reading pleasure while tipping our caps to some of the most illuminating work being done elsewhere on the internet, we'll be yielding the stage once a week to the best and brightest baseball writers, researchers, and thinkers from outside of the BP umbrella. If you'd like to nominate a guest contributor (including yourself), please drop us a line.

Gabe Kapler spent parts of 12 years in the major leagues from 1998-2010, playing for the Tigers (1998-99), Rangers (2000-02), Rockies (2002-03), Red Sox (2003-06 – with a brief interlude in Japan), Brewers (2008) and Rays (2009-10). He also spent a year managing the Red Sox’ Single-A affiliate in Greenville. Follow him on Twitter @gabekapler. You can read his first article for BP here and listen to his recent discussion of advanced stats on Effectively Wild with Ben Lindbergh and Sam Miller here.

***
I admit that my relationship with weight training was born out of insecurity. My bloom was tardy and the pictures of a minuscule, undeveloped, preadolescent me juxtaposed with my Little League teammates haunted me through the 10th grade, when I finally began to expand physically in both directions.

While I certainly sprouted in high school, I am to this day attempting to shake the association with that tiny 12-year-old boy. And it's that mindset that ingrained insanely regimented and admittedly neurotic eating practices as a young adult, like taking a bite of ice cream and, if I deemed the taste unworthy, spitting it out into the bushes so as not to ingest the fat content.

That was the tip of my idiosyncratic iceberg related to food. For years I survived on a diet of boneless, skinless chicken breasts and rice and beans, without a vegetable or berry in my repertoire. I learned to eat fast food in the minor leagues by throwing away buns before it was sexy to wrap a burger in a piece of lettuce.

Those echoes of childhood neuroses drove me to an obsessive quest for muscle; I did pull-ups on dugout ledges, always leery of the former absence of size in my back. And that muscle, in the era in which I played, meant that I would be suspected, without evidence or reason, of using steroids.

I graduated from high school as a 17-year-old in 1993 at 6-foot-1, 175 pounds, rocking a lean, wiry frame like my dad and my grandpa had at the same age. I didn't hit a single home run in high school but had extraordinary eye-hand coordination and could square the ball up at will. Unfortunately for me at the time, the baseball didn't go anywhere when I did find the sweet spot. Still, someone at Cal State Fullerton must have noticed that I possessed good bat-to-ball skills and a frame that would fill out, and offered me a scholarship.

The Titans won the College World Series the following year, but I wasn’t on that team. I didn’t even make it to the spring semester at CSUF in 1994. Among other things, I hadn’t acquired my “man strength,” and in the end, I simply wasn’t emotionally or physically ready for the program. I took the year off and arrived in the fall semester of 1994 at Moorpark College, where I told my coach, Mario Porto, that I was coming from Fullerton.

“Congratulations,” he responded sarcastically. “If you’re good enough, you’ll play here.”

The fall from grace and loss of a scholarship coupled with my new coach’s hard-line stance was a blessing in disguise and offered the motivation desperately needed by a directionless teenager. In addition to a strict offseason lifting program, I took a nutrition course at Moorpark that changed my life in a way that no other educational experience had before. I learned how to replenish calories and how much protein was needed after a workout for appropriate tissue recovery and muscle building. I fully absorbed and embraced the concept of eating for fuel, not for taste.

In congruence with my newfound sustenance awareness, I was gradually maturing physiologically. It was the perfect storm of a 19-year-old finally receiving the hormones that blessed his peers years earlier, a passionate love affair with heavy weight training, and a mind infinitely opened by a junior college nutrition textbook that boosted me down a path of minor league baseball success and outrageously unfair, but in some ways understandable, accusations.

I was drafted in the 57th round in 1995 at an incredibly lean 190 pounds. By the time I reached my second year in the minor leagues, I was more muscular at 205 pounds than the first-round picks in the Detroit Tigers organization, and as strong as anyone selected in between. Those well-struck baseballs that had once landed safely in the gloves of shallowly positioned outfielders in my high school days were now screaming into the gaps and bouncing off walls.

I remained my own interpretation of Rain Man with my routine. I vividly recall being on a South Atlantic League road trip in 1996 and walking miles from our team motel to a gym in Savannah, Ga., in the dead of summer so as not to miss a workout (I was squatting nearly 500 pounds at this point). God forbid I stray from my lifting schedule. I found that gym buried in the Yellow Pages, a common practice for me in those days. The Comfort Inn didn’t have a treadmill back then, but I could count on a Bible and a phone book.

My teammates deemed my eating habits and training regimen psychotic and busted my balls about it, but they consistently asked for advice on training. They were intrigued (and, I’m guessing, suspicious), but I always felt that deep down, regardless of their outward behavior, they respected my sacrifice. Could be wishful thinking, but I’ll roll with that.

As my performance improved, so did the hotels. Better access to gyms on road trips spared me the toe blisters, but my inflexible approach to training and eating didn’t waver until many years into my major league career. (Full disclosure: I still have strict eating and training habits, but they are far healthier, and center on well-being rather than strength and size. My relationship with blueberries long ago passed the honeymoon phase.)

I was at my heaviest (around 215 pounds) and strongest, but not my leanest, during my first two seasons with the Texas Rangers at ages 24-25. I remember the batting practice session in which I blasted a ball into the second deck in left field at the Ballpark in Arlington, and later in the same session hit a ball onto the grassy section in center well beyond the wall that I knew instantly would go out. My power was always to the pull side, and the significance of hitting a ball right of the “400” sign with the certainty that it would leave is not to be discounted. I never again in my career felt that powerful or even close.

In the offseason before 2002, when I was 26, I played a flag football tournament that I participated in annually. Granted, it was physical, but I was used to bouncing back the next day and hitting and throwing in preparation for the upcoming season. But this time, instead of my usual seamless physical recovery, I was extraordinarily stiff for several days.

This was the first sign that I was in physical decline. From that point on, my body cooperated less and less. When I got to camp in 2002, I noticed that the ball wasn’t exploding off my bat quite as much as it had been the previous year. In fact, in one spring training game in Port Charlotte, I hit a walk-off home run that I confidently anticipated would land in the water beyond the left-field fence and was shocked to see it narrowly sneak out of the park, crashing against the second wooden wall.

Frustration permeated my being to the point that I took hours of swings off a tee on the field at Charlotte County Stadium the following day, bloodying my hands in the process. My mechanics were not sound, but it didn’t make sense that even when squaring the baseball up, the velocity off the bat was noticeably diminished. In hindsight, I can forcefully squish the puzzle pieces together.

My body was producing less testosterone. I was very slowly and quite naturally shrinking. Every year after that, I carried less and less muscle mass while working just as hard in the weight room and continually improving my eating habits. Each year I came into camp a little lighter: 208, then 205, then 202. By my last year in Tampa I was having trouble maintaining 198. My body without weight training naturally carries a lean 175 or 180, as it did when I graduated from high school. So the progression was natural for a guy who wasn’t getting fatter.

I never again experienced the strength or productivity that I had at 24 and 25, but found subtle ways to make adjustments when appropriate and have success, albeit limited, throughout my career. I am grateful for the natural gifts I was given to do so.

Realizing that I’d begun to decline was my moment of truth, the perfect opportunity to step across the threshold from the red to the black (or vice-versa) depending on moral compass. I was about to lose my role as a major league starting outfielder and slide gracefully into my role player/“good teammate” archetype.

Fame and fortune were still mine for the taking if the devil on my shoulder had a loud enough voice. He did not. PEDs have been the topic of a plethora of philosophical conversations at home with my wife. She was the one person in my life with whom I could safely and whimsically fantasize about what might be if ever I were to open Pandora’s Box (600 plate appearances, 30 homers, millions of dollars?). Despite the potential fairytale, I never really got close to the decision to use PEDs.

I made the choice to play clean for a myriad of reasons. Most importantly, I have an obnoxiously loud conscience. I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest while cheating. When I do something, anything, of which I’m not proud (and I’ve displayed my fair share of selfish behavior), I experience guilt. I carry it around like a ton of bricks and was able to anticipate my inability to live with the decision to take the shortcut.

I was also able to predict future conversations with my more mature children. I figured that ultimately I would be in a position in which I’d be forced to impart one of two lessons: “don’t do it like dad” or “follow in my footsteps.” I chose the latter.

I can fully comprehend the spell cast on my peers. Fame, power, and the financial security of generations all contribute to an irresistible scent. It’s like the episode of Survivor in which the contestants have to give up the long-term advantage in a challenge for the instant gratification of a giant slice of chocolate cake and an ice-cold glass of milk while in a state of starvation and dehydration.

Had I been unable to resist the temptation, I believe I would have maintained the strength that I had at my peak, or perhaps increased it. As I became better mechanically and through experience, that power would play up. The ripple effect of that would lead to confidence, which would in turn lead to improved performance. There is a school of thought that PEDs don’t help your eye-hand coordination; that they won’t make you a better player because you still have to hit the ball. That’s a debatable topic, but I reckon that bigger, stronger, faster, more powerful men will hit the ball harder and throw the ball faster. That’s nearly indisputable. In baseball, there isn’t a factor more responsible for success than confidence. I’ve never in my life had a player tell me different. If a man is stronger on the field and can recover more quickly, he’s inherently going to believe in his ability more. I submit that if anything, the value of PEDs to a player has been drastically underpublicized as opposed to overblown.

At every turn, I handled accusations, conversed with skeptical teammates, and did public interviews because of my build. If you start to Google my name, you’ll likely be greeted with the suggestion to type “Gabe Kapler Steroids”. I alone am responsible for this unsavory link. After all, had I not been the subject in the farcical but priceless images that you’ll also find in a web search, one might make less of a connection between me and PEDs based on my body type. My naiveté led me astray when I thought it a good idea to supplement my minor league salary with a few bucks for taking shirtless pictures. It’s entertaining to me that many years later I’m still trying to shake the image of my youth and restore credibility. (Are you listening, Johnny Manziel?)

At one point in 2000, HBO Real Sports came to Chicago during a series with the White Sox in a sleazy attempt to ambush our Texas Rangers team. The network was there in part because that group included since publicly indicted players Ken Caminiti, who was open with his teammates about his steroid abuse, and Rafael Palmeiro and Alex Rodriguez, who both tested positive, as well as others with strong ties to rumors, speculation, or positive tests. Grievously for me, if you fight beside gang members, it’s assumed you are in a gang. HBO asked for volunteers to be tested.

“Who would be willing to take a PED test, right here and right now for our show?”, the producers asked.

I raised my hand. I was extraordinarily proud to do so, and still hold that moment in my life in high regard. I’m grateful to have the incident documented.

In my private moments of frustration stemming from accusations related to body type, I mentally appraised the men in the other dugout, or in my own. I went through them one-by-one and judged them based on size and muscularity. It was a worthless exercise, but entertaining nonetheless.

Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, and Sammy Sosa are the fuel to America’s fiery game of “Who Done It?” Baseball has become a B movie, and the stars are a cast of characters with a wide variety of physiques residing on both sides of the ethics spectrum. What’s a good script without a conflict between good and evil?

The men who have tested positive for PEDs include Ryan Franklin (skinny), Bartolo Colon (not skinny), Melky Cabrera (not muscular), Neifi Perez (skinny) etc. Do bodybuilders use steroids? Of course. Like the American population, users come in all shapes and sizes. Men in major league baseball who don’t use also vary greatly in body type.

In the aftermath of the Biogenesis mushroom cloud, I've joined the chorus of people in the industry who have spoken publicly about the noticeable change taking place. The players are finally speaking up, standing shoulder to shoulder and emphatically proclaiming their desire for a clean sport. There is a growing crack in the once-private dam of player opinion, and it’s a beautiful thing.

Mike Trout, Matt Kemp, Skip Schumaker, Aaron Rodgers and many more have emphatically taken a stance on the “clean” side of this issue. That doesn’t make them better than anybody else, but if a PED-free game is what the players desire, there must be an authenticity to our public stance, and it has to be loud and unified.

It’s unfortunate, but players, fans, and the media are still analyzing PED use like a 1950s baseball scout rather than using the mounds of data at our fingertips to appropriately measure what has occurred and is occurring. Phrenology was once a widely accepted science, but it was based on mainly false assumptions. The nature of the current quest to identify potential users seems just as misguided.

From my perspective, assuming and sharing publicly that because a man is muscular he's used steroids, HGH, or any other PED is irresponsible and reckless. It may indeed be part of an overall picture, but it’s akin to looking at a pitcher’s wins and losses and determining his value based on those flawed statistics alone. The detective work necessary to accurately assess the likelihood of a player's PED use is above the pay grade of the average fan, and therefore it’s rarely done.

Earlier this month, Jack Clark threw a blindfolded haymaker at Albert Pujols, stating publicly on his (now former) radio show, “I know for a fact he (Pujols) was (using). The trainer that worked with him, threw him batting practice from Kansas City, that worked him out every day, basically told me that’s what he did.”

I cringed along with the baseball world when I heard that, not only because a player whom we all hold in high regard was unreasonably facing an attack on his integrity, but also because your buddy lobbing you an anecdote is not enough data for you to kick another human being in the nuts.

The following day, Brian Kenny and I chatted on his radio show. He asked me to address Pujols in particular, and in doing so vehemently stated, “Anybody that comes into camp 25 pounds lighter, I wonder about.” BK was clearly emotional, and rightfully so after the Ryan Braun and A-Rod deceptions. I get BK’s sentiment, but wondering is all we can justly do. We certainly have no business making a reasonable case based on hearsay and weight loss alone.

Until we have a positive test, an admission of guilt, an accepted suspension or some other unequivocally accurate anecdotal evidence, we’d be wise to assume innocence so as not to unjustly jeopardize the reputations of undeserving human beings.

But that doesn’t mean we should put our heads in the sand and ignore the possibility of guilt. Clearly, players are still trying to get a chemical edge in the world of penalties. And it would be irresponsible to ignore evidence that at least raises yellow flags.

Pujols is an interesting example of a guy who absolutely should be and is experiencing a natural decline in strength, durability, and performance. The average male’s testosterone levels begin declining at age 20. By 30, the same man is producing 25 percent less testosterone, and the decrease in production continues through his 30s. By the time he reaches 40, he has 50 percent less testosterone production than at his peak in his early 20s.



So now Albert is truly out of luck, and he owes it, at least in part, to Jack. If he picks up his performance, the world will throw the book at him. He’s similarly screwed if he speaks out, given the recent sentiment that the guy who screams the loudest, e.g., “I’ll sue you!”, is guilty. And we all know that a player who won’t publicly deny PED use MUST be hiding something.

The players who have publicly humiliated themselves by desperately proclaiming their innocence, only to later admit guilt (or be deemed guilty), were not just slicing their own wrists but muzzling and, in some cases, strangling the men and women wrongly accused.

At this point, players are damned in the court of public opinion no matter what they do or say. In many ways, this is the collective responsibility of the players. Our most important figures lied to our faces, and now we don’t know who to believe.

Speaking of our most important figures, a recent edition of The Washington Post contained a piece on A-Rod’s recent decline and cited Yale economist Ray C. Fair’s mathematical model of how hitters age, derived using the stats of every batter who played at least 10 full seasons between 1921 and 2004. He uncovered that the typical peak is around age 28, even with a selective sample of hitters who aged gracefully enough to make it in the majors for a decade or more. By 29, such hitters are already in a decline. It’s worth noting that pitchers are at their best even earlier (around 26, which is when I noticed my own descent).

If we are to start somewhere in our quest to understand PEDs, it’s most likely by examining performance. Scientifically, it’s difficult to fathom players aging in reverse, as they have so often in recent years. What we see in terms of physique—muscle gain or weight loss—is far less useful as an indicator of potential use than statistics that make a mockery of the aging curve.

And here I am stepping into the same razor-sharp trap that I’m trying to direct you away from. I’m exposing my own bias and speculating along with the rest of America. Shame on me.

So is the lesson not to judge a book by its cover? Perhaps. There are numerous takeaways from the madness and scandal of 2013. This season (and the entire PED era) will forever stick us with a skeptic’s view of our beloved sport.

But skepticism should not be used as a justification for ignorant discourse and speculation. Instead, it should compel those of us who care about the game to identify meaningful, measurable indicators of potential PED use.

If we talk about the topic openly enough and study the science with ferocity, rather than viewing the PED discussion as juicy gossip and tabloid fodder while wildly pointing fingers, we have a chance to see things as they are. That kind of methodical approach to the PED conversation may be the best way to leave the ugly drama of scandal in our wake and bring our focus back to the striking beauty of the game itself.

Excellent article - should be required reading for all in the media.

If we are to start somewhere in our quest to understand PEDs, it’s most likely by examining performance. Scientifically, it’s difficult to fathom players aging in reverse, as they have so often in recent years. What we see in terms of physique—muscle gain or weight loss—is far less useful as an indicator of potential use than statistics that make a mockery of the aging curve.

Verlander soaks in All-Star experience

Brother of Tigers ace owns bragging rights in rookie season

By Craig Forde / Special to MiLB.com

NORWICH, Conn. --

If Ben Verlander could ever hold something over his big brother, it is the fact that he became an All-Star as a professional before Justin did.

Just 47 games into his career in pro ball, Verlander was selected to the New York-Penn League All-Star Game at age 21.

When his brother was named a Florida State League All-Star in 2005, Justin was 22.

"I'm right along there with him now," said Verlander. "We're both professional All-Stars, that's something that's pretty cool."

Of course big brother, who has appeared in six Major League All-Star Games, was happy to dispense a little bit of advice to ease Verlander's nerves.

"He just said to have fun, that's what it's all about," said Verlander. "It's easy to get caught up and get a little nervous in your first All-Star Game and first Home Run Derby."

Adding to the excitement of the affair is the fact that the Connecticut Tigers outfielder gets to enjoy his premiere All-Star experience in front of his hometown crowd.

"It's a very exciting time obviously," said Verlander. "It's my first professional year so to be able to play in the All-Star Game is something I'll always remember, and in my hometown in Connecticut is something that's even cooler."

Hailed as the fan favorite when introduced for the Home Run Derby, Verlander was unable to give the local faithful a pregame show to remember, bowing out in the first round with just 90 points.

The Old Dominion product was unfazed by the results, taking it all with a grain of salt.

"That was really exciting," said Verlander. "At a high level, I've never participated in a Home Run Derby. I was just having fun and I hit a lot of line drives. I was hitting for average.

"I won a Home Run Derby and an MVP back in a Little League All-Star Game. That's probably behind this."

Despite Justin blazing and orange and navy path behind the Verlander name over the past decade, the younger Verlander has done more than enough to endear himself to the Tigers community and make his own way with his play this season.

But the friendly sibling rivalry always rears its head, and although it has been many years since the Verlander boys squared off in back yard whiffle ball battles, the two could soon be headed toward a head-to-head showdown where Ben hopes to show he can do more than hit line drives.

"That's something that we've been talking about here," said Verlander with a wry smile. "Our hitting coach [Mike Rabelo] called [Justin] in Detroit, so he's trying to set that up in Spring Training to get me an at-bat. I think I can take him deep now, though."

If he can take Justin deep, it'll be another notch in the "little brother belt" of life.

Craig Forde is a contributor to MiLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues or its clubs.

NYPL notes: Young 'Yaz' up to the task

Aberdeen outfielder undaunted by expectations, recognition

By Craig Forde / Special to MiLB.com

It's impossible to see the last name and not think of greatness, but Aberdeen's Mike Yastrzemski is up to the task of being "Yaz."

Of course, being the grandson of Red Sox Hall of Famer Carl Yastrzemski has had many expecting the young outfielder to simply be what his grandfather once was, but the 21-year-old outfielder has blazed his own trail while not letting any expectations mold him.

"It's a little scary, but that's the whole point," said Yastrzemski. "It's a new experience, and you try to come out here and prove yourself and prove not only to yourself but to other people that you are able to play here."

Drafted in the 36th round out of St. John's Prep High School (Mass.) in 2009 by the very same team with which Carl spent 23 years, Mike opted to honor his commitment to Vanderbilt University.

While many college players who are drafted after their junior season choose to leave school, Mike, taken by the Mariners in the 30th round in 2012, opted to return for his senior season.

Vanderbilt head coach Tim Corbin said on the team's website: "Our program got a lot better when Michael decided to bypass the Major League Draft and come back to school. He's a winning kid and player ... smart, savvy and very team-oriented."

Mike backed that statement by guiding the Commodores to another 54-win season and their second SEC Championship in three years, and after being selected by Baltimore in the 14th round this past June, young Yaz was finally ready to begin his journey as a pro.

"I gained a lot of maturity," Yastrzemski said of his extra year with Vanderbilt. "There was a lot to my game that still had to be improved and a lot to my personality that I feel I had to build on.

"That team really helped me grow, and I had a lot of fun being there. If I could take another four years there, I would."

Soon after he landed in Aberdeen, he quickly acclimated himself to his new surroundings and immediately thrived in yet another winning environment. Through his first 37 games, Yastrzemski has batted .310 with 16 RBIs and 18 runs scored as Aberdeen soared to the top of the McNamara Division while Mike was named to the All-Star team.

Ranking fifth in the league with a .469 slugging percentage and .405 on-base percentage, Yastrzemski's knack for hitting and getting on base is reminiscent of his namesake.

"I'm living with a great host family that has helped me out a lot," said Yastrzemski. "Being able to show up to a beautiful ballpark with a lot of great guys and a great staff is fun. We've got a great fan base, and they make it worth it. They make it easy."

He's also shown that defense is a big part of his game, not yielding an error in 80 chances in the outfield and flashing a solid arm that has accounted for seven assists this year.

Named as a starter for the American League at Tuesday's NYPL All-Star Game in Norwich, Conn., he put his defense on display by throwing out State College's Steven Ramos from right field to end the third inning, delighting the friends and family who made the trek from Massachusetts.

"Being able to be close to home, get some family down here and play in front of them, it's incredible," said Yastrzemski of the experience. "It's an honor to be here."

That trip will be cut down considerably when the Ironbirds pull into Lowell, just a 14-mile drive from Mike's hometown of Andover, for the team's first series there Aug 24-26.

Asked whether he was already looking ahead to the return trip home, he exuberantly stated, "Absolutely. There will be a lot of family there."

It will be the first time in 30 years that a "Yaz" will be playing professional baseball in Massachusetts, and with the career path that Mike has taken thus far, he could someday graze on the same outfield grass that his grandfather patrolled.

Washington is now 20 games back. Strasburg's ERA and WHIP are good, but he's only won 6 games this season. So how smart was it to shut him down when they were in the playoffs last year?

That was soooooo lame JR. So lame!

A team like the Nationals can't expect to be a contender every year. They have to make the most of it when the opportunity presents itself!