Ever go to the video store and see the box for some totally crappy B-movie starring Steven Seagal such as this one:

If you have you likely thought to yourself, “Oh my God. Steven Seagal used to be a huge star. What the hell is he doing in this piece of crap? Who even knew he still acted? Man, he really should just accept it is over and retire.”

Well, action stars aren’t the only ones who don’t know when to walk off into the sunset gracefully. Many of our former big league heroes, I’m afraid to report, are starring in their own equivalent of a low budget, straight to video disaster. Unlike Seagal, however, you won’t be able to see them on your television screen. These former studs can only be seen on the poorly maintained fields of semi-legitimate “professional” leagues found in the remotest corners of America.

Here’s your chance to catch up with a couple straight to video ballplayers:

Baseball Seagal #1: Wiki Gonzalez
Wiki recently signed with Utah’s own St. George Roadrunners of the Golden Baseball League for the 2008 season. Wiki, you may remember, played for the Mariners, Nationals, and Padres for whom he hit into a 5-4-3 triple play on his birthday back in 2002. Perhaps as a result, Wiki’s annual birthday dinner at T.G.I. Fridays that night was woefully under attended.

After a lackluster season with the White Sox’s AAA affiliate last year, Wiki was released by the big club during last month’s spring training. That’s when the Roadrunners swooped in like vultures and plucked Wiki up as he stumbled through the deserts around Mesa, Arizona. Amusingly, the Roadrunners’ press release announcing Wiki’s signing bragged that he had hit over .300 in seven minor league seasons. What? No boasting of Wiki’s career .238 average in the bigs?

Wiki will be behind the plate for the Roadrunners season opener May 22nd. Those who like to rubberneck past car crashes may want to buy a ticket.

Baseball Seagal #2: Sendy Rleal
Sendy Rleal, who spent about four months working out of the bullpen for the 2006 Baltimore Orioles, has signed with another baseball powerhouse, The Lancaster Barnstormers of the Atlantic League of Professional Baseball (a league which, like the Golden Baseball League, is not affiliated with Major League Baseball in any way, shape, or form). Despite a lackluster season with the Orioles’ AA club in 2007, Sendy will be the closer for The Barnstormers. Sendy, a native of the Dominican Republic, likely called home and had the following conversation:

Sendy: “Mama, this year I will be the closer!”
Mama: “Hooray, my boy! With who? The Orioles?
Sendy: “No, the…uh…Barnstormers.”
Mama: “The who?”
(An awkward beat passes)
Sendy: “Phone connections not so good in America, Mama. Gotta go!”

For those who lost their virginity in the summer of 2006 and want to relive those heady days, the Barnstomers start their season April 25th. Be sure to arrive early as it is a give-away night, and the first three through the gate will receive an official Barnstomers’ Amish quilt.

Former Boston Braves slugger Tommy Holmes has passed away. I won’t B.S. you guys and pretend this is especially sad news, because, in case you didn’t notice, I said he played for the Boston freaking Braves! If I’d said he played for the Milwaukee Braves that might be a little sad, and if I said he played for the Atlanta Braves you might even cry, but a Boston Brave? That’d be like a Today Show viewer being depressed that someone Willard Scott wished a Happy Birthday to had passed away.

You know why else you shouldn’t be sad? Tommy checked out in the old timer’s paradise of Boca Raton, Florida, at the ripe old age of 91. Ninety-one! Tommy clearly got the chance to eat a LOT of early bird specials and to complain about a LOT of those damn kids today. Still, something strikes me as sad about saying farewell to Tommy, which is especially weird because, as someone yet to cash a social security check, I never got the chance to see him play.

So what is making me sad? Well, part of it has to do with the fact that a player as accomplished as Tommy was largely forgotten by baseball at the time of his death. The native of Brooklyn did some truly amazing things on the field, a good number of which happened in his landmark 1945 season when he made the All-Star team, finished second in the MVP voting, and managed to get a hit in 37 consecutive games (a record that stood for 33 years until Pete Rose broke it). As if that wasn’t enough, Tommy finished the year with a .352 average and became the first and only player to lead his league in both home runs and fewest strike outs per at bat (How few? Try 9 punch-outs in 636 at bats!).

Okay…so maybe some of his amazing stats that year were inflated because a baker’s dozen or so great pitchers were overseas serving during WW II, and, oh yeah, the league was made up of nothing but pasty skinned honkies, but in Tommy’s defense he continued to perform at a very high level once the war ended and the color barrier was broke. In 1948, for example, he was an All-Star who hit .325, lead the league in outfield put-outs for the fifth consecutive year (yeah, he could field too), and took his team to the World Series.

So how come so many baseball fans haven’t heard of him? The answer is because he only amassed 75 at bats after the age of 33, a fact which resulted in his finishing with a far from HOF worthy 1,502 hits despite a career .302 average. Why you may ask? Well, it seems that, like sixteen-year-old girl on Tyra obsessed with becoming a Mom, Tommy wanted to become a manager way before his time at the age of 33 (following a season when he hit a still very good .298). So, in 1951, Tommy suited up as the Braves’ player/manager (hmmm…you think Pete Rose studied up on Tommy after breaking his record?). Unfortunately, he was fired by the team he had done so much for after only a far from disastrous season and a half. Tommy, with his tenure as the Braves’ skipper ended so prematurely, then decided to pick up his bat and return to playing. He signed with the Dodgers, but, after being used primarily as a pinch hitter, hit only .111 in thirty six at bats before retiring at the still young age of 35. Did the Braves ask him back to play? Manage? Clean the toilets? The answer is no, no, and thankfully, no.

Now I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know the specifics of this bizarre-ass story, and the internet and battalion of baseball books on my shelf have done little to clear things up (note: if anyone out there can fill me in on the details I would greatly appreciate it and post it here). Nevertheless, it seems to me like yet another example of how an old time ball player was jerked around by his fat cat owner (who I always imagine as obscenely obese, wearing a three piece suit, and smoking a cigar while cleaning his monocle). This is sad because, while today a lousy back-up infielder makes over a million dollars a year, All-Stars of the black and white era were forced to work at gas stations in the off season. There was very little allegiance to players by their team back then, something anyone who has seen John Sayles’ wonderful film Eight Men Out knows. Sox hurler Eddie Cicotte was benched by owner Charles Comiskey toward the end of the 1919 season because Comiskey didn’t want him to realize a ten grand incentive for winning thirty games. Eddie finished that year with 29 wins, a measly six thousand dollars in salary, and was coerced to join the seven other cheaters who turned the 1919 White Sox black. Even a player as great as Babe Ruth was screwed with. The Babe, after being denied the chance to manage the Yanks (who should have polished each and every one of his hot dog and booze induced turds until the day he died), was traded to Tommy’s team, the Boston Braves, with the promise of possibly managing in 1936. Sadly, the Braves were making false promises (In heaven Tommy yells down, “No, crap, blogger!”), and the closest the Babe ever came to realizing his dream of managing before passing away was coaching the Dodgers for half a season.

Anyway, I will acknowledge that there may be another explanation for the early end to Tommy’s career, but it certainly wasn’t attitude (he was known to be a great guy) or interest in the game (he scouted for many years with the Mets). I suppose he may have been injured somewhat, but if he was I’d imagine he would have simply managed and not played as well – especially not after being fired as manager. I’m sorry to say it seems Tommy was yet another victim of the time period he played in.

So, the next time a modern day owner leverages his team in order to get some a-hole like Miguel Tejada who then giggles and says, “Guess what, suckas? I’m actually forty-seven!” remember our heroes weren’t always treated like little Medici princes. Actually, now that I think about it, it isn’t us fans who should remember this but today’s players. They need to know that “baseball been berry, berry good” to them, and that it hasn’t always been that way. So, Miguel Tejada and the other 847 of you, the next time a kid asks you for an autograph or your manager asks you to take a few extra ground balls, you better damn well better do it. Otherwise I just might show up with a twelve pack of over sized eggs and hurl them at your Humvee in honor of Eddie Cicotte, The Babe, and the late, great Tommy Holmes.

The brief baseball career of Herb Washington was arguably the strangest thing the very strange Charlie O. Finley ever dreamt up during his reign as owner of the Kansas City/Oakland A’s, and that is saying something. Finley, for those blissfully ignorant of the man, can best be described as a cross between Willy Wonka and George Steinbrenner, but only if Willy was more eccentric and Steinbrenner less endearing. Until Hollywood gets around to making a bio-pic about Finley directed by Tim Burton and starring Johnny Depp, what follows are a few highlights of his twisted mind:

• Finley won over Kansas City fans upon purchasing the A’s by pledging that he would never move the team, then immediately shopped the team to other cities.
• For reasons clear only to himself, Finley replaced the iconic elephant mascot with a live mule he named “Charlie O”. Charlie took his namesake to parties, hotel lobbies, and the press room where the animal often relieved himself on the floor.
• Convinced spectators would be able to follow orange baseballs better than the traditional white spheres, Finley insisted that his team try them in exhibition games with the hope that they would eventually be used in regular season games. He was forced to drop the idea, however, when hitters complained that it was too hard to pick up the spin on the orange balls.
• As if fruit colored balls weren’t enough, Charlie, in hopes of speeding up the game, forced his poor players to play spring training games with a three-ball walk and two-strike “K”. The concept was dropped when the result was more walks and longer games.
• Charlie, again for reasons clear only to himself, decided that his players would be much more impressive if they had mustaches, so he offered financial incentives to those willing to grow a caterpillar above their top lip. Rollie Fingers was perhaps the player who accepted the offer with the most enthusiasm.
• Finley installed a mechanical rabbit that would pop up behind home plate and deliver new balls to the umpire. Charlie was convinced the idea would catch on and become standard all around baseball, but it didn’t work out that way. Charley was forced to cook the rabbit after 1969.
• Charlie took a shine to an African America kid from the area around the stadium in Oakland, and, after making him a bat boy, eventually promoted him to the position of General Manager, if only for a day. That kid grew up to become none other than M.C. Hammer.

After reading the above you are probably wondering what about Herb Washington could possibly trump all of that. In order to explain I should tell you a little about Herb’s life before baseball. Born in Mississippi in 1951, Herb moved with his parents to Michigan as a boy so that they could work at the auto plants. Herb knew early on he wanted no part of that life, and, luckily for him, he discovered while a student at Flint Central that he was just about the fastest runner in the country. His fleet feet soon took him to Michigan State where he set NCAA records and even out ran the legendary, Olympic gold medal winner, John Carlos. After college Herb barely missed making the 1972 Olympic team, but he didn’t have time to sit around and pout because soon Ol’ Charlie called with a most unusual offer. Charlie wanted Herb, who had very limited experience as a baseball player, to join the Oakland A’s as the first…and last…designated pinch runner. Charlie’s idea was that an incredibly fast runner should be able to swipe a base at will, but, like his orange baseball or three ball walk, it didn’t quite work out that way. Herb swiped thirty-one bags, but his lack of base running instincts lead to his being thrown out seventeen times, and, after being picked off at a critical time in the 1974 World Series, his fate was sealed. He soon went down in history as an interesting and bizarre footnote in the history of Major League baseball.

So What The Heck Happened To Him?

Herb, it seems, was not horribly heart broken by his release from the A’s considering that he never even imagined in his wildest dreams that he would play major league baseball. So, after running away from Oakland at a great speed (sprinters don’t need cars, you know), he joined the pro track circuit and remained in competition until 1976. He then hung up his running shoes and entered the business world. Today he is a successful businessman who owns several McDonalds franchises in the Ohio area as well as one in Pennsylvania. Kudos to you for getting rich and all, Herb, but I must say I find it a tad depressing that a man who personifies the peak of potential for the human body has spent his life polluting human bodies with greasy, fat filled things like the Big Mac. But I digress…and I’m eating one right now.

Thankfully, Herb won’t only go down in history as a base runner with crappy instincts who contributed greatly to the obesity of Ohio youth. The longtime married man has also proven to be a fine family man (one of his kids is the Michigan State sprinter Terrell Washington), and he now owns the minor league hockey franchise The Youngstown Steelhounds, because what African American isn’t a huge hockey enthusiast? Whatever…John Candy owned a hockey team too, and even though the dude was a white Canadian I’m sure the closest he ever got to the game was eating a Skate fish (Sorry for the jab, John! Uncle Buck rules! RIP!).

All indications show that Herb is a much better owner of a sports franchise than his former boss, Charlie O’, who died in 1996 while imagining his next hare brained scheme. Nevertheless, as of April, 2008, Herb is threatening to move the Steelhounds to a new location. Charlie, looking down from above with his mule mascot and orange baseball, must be smiling.

You remember former Chi-Sox hurler Barry Jones, don’t you?

Barry was kind of like that that order of General Tso’s Chicken I got last night. It was really good when it first arrived, but, after not being refrigerated, very quickly turned into something that made me want to vomit. Barry had some really stellar years (such as 1991 when he was 11-4 with a 2.31 ERA out of the Sox’s pen), but was gone from the game at only thirty after posting an 8.59 ERA with the Sox.

Want to see Barry again? Well, if you’re in Centerville, Indiana, on May 17th drop by the Centerville Youth League’s annual parade as Barry will be the Grand Marshall. Oh, and if it rains on the 17th the make-up date is May 18th. You know, because it never rains two days in a row.

Jones, 45, now lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but will schlep it out to Centerville because that is his hometown. Be sure to smile pretty for the cameras, Barry!

Go to pal-item.com for very little more information.

In the mid eighties “Nails” fascinated baseball fans almost as much as the average Pilipino manicurist because of Lenny “Nails” Dykstra, who earned his nickname thanks to his hardnosed play. Dykstra made his big league debut in 1985 with the New York Mets and cemented his status as a fan favorite the following year when, as the lead-off hitter and centerfielder for the World Champions, supplied many on-field heroics including a walk-off home run in game three of the NLCS against the Houston Astros. He was so popular, in fact, that he wasn’t even run out of town after posing for an exceedingly embarrassing beefcake style poster that featured him leering at the camera, shirtless, under the caption: “Nails”.There were more good times to be had for Dykstra in New York, including helping the Mets reach the NLCS in 1988, but some say his wild antics off the field made the team sour on him. Whatever the reason may be, Lenny was shipped off to Philadelphia (along with Roger McDowell) in exchange for Juan Samuels during the 1989 season.

The best years of ol’ “Nails” career were in Philadelphia, perhaps because he was allegedly doing all he could to earn the new nickname of “Needles,” but more on that later. Dykstra made the All-Star team three times and took his team to the 1993 World Series, but just as in New York, Lenny wasn’t exactly a choir boy off the field. In 1991, following John Kruk’s bachelor party at a Christian Science Reading Room, a drunk Dykstra ran his car into a tree breaking his collar bone. Teammate Darren Daulton was also hurt in the crash, but escaped serious injury thanks to his chest protector and face mask. Later that year “Nails” broke his collar bone again when he ran into an outfield wall. It is unclear if he was drunk at the time as well.

Injuries mounted for Dykstra, and he played his last regular season game in the 1996 season. After an ill-fated comeback attempt at the Phillies’ Spring Training camp in 1998, the final hammer came down on “Nails,” and he retired from the game with a career batting average of .285.

So what the heck happened to him?

The post retirement career prospects for Dykstra may have seemed dubious to those used to reading about his off-field screw-ups during his playing days, but surprisingly “Nails” began preparing for the future as early as 1993 when he opened a car wash in Southern California.

His new business featured top of the line equipment as well as employees who dressed in baseball uniforms (which must have puzzled those customers not familiar with the proprietor’s former career). It was so successful that he opened a second car wash in 1998.

Unfortunately, Dykstra’s propensity for getting into trouble caught up with him once again in 1999 when he was arrested on charges of sexual battery for allegedly fondling a 17-year-old girl who worked at his car wash. It is unclear if he whispered to her the pledge he gives his car wash customers, which is that his “highest priority is your complete satisfaction.” In all fairness to Lenny, the charges were later dropped due to a lack of evidence and the suggestion that the girl may have made previous unsubstantiated charges.

It was onward and upward for Lenny who, fresh off the success of opening a third car wash, established a chain of successful Dykstra Quick Lube centers. Lenny then set his sights on the stock market, because if you can wash a car and change its oil you certainly can succeed on Wall Street as well, right? Um, er, right? Well, believe it or not it wasn’t long before Lenny inexplicably became a somewhat renowned expert of stocks with a very large portfolio. His portfolio grew so large, in fact, that he was able to buy Wayne Gretzky’s home for a mere 17 million dollars. He also appeared on CNBC and the Fox News Channel to discuss the stock market, and wrote a column for the financial site www.street.com.

As is the case with Dykstra, however, he often – to paraphrase Paula Abdul – takes two steps forward and then two steps back. His success was countered by a lawsuit filed in 2005 by former business partner Lindsay Jones who alleged that Dykstra used steroids and told her to place bets on Phillies games when he was on the team. Dykstra denied the allegations, but nonetheless was mentioned 28 times in the infamous Mitchell Report in 2008. Oh yeah, and he was sued for more than $111,000 in unpaid fees to an accounting firm that same year.

Dykstra is still beloved by Mets fans though, as evidenced by the large ovation he received at the twentieth anniversary reunion for the 1986 team at Shea Stadium, and his scrappy style of play still works on the field, as proven by his eighteen year old son, “Cutter” Dykstra, who excels at Westlake High School and may have a future in professional baseball just like his old man.

So here’s to you, Lenny “Nails” Dykstra…a man who, whether wearing cuffs or cuff links, is never, ever boring.