When Mets fans heard that Oliver Perez was getting rocked in the Mexican Winter League, they were cautiously optimistic that it would cause the team to finally part ways with the guy. I mean, if you can’t make it in Culiacan,* how are you supposed to handle the Big Apple?
But now it seems that things aren’t so cut and dry. Perez has thrown 10 consecutive scoreless innings and a source tells Adam Rubin that Perez is touching the low 90s on the radar gun:
“Early velocities were 87-89, occasional 90 — all out of the pen. Starting velocities have the consistent 88, but spikes are higher and more common — 91s and occasional 92s.”
I’ll believe that Perez is useful when I see it (could that be in k.p.h.?), but a successful conclusion to his winter league season would certainly make for a fun Mets spring training, no?
*Culiacan: where dreams go to die. It was 1991, and a middleweight boxer from my hometown of Beckley, West Virginia by the name of Tommy Small was knocking guys out all over Appalachia. Occasionally he made it to the big venues like Satchmo’s Night Club in Akron. That spring he stood at a gaudy 23-3 record and was ready for the big time. He got his shot: a fight with Julio Cesar Chavez. The champ. A man who, around that time, was considered to be the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world. The location: Culiacan.
It was short-lived excitement. Chavez made minced meat out of Small who, in reality, was merely a glorified sparring partner for the champ. My boss — who had been drinking tequila from the Wednesday he arrived until the time he called in with his last update from the fight — portrayed it was an epic battle, in which “our local boy may have lost, but he got the champ’s attention.” My guess is that he didn’t even get the champ to sweat, but it was probably the greatest moment in Beckley, West Virginia boxing history.
Well, unless you count the time Mr. T. was the referee for the Tough Man Competition at the Raleigh County Armory. That was pretty bitchin’ actually. There was foxy boxing and everything.
The Pirates beat the Cubs pretty easily last night. There was far more fight in the folks from Chicago out in the bleachers.
A brawl erupted among a group of fans. It was fairly messy as far as fights go. Lots of shoving and yelling and some punches thrown but no one really distinguished themselves or covered themselves with honor or glory. Well, two people did, for wildly different reasons. The fight was recorded by Danny Rockett, who hosts a podcast for the BleedCubbieBlue website. There are two videos below showing most of the relevant action.
I will give some honor and glory points to the middle aged guy in the blue jacket in the first video who kept repeating, over and over again, “there’s no fighting in the bleachers!” He was dead wrong about that, obviously, as there was actually a considerable amount of fighting, but I respect his aspirational mantra:
There was also a guy who distinguished himself but for extremely dubious reasons. I’m talking about the guy here in this second video who hurled racist epithets at one of his adversaries. That was special, but nowhere near as special at his reaction when he realized that someone was filming him.
Listen for him saying “DON’T RECORD ME!” and, just after that, “if my unit sees that I’m dead!” Which I presume means a military unit, but I’m not sure:
It’s amazing what people will say when they don’t think anyone is documenting it. And how freaked out they get once they realize that, yeah, someone was. I’m sure if this guy hits the news once he’s identified he’ll talk about how “that’s not who he is” or something like that. Don’t listen to him if he says that. Because, as is quite clear here, that’s exactly who he is. That’s exactly who most people are who get caught saying stuff like this.