Milton Bradley Is Kanye West

As I've noted before, athletics and hip-hop often intersect with both being highly-competitive in nature. Recently, the ever-controversial Milton Bradley said he was the Kanye West of baseball, and really the comparison is fairly accurate. Both have been known to be highly volatile and both have been known to call out white people. All in all, I think the comparison is pretty accurate. Both have loads of potential, and while Kanye is slightly more consistent professionally, both have drawn constant ire from white America.

But Milton's claim got me thinking, what are other rappers baseball equivalents?

Josh Hamilton = Lil' Wayne

Both these phenoms were introduces to fame at a young age, and it's fair to say that it messed both of their lives up. While Wayne joined Cash Money Records as a young teenager, Josh Hamilton was drafted by the Tampa Bay Devil Rays straight out of high school. Both are loaded with potential and have showed it in flashes, but have been derailed at one point or another by drug addictions, Weezy by the sizzurp and Hamilton by the crack, alcohol, and pretty much every other drug ever it seems. To go along with their drug addictions, they both love getting tattoos while under the influence. Both have claimed to have gotten clean, but a setback is always just around the corner. The common theme between the two? Just think of what they could have done and could still do sober!

Jay-Z = Alex Rodriguez


The talents of these two men are undeniable, and they both know it. It is well documented that Hov's biggest fan has always been Hov, and the same can be said about the obsessively narcissistic A-Rod whose 10 year $252 Million deal with the Texas Rangers in the 2000 disgusted fans. Both have been known to use slightly questionable tactics in their rise to the top, as Jay has been accused of backstabbing on more than one occasion and A-Rod used the juice, despite being seemingly one of the best players without it. At the end of their day, both are some of the greatest ever, but they have their share of detractors. And both have been known to spar with the next pair, both of whom were considered the King Of New York at the time.

Derek Jeter = Nas



Just as Jay-Z and A-Rod are considered to be some of the best, so are these two but without as much flash. Once again, the talent is undeniable and in their prime both were considered the King of NY. As previously stated, both had verbal spats with the previous two on this list and both are judged to have come out on top.

Dontrelle Willis = The Game



What a bright start both of these young men had, but personality disorders have left many fans scratching their heads. While Willis was the NL Rookie of the Year in 2003 and won 22 games in 2005, he has been derailed by an anxiety disorder ever since arriving in Detroit. While The Game has not been diagnosed, he has exhibited very irrational and emotional behavior, often asking forgiveness and expressing love for a fellow artist one day, then dissing them the next, then claiming he didn't mean it the day after that. Just as Dontrelle Willis on the disabled list is a common sight, so is an image of an emotionally distraught Game. The common thread between the two is the constant belief that if they could just put a lid on those mental problems, greatness would follow.

Speaking of The Game, here's a new track from his upcoming album produced by the Neptunes.

The Game - It Must Be Me

Miguel Cabrera = Eminem



A couple of the greatest right here, but both have the unfortunate quality of turning towards substance abuse in times of stress. Following the death of his close friend and fellow rapper Big Proof, Eminem became addicted to sleeping pills while the stress of carrying the Tigers anemic 2009 offense drove Miguel Cabrera to a drunkness that many thought impossible. Even with these debilitating addictions, both have thrived and the promise of sobriety and a stable method of stress management suggests continued greatness, or so we Tiger fans hope.

Locked Up

Modern hip-hop can often be characterized by one dilemma: to go for big sales or to make an artistic masterpiece. Unfortunately, in hip-hop the two rarely overlap. However, to display this as a purely a modern problem is incorrect. Even in the mid-90's, when Biggie was making 'Hypnotize', there was a focus on making tracks that could be played in the club and on the radio which usually translate into much bigger sales. While Biggie was talented enough to rap about pretty much anything he wanted and was as much in his element with songs like 'Hypnotize' as with 'Gimme The Loot', other artists struggle with this dichotomy. 

This struggle has been accentuated, particularly in the past decade as illegal downloading has risen to prominence. With album sales drastically falling, record labels demand that an artist have at least one radio ready single that will ensure record sales. Translated, this means that the album must have a couple songs that white kids will like and will make them buy the album, as this has become the market which now purchases the most hip-hop albums. It can be argued that this shift in the market is what has called the so-called 'death' of hip-hop, and it is where this modern dilemma is rooted. 

A fine example of an artist stuck in record label purgatory is Rhymefest. The self-defined working man rapper, his debut Blue Collar displayed the dilemma well as it featured great songs like 'Devils Pie' but also abysmal songs such as 'Brand New', which shows Rhymefest struggling to come up with his own commercially viable hit. 

Of course, Rhymefest is at his best when not worrying about his radio spins or about how many people are buying his records. Unfortunately, this is the last thing his record label wants to hear and it has forced his second album to the shelves for years now despite a promising debut. 

This type of treatment is typical in hip-hop. Years ago, there were protests when Fiona Apple's album was shelved by her label from outraged fans, but Rhymefest is far from the first talented hip-hop artist to have his album shelved and he will be far from the last. 

However, as his long delayed second album, El Che, gets ready for its May release (maybe you can guess the release date from the mixtape title), Rhymefest has released a mixtape titled Dangerous: 5-18 that serves as a prelude to remind everyone that he is indeed finally releasing his second album and, yes, he is still really good at rapping. As is often the case with the mixtape, on Dangerous 5:18 Rhymefest finds himself unbound from the constraints of the label pressures that have weighed him down for years, which allows him to present his personal and passionate style of rapping front and center. 

But the underlying and seemingly timeless question of why rappers like Rhymefest can never find financial success despite their unquestioned lyrical prowess and substantive material remains. In a sense, hip-hop has become trapped by its own ambitions to expand from a niche market to a global phenomenon. With so much invested, there can't be a even a small chance for failure. There is no doubt hip-hop has become more formulaic since its expansion, but there are of course many exceptions and Rhymefest will assuredly be one of them.  

Baseball and the Literary Imagination

Those who know me know that I love three things in no particular order. Baseball (specifically Detroit Tigers Baseball), fine literature, and hip-hop music. While all three intersect to a certain degree, it is American literature and baseball that has formed a deep symbiotic bond that has lasted throughout history.

Baseball is a unique sport. It is a sport embedded in antiquity while being pulled towards modernity. Despite the enormous payrolls and the rampant performance enhancing drug use, it is a game that relies on seemingly archaic practices. One is a catcher stinking his fingers in his crotch and wiggling them around in order to communicate with the pitcher, all while the runner on second attempts to decipher the code and relay what he has discovered back to the hitter. This, of course, is not illegal and there is evidence that it occurs readily.

The sport is filled with fans defined as 'purists' who vehemently hate the designated hitter in the American League for the aspect of shameless promotion it brings to the game and if asked whether they favor an expanded replay system will spit in your face. A large part of this battle against modernity is the claim that baseball is America's pasttime, and it holds its past in high regard. In no other sport are records as highly revered to the point where they take on a mythical quality. By many, players such as Jackie Robinson, Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, and Ted Williams, are revered as beings greater than humans and more as Gods.


Of course, this element of mysticism lends itself perfectly to literature and it often plays a key roll in many of Americas greatest literary achievements. Featured by writers such as John Updike and Don DeLillo, baseball often provides a perfect marker for the times. As James Earl Jones' character in the Field of Dreams (adapted from W.P. Kinsella's novel, 'Shoeless Joe') said:

America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.

Of course, what lends to this mythical quality is that some of the games greatest players played before a time of 24-hour sports analysis such as on ESPN or the high definition highlight of every play from countless angles. Instead, these plays are often restricted to grainy footage if they were caught on tape at all. Such is the case with Bobby Thompson's 'Shot Heard 'Round The World', which capped off the New York Giants historic comeback over the Brooklyn Dodgers. Of the home run, and the Giants comeback, Red Smith wrote:

Now it is done. Now the story ends. And there is no way to tell it. The art of fiction is dead. Reality has strangled invention. Only the utterly impossible, the inexpressibly fantastic, can ever be plausible again.



The mysticism of baseball allows the writer to exaggerate the greatness of the player and the play and it is an exaggeration that we crave, that we long for. We want these moments and players to transcend reality. Perhaps no player continually destroyed the art of fiction more than Willie Mays, and his play defined as 'The Throw' (as opposed to his ubiquitous 'The Catch'), which has no visual or audio record but is only survived by those in attendance that day at the Polo Grounds in New York City, displays this point. James Hirsch writes of 'The Throw':

Cox bolted for the plate as Mays was barreling toward the right field line, his momentum carrying him away from the play. He was in no position to throw, but when he planted his left foot, he sharply pivoted counterclockwise, his number temporarily facing home plate, his eyes flashing intensely before the bleacher fans. It appeared as if the impact of the ball had given him the additional thrust to pirouette in spikes. Without hesitating or even looking, he whipped his right arm around and fired the ball, then corkscrewed his body into the ground. His hat flew off. He peered under his armpit and tried to follow the drama at homeplate.

According to others, the ball took off like it had a mind of its own. When Cox was called out at home, it is said there was 'a momentary silence, similar in response to when Mays hit his first homer, as if the fans couldn't comprehend what they had just seen. Then the stadium erupted while Cox stared at the plate in disbelief.' Of course, with the lack of video or audio record of the play, there is no verifying 'the throw' and its seemingly unbelievable nature. But this is what made great players into Gods and formed the unique relationship between baseball and literature. In both, mysticism thrives and we treasure those that can do things that push the boundaries of what we as humans thought possible.



However, while baseball and literature often meet to show the mystical nature of a play or moment, it also describes the transcendent nature of the players themselves. John Updike, in his wonderful essay Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu wrote about Ted Williams last at-bat of his career, in which he hit a home run at Fenway Park and ran around the bases for the last time in front of the Boston fans whom his relationship with was described as 'more of a contentious marriage than a blissful love affair'.





Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn't tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted "We want Ted" for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters.

Even with unbelievable players today, such as Albert Pujols, the sense of mysticism has diminished. The sense of wonderment is often missing from the modern game, but it does appear in short glimpses.


I remember when I was a little kid going to games at Tiger Stadium, I was often more excited to see the great players on the opposing teams than the Tigers, mostly because my team spent years of frustration waiting for Justin Thompson to become a dominant pitcher and Bobby Higginson to become the great 5-tool player he was always meant to be. But there was one player that stood out in the era of my childhood, and that was Ken Griffey Jr.

In many ways, Griffey was the new age Willie Mays. A young phenom known as a five tool player who could not only do everything great, but seemed to do it in ways that defied what we thought possible all the while with an endearing smile on his face. Like Willie Mays, he was nicknamed 'The Kid' and like Willie Mays he was every kids hero and his swing was imitated by every child across the country.

Amid his torrid season in 1997, my father and I decided that we would arrive hours before the game started to watch Ken Griffey Jr. take batting practice, a time honored tradition in baseball which allows fan to expand the mysticism of a player as batting practice is not televised and seen by only a dedicated few.

I, along with a group of fans begging to be awed, stood in the overhang of the second deck in right field at Tiger Stadium. We watched in amazement as the smoothness of Griffey's swing transferred to the violent energy of the ball bolting through the air. One hit stood out. As Griffey swung, he pulled the ball right towards us. But this was not a majestic fly ball, but instead a streaming rocket. I'm not sure if I was simply unable to comprehend the speed and the trajectory of the ball just hit or if I didn't dare attempt to catch it, even with my glove, but either way all I could do was stand with my mouth open as the ball approached. In an instant the ball had flown by me, and all others surrounding, and rocketed straight down the concourse tunnel where it eventually banged against the outer concourse wall with a sound that rivaled a gunshot. Had some unfortunate fan been walking up that tunnel to the stands, they would have been killed. Instead, all present stood in amazement struggling to comprehend what we had just witnessed.

This small instance is the part of baseball that is timeless, and is why it will forever remain America's national pasttime.