Was it really 18 summers ago that I watched my first All-Star game as a kid? That’s really tough for me to believe. Last night, as the last Nike Ken Griffey Jr. commercial (“Goodbye Baseball, Hello Cooperstown”) played during the Home Run Derby, the 1992 All-Star Game was exactly what I was thinking about.

That’s when I was really introduced to Ken Griffey Jr.

As a kid growing up in Ohio, I’d heard bunyan-esque tales of this Michael Jordan of our sport but never actually gotten to see him play on television. We didn’t have cable and the Mariners were on too late to get my parents to sneak me across town to see them play if they were ever on ESPN.

I owned many of Ken Griffey Jr.’s baseball cards and had seen his highlights on the local news. I had his Kenner Starting Lineup figure. But I’d never seen him play a full game.

I can only imagine at that point the All-Star Game still meant something to Junior. Before it decided homefield advantage in the World Series, “The Kid” put on a hell of a performance, going 3 for 3 with a home run in winning the MVP out in San Diego. As a bonus,–my other love Frank Thomas had an infield hit–no one probably remembers that but I do.

From that All-Star game forward a tradition was born.

Summer was half over and the rest of the vacation would fly from that point forward before I’d have to return to school, but even after the All-Star Game there was still a half of a summer worth of baseball left. A half of a summer of waking up at 10 and checking all the box scores, playing pickle in the front yard, and playing RBI Baseball until my eyeballs were bloodshot at night.

The All-Star Game was the chance to get a glimpse of all the superstars in baseball one time a year. This was especially important for kids like me who grew up without cable. There was no internet in those days and our local paper only gave you the box scores of the Indians and Reds games. Guys like Paul Molitor or Bob Tewksbury were simply just names without a face to so many kids (not me) who grew up in my era. The All-Star Game was an opportunity to meet many of these players for the first time.

Tonight, although it’s just a highly anticipated exhibition (and yeah, I know ‘it counts’); I’ll watch if for no other reason to keep the tradition of my childhood alive. Like with so many other things in this great sport we love, there is an innocence lost that watching an All-Star game can return you to. For just a few hours you can feel like you don’t have to work your 9-5 each day and you can pretend that you’re a kid again.

You might see something special happen. And I’ll always be able to tell my first born just like fathers of my generation told me about Willie Mays and Roberto Clemente in All-Star Games of their generation; in my first All-Star Game way back in 1992 Ken Griffey Jr. introduced his superstardom to my world.

I’m 27 years old. If you’re 27 years old and a baseball fan to the degree that I am–that tune will send shudders down your spine whether or not you’ve ever performed a tomahawk chop or fantasized (even a little bit) about Jane Fonda.

As good as they were back then, as good as the Bravos were when they were truly “America’s Team”, this 2010 version of the Atlanta Braves might be bigger, badder, and better. The 90′s and early 2000′s Braves never faced up against an NL East division that was loaded like this one.

Due to the storylines all aligning like a beautiful baseball lunar eclipse, America’s Team is back.

Storylines of this team began and will end with one of my favorite little managers of all-time. The little diaper-undie coach that could has been ejected around a Major League record 150 times. People think this is because Bobby Cox is fiery, but this is because Cox steps in to keep his players from getting ejected and to provide a spark to his club. No one does this better then Bobby Cox. There’s always a method to his getting tossed–and as the weather heats up in July–he’ll definitely add another game or two to his record total that will probably stand forever.

The Braves are current owners of an NL best 42-28 record, which has Bobby Cox laughing in the face of those who said that ‘the game had passed him by’. This is arguably the finest managerial job Bobby Cox has ever done. And if you wonder why I call Bobby a diaper undies coach (Charlie Manuel also has earned the dubious distinction), it’s because he has that pair of old man pants on that looks like he’s wearing a diaper underneath accompanied by stirrups.

Swan-song’s are the theme of this year’s Braves team, which gave me a rooting interest in them from the very beginning. At the end of last season, there were whispers about Chipper Jones’ future coming to an abrupt ending if he couldn’t improve his on-field performance. Love him or hate him, Chipper is a tough guy who has too much pride to hang on for one too many years. That talk has continued into this year with Chipper admitting last week that there was some basis and truth to the rumor that this could be his final year as well.

There have been few players during my lifetime with more prominence then Chipper Jones. A career .306 hitter with 430 big league bombs, Larry Wayne Jones is a sure-fire Hall of Famer. He began his career with a long run down at the hot corner at old Fulton County Stadium, then played many hot summer days out in left field at Turner Field when it opened. Now they’re calling that park that Chipper built “The Ted”, and he’s again logged hundreds more games back at third base. All the while, he’s been sporting a chew and a tough demeanor that defines the Braves. These guys play the game the right way, and they play the game hard. Evidence of this would have been back when Andruw Jones was the next big superstar in baseball and Cox ripped him out of a game in the middle of an inning defensively because he was too lackadaisical on a fly ball hit to center field.

Then of course, there’s the crown jewel in camelot, the J-Hey Kid. Of course the legendary manager and the legendary player who defines the organization get that one last season in the sun to usher in the future of the organzation and most likely the sport for the next 15 years. To me, if this team reaches the postseason; how can you not want to see them get one last crack at the World Series? All those years of ‘so close and see ya’, it would be a fitting ending to two Hall of Fame careers. Cox and Chipper passing the baton to Heyward with a World Series Ring in full-tow.

You might not like the braves but know this: this team isn’t going anywhere. They’ll be in the postseason, and they’ll fight until the last out. I’ve seen scrappy teams before and this team is throw back. I wouldn’t think I was imagining things if I saw Mark Lemke or Tommy Gregg in the lineup card sometime.

The only thing missing this season is Don Sutton’s frog in the throat voice along with shots of Ted Turner in the front row during an inprobable comeback.

The other night a buddy and I were remarking about how as kids, there was almost nothing more commonplace then snagging a pair of binoculars before heading out the door and to the stadium to take in a baseball game.

His father, like mine apparently, felt that they were essential if headed to any type of sporting event.

And I admit, there was nothing I liked more then grabbing those humongous-assed things and peering into the dugout from deep in the outfield seats.

“Holy hell Dad! Look! Tony Gwynn is sitting next to Andy Benes! Do you think they’re buddies?”

My dad was a real dickhead about the binoculars. He wasn’t into baseball like I was. He would attend his token one game a year with me, doing his duties best he could. Overall, the way he looked at a trip to the baseball game was at least 3 hours in which he had to go without having a cigarette. He didn’t care who won, he didn’t care what we saw.

But damnit, if I didn’t bring those binoculars to the stadium so he could use them once during the game there’d be hell to pay.

They were army-issued military grade. He’d had those big heavy ass things in that dust covered case forever. They sat in our mud room closet and didn’t come out unless we were headed to the ball park. Why were they so important?

“Son, you bring the binoculars?”

Oh shit. Now I’d done it. How could I forget? Panic ran through my veins. There was terror over me. My dad was the scariest man in the world when he got upset, he hadn’t had a cigarette in 90 minutes, and now he’s sitting in the hot summer sun and wondering where the binoculars were that he’d asked me to bring just ten minutes before we walked out the door and drove two hours to Cincinnati.

“Uhhh, um, I forgot them dad,” I said hoping he wouldn’t hear me.

“Damn lazy assed kid that forgets to bring the damn binoculars. Wants to come to a baseball game but is selfish and too damn selfish to remember binoculars when his dad asks one simple damn thing,” he muttered under his breath loud enough so I could hear.

When the binocular tantrum subsided, I think my dad snuck a drag off of a Lucky Strike non-filtered cigarette and survived the rest of the game.

But as my buddy and I were saying, where have all the binoculars gone? You never see them anymore! They’re no longer those big things the size of a tuba, either.

When the conversation on baseball games and binoculars came up, I couldn’t help but think of a vast part of my childhood and the fear of God that went through me when I forgot to lug them along with my ballglove.

Nikon–or whoever you are–you can suck my ass for inventing the damn things!

Resident miserable Reds fan checking in today. Yesterday as you watched Sportscenter and saw us fall victim to a walk-off grand salami in Atlanta, you had to be thinking about the poor sucker out there who roots for the Reds. If you were wondering the inner thoughts of a crazy man or if you were wondering what that felt like, I’ll be the guy who tells you.

It hurt. It hurt damn bad.

Not even a week’s time has elapsed since I was glowing about this same group, and now here I am telling it like it is like I have so often for the past decade or so. Hell, let’s go ahead and call it 20 years even since that was the last time we truly won anything.

A sackless, gutless effort. I don’t care how many walk-off or last at-bat wins that this team has scraped together in the first two months of the season. Yesterday’s collapse erases it all. We’re back at square one, whether we’re above .500 by five games or not.

Good teams don’t lose yesterdays game. Good teams that become something special usually aren’t the answer to trivia questions like the trivia that will be invented due to yesterday’s folly. That shit doesn’t happen to the Dodgers, the Yankees, or the Rays, or teams that are going to go on to play in October. It happens to my team. It happens to the group I bleed for and get in fights with my girlfriend over.

Yesterday’s loss takes a special type of pussification by a group of 25. And for those of you who want to make some money, we play the Indians, Pirates, and Astros in the next three series. Two of those are at home. I promise you if you take the dog in all 10 of those games; you’ll make money.

Trust me, this team is about to fold like a dollar in a wallet. This season is over.

I have been away for a while, but I’m back due to the fact hours ago the Reds took it to the St. Louis Cardinals to overtake first place. If it weren’t for that fat-shit, 15-game loser to be Aaron Harang we’d have swept their asses in front of as close to sell out crowds as we’re going to see. The Reds are for real and they’re not going away. The next 14 games are against teams that are .500 or worse. The Reds are going to build a lead and put a strangle-hold on the NL Central. Baseball Tonight is going to be forced to give us more then 15 seconds of air time at some point.

Jay Bruce hasn’t even begun to hit yet and he’s been over .300 and .900 OPS since the first 7 games of the season. Brandon Phillips has done little at the plate. Drew Stubbs is just now starting to get wood on the ball (as St. Louis found out last night).

Remember your boy Mevs told you–the Cincinnati Reds are gonna go Cinderella on us all–and they’re not going away all season long.

If you are a person who likes to root for the underdog, follow our box scores for a few nights. Finally this town (even though I live two hours up I-71 North) has a team that they can be proud of. A team of grinders. A team that wins ugly. A team that to date has still been outscored by a run. Dusty’s team.

This is as close to real life Major League the movie as it gets.

Last night when Jason Heyward hit his 2-out home run off of Ryan Madson in the bottom of the 9th to tie the game against the Phillies I simply tweeted a ‘HOLY SH*T’ and left it at that. I wanted to soak in the reaction of others to gauge where the pulse for this kid rests. After the game the superlatives kept coming.

I always like seeing how Baseball Tonight reacts to a big moment around the league. Serves as a nice little postgame.

John Kruk: “This guy is a freak…..”

Aaron Boone: “Everyone has heard about when experts say ‘the sky is the limit’, well this kid right here; he is a sky is the limit type of guy that’s exactly what you’re looking at.”

I even heard a fan say that Jason Heyward was restoring their faith in the sport of baseball. He’ll have that effect.

While everyone around the sport seems so quick to say something along the lines of a ‘wait for a complete collapse’, I find myself just watching in amazement and enjoying the ride. At the same time I realize don’t think that day will ever arrive.

I just think that once every so often you get a special player. It might happen only once or twice in a generation. There aren’t a lot of players I’d put into the category I’m talking about. But every so often you just get a guy who pretty much looks like he’s a man against boys. It’s him and all the rest. In my lifetime, there’s been two of those players I can really think of who were that huge in this game: Ken Griffey Jr. when I was a kid growing up in the 90′s and Albert Pujols presently.

Sure, there’s been other guys who have amazed us and been something to marvel at. Every generation brings in it’s version of multiple Cy Young Award winners and 3,000 hit guys. There’s guys like Cal Ripken who do some things that may never be done again. Guys like Alex Rodriguez who had the ability to be one of these gems I’m speaking of but unfortunately had some blemish to take away from their luster (Bonds and McGwire fall into this as well).

But in terms of guys who stand out in the painting when all the rest are part of the scene; you’re talking about Griffey and Pujols; at least since I’ve been alive. It’s above greatness and just below immortal. It’s just like a rare artifact and only one of it’s kind. And it’s here like an eclipse.

The next one is Jason Heyward.

I’ve been wrong before, but this kid is a once in a lifetime ballplayer. We’re privlidged to be able to turn on the radio or television on any given night and see what happens next.

In terms of him reaching that status I’ve mentioned, well the only uncertainty is the same that every other player faces; staying healthy and accumulating the games played to do the unbelievable and reach the statistical accolades of the greats of yesterday. If he stays healthy, he’s going to do it.

And as for the things we seem him doing on the field on a nightly basis, the exciting part is we’re only getting started. We’re not even to the appetizer yet. The waitress has just served the ice water with lemons and is asking if you’re going to want drinks. We’ve truly only just begun.

Instead of waiting for Heyward to collapse, just enjoy what you’re seeing. I don’t even like the Atlanta Braves and have never really thought of them as much more then a pack of varmints. Yet I can’t wait until they make a national television appearance so I can see young Heyward do his thing.

Before the season began I picked the Atlanta Braves to make a run and be one of my NLCS teams. I thought that on paper they had some things in their favor to really make a run. From the days in which I grew up watching Otis Nixon, Charlie Leibrant, and Tommy Gregg on TBS as a kid (they were the only game in town so many nights on cable), I never really liked them. Ron Gant seemed like a cool guy to follow because he was swole as shit; but then he busted his leg on an ATV and was never heard from in Braves circles again.

Basically, the Braves were kind of the bad guys to me. They had a bunch of players I viewed as evil, because when they came to town they were coming for a beatdown. They gave the Dodgers fits in 1991, the Indians fits in 1995, and they tortured the Reds for the better parts of two decades.

Then the bad times came. They only won a single World Series title (over a Cleveland team, of course). The Braves weren’t so evil and dark anymore in my eyes. They were kind of like that heel wrestler who’s turned face and held some of the big belts many times, wrestled at Wrestlemania’s main event plenty of time but only been the sweetheart one time; only wearing the world title belt a single shining moment.

Now all these years later they re-surface, and I find myself as a baseball fan just wanting a little more and a little more.

There are a TON of reasons as a general baseball fan to turn these guys on television each night. You don’t have to call yourself a Braves fan to enjoy watching them. I promise you, they’ll be so good this year that it will most likely be a nice break from your team’s daily blunders.

Why did I think these guys would be so nasty in 2010? They have a reason to go to war. Bobby Cox, their fiery leader, enters the final season as chief of the reservation. He’s been the king of the jungle in Atlanta since I was seven years old. If Bobby wants to throw his chaw at the umpire at home plate, he’s allowed. If he wants to urinate and leave his baseball pants on the floor of the dugout when he’s through, finishing up the rest of the game in his grandpa undies; he’s allowed. When Bobby wants to fuck, he gets to fuck. The man commands respect in this game.

And then of course there’s the single-biggest story of the 2010 season through Spring Training and 3 regular season days. Jason Heyward. It seems that Heyward is absolutely everywhere you look right now. And rightfully so. The kid is 20 years old and the sky is the limit (until we see the floor like we have with young prospect Jay Bruce). I mean, does this kid hit 40 homers as a rookie? Does he go to the All-Star game? Get MVP votes? Become the next Pujols-type of phenom from almost day one? All of that is still within the realm.

The bomb he hit on Opening Day was an actual 476 foot shotthat is something you could only write up in Hollywood scripts. He’s not only worth the price of buying a ticket and heading to any stadium in any town he’s in, he’s worth considering an MLB Extra Innings package to watch. He’s going to be that good. Just tell me more Jason Heyward stories, I don’t give a shit what they are about. I want a golden shower of Jason Heyward tales, and I want it right now.

Then you’ve got Chipper Jones. The old cowboy who has survived for so many years on fastballs, skoal, redman, hooters waitresses, and pine tar. As a baseball fan, it’s hard not to like the guy a little bit. And after all these years, it’s hard not to be pulling for Chipper Jones some. He struggled last year to the point where he almost retired, but stormed back vowing to regain his old form. Last night he’s in the 3 spot in the Braves order and he hits a game winning 2-run homerto keep this young team undefeated. He did it as a RH hitter no less. After all these years, like his manager Cox; he’s still punching. After all these years these two old Wrestlers are going to make one more run for the belt at Wrestlemania. I like the drama that will be building. And when I think of Chipper Jones and this season I think of the lonely cowboy shooting the last bad guy, firing off a John Wayne line and climbing on top of his horse and riding out of town into the sunset, forever disappearing out of our view as he heads off into the canyons.

Then you’ve got another guy who we should all know well enough. The old closer Billy Wagner. I thought this guy was toast, I was sure of it. I thought this was an awful move in the off season and I ripped the Braves for it. The bottom line, was that I am a blogger and I wasn’t the guy who saw him throw and gave the blessing to offer him a contract. They knew something we all didn’t. Myself, and the guys in my five fantasy drafts who laughed when he was chosen and said “he’s a fucking mess” every time.

That ‘mess’ blew away three hitters last night to earn his first save in a scoreless 9th relying heavily on 97 MPH fastballs to record the outs. One night of dialing it up on the gun does not a season make, but it’s a hell of an opening act. Again, a guy who’s been to the gutter and back. And a guy I wouldn’t mind seeing succeed in the twilight of his career.

Then you’ve got the guys like Tommy Hanson, who I think as the #3 starter just has a ton of raw talent. He’s an ace in the making and everyone will know it by this time next year. Jair Jurrjens could be the new Greg Maddux type. Brian Mccann is a great player who keeps his mouth shut and just hits. Officer Nate Mcclouth, same thing. And then there’s Tim Hudson. Well…. Hudson’s a fuckin’ dick. But he’s a Brave too.

This team is going to be good all year long. I wish that I could turn on my TV tonight and hear Don Sutton’s dick-in-the-throat voice calling out his bullshit as they sweep the Cubs.

You’re looking at America’s team, at least for 2010 anyway.

My love for Jay Bruce is well-documented.

I think he’s got the opportunity to be one of the most special players who has ever graced the Cincinnati Reds roster. I made the trip to see his MLB debut back in May of 2008. I’m really glad to have had the chance to made it to Cincinnati on that night to witness something special. He walked twice and got three hits that night, the last a line drived laced off the base of the wall out in right field, a spot that will hopefull be his home for a decade or more.

Hell I had so much fun that we went back the next night and he led off that game with a walk and then doubled again. Bruce’s first week in the big leagues was about as much fun as I’ve ever had watching baseball. It was something beyond amazement.

I write this post because rarely if ever has a ballplayer had such a connection with the fans as our young former #1 overall prospect in all of baseball, and his exposure outside of Cincinnati needs to be a lot greater. Seems like for that to happen to one of our guys on the Reds we need them to make a run at the triple crown or get some postseason play or mak an All-Star game. None of those things ever seem to happen. I want the world to know who Jay Bruce is right now because he’s a lot of fun to watch play. I don’t know that the Reds will be good enough to warrant him the amount of attention that he should command.

This kid plays the game hard and with the ultimate amount of respect and heart. If he’s going 0 for 4 at the plate he’s trying to beat the opposition with his glove or arm from out in right field. He’s always signing autographs, and he’s always saying hey to the fans out in the moon deck in behind right field.

He is the real deal. A sweet swingin’ good old boy from Texas that’s about to have the best season of his career. That’s why I gave him the nickname “The Deal”.

Oh and about that nickname I gave him, it inspired his batter walk-up song that will be played at Great American Ball Park this summer. Have a look: