• Turner Field

    Stunned Silence After a Pair of Gut-Wrenching Losses

    The Top 10s of the 2010s, Part 4

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – Welcome to part four of my top 10 most memorable moments of Braves baseball I watched in person in the 2010s, where we remember two of the most stunning losses in Braves franchise history, let alone just this decade: The ninth-inning implosion in Game 3 of the 2010 NL Division Series against the Giants and the impact it had on me after what happened that offseason, and two years later, the game not-so-fondly remembered as The Infield Fly Game (the 2012 NL Wild Card Game).

    You’re invited to catch up on the previous entries below:

    Part 1: A Big Bang … Then a Choke

    Part 2: What Could’ve, Should’ve, Would’ve Been

    Part 3: Saying Goodbye to The Skipper, and The Ted

    From Elation to Excruciation: Oct. 10, 2010

    A Painful Playoff Defeat, Followed by a Much Bigger Loss

    I dreamed of this moment from the time I accepted a newspaper job in the Atlanta suburbs and moved back from the Georgia coast in August 2006 with my wife and two preschool-aged kids in tow. The chance to raise our kids in the city where my wife and I both grew up, to experience life with both sides of our family and, hopefully, to share moments like the second Sunday of October 2010:

    My two boys’ first experience attending Choptober Baseball.

    We grilled hot dogs in the parking lot and my kids tossed a football with my wife’s uncle Billy. His being there made this day all the more special. He wasn’t just family; he had become one of my best friends. He worked for Delta as a mechanic and before he got married, Billy often would fly down to the coast on weekends and hang out with his favorite niece and her sports-loving husband. We would talk life, investments, fishing, Braves baseball, Georgia football and, starting in 2002 when my oldest was born, parenting.

    When I covered UGA in the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans on New Year’s Day 2003, I was able – as a credentialed member of the media covering the game – to buy two tickets at face value. I bought one for my best friend since middle school. I bought the other one for Billy. He married his wife in 2004; my oldest was the ring bearer, while I held my youngest in my arms during the ceremony. And now, we were at the NL Division Series, the wild-card Braves and NL West champs Giants tied at a game apiece. My sons’ first playoff game. My first postseason game since covering Game 2 of the 1999 World Series.

    It was, to me, absolute perfection. Billy and his wife, sitting a few rows down from us, delivering a whole pizza for the boys to consume in the fourth inning with the Braves trailing 1-0. Tim Hudson grinding through seven strong innings, surrendering only an unearned run on Brooks Conrad’s second error of the game. Jonathan Sanchez no-hitting the Braves until Huddy singled in the sixth. Tight. Tense. Can’t-breathe baseball, just like I watched in Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium in Octobers past, before I ever dreamed I’d be a husband, let alone a father times two.

    Then, the magical eighth. Alex Gonzalez’s leadoff single and, two hitters later, pinch-hitter Eric Hinske’s laser that just got over wall in the right-field corner. Turner Field absolutely turned upside down. It was the loudest I ever heard that ballpark. In the upper deck, you could feel the stadium swaying, and my 7-year-old screamed into my ear as I held him in my arms, “Daddy, the stadium’s shaking!”

    I screamed back, “this is how it used to be across the street!”

    Then, the ninth inning. You know the story. The rookie Craig Kimbrel, one strike away from nailing down the save, gave up a 1-2 single. Mike Dunn surrendered the game-tying hit. The Giants took the lead on Conrad’s third error of the game, won 3-2 to take a 2-1 series lead, and would finish the Braves and end Bobby Cox’s managerial career one night later.

    Leaving that night was devastating. My wife kept telling me, “it’s alright. We’re going to win tomorrow.” But my boys were crestfallen. Even the always upbeat, ever-grounded Billy admitted, “that’s tough to take.” I couldn’t imagine a worse ending. Yes, attending the three 1996 World Series games in Atlanta was awful. But this was my boys’ first playoff game. This was a moment Billy and I talked about back when I lived on the beach and the kids were in diapers, that one day we’d all cheer on the Braves to October glory together.

    I felt crushed. Nobody said anything on the way home. But as always, I started thinking of next season. We’ll get it right. We’re going to storm through the playoffs, and all of us will be there together to see it.

    Then came the phone call in January 2011, my wife crying uncontrollably on the other end. Billy had collapsed. By the time she got to the hospital, he was gone. Heart attack. 50 years old. A few days later, I delivered the eulogy at his funeral. I shared our Game 3 experience, him serving hot dogs to my kids, how he turned and pumped his fist at us after Hinske’s homer, how he patted my shoulder postgame as we walked down the stairs to the left-field gate.

    Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Billy. And while Game 3 in 2010 is heartbreaking to so many, excuse me if I say this one hurts me on a different level. My dear friend’s final time watching his ballclub play.

    The Infield-Fly Rule, Ruined Forever: Oct. 5, 2012

    One of MLB’s Worst Calls Ever Incenses Braves Country

    It was Oct. 2, 2012, and I sat in the third-base dugout at Coal Mountain Park in northern Forsyth County, Ga. Fall baseball, and my 10-year-old was behind the plate, getting extra reps after a full season of travel baseball. The few moments we had free that spring and summer, we snuck down to Turner Field to cheer the Braves to a playoff spot, one that young (how strange that is to type at this decade’s conclusion) first baseman Freddie Freeman clinched with a walk-off homer against Miami one week before.

    As the second inning began, I got my son’s attention and held up five fingers, and he nodded. He knew no 10-year-old throws five pitches. He turned to the home-plate ump and shared the news with him: The wild-card game would start at 5 p.m. Friday. I swear, we got three or four borderline calls that night (for the record, we knew the home-plate ump and we knew he had corporate tickets; he may or may not have delayed the bottom of the second inning texting people after the news broke … To be fair, the opposing head coach was on the phone a good bit after the ump shared the news with him).

    Fast-forward three days. A 5 p.m. first pitch on the first Friday in October, so that meant I checked the kid out of school at 11 a.m. and headed inside the perimeter. We gathered with friends on the grassy knoll across Hank Aaron Boulevard from the right-field gate, tossing a football while watching the most impressive tailgate setup I’ve ever seen roll in a few hours before first pitch, a long-bed pickup truck complete with multiple TVs streaming sports, open bars along each side of the truck, the whole nine yards.

    There is zero value in sharing the proceedings of what happened inside Turner Field that evening. All it would do is fire me up like it happened seven minutes ago, not seven years ago (although my son and I still cuss it at every mention). I am thankful we had seats high in the upper deck. As the bottles rained down on the playing surface after Sam Holbrook lost his freaking mind and made that unbelievable, inexcusable, garbage call, I couldn’t help but think how cursed my city was when it comes to big sports moments, while making sure my 10-year-old didn’t wear a Bud Light bottle across the back of his neck.

    Niekro getting rained out in the 82 NLCS opener, one out from an official game? Game 7 in 91 in the awful Metrodome? Games 3, 4 and 5 in 96, in a stadium in which I sat in the upper deck hoping to see the Braves win the World Series in person for the second straight October? The 18-inning loss in Houston in 05? All the other playoff missteps in the late 90s and the 2000s? The Falcons and Eugene Robinson the night before the franchise’s first Super Bowl appearance in January 1999? Cliff Levington’s ill-fated left hook in The Omni against Boston in Game 6 of the East semis in 1988, with a conference finals berth on the line? The Falcons with a lead at home against the Cowboys in the NFC semis in January 1981 before Danny White took over in the final minutes? The Thrashers going belly-up in the first round of 2007 against the Rangers? The “most excellent” insult from the IOC at the conclusion of the 96 Olympics?

    After the wild-card game, sitting on the trunk of my car with the windows down and the Braves Radio Network postgame show playing, my son and I were silent. We sat there for at least an hour. Neither of us said a single word. In retrospect, the Braves flubbed up plenty of chances in the decade. They didn’t need any help.

    But at the worst possible time, Holbrook made a call that will live in franchise infamy for as long as the Braves exist.

    —30—

    On Deck: The Newest Baby Braves Usher in a New Era

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    Saying Goodbye to The Skipper, and The Ted

    The Top 10s of the 2010s, Part 3

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – We continue looking back at my top 10 most memorable moments of Braves baseball I watched in person in the 2010s with part three, a focus on two farewells: Bobby Cox’s last game as manager before retiring, and the final game held at Turner Field in 2016.

    As a reminder, you can check out previous entries in the series below:

    Part 1: A Big Bang … Then A Choke

    Part 2: What Could’ve, Should’ve, Would’ve Been

    The Skipper’s Final Ride: Oct. 11, 2010

    Bobby’s Hall of Fame Career Ends with Game 4 Loss to Giants

    Say what you will about his bullpen management, his lineup construction, his postseason win/loss record. But let me say this. I said it as a kid watching him manage my hometown team in the late 1970s and early 1980s. I said it as a young sports writer who on occasion got to cover his teams and deal with him. I said it after watching his daughter play in the state softball playoffs in Columbus one year, when I kindly asked him if I could speak to him about being a dad and not a major-league manager, a moment he recalled the next spring when I found myself ducking into his office at his main job for a few pregame thoughts.

    I appreciate Bobby Cox.

    Sure, you can beat the drum all you want about winning only one World Series championship during the great run of the 1990s and the first part of the 2000s. That’s fair. I think about sitting next to him in the first-base dugout at Champion Stadium during spring training in 2005 in Lake Buena Vista, Fla., asking if he had a moment to talk about what spring training was like in the 1960s when he was a hopeful major leaguer, for a front-page story I was working on about how the Grapefruit League had become big business, and him chatting with me for 15 minutes like I had been on the beat for 20 years.

    I think about watching him take grounders at first base during batting practice in 2000, when I got to cover a few home games in the first half of the season. Hearing those spikes click-clacking along the concrete walkway from the locker room to the first-base dugout at Turner Field. Seeing that mini-fridge in his office with the glass door that held his postgame beverages and tobacco.

    Mostly, I think about how much he loved being at the ballpark, talking shop, those quips of “c’mon kid!” the dugout mics would pick up, and how hard he fought for his players.

    It didn’t matter if you were the 25th man on the roster or a suburban newspaper reporter who occasionally dropped in to ask a question. Bobby Cox treated you with like you were a superstar or a full-time beat writer. To me, it was quite fitting that somebody who was so similar to him but plied his craft on the opposite coast, Bruce Bochy of the Giants, would be in the opposing dugout for the legendary Braves skipper’s final game, Game 4 of the 2010 NL Division Series at Turner Field.

    Atlanta, by all rights, should’ve been ahead 2-1 in the best-of-five series. The bottom line is they weren’t, and as I watched the game with my best friend from the outfield bleachers, it was in the back of our minds this could be Bobby’s last game. Brian McCann’s homer off Madison Bumgarner in the sixth snapped a 1-all tie, but Alex Gonzalez’s error in the seventh led to two runs scoring. The Braves got the tying and winning runs on base in the ninth, only to see one of my least-favorite Braves of all time, Melky Cabrera, ground out.

    When it was finished, everybody in Turner Field realized far more than a season had ended. Bochy did, too, so he instructed his Giants to applaud the Atlanta skipper while on the field during the aftermath of the series-ending victory. That singular gesture from one classy professional – who recognized the moment – to another brought tears to our eyes. Yes, the Braves should’ve won that series. They didn’t, but Bochy recognized the finality of the moment in his team’s own moment of triumph. I was proud to stand in SunTrust Park on Sept. 22, 2019, and cheer for Bochy during his final visit to Atlanta and final road game as Giants skipper.

    And what happened after the Game 4 loss and the team filed into the locker room? Cox, who never liked to go into the locker room, held court long into the night with his players. Perfect. How else would this baseball lifer close up shop on his final day on the clock than talking about the sport he loved?

    One Last Time at the Ted: Oct. 2, 2016

    Closing 50 Years of Ball Downtown with a Playoff-Type Victory

    There should’ve been zero reason for a postseason-esque buzz walking into Turner Field on Oct. 2, 2016. The Braves were 67-93 entering the finale of another lost season (remember, Atlanta played just 161 games that season, as the game seven days earlier in Miami was cancelled following the tragic death of one of my favorite non-Braves of all time, the brilliant and transcendent Jose Fernandez).

    The Braves had endured a brutal start to the season but actually played well at times in the second half, entering the season finale winning 17 of its previous 27 games. Dansby Swanson had taken over at shortstop after being promoted in early August, and interim manager Brian Snitker had steadied things somewhat following the early May firing of dead-man-walking Fredi Gonzalez. As best he could, because this team wasn’t very good.

    I spent pregame trying to find some friends of mine tailgating, to no avail. But with my two sons and their non-baseball caring cousin in tow – the cousin wearing a Braves shirt we gave him, one of my sons wearing one of my Braves jersey, and the other wearing (for some reason, but God bless him nonetheless) my Ilya Kovalchuk Thrashers jersey – we headed into the ballpark.

    What we saw, as my two kids said repeatedly that day, was a game possessing the energy of a playoff game. It was a playoff game for the visiting Tigers, as they needed to win to get into the AL postseason party, and of course they had ace Justin Verlander on the mound. The Braves countered with Julio Teheran, and following all the pregame pomp and circumstances, the one dependable arm amid the Braves rebuild shined brightest.

    Freddie Freeman scored Ender Inciarte on a first-inning sacrifice fly and Teheran took it from there, striking out 12 while allowing three hits and one walk in seven sparkling innings. Verlander was great, too, giving up six hits with one walk and eight strikeouts in seven innings as the 51,200 brought an energy and vibe that, had you closed your eyes, you’d thought it was the early part of the decade when the Braves were relevant.

    Jose Ramirez and Jim Johnson each gave up a hit in one inning of relief but kept Detroit off the scoreboard to finish a 1-0 victory, knocking the Tigers out of the postseason and officially sending the Braves nine miles northwest to the confluence of Interstates 285 and 75, where SunTrust Park was being constructed. Home plate was dug up and taken up the road via police escort during an extensive postgame ceremony that, in retrospect, felt like a celebration after clinching a playoff berth.

    There was so much emotion that afternoon for me personally. I covered a World Series game in that ballpark. I covered an All-Star game in that ballpark. The third date with my wife was in that ballpark. I took my two sons to their first Braves games in that ballpark. In May 1996, while still sports editor of the Georgia State student newspaper, I covered the first event in that ballpark, when it was a track-and-field stadium, some two months before the 1996 Summer Olympics would happen there. In October 1996, I attended media postgame events in that ballpark, trying to process the Braves slow-motion World Series train-wreck occurring across the street, while machines moved earth below the suites and continued the ballpark’s transformation from the center of the global sports universe to the new home of the Braves.

    Who could dare to dream as the sun set on the final major-league baseball game played downtown after a 50-year run, that a mere 24 months after saying goodbye to Turner Field, these rebuilding Braves would host postseason games in their new digs?

    —30—

    On Deck: Stunned Silence After a Pair of Gut-Wrenching Losses

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    What Could’ve, Should’ve, Would’ve Been

    The Top 10 of the 2010s, Part 2

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – It’s time for part two of my top 10 most memorable moments of Braves baseball I watched in person in the 2010s, looking at baseball’s epic final day of the 2011 regular season that found Atlanta land outside the postseason party after a painful late-season swoon, then taking a stroll through two games in which Braves starters nearly pitched no-hitters (and a nod to the lone no-hitter, at any level of baseball, I’ve witnessed in person across 40 years that also contains an interesting perspective on a tragic night in my hometown’s history).

    As a reminder, you can check out the introductory piece of the series below:

    Part 1: A Big Bang … Then A Choke

    The Long, Painful Death of a Season: Sept. 28, 2011

    Epic Late-Season Stumble Costs Braves Playoff Berth

    As late August 2011 arrived, it felt like only an act of God could keep the Braves from a second-straight NL playoff appearance. The Phillies were running away with the NL East but the Braves had found their footing, winning 16 times in 21 games to enter the final weekend of the month with the second-best record in the Senior Circuit and a 9 ½ game lead over the Giants for the NL’s lone wild-card spot.

    The Cardinals? Pfft, 10 ½ games behind the 79-53 Braves at 68-63.

    Atlanta flew to New York after taking three of four in Chicago, but Hurricane Irene was heading toward the nation’s largest city, too. The opening game of the Mets series was played in front of less than 23,000 at Citi Field and journeyman Chris Capuano destroyed the Braves, striking out 13 during a two-hit complete-game shutout. The final two games of the series would be cancelled and, with a Monday off day, the Braves suddenly had a three-day break as they were playing their best baseball of the season.

    They never recovered.

    The weirdness of that weekend in the Big Apple began the unraveling. It concluded at Turner Field on Sept. 28, the final day of the regular season. It would go down as one of the wildest, craziest days in baseball history (the Red Sox simultaneously were giving away the AL wild card), and the Braves entered that Wednesday night matchup with the division-champion Phillies having lost four in a row to fall to 10-19 since flying into New York.

    The Braves and Cardinals were tied at 89-72 as I walked into Turner Field alone for what I hoped would not be the final time that season. My sons were home with the next day being a school day, but downstairs in my filing cabinet were tickets to the first two home NL Division Series games. The sheer thought of those tickets being refunded was ridiculous just four weeks earlier, but as the losses piled up in September my sense of dread grew, and I don’t know if I’ve ever walked into a ballpark with so much doom-and-gloom as I headed to my seat in the lower level, midway between first base and the right-field corner.

    For six innings, everything was fine, and I started growing more confident. The Braves took a 3-1 lead on a Dan Uggla homer in the third and Tim Hudson cruised into the seventh inning. But with one out came two hits and an error by Jack Wilson at shortstop to score a run, and I started thinking again about how my heart was going to be shattered. After all, I sat in this stadium nearly a year before and watched the Braves fall apart in the ninth inning of Game 3 of the NL Division Series. I remember looking around and seeing people who must’ve been thinking the same thing, the wheels spinning in our heads with that, “here we go again” refrain.

    Was the seventh the start of the train careening off the tracks?

    Perhaps not. Craig Kimbrel made his first All-Star team, led the National League with 46 saves and won NL rookie of the year in 2011. Save No. 47 would at worst send the Braves into a one-game playoff with St. Louis. But Kimbrel proceeded to give up a single, get a strikeout, then walk two hitters before Chase Utley’s game-tying sacrifice fly. And as extra innings began to march on, I couldn’t help but think of all the opportunities the Braves had squandered over the past month to avoid being in this situation.

    I saw the Braves win the World Series in person in 1995. Three years earlier, I saw the Braves score three runs in the bottom of the ninth inning to win the 1992 NL pennant in person. I’m generally an optimistic person. But that night I found myself fighting that feeling of “not again” over and over. It only grew after Chipper Jones flew out to deep left-center with a runner on to end the 10th, and it grew even more when Jason Heyward reached third on a wild pitch before Martin Prado struck out to close the 12th.

    Of course, the Phillies scored in the top of the 13th on Hunter Pence’s single that barely cleared the infield dirt. Of course, the Braves would get a runner on with one out in the bottom half, only to see Freddie Freeman – the runner-up to Kimbrel for rookie of the year – ground into a 3-6-3 double play. We knew the Cardinals already had won some 30 minutes earlier, that 8-0 result glaring on the out-of-town scoreboard in the ballpark, and when Freeman slammed his batting helmet into the ground behind first base as the season died, the deflation nearly was overwhelming.

    Other than Game 5 of the 1996 World Series, I don’t think I’ve ever sat in a ballpark after a loss as long as I did that night. But the worst part didn’t come on Sept. 28. It came the morning after, when I had to wake up two little boys for school and tell them their favorite baseball team’s season was over.

    Oh, So Close, But No No-No: June 5, 2013 and July 29, 2018

    Julio, Newk Flirt with Every Pitcher’s Dream

    In all the baseball games these nearly 47-year-old eyes have watched through the years – from playing to coaching my kids to my sports writing days and countless games as a fan – I’ve witnessed exactly one no-hitter. It came the night after the bomb exploded in Centennial Olympic Park during the 1996 Olympics, in an American Legion playoff game on July 27, 1996, in Gainesville, Ga. Andy Hussion, who would help pitch Gainesville High to a state title the following spring, twirled the gem with his dad, former Furman play-by-play man Chuck Hussion, working the PA at Ivey-Watson Field along the shores of Lake Lanier.

    The bombing was the topic of conversation everywhere, including at the ballpark. I was interning as The Times in Gainesville that Olympic summer. We were owned by The Gannett Corp. (which owned USA Today) at the time, and there were veteran newspaper people with decades of experience onsite. When the bomb went off, the presses actually stopped (just like in the movies, but never in real life). Page 1A was redone and our morning edition had the news, while other newspapers that served our area did not. I lost track of how many people in our circulation area awoke on that fourth Saturday of July 1996 with no idea what had happened downtown until they grabbed our paper from their driveways.

    Why do I share this, something that occurred so long ago? I watched two Braves take no-hit bids beyond the seventh inning in the past 40 years. Both occurred this decade. Both hold significant meaning to me, so I cheated a bit to combine both as one entry.

    June 5, 2013: The Braves had won four in a row entering a Wednesday get-away date with the Pirates at Turner Field. Both my kids were with me, ages 10 and 9 and soaking in the initial days of summer vacation. We sat in the upper deck and watched Julio Teheran dazzle the Pittsburgh lineup. Teheran at the time still sat mid-90s with his fastball, and he had everything working. We got to the top of the eighth, everybody was standing, and I was telling my kids repeatedly not to say what all of us were thinking – fortunately, they both were old enough to understand what was happening.

    Two outs in the inning, four outs away. Brandon Inge came on as a pinch-hitter, worked a 1-1 count, then lined a single to left. Teheran retired Starling Marte to end the eighth, David Carpenter worked a perfect ninth to finish the one-hitter, and my sons and I were stunned as how close we had come to seeing a MLB no-hitter in person.

    Not too long after, something happened that made my life just about completely collapse. In some of those darkest days that followed over the next two to three years, in a season of my life where hope was almost nonexistent, that Wednesday afternoon in the sunshine at Turner Field with my boys was a bright memory and a sign of better days to come.

    It just didn’t result in a no-hitter. And that wasn’t the only close call, either.

    July 29, 2018: By the grace of God, I was in such a better place as that final Sunday of July unfolded. It was the day of Chipper Jones’ induction into the Hall of Fame. My oldest son and I gathered with friends in a hotel suite near SunTrust Park to break bread and catch up, then it was on to the ballpark for the series finale with the defending NL champion Dodgers. The Braves were working to avoid a sweep after being outscored 9-2 in the first two games, as many of our thoughts were some 965 miles northeast in interior New York.

    Sean Newcomb took the mound for his 40th major-league start. He got two runs of support in the first inning and two more in the third, and the Massachusetts lefty took it from there, walking Yasiel Puig in the sixth but allowing nothing else entering the ninth. The ballpark, already an emotional mess as many of us had strained to stream Chipper’s acceptance speech during the third inning, was teeming as Newcomb took the mound to start the ninth.

    I had no doubt Newk was going to do this. Zero. Everybody was standing. I couldn’t breathe. My oldest son was pacing like I’d never seen, and he would admit later he thought it was done, too. After two flyouts. Newcomb was one hitter away. Chris Taylor worked the count to 2-2, including a somewhat questionable pitch he took for a ball, then lined a single to left field as third baseman Johan Camargo dove to his left in vain. The Braves would win 4-1, Newcomb would throw 129 pitches on the day, and the two teams would meet 2 ½ months later in the NL Division Series.

    Oh man, talk about the ultimate “what if.” I chatted with my kid while writing this and he said to this day, he was 100 percent certain Newcomb had it. His stuff was that good. I know there’s been ups and downs with Newcomb at times, but that day in July 2018 shows his potential to dominate a great lineup.

    It also shows that no-hitters are so hard to complete, and seeing one is such a rare treat. And, every day you walk into the ballpark, there’s a chance it happens. Perhaps one sweet day, Andy Hussion will have some company on my list.

    —30—

    On Deck: Saying Goodbye to The Skipper, and The Ted

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    Top 10 of the 2010s (Part 1): A Big Bang … Then a Choke

    The Top 10 of the 2010s, Part 1

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – To say I’ve been blessed to follow baseball across the past 40 years is quite the understatement.

    I love this sport. I’ve watched thousands of games, from my early days playing (poorly) in Little League, to writing about high school, college, minor league and major league teams during my sports writing career, to coaching my sons for more than a decade, to being a fan of the Braves and attending games for four decades. From tagging along with my grandfather, to going with my high school and college buddies, to taking my sons to their first games. From snagging tickets here and there, to owning partial season-tickets packages in three different stadiums.

    Only God knows how many baseball games I’ve watched in nearly 47 years on this planet, some while wearing a media credential, some while holding a ticket, some while sitting on the couch watching on TV or a laptop or smart phone (or listening to via radio or streamed online).

    With the 2010s ending, I wanted to look back at my top 10 memorable Braves moments from the past 10 years. These are not ranked in any particular order, other than to be segmented into groups of two based on a common theme.

    I established three simple rules:

    • I had to see it live at the ballpark. That’s why you won’t see Brooks Conrad’s walk-off grand slam in 2010 or Chipper Jones’ homer off Jonathan Papelbon in 2012. I wasn’t at either game.
    • Final score didn’t matter. This is a list of the most memorable moments I witnessed, and it would be an injustice to only include Braves victories.
    • I wanted this series to be more than me simply regurgitating the results. Baseball Reference has all that. I wanted to tie in what these moments meant to me, what happened that day, and what it meant to myself and those around me.

    So, forgive the personal observations shared in this series. We all know what happened in the 2012 NL Wild-Card Game, and we all know what happened in Game 3 of the 2018 NL Division Series (spoiler alert: both games made the list). This is storytelling, looking through a personal lens at the games, the surroundings, the people, recalling – regardless of result – the top 10 most memorable moments these aging blue eyes witnessed in person watching this decade of Braves baseball.

    Happy Holidays! Thank you for reading, as always. I hope you enjoy.

    BLE.

    Welcome to the Show: April 5, 2010

    The Hometown Kid Says Hello with A Big Bang

    When we moved back to Atlanta in 2006, there were plenty of things I did with my kids (then ages 4 and 3) to introduce them to my hometown. Braves games. Thrashers games. Hawks games. Day trips to the mountains. And, on one spring day in 2007, we took advantage of living south of Atlanta to go check out one of the top high school baseball players in the nation.

    Fast forward to April 5, 2010, a bright spring day in Atlanta and the Braves season opener at Turner Field, the first game of the new decade. That strapping kid from Henry County High my kiddos and I watched for a few innings three years earlier stood poised to make his major-league debut. Perhaps to that point there hadn’t been a more-heralded arrival for a Braves player than one Jason Heyward, who raced through Atlanta’s minor-league system after being selected 14th overall in the 2007 player draft, then went 18-for-59 with five extra-base hits and 10 walks in 22 Grapefruit League games to earn a spot on the 2010 opening-day roster.

    You could feel the buzz pregame walking through the parking lots at Turner Field, a vibe that ratcheted even higher when Heyward caught the ceremonial first pitch from Hall of Famer Hank Aaron. Then the game began and Derek Lowe gave up three first-inning runs, putting the Braves in a hole before taking their first at-bats of the season. But even way up on the top row of the upper deck, high above the Braves bullpen in right field, you sensed something special was brewing.

    Maybe it was because the always combustible Carlos Zambrano took the mound for the Cubs that afternoon. Or maybe we had a feeling about what was coming, because I remember telling my boys that three runs would not beat the Braves on this day. And I was right, because after a walk to (pardon me while I puke as I type his name) Melky Cabrera, a single by Martin Prado, an RBI single by Chipper Jones and a two-run single by Yunel Escobar, the game was tied.

    Heyward walked to the plate, runners on first and second, one out, score even at 3-3. Zambrano missed on his first two offerings. With the sold-out crowd chanting his name, J-Hey unloaded on a 2-0 pitch and launched a Hollywood-esque missile, a screaming, soaring liner deep to right, one-hopping the back wall of the Braves bullpen. The stadium absolutely lost its mind. All the hype, all the hope, all the buildup for a kid who grew up in the Atlanta suburbs, realized with an instant lightning bolt in his first swing as a big-leaguer.

    In the upper deck, we went nuts, everybody screaming and hugging and jumping up and down in a way that’s rare for any game outside of late September or October. It wasn’t until we got home and I watched the replay of the homer did I realize just how far Heyward launched that Zambrano pitch. Sitting at the kitchen table that evening, both of my kids and I couldn’t stop watching the replay of the homer on my laptop.

    I thought probably a hundred times that night, “a star is born.” And in a way that’s what happened, as Heyward earned NL All-Star honors before an injury knocked him out of the game. He finished his MLB debut 2-for-5 with the homer and four RBIs as the Braves ran away with a 16-5 victory.

    You never know where this game, or this life, will take you. Some six years and six months after that blast against the Cubs, Heyward helped lead Chicago to its 108-year jinx-breaking World Series title. But that moment the 20-year-old launched his career and brought down the house in his hometown remains memorable to this day, and was quite the way to kick off the decade.

    Over Before It Even Began: Oct. 9, 2019

    Braves Complete NLDS Choke with Epic Implosion

    My recap of Game 3 of the 2019 NLDS for this platform published, I grabbed a beverage and sat down in the Braves Room. After watching the Braves split the opening two games of the series with St. Louis here in Atlanta, the Braves roared off the deck in the ninth inning for a stunning Game 3 victory, one that sent every person into my house into delirium. Even my mom, approaching her 69th birthday, stood in the living room with a fist clenched, screaming at the TV.

    And that’s how I felt the entire day leading into Game 4, and even after a disheartening extra-inning loss that sent this series to a decisive fifth game – a game that never should’ve been played had the Braves not stumbled all over themselves in Games 1 and 4 of the series – my confidence wasn’t shaken. I had such a calm peace about the whole situation. Even my wife and kids were surprised, given that I will walk through the house clapping my hands in excitement hours before the first pitch of a Friday night game in June against the Phillies or Mets.

    That confidence carried into the day of Game 5. I checked out my oldest son from school. We grabbed barbecue for lunch before hitting the road, chatting about how we felt with Mike Foltynewicz – who we both watched dazzle St. Louis five days prior in Game 2 – on the mound, and how there was no way this Braves offense would spit the bit yet again after wasting so many chances in the fourth game. In fact, the only potential negative was raised by my oldest, who grew up idolizing Brian McCann during his first stint with Atlanta while my kid was learning to catch in Little League.

    “Dad, if the Braves lose, I think B-Mac retires,” he said, then adding, “but we’re not losing.”

    It would be folly to pin what happened on the fact no foam red tomahawks emblazoned with “Relentless,” the 2019 postseason hashtag, greeted fans upon their arrival to the ballpark. But the vibe felt different. Maybe it was the 5 p.m. first pitch. Maybe it was the missed opportunities of Games 1 and 4, conjuring up the ghosts of this franchise’s, and this city’s, past sporting missteps.

    It felt OK when Cardinals leadoff hitter Dexter Fowler foul tipped strike three into McCann’s glove, as I jumped and pumped my fist. Then I noticed the ball on the ground. McCann couldn’t hold onto it, and what transpired over the ensuing 26 minutes is a scenario not even the most scarred Braves fan could think plausible.

    Twenty-six minutes. Ten runs. Season over. And 15,000 people are still trying to get through rush-hour traffic and to their seats.

    There was nothing to say. Nothing. What do you say when you watch an entire season of promise and hope and expectations for the franchise to achieve something it hadn’t done in 18 years, one it should’ve already accomplished two days earlier, evaporate in the autumn sun in about the time it takes to walk from Lot 29 to Murph’s?

    I’m glad my oldest son was with me. He loves baseball like his old man, for better or worse. When Max Fried walked high-school teammate and St. Louis starter Jack Flaherty (who needs to keep his lip zipped on Twitter, by the way) with the bases loaded, my son just started laughing. When a run scored on a strikeout after McCann could not corral a pitch, he laughed again. By the fourth inning, the seats in our section in the upper deck were mostly empty. My kid and I laughed about that, too.

    What else could we do? We were shell-shocked. I kept looking down into the Braves dugout, across the stadium at other fans, and the look was the same. It was like we had watched a train wreck play out in slow motion. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen in 40 years of watching baseball. An elimination game, at home, and the better team, the one that should’ve won the series, absolutely getting run off the field in stunning, this-cannot-be-happening fashion.

    In the seventh inning, I said enough. It was time to go home, to spend the 45 minutes in the car trying to think how to put this into words for my recap. But my son said we couldn’t leave. He didn’t want to go. He had school the next day. I had work. I didn’t understand why. This wasn’t funny anymore. He told me:

    “Dad, you know B-Mac’s still in the game. You know JT is getting the ninth. I have to watch them together, one last time.”

    Julio Teheran did make his way from the bullpen to the mound for the top of the ninth. There to hand him the ball was McCann. The two longtime Braves, both of whom made such a profound mark on this decade and on my two little guys’ baseball fandom, walked off the field in the last game of the decade, together as teammates one final time.

    And my son and I walked the steps to the third-base gate, for the final time this decade, fighting back tears.

    —30—

    On Deck: What Could’ve, Should’ve, Would’ve Been

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    The (Off)season of Discontent: Braves Fans Upset by Lack of Action

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – You lived it. I lived it. We all lived it. The Triple-A lineups. The retread pitchers. The mismatches. The hopelessness. The trades of so many players we loved for guys we’d never heard of – some of whom we would fall in love with as time unfolded. The 95 losses followed by the 93 losses followed by the 90 losses. The move to a new, beautiful home, tinged by public outrage of a deal perhaps done outside the scope of public scrutiny despite plenty of public dollars being involved.

    The iconic country music group Alabama once upon a time sang, “We had to break it all down to build it back up,” a key lyric in their song “Here We Are” that, ironically, was part of the TBS 1991 highlight film. And it is true. The Atlanta Braves indeed broke it all down, stripped to the nubs, to build it back up to a point where the tomahawk represented something far beyond a reminder of yesteryear glories. All of this pain, all of this embarrassment, would pay off in a big way, a way we hadn’t seen in these parts in two decades.

    But a couple of funny things happened during the well-thought out rebuild plan, both of which fell out of the sky with equal parts suddenness and breathlessness. The strategic architect ran afoul of Major League Baseball rules regarding international signings and earned a lifetime ban. The season after, with his banished fingerprints remaining all over the team, the Braves won 90 games and captured the National League East championship.

    Cue Alex Anthopoulos, who entered the fray as general manager weeks after former GM John Coppolella was banned, and the engaging, impressive general manager helped bolster Atlanta’s crashing of the 2018 postseason party. Everything broke right. The Braves took advantage, flipping a city upside down and rekindling a fire within the fanbase that had sat dormant for five years. All of this set up an offseason during which many thought Atlanta would advance from breakthrough to behemoth, from playoff qualifier to World Series championship contender.

    Welcome to the second week of March, and Braves Country is in flames.

    And I don’t blame it one dang bit.

    Atlanta struck quickly in the offseason, signing Josh Donaldson and Brian McCann in the blink of an eye on Cyber Monday. The Braves brought back Nick Markakis to man right field at a sizable discount, a move I would not have made, but after not being able to lure Michael Brantley off the open market or pry Mitch Haniger from Seattle, probably made sense (my fear of regression notwithstanding).

    Atlanta did try and get Bryce Harper, but the Scott Boras effect won out in the end and Harper was rewarded with a 13-year deal. No, the Braves should not have committed to any player through 2031. But while we won’t know how creative Atlanta got in the negotiations, acquiring a player of Harper’s ilk instantly would’ve vaulted last season’s feel-good story into the championship conversation.

    And that’s part of where the angst begin. No, you’re not giving Andrew McCutchen the money Philly gave him. You’re not giving Harper the years Philly gave him. You’re not signing Patrick Corbin to six years, like Washington did. The problem is, both of those teams reside in the same division as Atlanta. Same with the Mets, who bolstered their bullpen and augmented their starting lineup with diversity that, if health abides, should make a team that went 38-30 over the second half even better.

    Boys, you only get the potentially epically bad Marlins 19 times over 162 games. Oh, and did we mention the one lone game-changing asset Miami had, J.T. Realmuto, also landed in Philadelphia?

    There is a method to the madness. Braves fans have had that narrative shoved down their throats at every turn since the start of November. To a certain extent, it’s valid. But only to a certain extend. And the cockiness of late displayed by the powers that be, to be frank, is becoming a bit much.

    The next time we hear from Braves chairman Terry McGuirk will be too soon. McGuirk is on record numerous times during the losing years about working to be in position to strike when the team turned a corner. Corner turned. The result? Mostly crickets.

    Enough, already. This insulting stance of stating over and over (and over) again that you’re able to do anything payroll-wise without signoff from faceless, non-local, uncaring Liberty Media corporate is a joke, and McGuirk would be best served by not trotting out that line as if the fanbase is full of gullible sheep. We all see right through it.

    Seriously, Terry? You want us to believe a public corporation that finished with $8.04 billion in revenue in 2018 actually would allow any of its business units to spend eight, nine figures in a vacuum without corporate oversight. Guess what? Not only do fans read the stats and know Tyler Flowers can’t hit right-handers, we also can (and do) read the 10-K and 10-Q reports.

    It puts Anthopoulos in a tough spot, to be honest. Engaging and open, a very likable part of this organization, we all understand AA’s past aggressiveness always didn’t pan out (he did trade Noah Syndergaard as the young centerpiece for R.A. Dickey, after all). To his credit, Anthopoulos has recalled several moves he made in Toronto that were geared toward building buzz and momentum in the offseason as transactions that didn’t pan out.

    But what if AA had been the original architect of the great Braves rebuild of the 2010s? What if he was here for the butt-whippings at Turner Field in 2015 and 2016, when such luminaries as Daniel Castro and Eury Perez manned the starting eight? Would have he been more inclined to lean into this offseason had he been here and suffered like the rest of us? And what in the heck is he supposed to say when his boss, McGuirk, continues spewing the corporate lines?

    I understand being strategic and pragmatic and measured, I do. It’s the right course to take most of the time. But not always. Circumstances at times dictate a deviation, a seizing of the moment. Those times when you dance in front of everybody like no one is watching, when you tell the interviewer why they are fools if they don’t hire you, when you kiss your secret crush regardless of who’s around.

    Those times when you go for it, color a bit outside the lines in order to accelerate the path forward. When the window opens earlier than expected, it’s OK to jump a bit higher than otherwise, especially when you still have one of the best and deepest farm systems in the game.

    For better or worse, this organization has decided not to do that. And if it doesn’t result in a step deeper into October, that will rest solely at the feet of the powers that be … and if it happens, the next offseason won’t be pretty.

    —30—

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    Snitker the Brave Receives Well-Deserved Extension

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – It was a moment that otherwise would be forgotten amid the wreckage of a lost season, the 72nd game of a campaign in which the Atlanta Braves would win but 68 times, would finish 26 ½ games out of first place, would promote an organizational lifer to the manager’s seat after a 9-28 start merely to steer the listless ship toward October and incoming certain change at the helm.

    The Braves hosted the New York Mets on June 23, 2016, at Turner Field, Brian Snitker filling out the lineup card as a major-league manager for the 35th time since replacing the fired Fredi Gonzalez six weeks earlier, 39 years after debuting as a minor-league catcher for Atlanta’s rookie-league affiliate in Kingsport, Tenn., 34 years after starting his first season as a manager for Atlanta’s Single-A affiliate in Anderson, S.C. The Braves were hosed out of the tying run in the bottom of the seventh, a blown call that (surprise!) replay upheld.

    Mets announcers, not surprisingly, were pleased with the call …

    But Snitker promptly strolled onto the field for an explanation from umpire Mike Everitt, who promptly ejected the interim skipper.

    Then, we saw it. Yes, it’s been there since 1977 and those days squatting behind the plate in the Appalachian League, but here on a major-league diamond was Snitker, stomping behind Everitt, arms flailing violently, Braves cap in his left hand, screaming at the top of his lungs, fighting for the team that brought him up only to keep a seat warm in the dugout, a demonstrative outpouring of passion and loyalty to the lone franchise he’s known, an outburst that made the 22,324 in the ballpark that night sound like 40,000.

    It truly feels like a fairy tale, this 2018 season that culminated in a National League East championship, a trip to the NL Division Series, the confluence of veteran leadership with young blooming talent. And in the midst of it all stood Snitker, who long shed the interim label, who Monday sat proudly in a red shirt and a blossoming offseason beard (mustache, too!) as the Braves announced a two-year contract extension with a third-year option for 2021.

    When Snitker was summoned from Triple-A Gwinnett to take the helm after Gonzalez was relieved of his duties, I joked on Twitter that he should bring Ozzie Albies with him. No way did I ever think this stint would last beyond the final game of 2016, but lo and behold, we saw something else that muggy June night in the ballpark that now is the home of Georgia State football.

    We saw the Braves rally. Adonis Garcia belted a two-run homer an inning after Snitker was sent to the showers, the come-from-behind 4-3 victory serving as foreshadowing for how Atlanta would become the battling Braves in years to come. Atlanta has won 57 games in its last at-bat since Snitker became manager, including 20 this season as the Braves raced past expectations and past the rest of the NL East, fashioning one of the most memorable campaigns in these parts since the franchise relocated from Milwaukee in 1966.

    For context, that was 11 years before Snitker joined the Atlanta organization.

    He deserves a ton of credit, and it started during those dark days of 2016. The Braves were an embarrassment in the final two months of 2015 and it continued through the early weeks of the next season, Atlanta going 34-76 in Gonzalez’s final 110 games as manager. Certainly, it wasn’t all his fault, with a stripped-down roster as the organization dove head-long into rebuild mode. Snitker managed 52 games before the All-Star break, the Braves going 22-30, then put together a 37-35 second half and knocked Detroit from the playoff race in the final game before home plate at Turner Field was dug up and transported via police escort to the dirt pile that would become SunTrust Park.

    Snitker found himself at the helm for 2017, an evaluation year that certainly would end with bumbling executives John Coppolella (trying to circumvent MLB rules) and John Hart (trying to lower his handicap) seeking a new manager for 2018, the man who would lead the Braves out of the darkness. Holes remained in the roster, of course, but Snitker helped squeeze a 45-45 start before Atlanta finally ran out of gas, and by late summer there was every indication the lifelong organization man would be in a different role come 2018. We’ve heard the stories by now, how right fielder Nick Markakis stood up for Snitker after Hart screamed at the manager following a loss in August, how Coppolella’s lack of people skills pushed Snitker to the point of telling a clubhouse attendant to pack his stuff while the Braves were finishing the season on the road, the affable lifelong Brave so disgusted, he had no desire to even return to his home ballpark.

    We all know how the story played out from there. Snitker, the beacon of steadiness, one beloved by players and staff alike, was the perfect person to guide the Braves one more season while new GM Alex Anthopoulos assessed the reeling organization top-to-bottom in 2018. Loyal to the brand to the very end, Snitker embraced the new regime’s reliance on analytics, formed tight bonds with several new members of the coaching staff brought into the dugout in the offseason, and continued to hold the steering wheel with a steady, firm hand as the trickle of young, promising talent reaching the majors grew into a wave.

    And his confidence grew, too. Two years on the job, more comfortable with the media, more relaxed. Brian Snitker had a chance – a real, fair chance – to manage for his job in 2018. He seized it. He benched Ender Inciarte, one of Snitker’s more vocal proponents, for failing to run out a ground ball. It didn’t change the center fielder’s feeling for his manager, but helped spark him to a strong second half. Snitker tried to single-handedly tear through the Miami Marlins roster to get at Jose Urena after Ronald Acuna Jr. was nailed on purpose with a pitch, his emotional postgame comments in which he described the Braves boy wonder as “my kid … I’m going to protect him,” resonating throughout baseball.

    And of course, the crowning moment, fighting back tears on the infield at SunTrust Park moments after the Braves won the East, saying simply, “I’m a Brave.” It’s a moment I’m not ashamed to say has made my eyes water every time I’ve watched it.

    He’s a Brave, indeed, and the gig is his. There are times where the tactical decision-making leads me to shake my head. I guess you could say that about any manager, coach, boss, person in power. But there is no denying this: I coached my kids in baseball for more than a decade. I would be honored for them to play for this man.

    Brian Snitker, the good company man, finally has his just reward. It’s not a retirement party or a gold watch or a farewell pat on the back. It’s this opportunity, one that made all those long bus rides and rain delays and time spent away from family across four decades worth the sacrifice.

    It’s a chance to manage a team that very soon figures to be a World Series contender. It’s a chance richly earned and well deserved.

    —30—

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    Cooperstown Bound: The Incredible Career of Chipper Jones

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA – The crowd gathered around the 23-year-old peach-fuzzed kid, who stared into the sea of microphones and cameras, and responded to question after question following a four-hit, four-RBI performance to help lift his team to victory.

    Part of that media scrum late in the evening on June 6, 1995, inside the cramped no-frills locker room of Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, included a 22-year-old peach-fuzzed kid holding a pen and a notepad. At some point amid the back-and-forth, the novice reporter summoned up the courage to ask the young baseball player what he hit to drive in two runs in a bases-loaded fourth inning, and followed up with a question about approach given that hit came on the first pitch while the other four at-bats of the night were worked deep into the count.

    The kid in the spotlight provided a quick analysis of his performance, giving the kid holding the notebook a couple of quotes that would land in a college newspaper’s weekly summary of recent Braves games.

    Some 277 months after that exchange, both those kids have kids of their own, are immersed into new realities, carry a few extra pounds and, yes, both have facial hair tinged with gray. Welcome to middle age, Chipper Jones, who Sunday will take his rightful place in baseball’s Hall of Fame, the crowning achievement of a 19-year career which produced a World Series title, an MVP award, All-Star games and 10,614 plate appearances – all with one team.

    The blunt numbers scream Hall of Famer, but for Chipper Jones – a kid from Pierson, Fla. – it goes far beyond just the raw data. It goes to something etched on a plaque hanging in my Braves Room, a quote that sums up the essence of Jones’ relationship with the team he signed with in 1990, the team I’ve loved since the late 1970s and a team that I covered a bit from time to time during a previous life.

    “I’m a southern kid and I wanted to play in a southern town where I felt comfortable.”

    That comfort level brings much discomfort for opposing fanbases, most notably the one who pledges allegiance to the New York Mets. Chipper made a livelihood out of crushing the Mets, from hitting 49 career homers against the team from Flushing in 245 games to his famous smash job against New York during the 1999 race for the National League East title, in which he belted seven homers while hitting .400 with a 1.510 OPS in 12 games.

    But this story goes beyond the numbers. It goes to a relationship between father and son, the elder imparting wisdom and spinning yarns of heroes of yesteryear, of games watched together, of batting practice and little league and travel ball, of going away to play baseball in high school, of growing up and making mistakes and learning to be a man – lessons we have to learn regardless of athletic prowess or lack thereof.

    For me, it goes to the moments. I saw his first major-league hit – Sept. 14, 1993 against the Reds, in the midst of the last great pennant race, a chopper to third base that Juan Samuel could not field in time to throw out the fleet-footed switch-hitter. I saw his last major-league hit – Oct. 5, 2012 against the Cardinals in the NL wild-card game (a game remembered for the worst officiating call I’ve witnessed in 40 years of attending and covering sporting events), another infield single in his final at-bat as a major-leaguer.

    In between, I was fortunate to be in the building when Chipper celebrated winning two pennants and a World Series championship, was a member of the press asking him about the disappointment of losing the first two World Series games at home in 1999, covered him belting a home run in Atlanta in the 2000 All-Star game, and countless other moments as fan and sports writer that are blurred by the passage of time.

    During that stretch, I grew up, got married, became a dad, changed careers and started coaching baseball. Chipper is one of a select few I always pointed to when players and parents would ask for somebody in the majors for their children to watch and learn how to play the game. He never took a pitch off, wanted to be in the lineup every day, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and put his heart and soul into every game in which he took the field.

    Friday night, I sat in SunTrust Park with my oldest son. Jonny Venters, who the Braves acquired from Tampa Bay the night before, made his first appearance with Atlanta since that 2012 wild-card game. When I showed my son a tweet by Kevin McAlpin of 680 The Fan and 93.7 FM stating how long it had been since Venters pitched for the Braves, my son immediately replied: “Chipper’s final game.”

    It was interesting to watch the All-American boy with the good looks and the immense talent grow up before our eyes. Consider the greats of that era of Braves baseball. Glavine was drafted in 1984. Smoltz was traded for in 1987. Neither transaction moved the needle because, to be blunt, the Braves were irrelevant in a town captivated with Hawks basketball (and I loved me some Atlanta’s Air Force back then) and college football and little else, especially a baseball team that finished buried in the old NL West every year from 1985-1990.

    Maddux? Sure, that was a huge move, but it came in the winter following the 1992 season, after the Braves had captured the city’s heart and soul with two consecutive NL pennants. Cox? He managed here from 1978-1981, left for Toronto, then came home to serve as general manager starting in 1986 until he moved back to the dugout in 1990, during the aforementioned awful years. Even Schuerholz, the architect of that worst-to-first 1991 squad, had been here nearly three full seasons before Chipper arrived.

    The point being: Chipper went from start to finish in the midst of one of the greatest runs in American pro sports history, with all eyes on him, with the pressure of a city and a fanbase eager to shake its reputation of being a bad sports town. And Chipper delivered, often in dramatic, “did you see that?!” fashion. Even his last homer, the walkoff blast off Jonathan Papelbon on the Sunday before Labor Day in 2012, still elicits tremendous emotion nearly six years later.

    I started my third year of college as a 20-year-old when I sat in old Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium and watched Chipper leg out an infield single for his first knock in the majors. I sat in Turner Field as a 39-year-old husband and father of two, with my oldest son by my side, when Chipper legged out an infield single in the ninth inning of the 2012 wild-card game in his final at-bat.

    Off the field, Chipper made his share of mistakes. His biography, “Ballplayer,” written by the fantastic former Atlanta Journal-Constitution writer Carroll Rogers Walton – who was more than kind to a young sportswriter trying to find his way once upon a time – is a tremendous tell-all of that side of the guy who went from hot-shot, cocky top prospect to franchise icon.

    And now the journey arrives this weekend in Cooperstown, and enshrinement in the hall of baseball immortals. I’ll spend Sunday in a hotel room next to SunTrust Park at a private watch party before the Braves game with the Dodgers, and I’ll lift a glass in honor of a player who brought this fanbase so much joy for two decades.

    Seventy-eight days after Chipper’s first big-league hit, a song was released that played constantly on radio during my college days. “Mr. Jones” became Counting Crows’ biggest hit, and I think often of this lyric from that song anytime I think about Chipper’s journey:

    “We all wanna be big stars,

    “But we don’t know why, and we don’t know how,

    “But when everybody loves me,

    “I wanna be just about as happy as I can be.”

    Suffice to say, Chipper became one of the biggest stars of all. And it sounds like he’s happy with his life. Any of us who go through life pray for happiness and contentment. That transcends any success we find in our chosen profession. As someone who is in that place, I’m so happy Chipper has found that peace.

    Sunday, in a small village in upstate New York, he will cement his rightful place amid the greatest of the greats. And to think, we’ve been watching this journey for a quarter-century.

    Well done, kid.

    —30—

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    A ‘Dear John’ (Coppolella) Letter from Braves Country

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    AUSTIN, Texas and ATLANTA, Ga. – Given the events that have followed the end of the Atlanta Braves season on Sunday, I have tried to consolidate my thoughts during a business trip to Texas and the return to Georgia.

    The following combines those thoughts on the current crisis in the Atlanta Braves front office, from thoughts gathered in both locales, and directed toward former Atlanta general manager John Coppolella. Consider this an open letter to the man who many of us invested our hopes and dreams into as the point person of the Braves rebuild.

    In other words … a Dear John letter none of us wanted to write.

    Dear John:

    I hope this note finds you well, although I would imagine this week has turned your world upside down. I know you are married with children, and as in any situation where somebody with a family loses their job, I realize there are many personal issues you are mitigating this week.

    With that said, we need to talk.

    Here is why I want to communicate with you. I am 44 years old and, like you, I have a wife and kids. I also have a vested interest in seeing the Atlanta Braves succeed. Let’s go back to the early 1980s where, as a kid, I would arrive at my grandparents’ house after school and immediately spread the Atlanta Journal afternoon edition across the kitchen floor, hungry for every single typeset word on the Braves.

    Braves General Manager John Coppolella

    Former Braves General Manager John Coppolella

     

    My grandmother would yell at me and scrub the newspaper ink off my elbows, forever chastising me the ink would get into my blood. And she was right. From the moment I could think of pursuing a career, I wanted to write about the Atlanta Braves. Beyond that, I loved baseball and loved the Braves.

    The 1990s were incredible. A World Series championship, that I saw in person, five NL pennants won – I saw three of them in person – and the start of the run of 14 consecutive division titles. While the vast majority of the people I came across jumped on the bandwagon during the glorious Worst-to-First season in 1991, my investment came a decade earlier and never wavered.

    The 1990s ended with me as a sports writer, seated in the overflow press box in the left-field stands of Turner Field for the World Series. The new decade dawned a few months later with me in the same spot for the All-Star Game. There would be great interactions as a reporter for years to come, spring training and big games, and then after I left the newspaper business, passing down my love for this franchise and this game to my young sons.

    I understood the rebuild, I really did. I know baseball, and I saw the lack of talent in the minors. So when you took charge and began rebuilding our system, I was all in. I could see the path forward, I bought into it, I kept buying tickets and taking my kids to games and preaching that the pain they felt in 2010 and 2012 and 2013 would pay off.

    And yet, at this moment, I feel like a fool. I have had to sit with both of my sons since returning from a business trip this week to open up and discuss the things of which you are accused of doing as general manager of the Braves – of our franchise. Those accusations go against everything I have taught my children in dealing with others.

    As a result, I seriously am considering not renewing my season tickets for 2018. That solely rests on your shoulders.

    See John, this goes deeper than the allegations Major League Baseball is investigating. This goes to the core of my family. My grandfather, who introduced me to this incredible game, grew up in Philadelphia in the 1920s. He saw Ruth, Gehrig, Johnson, Foxx and the greats of that era. My grandmother worked in a downtown Atlanta restaurant in the 1960s. Joe Torre was her favorite guest; she cried when we hired him as manager in 1982, and she cried when he was let go three seasons later.

    My oldest son attended his first game in late summer 2006, as a 3-year-old. His brother went to his first game a season later, as a 3-year-old. My third date with my wife was a Braves game. I attended 61 games in 1993, where we won 104 games and captured the NL West by one game. Five years earlier I attended 21 games, a season where we started 0-10 and finished with 106 losses (for the record, we went 3-18 in games I attended that season). I spent far too many moments in high school in the late 1980s defending the Braves gear I wore to class.

    And still, I remained loyal, so much so that I got a Braves logo tattooed on my arm in September 2014, on the Sunday we were eliminated from playoff consideration. A testament of loyalty to a franchise that always has pursued championships the right way.

    The Braves – the baseball franchise that has operated since 1871 – entrusted you with its path forward. You had your dream job, one with unchecked paths forward and the latitude to pursue your beliefs of what would propel this team to the top again. And I bought into it. So did millions of fans who saw your aggressiveness, your outgoingness, as a blueprint to another dynasty.

    Then came this week.

    John, I know managing personnel is not easy. I did it for 20 years, and at times I had to conduct difficult discussions with people I really liked. Supervising is not easy, I get it. Nobody wants to be the butthole that deflates the work culture. But what is alleged toward you and your leadership of our baseball team is inexcusable on every level imaginable.

    You do not cheat. You do not act like your word is the gospel. You do not shun co-workers for their opinions.

    John, I hope you realize your actions have placed an unforgettable stain on a franchise that has represented the best in American professional sports across 145-plus years, across three cities. Your thirst for personal glory very well may have set this franchise back in the years to come. We don’t know the findings of the ongoing MLB investigation, but I can tell you the very fact MLB is investigating my franchise because of your actions is reprehensible and unforgivable.

    I only can pray you do the right thing and speak honestly to the investigators. Beyond that, I have no feelings or wishes for you. The scar you have left on our team, our franchise, our city, will not go away easily.

    I hope you realize that when your head hits the pillow each night, the black cloud that you have brought to Braves Country will linger over us far after you move on from what you have done.

    I hope it was worth it for you … we now know it sure as hell was not worth it for us.

    —30—

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006

    Big Decisions Ahead for Braves

    By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    CUMMING, Ga. – Shagging fly balls at my baseball team’s first fall practice of this season tonight, a random thought crossed my mind. It took me back to about this time last year, and sparked an idea that – on a rare night without deadlines or work stuff to occupy my sleepless evening hours – intrigued me.

    I mention no deadlines because deadline came early on this 29th day of August. The Atlanta Braves were rained out in Philadelphia, a postponement announced two hours before first pitch, a pronouncement that meant for one blessed night, the Braves would not be tormented by the worst team in Major League Baseball.

    So, after a little digging, I confirmed that the 29th day of August last year also featured no Braves baseball. Atlanta was off that day, beginning that idle date on the schedule with a 48-83 record. Tonight’s unexpected evening off the diamond found the Braves with a 57-72 mark, far better than where this team sat a season ago.

    Will Brandon Phillips be in a Braves uniform on Sep 1?

    Will Brandon Phillips be in a Braves uniform on Sep 1?

    But you never would know it from the blogosphere, from social media, from sports talk shows and water cooler chats (do people still chat around the water cooler? Let’s assume they do somewhere) that have doom and gloom falling all over a team that, to be frank, has stunk the past six weeks. The Braves reached .500 on July 16 at 45-45, but have won just 12 times since.

    As Atlanta approaches September, we are reminded last year’s team would start a 20-10 run on Aug. 30, closing out Turner Field in style with victories that knocked the Tigers out of the American League playoffs while whetting the appetite of Braves Country for a 2017 that would feature a new stadium and a new beginning.

    And while there is little doubt SunTrust Park has lived up to its preseason billing, the same cannot be said for this team that – while in the midst of rebuilding – had at least planted a seed that this season would be a breakthrough to respectability. And sure, while being nine wins better than 365 days ago is impressive improvement, it should be better.

    September dawns soon. The active roster expands, several players are expected to return from the disabled list and a handful of prospects may merit promotion for the proverbial cup of coffee (Ronald Acuna will not be one of them, this correspondent continues to say). There is little optimism that these Braves will replicate the spirited final kick of a September ago, and honestly, that’s OK.

    The season’s final month is a time to start answering questions. The Braves have more than their fair share:

    What to do when Johan Camargo comes off the disabled list?

    Camargo, long impressive with his glove and cannon of a right arm, has shocked all of us with a .292 batting average and .781 OPS in just 185 at-bats. Those offensive numbers are better than anything he produced in the minors. The Braves seem serious about Camargo being part of their long-term plans, a pronouncement that cannot be based on two months’ worth of ABs.

    When he returns, Camargo needs to play every single day.

    Where does Camargo play once he is healthy?

    This one is easy, and hard, at the same time. He has to be the starting third baseman for the final four weeks of the season. Period.

    Why is playing Camargo daily an easy decision?

    Braves IF Johan Camargo is expected to return to the lineup September.

    Braves IF Johan Camargo is expected to return to the lineup September.

    This has less to do with Camargo and more to do with the two players lining up in the middle of Atlanta’s infield. Dansby Swanson’s demotion to Triple-A, where he got regular at-bats, gave him the time needed to adjust his swing and stance at the plate. He has been outstanding at shortstop since returning from the minors to replace the injured Camargo.

    At second base, Ozzie Albies has adjusted to major-league pitching after a rough beginning. His speed is breathtaking to watch. His smile lights up a ballpark on its own. Seeing Albies and Swanson up the middle is something Braves fans have dreamed of since the great teardown of this franchise three years go. Both are cornerstone pieces. They have to play, together, every single day.

    Why is playing Camargo daily a hard decision?

    It is hard to describe the impact Brandon Phillips has made on the Braves in his first season with his hometown team. The Redan High product has produced offensively, served as a veteran presence for the younger players in the clubhouse, and moved to third base – where he has looked every bit like a guy who has spent his entire major-league career at the hot corner.

    Phillips is one hit away from 2,000 for his career. He has more than proven he can play every day and produce on offense and defense. He most likely will get a chance to extend his career elsewhere. As much as it would be an incredible story for it to continue in his hometown, Phillips’ journey in 2018 almost certainly will unfold elsewhere.

    Unless Phillips were to take a one-year deal as a bench bat and mentor, he won’t be back in Atlanta next season. As much as we all love him and respect him, the greater good of the organization dictates a serious reduction in his playing time once September arrives.

    Is Julio Teheran here next season?

    Teheran’s 2017 season has been maddeningly inconsistent. Yes, his numbers at home still stink (2-9, 6.54 ERA). Yes, he’s allowed a career-high 29 homers and posted a career-worst 1.374 WHIP and 4.90 ERA since becoming a full-time starter in 2013.

    On the flip side, he’s four starts away from his fifth consecutive season of 30-plus starts, 35 innings away from his fifth consecutive season of 185-plus innings, is signed to a club-friendly deal through 2020 and is a two-time All-Star.

    Will the Braves explore  trading troubled ace Julio Teheran this winter?

    Will the Braves explore trading their inconsistent ace Julio Teheran this winter?

    I think of what somebody once said of Hall of Famer Steve Carlton, that when he’s good, he’s great, and when he’s bad, he’s terrible. That’s been Teheran in 2017. This will not be an easy call either way, but I lean toward this: in a rotation that figures to feature plenty of young arms in the next two years, Teheran has 156 career starts and is 28 innings shy of 1,000 pitched in the majors.

    Who pitches out of the bullpen?

    This is where the Braves should rely heavily – and I mean heavily – on youth. Yes, it may impact the overall win-loss number, but again, for the greater good of the franchise, Atlanta needs to see how some of its young arms fare late in games.

    For Jason Motte, Rex Brothers and Jim Johnson, this means nothing more than mop-up duty. The Braves feel they have viable candidate for the late innings in Arodys Vizcaino and Jose Ramirez. But there is a long list of guys who need opportunities in high-leverage situations, including Sam Freeman, Akeel Morris, Dan Winkler, A.J. Minter, Ian Krol and Luke Jackson.

    Depending on how those arms fare in September, the bullpen could be a very big – and expensive – focus in the offseason.

    There are decisions to be made, some unpopular, some necessary, all with a focus on making the next Aug. 29 we encounter not a day to ponder how bad things are, but to enjoy positive results that this franchise and its fanbase deserve.

    And the discovery process needs to begin right now.

    —30—

     

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.

    The Battery Transforms Your Braves Gameday Experience

    Battery-1 (600px)By Bud L. Ellis

    BravesWire.com

    ATLANTA — Back during my sports writing days – before Twitter and wi-fi and blogs – one of my favorite assignments was covering college football on campus. There are few things that beat the atmosphere, the energy, the feeling of being in Atlanta or Clemson or Baton Rouge on a crisp clear Saturday in the fall, seeing the people, hearing the music, smelling the food.

    For many, attending a college football game goes far beyond four 15-minute quarters on a 100-yard field. It is the experience of gameday, of eating and drinking with your friends, of gathering with fellow fans, with hanging out for hours before kickoff and hours after the final whistle. When time would allow, I would always try to spend a few minutes soaking in the pregame atmosphere before walking into the stadium, and would attempt to decompress from deadline by enjoying the postgame vibe.

    Outdoor concert stage and lawn at The Battery

    Outdoor concert stage and lawn at The Battery

    Which leads me to a sunny Sunday morning at the confluence of Interstates 285 and 75, on the first weekend in August at the new home of the Atlanta Braves.

    Certainly, I have been fortunate to experience some incredible pre- and postgame atmospheres through the years with Braves baseball. Playoff and World Series games, anticipation for opening days following division-winning seasons and a long offseason, the gathering of friends old and new and good food and cold beverages is not a new concept for those who chop and chant and wear all things tomahawk.

    But this year, it is different.

    And it is glorious.

    In the rush of working fulltime, of doing freelance work, of coaching kids baseball – heck, of just being a responsible adult – I often do not take the time to slow down and enjoy what’s around me. I think we’re all guilty of that, especially in the crafts I ply and the life I lead. But every once in a while, even I have to slow down the whirlwind that is the day-to-day grind.

    Without a live deadline on this day and with my best friend of 30-plus years en route for his first foray to SunTrust Park, I made it a point to get to The Battery nice and early, some 3 ½ hours before first pitch. It is not the first time I’ve arrived at a Braves game way early, but not for a regular-season game in August with the team seven games under .500, and certainly not something I would do in previous years.

    Antico's Pizza at The Battery

    Antico’s Pizza at The Battery

    Because in years past, the Braves played at the confluence of other interstates (namely 75, 85 and 20) on the southern fringe of downtown Atlanta, adjacent to a part of the city that, to be kind, is less than desirable. To be blunt, there have been more than my fair share of moments through the years, from attending games as a kid in the 1980s to taking my wife and kids to games in recent years, where I questioned why a professional sports franchise would choose to have its headquarters in an area like what the Braves left behind when they moved to Cobb County.

    For all the fervor and angst over the team leaving downtown, it has turned out to be a brilliant move. And for the incredible job done in constructing SunTrust Park – which is one of the nicest, most enjoyable places to watch a ballgame in the majors – it is what has taken root right outside the outfield gates that sets this place apart.

    Some three hours before gametime, The Battery already was abuzz with fans congregating, chit-chatting with others, playing catch on a patch of green grass, browsing shops (some of which still are not open yet). Two hours before first pitch, the various restaurants in the area already were dishing out food. An hour before Lucas Sims delivered the game’s opening pitch, the taverns had the taps flowing. The place still was packed an hour after the final out of a 4-1 loss to the Marlins, fans catching a postgame meal and listening to music and watching Kelsey Wingert (who, like the team she covers, is a young rising star in her own right) anchoring the postgame show.

    Roll it all together, and you get a place that is completely focused on the Braves and baseball. It is a dream come true for this fanbase, to have a locale where those who cheer for this team can gather and make every one of the 81 home games a season a true experience that goes far beyond the nine innings played on the field. And as for the other 284 days a year when the Braves are not playing, The Battery remains a true destination, a must-see for any baseball fan.

    Live at the Battery sports bar & grill

    Live at the Battery sports bar & grill

    I left The Battery nearly 90 minutes after the game concluded. The only times I can remember a large gathering of fans outside of Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium or Turner Field that long after a game ended were in Octobers long passed. But this day was in August, another average day in the midst of the long marathon that is a baseball season that will not end with a playoff appearance.

    Yet here they were, fans by the thousands still soaking in the experience of a day spent watching major league baseball. The Battery was designed with the modern fan in mind, but the ability to gather with people who love this team, love this game, harkens back to a bygone era where a sports team can meld an entire population behind one squad, one goal, one dream.

    All I can think of as I walk through this place is how amazed I am, as a fan who as attended games in person for parts of five decades, that the Braves call this place home.

    And how incredible it is going to be in Octobers to come.

    —30—

     

    Bud L. Ellis is a lifelong Braves fan who worked as a sports writer for daily newspapers throughout Georgia earlier in his writing career, with duties including covering the Atlanta Braves, the World Series and MLB’s All-Star Game. Ellis currently lives in the Atlanta suburbs and contributes his thoughts on Braves baseball and MLB for a variety of outlets. Reach him on Twitter at @bud006.