The five levels of anger, Orioles’ baseball style

The incredibly entertaining outbursts from both Ty Wigginton and Juan Samuel on Thursday night obviously, in part, had to do with a lot of frustration building up throughout the course of a horrid season, but was also just so awesome to see. Wigginton got up in the grill of first base umpire Gary Darling so quickly after Darling blew a call at first base that a viewer of this situation would have had no clue what just happened to them if they were watching it unfold. You know what happened to these viewers? Ty Wigginton happened to them. 

Wigginton’s argument with Darling was a bit brief, but the way he jumped up and down all over Darling — sort of like a prolonged waddle — and his toss of a baseball into the crowd gives Wigginton a perfect 10 for his argument.

Some people like the athletes they root for to be perfectly stoic and professional. I don’t. I like emotion. I like to see they care. I like to see their human side. So seeing Wigginton completely lose it after a botched call was so awesome for me.

Then Samuel comes out a little bit later and did his best Earl Weaver impression, and it was an impressive, long-lasting rant, which included lots of screaming and name calling and a frisbee toss of his hat towards the pitcher’s mound. I really liked that, too. All that was missing was an army crawl.

SportsCenter’s John Anderson had a good line Thursday night about the proceedings: “It’s Mel Gibson Night at the ballpark!”

Also, I just read Bill Simmons’ most recent mailbag on ESPN.com, which, among other things, updates his “Levels of Losing” with Ghana’s gut-wrenching loss to Uruguay, which got me to thinking…what are the levels of Wigginton-esque anger during this Orioles’ season?

Level One Anger — The Distressed Fan at Camden Yards. This is fairly normal for fans when going to an Orioles’ game. Internally, the fan is very mad that the team they root so hard for is in so deep with the losing, but they’re basically numb to said losing at this point. So us fans just kind of sit in their seat with the million-mile stare as whatever player on the other team hits a ball 5,000 feet. You’re just waiting out the nine innings but because God knows that if you spent nine bucks on a ticket to see such a crappy team, you’re damn well going to see all nine innings of it.

This is like going to the DMV. You know exactly what to expect — long lines and lots of waiting. But complaining is kind of worthless because no one is going to listen and it’s not going to make the wait any shorter, so you just sit and stare into the abyss until it’s your turn to go about your business.

Level Two Anger — Drunken Fan at Camden Yards. While most sane people just stare at the field for nine innings as the Orioles inevitably fall apart before their eyes, some can’t stand the sight of that. So some people spend God-knows-how-much-money on God-knows-how-much-beer at the ballpark and get really drunk and run around on the field. This probably doesn’t happen with a good team, because the last thing anyone wants to do is piss off a good player on a good team. But at this point, who really cares if you piss off Corey Patterson?

The post-Wigginton and Samuel drunken fool from Thursday night:

And the post-Mike Gonzalez home opener drunks:

For some reason, I find “Seventh Nation Army” by the White Stripes to be oddly appropriate.

In either case, remove the baseball field and you have some drunks and a lot of yelling. So basically, college!

Level Three Anger — Dave Trembley Seething. When Trembley was the manager of the Orioles, television cameras would often cut over to Trembley after the usual horrific baserunning and defensive blunders, along with the classic leadoff-double-that-doesn’t-even-move-to-third-base tactic that the Orioles perfected over his tenure. Trembley’s facial expression was always the same: a stare straight ahead with his teeth clenched together as if he wants to scream so loudly that the fine folks in Bel Air can hear him. Sometimes, Trembley would pace a little bit in the dugout. This seething would always manifest itself in post-game pressers after tough losses — and even worse, the post-game interview with the guys in the MASN booth when the Orioles were on the road. It looked like he wanted to unload on the team, but he was far too professional to ever call out his team in public.

This is like when someone comes into my line at the grocery store that I work for and asks for paper bags — a painstaking process in comparison to plastic bags. Or when someone tells me how to bag groceries. Or when somebody tells me how to hand back their change. Or that pesky $400 order that feels like it takes two lifetimes to complete. You’re angry that someone finds it within themselves to bother you while you’re six hours into your mind-numbing shift at a grocery store, but you just grit your teeth and move on. I can’t blow up at them and get fired. I kind of need that paycheck (Trembley is still getting paid even though he was fired, but the point stands.)

Level Four Anger — Ty Wigginton and Juan Samuel Implosions. I can’t help but feel like this was all a part of Wigginton’s master plan to ensure that he gets traded to a contender. Wigginton might have said to the first base umpire, “GET ME OUT OF HERE!” before bumping the umpire and getting ejected. And Samuel might have said to whatever umpire would listen, “GET ME OUT OF HERE!” 

This is like if I was in a class at Maryland and the material was so incredibly frustrating and difficult that I flipped over my desk, ran up to the professor — and yes, this would be a massive 400-person lecture hall — and started jumping up and and down Wigginton-style (with a little bit of a waddle) as I yell to the professer, “YOU EXPECT ME TO KNOW THIS WORTHLESS (EXPLICIT)? GET ME OUT OF HERE!” as I’m restrained by a student (but I still manage to yell and scream while jumping up and down while being restrained.) Then I proceed to take a book, fling it towards the remaining students, and leave the lecture hall.

Level Five Anger — Ron Artest and Mike Gundy.

Ron Artest:

One of the funniest things about the telecast of the Detroit Pistons/Indiana Pacers brawl that I didn’t notice until just now is how Bill Walton exclaims in a scholary fashion at the beginning of the clip that “the Pacers have played a very intelligent game tonight.” Oh, the irony is thick.

And here’s Mike Gundy. “I’M A MAN! I’M 40!” at the 2:23 mark:

This is like if the 32-year-old Wigginton were to lay on the roof of the dugout after his confrontation with the umpire while, for whatever reason, a full-scale brawl broke out on the field after the blown call and some guy threw their $7.25 cup of beer on Wigginton while he was laying on the dugout. Then Wigginton proceeds to go into the stands, get to that person and punch the living hell out of them. Then, seemingly on an emotional high, he high-steps it into the Orioles’ press box, takes over the public announcing duties for a few seconds and proclaims, “I’M A MAN! I’M 32!”

And yes, I hope to be at Camden Yards if and when this happens.