At this point, you’ve stopped caring about the Reds-Cardinals brawl and the chorus of Brandon Phillips jawing that sparked it, but I am going to take the opportunity to give this dead horse a swift kick or two.
When you’re confident, you don’t let as much stop you, and when you’re loud, everybody knows it. What the Reds have in Brandon Phillips is a mouth, connected to a brain that thinks a certain way. And that way is, “I am the absolute best.” If you put a microphone in front of that mouth, it turns into a breeding ground for certain kinds of reactions.
Is he an insufferable, overconfident verbalist, or a fighter with an uncommon spark? Have a glance, why don’t you, at this dynamic across a mine field of perspectives:
An ally:
"“He’ll smile in a situation where people want him to be mad.” –Dusty Baker"
An enemy:
"“The comment he made yesterday that he’s got no friends over here – then why you touch me? You are not my friend, so don’t touch me.” –Yadier Molina"
And the press:
"“Or maybe he’ll stand and admire a well hit ball too long, or punctuate a tag play with exaggerated body language, or show emotion when the protocol requires stoicism.” –Jerry Crasnick, Baseball America"
What does a guy like Phillips do for a team? To the Reds, he’s “Brandon being Brandon,” as Bronson Arroyo put it. From any other viewpoint, he’s “Brandon being an asshole.” So what does he have to say for himself?
"“You have to believe in yourself to play this game, because this game will kill you.” –Brandon Phillips"
While I’m not sure what kind of baseball Phillips is playing where his life is forfeit if he is not an outgoing, sharp-toothed irritant to division rivals (There are a lot of players out there not openly insulting their opponents who are still very much alive), he is an ingredient that does not show up on the recipe for a losing team.
Eventually, these surging Reds may get a peek in the window of playoff baseball only to have the shutters slam in their faces. But the surest sign of an asshole is that when he talks, he is somewhere from which he can safely say things like “[The Cardinals] are little bitches,” and know that any sort of retribution has a chance of being fended off with both short and long term success.
As much as other teams and fans may want to be looking at him through a crosshair, Phillips serves a purpose with the Reds, and they know it. It may be a stretch to call Phillips a hero, but Cincinatti.com recently dissected the positives of Phillips’ rabblerousing and came up with a heartwarming conclusion:
“…when Phillips and Yadier Molina squared off, the cavalry was there. First on the scene was Scott Rolen, a former Cardinal and friend of many of the visitors. The Reds showed a willingness to fight for one of their own – even when to a man they thought he was wrong. Just think of what they might do for someone they thought was right.”
Like any good sports movie, there was a fight scene, and while the hilarity and possible bad-assness of a cinematic brawl was sort of ruined by Johnnie Cueto’s frantic kicking Chris Carpenter in the back, the outcome will be the same. The Reds, while probably tightening Phillips’ leash in private, did come together, and if I were a Cincinnati beat writer looking to find the good in all this, I would grab the “team unity” flag and run with it.
Of course, nobody wins championships just because they can put on a choreographed dance in a jail cell. The unity thing will only get you so far, as history is full of teams that loved each other who were cut down by other teams whose baseball talent matched their desire to give each other noogies. Predictions are all well and good, except when they’re wrong… which is often.
After all of the Reds and Cards were cleaned off the field, the Reds lost two out of three. Last week, Jonathan Sanchez was the latest victim of a verbal gamble, claiming his Giants would sweep screamin’ hot San Diego, only to find himself skewered at the end of a Padre-kebob. His teammates didn’t seem to rally around his heroic charge, and the Padres took the opportunity to kindly ask Sanchez to please shove it up his ass.
It all seems rather silly, especially when you consider that San Diego had every right to win all three games even if nobody had said anything snarky prior to the series.
The only big brawl of the year happened because of Phillips’ words and actions. He is not a guarantee of a post season, but more of a stamp officiating the Reds into contention, which, if you’re a Reds fan, could wind up being satisfying enough (for now). The Cardinals are a team that is no stranger to playoff berth, while these upstart Reds are having a year full of stimulating new ground.
A brawl is a brawl. We’ve all seen them on Sports Center, across a spectrum of games. People break unwritten rules, or say the wrong thing, or don’t know how to control their rage, and the next thing you know, there’s 50+ grown men in matching outfits poking chests and wretching spit.
A guy like Phillips can easily be labeled a distraction, a firecracker, a big, cocky mouthful of attitude, because he is one. He gives the beat writers great copy, he makes for an entertaining interview, and the day will likely come that he says something even dumber than ever before, and once again, someone will want to punch him.
But there is a uniting aspect to seeing someone that confident wearing the same uniform as you. Its like playing ball with a guy whose got a bomb strapped to his chest. This isn’t to say Phillips is even aware of his influence; that he’s got some grand scheme cooked up where he is an asshole and then nods and smiles from afar as his outbursts are used as a rallying point. He is just playing his game, assuming he’s the best, and stirring up trouble when contested on this point.
Any and all aftereffects, while possibly helpful, are somewhat accidental. But they work, and any time team chemistry can be added to an already successful equation, the end result can only be better.
Or at least, louder.
Images courtesy of Yardbarker.
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