HISTORY — when shellacked with modern, commercial-headed, pop-cultured attitude and other artificial additives — doesn’t stand a chance.
Last week, the Military History Channel aired a 2004 documentary, infused with dramatic re-creations, about Allied World War II fliers imprisoned at Buchenwald. All was moving along credibly enough, when a guard entered the barracks. He was carrying, unmistakably … a baseball bat!
That same day I watched a trailer for a new movie about Jackie Robinson, a trailer that depicted Robinson as, good grief, Manny Ramirez.
After hitting a home run, the Robinson character flings his bat aside in the modern, self-smitten style, languishing immodestly near home plate, before running to first.
Did Robinson ever do that, or anything even close?
“Are you kidding?” said Ralph Branca, Robinson’s Brooklyn Dodgers teammate. “Nobody did that. They tossed the bat aside and ran the bases.”
But in 2012, Jackie Robinson did that — 60 years ago.
Speaking of Robinson, another act that hasn’t done much for his legacy is regularly performed by one of his most famous namesakes, Robinson Cano, who claims to honor Robinson by wearing his retired No. 42 in reverse.
Cano’s recidivist, often sustained non-interest in running to first has this season been impossible to ignore this season. His flagrant disregard for the best, winning interests of his team and his employers — not to mention the Yankees’ hideously over-charged ticket-buyers — is both obvious and disturbing.
Yet, on Yankees telecasts, where managed news seems to be (mis)managed by team management, Cano’s obvious, too-cool-to-run disposition often goes seen but unspoken.
Michael Kay, who at other times makes generalized statements questioning the professionalism of players who choose not to “run everything out,” apparently doesn’t see Cano as the Yankees’ primary offender.
Wednesday, top of the first in Minnesota, Cano struck out on a pitch in the dirt. Rather than run to first, rather than trying to force a throw, Cano stood still, allowing the catcher to tag him out. Nothing from Kay.
Yet, in the bottom of the first, after Cano left his feet to field a grounder, Kay gave a speech, lauding Cano for his above-and-beyond hustle, which he attributed to being criticized “in newspapers and on radio” for indifferent play at second.
Meanwhile, Cano stretched out to field a close-by grounder that, had he not done so, would have been revolting. And for that he was praised for extraordinary hustle. But we’re not supposed to be smart enough to know better.