It's all David Letterman's fault. He started it.
Who knows how greatly his Top Ten lists spawned the misery and ridiculousness that the world must endure with the recent list of the decade's, century's and millennium's best sports everythings?
Faced with the inundation of these lists which serve best as fodder for barstool tirades, I would love to agree with the choices of the various selection committees. But it seems to me that five-sport collegian star Jim Brown should have been the answer to ESPN or the Associated Press' best athlete. In the same vein, those who choose the worst teams of the century should wait until this year's version of the Chicago Bulls finishes play.
The only lists you read about are the best of this or the worst of that. Is that what you remember from sports?
Okay, maybe your answer is yes. But, in Little League, I remember everyone received an orange slice and a pat on the head.
Today I offer more than that: can't we celebrate those who were not tremendously good, but still far from woefully bad? With that, the splendidly mediocre can have their single day to shine as beacons and hallmarks of averageness.
While the Bulls of this year would seemingly have trouble with DePaul, most everyone remembers them as the NBA Team of the Decade who compiled over 550 wins. Their six championships and 111 playoff wins are impressive. But what about the Orlando Magic who are in their very first decade of existence? They managed to finish the decade mere thousandths of a point away from being right back where they started, at .500.
You can argue whether this year should count as the end of the '90s or not, but heading into this season, Orlando's record for the decade and franchise sat at 397-391. They have their work cut out for them to become perfectly mediocre, but they are well on their way. Their record is now 15-16.
They too should be heralded for their exact precision and absolute consistency of "okayness."
This was not just a 1990's thing, though. Flip through your baseball almanac to see the all-time mediocre starting rotation. How could you not include Jack Powell on such a list? He finished his career with a record of 247-254. What about Eppa Rixley? Well over 4,000 innings pitched and he finished his career right about where he started it with a mark of 266-251.
It is wonderful that Cy Young won 511 games, but did he lose 511 of them as well? That, my friends, takes sports consistency.
Now, we reach the pinnacle of all things average. A man so heralded, so lauded that he has become immortalized in a sports metaphor that could not go unmentioned given the topic of this column.
The Mendoza line has been used to describe mediocrity on television, in newspapers and magazines and so it seems only appropriate in 2000 that we finally honor him. He may not have made the lists of the top athletes of the century, but sportswriters and fans have thanked his mere existence with reference after reference -- including the naming of a rock band after the mark.
Many believe that this mythical "line" separates decent hitters from terrible ones at a .200 average. But, the real line and career batting average belongs to Mario Mendoza.
Over a nine-year career with the Pirates, Mariners, and Rangers, our honoree hit .215. As the story goes, George Brett originated the term by telling a sportswriter that his Sunday routine includes looking in the newspaper to see who was below "the Mendoza line."
For our younger readers who may have walked off the field after facing a 10-year-old's nightmare of striking out to end the game -- hope springs eternal.
By merely playing, you see, young Timmy or Tami, you will gain enjoyment. But it is the few, the proud, the perfectly mediocre that have earned my respect right here in this column.
Aim high, but shoot lower. And maintain that average right around .215 and who knows where you'll be in 2099. Maybe on this very same page.
