Scott Erickson, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #217

It turns out that Groundhog Day is a big day for Oriole birthdays. Scott Erickson is 48 years old today, Melvin Mora is blowing out 44 candles, and Don Buford turns 79. They are probably not celebrating together, but that would be one interesting party.

Mike Moriarty, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #226

Look, I know that I didn't follow the Orioles as closely during my college years, when the funk of their eventual 14-year streak of irrelevance was truly taking root. Still, I have a hard time believing that there ever was such a person as Mike Moriarty. I know for a fact that I didn't see any of his eight big league games in 2002. (Boy, did I miss out: 3-for-16 with a double.) I'm always confusing him with Mike Mordecai, the fungible Braves, Expos, and Marlins utility man of the late 1990s and early 2000s. Then there's Mike McCoy, another mostly anonymous utility guy who batted .190 for the Rockies and Blue Jays from 2009 through 2012. In my mind, they could all be the same guy. No, I find it more plausible that Upper Deck, knowing that they didn't have a full 40 players for the O's anyway (there are 34), had somebody's brother-in-law pose in full uniform and included him in the set under a fictitious name as a sort of inside joke. Or is that more of a Topps thing?

John Stephens, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #220

After several days of haggling, the Orioles have their new closer. Yesterday the team agreed to a two-year, $14 million contract with Grant Balfour, a righthanded soon-to-be 36-year-old who spent the last three seasons in the Oakland bullpen. I think he'll be a capable replacement for Jim Johnson. While he's five and a half years older than Johnson, and a bit more homer-prone, he's also cheaper (Jim's arbitration-eligible and expected to fetch more than $10 million for 2014) and much more of a strikeout pitcher. It's always good to have guys with swing-and-miss stuff; while Johnson's sinker can produce ground balls, bad things can happen when those grounders find holes. We saw that last year.

Of trivial interest: Balfour was born in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. That makes him one of just 28 Aussies to play in the major leagues, and he'll be the third to suit up for the O's. Naturally the Birds will hope for much better results from him than they got from the others, a pair of fellow pitchers. John Stephens was a soft-tosser who couldn't replicate his minor-league success in a 12-game audition in Baltimore (2-5, 6.09 ERA in 2002). Damian Moss had a strong rookie season with the 2002 Braves before being dealt twice in eight months: in December 2002 he was sent to San Francisco in a package for Russ Ortiz, and the following July the Giants swapped him and a couple other young arms to the Orioles for the great (as in immense) Sidney Ponson. Moss lost five of his six decisions with the O's, walking 29 while striking out only 22, and putting up a 6.22 ERA and 1.8 WHIP. He moved on to Tampa Bay in 2004, was even worse in his five games there, and that was that. It's always so cheerful when we get to bring up the recent past on this blog, isn't it?

Erik Bedard, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #1034

When news broke today that Erik Bedard signed a one-year, $4.5 million deal with the Pirates, my first thought was, "that poor bastard". After all, Pittsburgh is baseball's Siberia, a remote, desolate land where nothing grows. The Bucs have famously been the only team to out-bumble the Orioles for the past two decades, running up a string of 19 consecutive losing seasons. But on closer inspection, Pittsburgh is actually a more favorable destination for a ballplayer than Baltimore. Consider:

-After flirting with .500 into midsummer in 2011, a late swoon still left the Pirates with a 72-90 record, 3 games better than the O's. With breakout seasons from young players like Pedro Alvarez and Jose Tabata, the team could climb a little higher this year.

-The National League is widely acknowledged as being more favorable to pitchers than the American League, due in no small part to the absence of the designated hitter. Bedard had a career ERA of 3.70 in the A.L., and could certainly improve on that mark in the senior circuit.

-There are no Yankees or Red Sox in the Pirates' N.L. Central. 2011 division champ Milwaukee has reportedly given up on retaining free agent slugger Prince Fielder, and also may be reduced to resigning the awful Yuniesky Betancourt for their vacant shortstop position. The defending World Series winners in St. Louis seem likely to retain Albert Pujols, but they only barely scraped into the playoffs with 90 wins and a significant collapse by the wild-card frontrunners from Atlanta. The Cubs are rebuilding, the Reds are inconsistent, and the Astros are hot garbage. There are plenty of wins to be had in the division.

-For someone with Bedard's introverted personality, Pittsburgh is probably a good place to stay out of the headlines.

-Lastly, there's no reason to cry for a guy who averaged less than 100 innings over the past three years when he's getting four and a half million clams guaranteed. I don't think he'll be looking deeply into the bathroom mirror tonight, wondering what has become of his hopes and dreams.

Chris Brock, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #200

Why am I posting a Chris Brock card? Just because I can. It's an off-day for the Orioles, and nothing else readily comes to mind, so I thumbed through my 2002-2005 box looking for someone obscure. This dude was drafted in the 12th round by the Braves in 1992 out of Florida State, and made it to Atlanta in his sixth pro season. He had six subpar starts and one good relief appearance, and signed with the Giants in 1998. After two so-so years in San Francisco he was traded to the Phillies, and had his two best seasons there (10-8 with a 4.29 ERA). But it seems that he's best known for pulling rank and complaining to Phils GM Ed Wade about beloved broadcaster Harry Kalas sitting in the back of the team's charter plane with the players. Some of his teammates expressed their support for Kalas, and he returned after a few days.

Brock's major league career ended with a 22-game swing through the O's bullpen in 2002. He allowed 52 hits in 44 innings, and compiled a 4.70 ERA. He was scored upon in half of his appearances, including eight multi-run games. He did win a couple of games in long relief:

-On June 19, the Birds were in Arizona for an interleague game and Sidney Ponson was knocked out in the fourth inning. Entering with runners on the corners, two outs, and a 2-1 lead, Chris walked Tony Womack to load the bases before coaxing a grounder from Alex Cintron to end the inning. He ended up pitching around three walks and a double in three scoreless innings, and departed with the Orioles leading 6-1 in the seventh. That was ultimately the final score. The losing pitcher was Curt Schilling, who finished the season 23-7.

-On August 23, Scott Erickson had a disastrous start against the Blue Jays, and Brock relieved him in the second inning with Baltimore already trailing 6-0. Again he stranded a pair of runners. He blanked Toronto for four more innings before giving up an Eric Hinske home run to lead off the seventh, but escaped the inning without further damage. In total he allowed six hits and no walks in five and one-third innings. The O's chipped away at the Jays' lead throughout the game, and had taken the lead with a four-run sixth inning against three pitchers (the last of whom was current Oriole Mark Hendrickson). The Birds won 11-7, thanks in part to four solo home runs from Geronimo Gil, Tony Batista, Melvin Mora, and Jay Gibbons. Ah, the bad old days.

Since his last major league appearance (September 28, 2002), Brock has spent time in the minors and Japan, and his last documented action came in 2007 for the independent Lancaster Barnstormers. He put up a 5.40 ERA in 21 games, which probably convinced him to go home and call it a day. Three years later, I wrote about him on my blog, and now a dozen or so people are reading a cursory overview of his career, and the world keeps turning.

B. J. Ryan, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #213

A wise man once said, "You don't know what you got 'til it's gone". Or maybe it was '80s hair band Cinderella. No matter. Everywhere I looked today, I found examples of this adage:

-It seems like just yesterday that the Blue Jays had a stud closer, having lured 30-year-old lefty B. J. Ryan from the Orioles for a ridiculous $47 million. He was an All-Star in 2006, his first season in Toronto (1.37 ERA, 38 saves), but blew out his elbow the following year. He bounced back in 2008, but lost his ninth-inning job early this season and was just released today after putting up a 6.53 ERA in 25 games. So now the Jays have no B. J. and they still owe him the $15 million left on his contract. Sad for them.

-My week in Ocean City went way too fast, and today I was fully re-baptized in the horrendous waters of mass transit. My morning train ran into delays involving a broken down train ahead of it, and it took nearly two hours to get from here to D.C. In the early evening, a gas main broke north of Baltimore, and I had to get off of the train at Penn Station and take a bus to the park-and-ride, which added up to another hour of travel. If I ever take another job in Washington, I want someone to shoot me.

-As if I needed bad news, I learned that Andy's, my favorite bar in my college town, is closing forever in a week and a half. I'll talk more about this later. For now, I'm desperately hoping that I can make the drive down there on Saturday to pay my respects.

-Of course, in all of my exasperation, I finally got into my car at 7:15 tonight just in time to listen to Mariners closer David Aardsma try to slam the door on the O's. I groaned and griped as announcer Joe Angel described just how the Orioles found themselves losing 3-0: the major culprits were a scoreless seventh inning, when former Bird Garrett Olson escaped a bases-loaded, nobody-out jam, and an Oscar Salazar throwing error that led to an unearned run in the eighth. But the O's just wouldn't give up, capitalizing on two Jose Lopez errors, a walk, and some timely hits to piece together a five-run, game-winning rally. The Mariners were three outs away from their second shutout in three games and a series win. So much for that. Instead, I had the pleasure of listening to Baltimore complete their fourth improbable comeback in the past few weeks!

So as far as today goes, let's call it a wash.

Brook Fordyce, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #196

Ah, the tools of ignorance. I've felt a special brotherhood with the guardians of the backstop ever since my high school years, when I was the starting catcher for my co-ed CYO softball team. I loved softball, because it finally provided me with a chance to look like a competent athlete. I'd had a brutal two-year cameo in little league when I was in middle school, so it was a relief to have a ball twice as large being tossed to me underhanded, rather than fired in my general direction in an overhand fashion. I'm not too proud to admit that. One thing that little league had taught me was that I was not gifted as a flycatcher, so I settled in behind the plate for softball. If I thought that I was going to have it easy, I was soon disabused of that notion.

We played out our seasons during the late spring and early summer, which meant several innings of crouching at home plate in the heat. Fortunately, our games were played under a strict time limit, sparing untold wear and tear on my knees. Also, stolen bases were not allowed. But I did have to deal with our pitchers, one of whom was a younger girl with major temper and self esteem issues. Fun? You got it. I essentially became an on-field coach, coaxing and encouraging her between every pitch, offering a low, wide target with my glove (I actually wore an outfielder's glove instead of a catcher's mitt for some reason), and most of all, working to tamp down my own temper while suppressing hers as well. But she thanked me often, at least. There's nothing worse than an ungrateful pitcher.

I took pride in my modest skills as a softballer, since I knew it was as close as I'd ever get to emulating my baseball heroes. Even with the increased ease of facing slow-pitch floaters, I never hit for much power, functioning as a line-drive and scratch hitter. I had enough speed to beat balls into the infield and leg out numerous infield hits, and in fact I led my team in batting average at least once that I can remember. (So I was told at the end-of-year party; I swear I didn't keep track of my own stats!) I was also honored to be named a team captain, even though there was no oversized "C" to wear on my chest like those that certain ostentatious major league teams give out.

Though catcher is a fairly unglamorous position, I occasionally made some attention-grabbing plays, throwing out a runner attempting to advance to second or third base on a throw home or a dribbler by the batter. My favorite play occured one afternoon when we were playing a team that included a few peers from my high school track team. As I was warming up our pitcher before the game, those same schoolmates started teasing me from behind the backstop, suggesting that I had been put behind the plate to hide my bad glove. They took it a step further, pointing out that most teams in our league used girls as catchers. (Not a very Christian or enlightened attitude, huh?) I simply laughed it off and went about my business. An inning or two into the game, one of my hecklers came to bat and hit a foul tip to my right side, toward my throwing hand. I made a diving attempt, reaching across my body with the glove and snagging the ball out of the air for the out. The batter shook his head in disbelief, smiling increduously. I'd let my on-field performance do the talking.

So there you have it: my own version of Al Bundy's football stories. I'll work on embellishing it more as the years go by.

Buddy Groom, 2002 Upper Deck 40 Man #206

You may ask yourself, what possesses a thirty-seven-year-old man to go by "Buddy"? When you think of that moniker, you may call to mind the '80s plush novelty My Buddy, or maybe even the Beverly Hillbillies antics of Buddy Ebsen or the rubber-faced comedy of Buddy Hackett. It's certainly a name that would leave a player open to ribbing in the frat-house culture of the baseball clubhouse. But consider the alternative...

The man pictured above was born Wedsel Gary Groom, Jr. It's one thing to live with the burden of such a hideous name; but to pass it on to your defenseless child?! That's pretty low. I wonder how well Buddy gets along with his folks. Wedsel is immediately evocative of two things: weasel, which is just a funny word and a pretty lowly member of the animal kingdom; and Edsel, the disastrous Ford car model of 1958 through 1960.

Yeah, I think I'd go with "Buddy" if I were Mister Groom.