Nothing For Now

Religious Pain

The Passion of the Christ has finally been released, and the verdict is in: It's...average. Unless you ask Roger Ebert, but he's severely outnumbered on this. The movie isn't as virulently anti-Semitic as some people claimed it would be, but it's just not that great.

So far the movie's Metascore is 50 out of 100. That's lower than such masterpieces as Calendar Girls and Barbershop 2: Back in Business, and barely higher than 50 First Dates. To put it in perspective, The Passion of the Christ got the same amount of critical acclaim as The Matrix Revolutions.

And you know what? It isn't a Jewish media conspiracy, Mel. No one's after you. It's just that some people, for whatever reason, don't see the cinematic value of (as Slate's critic puts it) "a two-hour-and-six-minute snuff movie -- The Jesus Chainsaw Massacre -- that thinks it's an act of faith."

Maybe for some Christians, this movie will bring to life the central event of their religion. But just from looking at some of the stills and reading the reviews, it seems Gibson got a little too mired in the flayings and arterial spray. Even Ebert called it the most violent movie he'd ever seen. For some people, that much violence can be cathartic- a visceral reminder that Christ died for their sins. But I suspect that many others will be more repulsed than inspired.

In the end, the reception of the movie isn't really surprising. This isn't a commercial film; it's in Latin and Aramaic and wasn't originally supposed to have subtitles. I believe that Mel Gibson made The Passion of Christ as an act of faith. Am I the only one who finds it a bit sad that two hours of graphic torture are his idea of a profound religious experience?

Another Angle

The Yankees are the talk of baseball once again, stealing the winter limelight from the Red Sox with their acquisition of reigning MVP Alex Rodriguez. Does this make the lineup better? Probably. The defense? Possibly. But despite the excitement and sheer jaw-dropping shock I've felt ever since I first heard about the deal, I'm also really depressed. My favorite player has left the Yankees.

I've had a certain amount of affection for several Yankees in the past few years- Bernie Williams, for just being his quiet no-nonsense self, and a musician to boot. Jorge Posada, for his funny face, his love for his son, and the fact that despite his tremendous talent, he's always being ignored or overshadowed. Roger Clemens, for his spectacular stubborness and incredible work ethic, and Andy Pettitte, just because he's a lefty like me. But Alfonso Soriano has held a special place in my heart ever since his rookie year.

***

Ever since he was first signed, Soriano was seen as a potential superstar. He's every scout's dream- fast, strong, agile, and just athletic as hell. Soriano has always been at least as exciting for what he's going to do as what he's actually done. (Though nowadays, what he has done is nothing to sneeze at either.) In 2001, he was promise personified, and few things in baseball are more fun than watching a young player bloom.

Alfonso Soriano arrived on American shores in 1998 after a nasty legal wrangle with his old team, the Hiroshima Carp of Japan. He worked out for several teams in August, and immediately attracted a bidding war. Naturally, the Yankees won, and a few months later Soriano was tearing up the Arizona Fall League. After a great spring training, he made a splash at the first-ever Futures Game in 1999, hitting two home runs (including one off Mark Mulder) for 5 RBI and winning the game's MVP award. He hit .305 with 15 homers and 68 RBIs in Double-A Norwich, and was moved up to Columbus by August- and that was with a delay for a rib injury.

Soriano at Columbus
In September Soriano had his first stint with the Yankees, doing what marginal young players always seem to do when they're called up- pinch running. But he was already starting to show his flair for the dramatic. In only his third major league at-bat, Soriano got an 11th-inning, game-winning home run against Tampa Bay's Norm Charlton that clinched a playoff spot for the team. Not bad for your first hit. With Derek Jeter firmly entrenched, what were the Yankees going to do with another gifted young shortstop?

Make him trade bait, of course. The skinny kid with a heavy bat (and erratic glove) was considered as part of deals for Vladimir Guerrero, Roger Clemens, Rondell White, Kelvim Escobar, Chris Carpenter, Roy Halladay, Arthur Rhodes, Roberto Hernandez, David Wells, Shawn Green, Ken Griffey Jr., Mike Hampton, Darin Erstad, Jim Edmonds, Brad Radke, Sammy Sosa, Moises Alou, Jose Lima, Juan Gonzalez, Matt Clement, Jeromy Burnitz, Pedro Astacio, Eric Owens, B.J. Surhoff, Donne Wall, Denny Neagle, Ruben Rivera, Jose Paniagua, Gary Sheffield, Ugueth Urbina, Drew Henson, and just about any player with two legs. Somehow, though, he always managed to hang on, the jewel of the Yankees' farm.

Soriano spent the next year bouncing between Columbus and New York and performing erratically. In his first two days starting at third base in place of an injured Scott Brosius, he made two errors and hit two home runs. 'Nuff said.

His unsteady fielding at second and short and his constant impatience at the plate started to discredit him a bit, and his battle for the shortstop position at Columbus with D'Angelo Jimenez became a bit of a symbol for the battle between sabermetric baseball fans, who saw only his congenital inability to take a walk, and the more traditional ones, who saw only a phenomenal athlete. That argument still hasn't really ended.

In 2001, though, Soriano seemed determined to make the team by any means necessary. Switching from shortstop to left field to second base, he still hit .348 with 5 home runs and 13 RBIs in Spring Training, and finally managed to catch the youth-leery Joe Torre's attention. It didn't hurt that Chuck Knoblauch's bizarre throwing yips were making Soriano look like a defensive specialist. At 23 years old, Alfonso Soriano had made the big leagues to stay.

***

The Yankees are a veteran team. An old team, to put it more bluntly. By 2001 guys like Pettitte and Jeter and Posada weren't exciting new talents anymore. Everyone on the team was old and steady, just the way the Yankees liked them. Soriano came into the clubhouse like a breath of fresh air, a smiling trilingual dynamo. He was young and fast, and exciting, something the veterans hadn't really been in years. I liked him right away.

On a team full of established players, Soriano was the unknown- fantastic one moment, clumsy the next, and so full of promise I couldn't help but want him to succeed. People made a sport of wondering whether he would ever take a walk (he did, after 104 plate appearances). His speed spurred the weak-hitting team, right down to rickety Paul O'Neill, to new basestealing heights. He never failed to swing at a pitch down and away, and he made every ground ball an adventure, though at least you didn't have to worry as much about where he would throw it. But always, always, he learned and improved.

Thanks to Ichiro, there would be no Rookie of the Year award for Soriano, but he could console himself with getting a round farther in the playoffs. 2001 was a truly insane postseason. Jeter's exploits in Oakland and Tino and Brosius' miracle home runs in the World Series got all the press, but Soriano did his part, too, in classic Soriano fashion. He flubbed a few plays, watched a home run that wasn't bounce off the wall, then stole a base on a pitchout or slapped a single when the rest of the lineup looked almost hopeless. Finally, he delivered a game-winning home run in Game 4 of the ALCS against Seattle. In the October-obssessed landscape of Yankeeland, he'd finally arrived.

2001 ALCS Game 4: Soriano Rounds the Bases
Of course, we all know what happened in the World Series. President Bush threw out a first pitch, Roger Clemens pitched his heart out, the Yankees' bats died, and lightning struck in Yankee Stadium not once, but twice, both times in the form of the hapless Byung-Hyung Kim. What's often forgotten is that Scott Brosius' game-tying home run would have been for naught if Soriano hadn't hit the game-winning single a few innings later. If Mariano hadn't blown the save in Game 7, the Series-winning home run would have been Soriano's, too, a miraculous golf shot on a splitter down and away. Curt Schilling was no fool, throwing Soriano that pitch. Nine times out of ten, he misses it completely. But somehow Sori extended his arms as far as they would go and scooped the ball into the stands. It was amazing. It was beautiful. It was futile. But that didn't change the fact that I'd just become Alfonso Soriano's biggest fan.

***

Watching Sori explode the next year was one of the greatest pleasures I've had as a baseball fan. I believe in the power of stats, in patience and OBP, but it was fun as hell to see Sori turn Baseball Primer on its ear. A top-flight offensive threat who never took a walk? Impossible! But there he was, a walking absurdity, hitting and hitting and confounding every stats lover who looked at him. How do you explain Alfonso Soriano? You don't- you accept he's unique, and talented, and very strange, then sit yourself down and watch him work. Watching Soriano is so fun. Jason Giambi is a fine hitter, but walks aren't going to make a highlight reel. Soriano is a highlight reel, an agile infielder who homers and steals with spectacular frequency. Even his batting stance is energetic- he wiggles so restlessly anyone can tell what he wants. Taking pitches is for other guys- Sori just wants to hit the ball, and hit it hard.

After two great seasons, I thought Soriano's place on the team was safe. He was an MVP candidate, a second baseman, a young player on a team full of guys past their peaks. Nick Johnson, the team's other great young hope, had already been traded. Yes, Soriano could be streaky and his fielding left something to be desired. But first impressions really damaged his reputation- his fielding is just slightly below average now, and his patience has improved in increments every year. It isn't his fault his manager stuck him in a leadoff spot he was dreadfully unsuited for. Tell me, who puts a 40-HR threat behind the team's worst hitters? But that's all in the past. Sori is out and A-Rod is in. Hopefully in Texas, the fans and press will appreciate him for what he is and not condemn him for what he's not.

Considering their home-away splits and the parks they've played in, the offensive difference between Soriano and Rodriguez isn't as great as it seems. Soriano is younger than Rodriguez and played a position the Yankees now have no good player for, while Roriguez- well, he'll try to play third, supposedly. We'll have to see how all that works out. Losing Johnson was bad. Losing Pettitte was even worse. But this- this hurts. A lot.

I'll miss you, Sori.

Posted by blue at 10:28 PM | Comments (2)