End of the line
A few days late and dollar short with the analysis of the World Series here at McClendon's Folly, but the truth is that I sort of lost interest after the drubbing St. Louis got in Game Two. Everything after the first game was, well, pretty dull. Manny Ramirez was one of the most boring MVPs in recent memory, too -- he hit for the highest average in the series (.429) but didn't do anything spectacular at the plate or on the field. Curt Schilling emerged as a hero after his airtight start, surgically-repaired ankle and all, but then he turned Judas and endorsed the wrong candidate.
From The Girlfriend: "The Wrigley Curse makes sense, because it involves a goat, and goats are evil. But Boston has a curse because they sold a player in 1918? That candy bar sucks, anyway." Sing it, sister. That's the main reason I'm glad that Boston pasted the Cards in the final three games of the series and finally put the skeletons of The Babe, Bill Buckner and the longest history of institutional racism in MLB behind itself. And that's about it. It's good for the Red Sox. It's good for baseball. It wasn't the Yankees.
The New York Times picked up on the whole root-against-the-Yankees vibe the following day with four solid pages of coverage on the final game of the Series. All stories and headlines basically pointed to the same conclusion: where was the drama? Extract the buffet lunch of sour grapes and humble pie and you can't argue with the writers' tack. The main story here was Boston's perfect 8-game win streak from the ALCS through the World Series and how the Yankees and Cards wilted under the spotlight.
Still, even the Cardinals-Houston NLCS run would've been more intriguing as a coda: high and lows, ebbs and flows, rookies and veterans, one swirling mix. The Cardinals just couldn't bring it against the Sox; St. Louis was the best team in baseball this season, but the Red Sox were the best team in baseball in October. In the advent of a 162-game season, that month makes all the difference.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Big in Japan
Here's Diamondbacks washout Alex Cabrera celebrating after launching a two-run blast during Game 3 of the Fall Classic. No, not that championship series. The other series...in Japan, where the Seibu Lions just sealed up a championship in a tense series against the Chunichi Dragons. Would that fly in America? Only in the NFL, but Cabrera can still claim full jackass rights after a monster series which saw him knock two home runs (including a grand slam) in Game 3 and a pivotal two-run shot in Game 7 to rally the Lions in the final game of the series.
What's cool is that the Lions became the first Japanese baseball team to win the Japan Series by besting their opponents in the final two games on the road. So there's some hope for the Cardinals in all this, I suppose, if they could only win a goddamn game. Team's MVP was starter Takashi Ishii, who finished the series with a sterling 0.00 era after going 1-5 during the regular season.
I don't pretend to know a lot about Japanese baseball, short of what I've read in Robert Whiting's excellent and informative chronicle You've Gotta Have Wa. I'd like to know more, mind you, but Japanese baseball remains woefully underexposed here in the U.S. Just think: Hideki Matsui has a team of journalists following him around and waiting for him to squeeze out a fart so it can make top headlines in Japan. And then Alex Cabrera goes over to Japan, does his best impression of David Ortiz, and no one seems to care.
I'm not concerned with that particular inequity, because Japanese leagues have been employing foreign (mot just U.S., but Korea and Taiwan) players with a much greater frequency for a much longer period of time. But with seventeen different ESPN channels on the dish, there's no room to air this series? C'mon: less teams, parity between the teams and a smaller talent pool to draw from -- the seven-game stretch sounds like it was a lot more intriguing than what's going on here right now.
Boston's up 4-0 as I write this. Go Lions!
Here's Diamondbacks washout Alex Cabrera celebrating after launching a two-run blast during Game 3 of the Fall Classic. No, not that championship series. The other series...in Japan, where the Seibu Lions just sealed up a championship in a tense series against the Chunichi Dragons. Would that fly in America? Only in the NFL, but Cabrera can still claim full jackass rights after a monster series which saw him knock two home runs (including a grand slam) in Game 3 and a pivotal two-run shot in Game 7 to rally the Lions in the final game of the series.
What's cool is that the Lions became the first Japanese baseball team to win the Japan Series by besting their opponents in the final two games on the road. So there's some hope for the Cardinals in all this, I suppose, if they could only win a goddamn game. Team's MVP was starter Takashi Ishii, who finished the series with a sterling 0.00 era after going 1-5 during the regular season.
I don't pretend to know a lot about Japanese baseball, short of what I've read in Robert Whiting's excellent and informative chronicle You've Gotta Have Wa. I'd like to know more, mind you, but Japanese baseball remains woefully underexposed here in the U.S. Just think: Hideki Matsui has a team of journalists following him around and waiting for him to squeeze out a fart so it can make top headlines in Japan. And then Alex Cabrera goes over to Japan, does his best impression of David Ortiz, and no one seems to care.
I'm not concerned with that particular inequity, because Japanese leagues have been employing foreign (mot just U.S., but Korea and Taiwan) players with a much greater frequency for a much longer period of time. But with seventeen different ESPN channels on the dish, there's no room to air this series? C'mon: less teams, parity between the teams and a smaller talent pool to draw from -- the seven-game stretch sounds like it was a lot more intriguing than what's going on here right now.
Boston's up 4-0 as I write this. Go Lions!
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Pretty ugly
The Las Vegas bookmakers called it right before Game 1 -- I can't see Boston steamrolling St. Louis in four games (or 3 1/2 as our man Bill "Spaceman" Lee might hope), but it may be the safest best to throw money on the Sox on the basis of momentum and a (slightly) deeper pitching staff and bench. I mean, La Russa had to start So Taguchi in left field last night in order to cover the DH slot. And while the move worked out fine -- Taguchi's ok defensively and went 1-for-3 at the plate -- Boston has the distinct advantage of being able to play the unflappable David Ortiz and Kevin Millar on home turf.
Peter Gammons says that the Cardinals outplayed the Red Sox last night, but I'm not sure that's true. Yes, the Sox were a mess defensively. Manny Ramirez continues to be his own worst enemy with some terrible plays. Did you see him dive for that ball and miss? Yikes. But Trot Nixon was the only Sox starter who failed to collect a hit, whereas the deepest part of the St. Louis order -- Pujols, Rolen and Sanders -- went a combined 0-11 and a 1/3 of the Cardinals' runs came courtesy of their opponent's errors. So offensively -- edge to the Red Sox. The old saw about pitching separating the contenders from the pretenders in the post season hasn't held true during the entire run of the playoffs, so why start now? Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for some smashmouth baseball; Vinny Testaverde couldn't score this many runs with a Philadelphia offense behind him.
The Las Vegas bookmakers called it right before Game 1 -- I can't see Boston steamrolling St. Louis in four games (or 3 1/2 as our man Bill "Spaceman" Lee might hope), but it may be the safest best to throw money on the Sox on the basis of momentum and a (slightly) deeper pitching staff and bench. I mean, La Russa had to start So Taguchi in left field last night in order to cover the DH slot. And while the move worked out fine -- Taguchi's ok defensively and went 1-for-3 at the plate -- Boston has the distinct advantage of being able to play the unflappable David Ortiz and Kevin Millar on home turf.
Peter Gammons says that the Cardinals outplayed the Red Sox last night, but I'm not sure that's true. Yes, the Sox were a mess defensively. Manny Ramirez continues to be his own worst enemy with some terrible plays. Did you see him dive for that ball and miss? Yikes. But Trot Nixon was the only Sox starter who failed to collect a hit, whereas the deepest part of the St. Louis order -- Pujols, Rolen and Sanders -- went a combined 0-11 and a 1/3 of the Cardinals' runs came courtesy of their opponent's errors. So offensively -- edge to the Red Sox. The old saw about pitching separating the contenders from the pretenders in the post season hasn't held true during the entire run of the playoffs, so why start now? Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for some smashmouth baseball; Vinny Testaverde couldn't score this many runs with a Philadelphia offense behind him.
Friday, October 22, 2004
Back to the Future
From now on, I only want to hear Bill "Spaceman" Lee commenting on the postseason. During last year's Red Sox-Yankees match-up, Lee went on NPR and offered this gem:
"Uranus is in an 84-year cycle, and the last time Uranus was in this position after a loop around the sun was in 1918" -- the Sox' last World Series victory, beating (who else?) the Cubs -- "so the moons are positioned that, you know, in -- they're suspending all weddings in India right now in the Hindu religion because of the proximity of Mars and the way things are going. You know, things are really agitated."
Last night, NPR brought Lee back to discuss Boston's triumphant Game 7 victory, breaking the curse of the Bambino and the possibility of meeting the Cardinals again in the World Series. Lee went on to unpack a sensible theory about how the Yankees owe all of their historical postseason success to the Red Sox. But it wouldn't be a Lee commentary without some flighty nonsense, as he weighed in on karma and how the Red Sox and Cardinals are destined to meet each other in preordained intervals. And the inevitable outcome of the series? "The Red Sox will finish them off in 3 1/2 games. We'll beat them so badly they'll forfeit the last 4 innings."
This man could win you the election, Senator Kerry.
From now on, I only want to hear Bill "Spaceman" Lee commenting on the postseason. During last year's Red Sox-Yankees match-up, Lee went on NPR and offered this gem:
"Uranus is in an 84-year cycle, and the last time Uranus was in this position after a loop around the sun was in 1918" -- the Sox' last World Series victory, beating (who else?) the Cubs -- "so the moons are positioned that, you know, in -- they're suspending all weddings in India right now in the Hindu religion because of the proximity of Mars and the way things are going. You know, things are really agitated."
Last night, NPR brought Lee back to discuss Boston's triumphant Game 7 victory, breaking the curse of the Bambino and the possibility of meeting the Cardinals again in the World Series. Lee went on to unpack a sensible theory about how the Yankees owe all of their historical postseason success to the Red Sox. But it wouldn't be a Lee commentary without some flighty nonsense, as he weighed in on karma and how the Red Sox and Cardinals are destined to meet each other in preordained intervals. And the inevitable outcome of the series? "The Red Sox will finish them off in 3 1/2 games. We'll beat them so badly they'll forfeit the last 4 innings."
This man could win you the election, Senator Kerry.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
The Tigers Have Spoken
A friend in Detroit sent me a link to the following article about Cecil Fielder's recent struggles with a gambling addiction and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The guy's destitute, his family hasn't really heard from him, and he's had this outrageous fall from fortune that makes MC Hammer's Behind the Music reveal look trivial.
Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote a poem about the dual nature of greatness and fall from grace around 200 years ago and it's stuck with me since I first encountered it in 9th grade. Even those who have a weak stomach for poetry (as I do) would be hard pressed to argue that "Ozymandias" isn't lyrical perfection -- 14 lines that say everything that needs to be said on the subject with unflinching beauty and masterful economy. I think the author of the Detroit News postmortem must've had Shelley trapped in the recesses of his mind, too, particularly in the way he describes how Fielder's Florida mansion has suffered from neglect in the intervening years. Here's that poem for reference:
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
You could stick those lines in a post about, say, Pete Rose or any other fallen idol for that matter -- but we're constantly reminded of Rose's greatness on the field. It's amazing how well the poem fits Fielder's legacy, though, especially since the memory of his 1990-93 run with the Tigers has fallen into a state of disrepair and neglect. Fielder's 1990 season, in particular, was electric -- he became the first major leaguer to bash 50 home runs since Big Red Machine cog George Foster in '77 and led the league in rbi, slugging percentage and total bases. Only Rickey Henderson did more damage at the plate.
Fielder's biggest impact on baseball, I think, remains unrecognized. His success in 1990 was directly responsible in motivating big league execs to look towards Japan as a viable source of talent for the major leagues. Before Fielder came back to the States, Japan was the place to go for the twilight of your career. Leon Lee played there. Bob Horner, too. But no one ever came back from the Land of the Rising Sun and kicked ass like Fielder. The Marlins took a cue and signed reclamation project Orestes Destrade to a plum contract in the immediate aftermath; a few years later, Hideo Nomo came to the Dodgers and busted the seal wide open. For me, Fielder's one of those guys -- like Curt Flood, I guess -- where his big contribution came from kicking off a chain reaction of important events. Pity it had to end up like this.
A friend in Detroit sent me a link to the following article about Cecil Fielder's recent struggles with a gambling addiction and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The guy's destitute, his family hasn't really heard from him, and he's had this outrageous fall from fortune that makes MC Hammer's Behind the Music reveal look trivial.
Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote a poem about the dual nature of greatness and fall from grace around 200 years ago and it's stuck with me since I first encountered it in 9th grade. Even those who have a weak stomach for poetry (as I do) would be hard pressed to argue that "Ozymandias" isn't lyrical perfection -- 14 lines that say everything that needs to be said on the subject with unflinching beauty and masterful economy. I think the author of the Detroit News postmortem must've had Shelley trapped in the recesses of his mind, too, particularly in the way he describes how Fielder's Florida mansion has suffered from neglect in the intervening years. Here's that poem for reference:
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
You could stick those lines in a post about, say, Pete Rose or any other fallen idol for that matter -- but we're constantly reminded of Rose's greatness on the field. It's amazing how well the poem fits Fielder's legacy, though, especially since the memory of his 1990-93 run with the Tigers has fallen into a state of disrepair and neglect. Fielder's 1990 season, in particular, was electric -- he became the first major leaguer to bash 50 home runs since Big Red Machine cog George Foster in '77 and led the league in rbi, slugging percentage and total bases. Only Rickey Henderson did more damage at the plate.
Fielder's biggest impact on baseball, I think, remains unrecognized. His success in 1990 was directly responsible in motivating big league execs to look towards Japan as a viable source of talent for the major leagues. Before Fielder came back to the States, Japan was the place to go for the twilight of your career. Leon Lee played there. Bob Horner, too. But no one ever came back from the Land of the Rising Sun and kicked ass like Fielder. The Marlins took a cue and signed reclamation project Orestes Destrade to a plum contract in the immediate aftermath; a few years later, Hideo Nomo came to the Dodgers and busted the seal wide open. For me, Fielder's one of those guys -- like Curt Flood, I guess -- where his big contribution came from kicking off a chain reaction of important events. Pity it had to end up like this.
Monday, October 18, 2004
The fat lady has been muzzled
Over in the Lone Star state, Brandon Backe and Woody Williams flirted with perfection. Backe ran a no-hitter 'til the 6th and and both pitchers rang up goose eggs on the ol' scoreboard in 15 combined innings of work before Jason Isringhausen coughed up three runs in the bottom of the ninth. This is what we usually expect from a championship game -- two competitors running neck-and-neck, challenging each other inning after inning. This was postseason perfection.
And back under the shadow of the Green Monster, there was imperfection. Loads of it. Longest ALCS game ever, as a matter of fact -- took 14 innings and 14 pitchers just to sort this mess out. Moose came out triumphant over Pedro to kick it all off, but the game belonged to the Red Sox after the 6th inning...even if these guys couldn't catch a break until Tim McCarver exhausted every last one of his shot-calling aphorisms.
There was Bronson Arroyo, he of the golden cornrows, stepping to the mound after a disastrous Game 3 start and fooling the best part of the Yankees' order with filthy stuff. And Mike Myers, whose sidearm delivery moves s-l-o-w-e-r than a lady of leisure unfolding an Chinese fan, rattling off four pitches of molasses. And Alan Embree finishing off the inning by striking out two straight batters. And Tim Wakefield scaring the bejeesus out of everyone but the Red Sox Nation hopefuls with what seemed like at least sixteen straight passed balls. Varitek couldn't even restrain Wakefield's knuckle.
Don't doubt for a second that David Ortiz said what you thought he said after the ump called him out on a what-game-were-you-watching checked swing, though. Ortiz clearly turned to the camera and mouthed "That's bullshit!" before returning to the dugout and finding himself at the receiving end of a series of bad calls that deserved far greater expletives. Who could blame him? Dude was so enraged that he ripped a soft Esteban Loaiza pitch right into center with two outs in the 14th to bring Johnny Damon home and send the Yankees back to New York licking their wounds.
Best way to combat indifference and doubt? If you're the Braves, you fold and regroup. But in Boston and Houston, you stay hungry. I don't think there's every been a postseason performance to match what Carlos Beltran is doing for the Astros. He's en fuego, with a home run in, like, every third at-bat -- he is the team. And Ortiz? He keeps saving the day, too. He's not going to carry Boston like Beltran with the Astros, but he's doing collateral damage with that .500 postseason average. And he's pissed off. Walk him, pitch around him, trick him into a ground ball out, whatever -- just stay the fuck out of his way.
Over in the Lone Star state, Brandon Backe and Woody Williams flirted with perfection. Backe ran a no-hitter 'til the 6th and and both pitchers rang up goose eggs on the ol' scoreboard in 15 combined innings of work before Jason Isringhausen coughed up three runs in the bottom of the ninth. This is what we usually expect from a championship game -- two competitors running neck-and-neck, challenging each other inning after inning. This was postseason perfection.
And back under the shadow of the Green Monster, there was imperfection. Loads of it. Longest ALCS game ever, as a matter of fact -- took 14 innings and 14 pitchers just to sort this mess out. Moose came out triumphant over Pedro to kick it all off, but the game belonged to the Red Sox after the 6th inning...even if these guys couldn't catch a break until Tim McCarver exhausted every last one of his shot-calling aphorisms.
There was Bronson Arroyo, he of the golden cornrows, stepping to the mound after a disastrous Game 3 start and fooling the best part of the Yankees' order with filthy stuff. And Mike Myers, whose sidearm delivery moves s-l-o-w-e-r than a lady of leisure unfolding an Chinese fan, rattling off four pitches of molasses. And Alan Embree finishing off the inning by striking out two straight batters. And Tim Wakefield scaring the bejeesus out of everyone but the Red Sox Nation hopefuls with what seemed like at least sixteen straight passed balls. Varitek couldn't even restrain Wakefield's knuckle.
Don't doubt for a second that David Ortiz said what you thought he said after the ump called him out on a what-game-were-you-watching checked swing, though. Ortiz clearly turned to the camera and mouthed "That's bullshit!" before returning to the dugout and finding himself at the receiving end of a series of bad calls that deserved far greater expletives. Who could blame him? Dude was so enraged that he ripped a soft Esteban Loaiza pitch right into center with two outs in the 14th to bring Johnny Damon home and send the Yankees back to New York licking their wounds.
Best way to combat indifference and doubt? If you're the Braves, you fold and regroup. But in Boston and Houston, you stay hungry. I don't think there's every been a postseason performance to match what Carlos Beltran is doing for the Astros. He's en fuego, with a home run in, like, every third at-bat -- he is the team. And Ortiz? He keeps saving the day, too. He's not going to carry Boston like Beltran with the Astros, but he's doing collateral damage with that .500 postseason average. And he's pissed off. Walk him, pitch around him, trick him into a ground ball out, whatever -- just stay the fuck out of his way.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
The Tide is High
I don't get it. But look at the guy in the picture with his shit-eating grin, ready to prostrate himself for George Costanza's longtime employer. I mean, it makes no sense -- maybe we've moved from the usual hyper-misogynist depictions of the "other" team and its fans as "ladies" and on to forced infantilization. What a slap in the face to all those adults I've seen strolling around in Huggies and bonnets on the Jenny Jones show? Seriously, what would Vice magazine say about this? Yikes.
Game 3 of the ALCS moves to tonight after Bud Selig canceled last night's contest for fear of inclement weather. What a drag for Houston and Stl, who can't catch a break with the scheduling when there's a Yankees or Red Sox around to grab a larger network share. And the Red Sox? Still in the fetal position, no matter what the Boston-area message boards would lead you to believe about momentum, changing heart, et al. Boston's irresistible force can't knock the Yankees' immovable object out of the way. Brown vs. Arroyo tonight and Hernandez vs. Wakefield tomorrow; both games are at Fenway, but both pitching match-ups favor the Yankees. Or do they?
Brown has no decisions against the Red Soc this year, and hasn't pitched against the division rivals since April, when he faced Boston in two unimpressive starts. And Hernandez, who had an otherwise fine last half, only faced Boston once in September and got knocked out after 3 innings. Arroyo has four no decisions in four starts against the Yankees, though the Red Sox cruised to victory in all of the games he started with not much help from him. Wakefield moves to the top of the leader board in wins, because unlike the other three, he actually nailed down a win against the Yankees.
The crystal ball is as cloudy as the Boston skyline, though, and I'm going to have to go with my gut. I'll guess that the Yankees show Boston who's their Yankee Daddy in tonight's game, while Boston fearing the humiliation of being swept, turns on the juice and takes game four. Key to this weekend's contests = Manny Ramirez, doing a marvelous impression of Barry Bonds in the postseason. Wake up, dude.
I don't get it. But look at the guy in the picture with his shit-eating grin, ready to prostrate himself for George Costanza's longtime employer. I mean, it makes no sense -- maybe we've moved from the usual hyper-misogynist depictions of the "other" team and its fans as "ladies" and on to forced infantilization. What a slap in the face to all those adults I've seen strolling around in Huggies and bonnets on the Jenny Jones show? Seriously, what would Vice magazine say about this? Yikes.
Game 3 of the ALCS moves to tonight after Bud Selig canceled last night's contest for fear of inclement weather. What a drag for Houston and Stl, who can't catch a break with the scheduling when there's a Yankees or Red Sox around to grab a larger network share. And the Red Sox? Still in the fetal position, no matter what the Boston-area message boards would lead you to believe about momentum, changing heart, et al. Boston's irresistible force can't knock the Yankees' immovable object out of the way. Brown vs. Arroyo tonight and Hernandez vs. Wakefield tomorrow; both games are at Fenway, but both pitching match-ups favor the Yankees. Or do they?
Brown has no decisions against the Red Soc this year, and hasn't pitched against the division rivals since April, when he faced Boston in two unimpressive starts. And Hernandez, who had an otherwise fine last half, only faced Boston once in September and got knocked out after 3 innings. Arroyo has four no decisions in four starts against the Yankees, though the Red Sox cruised to victory in all of the games he started with not much help from him. Wakefield moves to the top of the leader board in wins, because unlike the other three, he actually nailed down a win against the Yankees.
The crystal ball is as cloudy as the Boston skyline, though, and I'm going to have to go with my gut. I'll guess that the Yankees show Boston who's their Yankee Daddy in tonight's game, while Boston fearing the humiliation of being swept, turns on the juice and takes game four. Key to this weekend's contests = Manny Ramirez, doing a marvelous impression of Barry Bonds in the postseason. Wake up, dude.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Babies Got Backe
The Astros deserve so much more. Here's a team that was six games under .500 at the All-Star break and waffled over trading Carlos Beltran to a contender like our man John K on America's continuing involvement in Iraq. But it's a war, man, and the 'Stros soldiered on through the second half of the season, against their better judgment -- against anyone's better judgment -- and came up with a wild-card berth.
And now? Andy Petitte's on the shelf and Roger Clemens and Wade Miller have to wait 'til games #3 and #4 to make a mark. So the Astros are throwing out two guys named Pete Munro (who starts the big game tonight) and Brandon Backe (whose success has a pitcher has been so waaaaayyyy out of leftfield that he, uh, actually started in that position). Didn't work well in the first game as Backe went backe to the clubhouse, but maybe Munro can pull a Tim Wakefield and make some noise in the big postseason start.
I don't like his team's chances, though. And that's a no-brainer. My god, can the Cardinals rake. It doesn't even matter how many times Carlos Beltran can go yard. It doesn't matter that year's comeback kid Chris Carpenter went down for the rest of the season. It doesn't matter that Scott Rolen's performance against L.A. was worthy of a Mr. Yuk sticker. St. Louis is so good off the bench and in the bullpen than all of the puzzle pieces are right there. And this team's cauldron bubbles over with personality like the '93 Phillies or the '87 Twins -- you can't root for the Astros without feeling a little sorry for them, but you can get right behind the Cardinals.
And either way -- though a World Series berth for the Cardinals has been written in stone since May -- this'll be the first time a NL Central team will advance to the World Series since the introduction of the wild card. And that feels electric, considering how much pride people have taken on hating on the NL Central over the last couple of years. St. Louis has angels in the outfield and divine right on its side. Watch Edmonds-Pujols-Walker destroy the Yankees for their fallen Astros comrades. Watch them do it for the also-rans and never-weres in Pittsburgh and Milwaukee and Cincinnati. And watch them do it for the good of baseball.
The Astros deserve so much more. Here's a team that was six games under .500 at the All-Star break and waffled over trading Carlos Beltran to a contender like our man John K on America's continuing involvement in Iraq. But it's a war, man, and the 'Stros soldiered on through the second half of the season, against their better judgment -- against anyone's better judgment -- and came up with a wild-card berth.
And now? Andy Petitte's on the shelf and Roger Clemens and Wade Miller have to wait 'til games #3 and #4 to make a mark. So the Astros are throwing out two guys named Pete Munro (who starts the big game tonight) and Brandon Backe (whose success has a pitcher has been so waaaaayyyy out of leftfield that he, uh, actually started in that position). Didn't work well in the first game as Backe went backe to the clubhouse, but maybe Munro can pull a Tim Wakefield and make some noise in the big postseason start.
I don't like his team's chances, though. And that's a no-brainer. My god, can the Cardinals rake. It doesn't even matter how many times Carlos Beltran can go yard. It doesn't matter that year's comeback kid Chris Carpenter went down for the rest of the season. It doesn't matter that Scott Rolen's performance against L.A. was worthy of a Mr. Yuk sticker. St. Louis is so good off the bench and in the bullpen than all of the puzzle pieces are right there. And this team's cauldron bubbles over with personality like the '93 Phillies or the '87 Twins -- you can't root for the Astros without feeling a little sorry for them, but you can get right behind the Cardinals.
And either way -- though a World Series berth for the Cardinals has been written in stone since May -- this'll be the first time a NL Central team will advance to the World Series since the introduction of the wild card. And that feels electric, considering how much pride people have taken on hating on the NL Central over the last couple of years. St. Louis has angels in the outfield and divine right on its side. Watch Edmonds-Pujols-Walker destroy the Yankees for their fallen Astros comrades. Watch them do it for the also-rans and never-weres in Pittsburgh and Milwaukee and Cincinnati. And watch them do it for the good of baseball.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Frying pan or fire?
Hadn't watched a lick of baseball for a month preceding last night's Yankees-Red Sox match-up. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that from my lack of posts at the end of the season. Is it mid-October already? The last month has seemed like an out-of-body experience as I've been doing my best impression of my father-as-burgeoning-workaholic, burning the candle at both ends. And something had to go and it looks like I missed out on a lot of fun games, as well as the Astros remarkable half-season sprint towards the playoffs (more on this next time).
Baseball's not basketball and it sure as hell ain't hockey; only a choice few teams make the playoffs, teams with mediocre attributes never advance on to the postseason and the disconnect between the regular season and the post-season is much less than in any other professional sports league. Which is to say: there's a purpose to actually watching regular season games, whereas there's no reason to watch hockey until all but two teams make the playoffs and duke it out for what seems like two solid months of contests. I dunno; up until the introduction of the wild card a few years ago, I actually never even saw a point to getting down with the playoffs until the World Series -- even with a personal stake in the proceedings during The Pirates' near-miss runs between 1990-1992.
So: last night. Not a bad game. 6 innings of what seemed like an analog for the regular season, with the Yankees chasing Schilling out of the game early and asserting dominance in every way (though the BoSox retain their slight edge in moral superiority and a massive lead in stupid haircuts). Then: a spark, a fire, a full-on blaze as the Sox pound out 5 runs in the 7th and 2 more in the 8th to pull within one run of the Evil Empire before Bernie Williams knocked two more runs in to widen the gap.
And this, my friends, is what Joseph Campbell was talking about with the power of myth. Bill Mueller -- who the Fox commentators delighted in reminding us has made Mariano Rivera his bitch this season -- up at the plate with two men on and a chance for some more of his regular season heroics. One long ball is all it takes to tie the game and shift the dynamics of the game. Ball, whiff, ball, foul...and Mueller hits into a double-play to end the game. Mueller's no goat, but Rivera's back to being top dog. NY fans rejoice, Boston fans head to the nearest Irish pub. And it ain't over by a long shot.
Hadn't watched a lick of baseball for a month preceding last night's Yankees-Red Sox match-up. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that from my lack of posts at the end of the season. Is it mid-October already? The last month has seemed like an out-of-body experience as I've been doing my best impression of my father-as-burgeoning-workaholic, burning the candle at both ends. And something had to go and it looks like I missed out on a lot of fun games, as well as the Astros remarkable half-season sprint towards the playoffs (more on this next time).
Baseball's not basketball and it sure as hell ain't hockey; only a choice few teams make the playoffs, teams with mediocre attributes never advance on to the postseason and the disconnect between the regular season and the post-season is much less than in any other professional sports league. Which is to say: there's a purpose to actually watching regular season games, whereas there's no reason to watch hockey until all but two teams make the playoffs and duke it out for what seems like two solid months of contests. I dunno; up until the introduction of the wild card a few years ago, I actually never even saw a point to getting down with the playoffs until the World Series -- even with a personal stake in the proceedings during The Pirates' near-miss runs between 1990-1992.
So: last night. Not a bad game. 6 innings of what seemed like an analog for the regular season, with the Yankees chasing Schilling out of the game early and asserting dominance in every way (though the BoSox retain their slight edge in moral superiority and a massive lead in stupid haircuts). Then: a spark, a fire, a full-on blaze as the Sox pound out 5 runs in the 7th and 2 more in the 8th to pull within one run of the Evil Empire before Bernie Williams knocked two more runs in to widen the gap.
And this, my friends, is what Joseph Campbell was talking about with the power of myth. Bill Mueller -- who the Fox commentators delighted in reminding us has made Mariano Rivera his bitch this season -- up at the plate with two men on and a chance for some more of his regular season heroics. One long ball is all it takes to tie the game and shift the dynamics of the game. Ball, whiff, ball, foul...and Mueller hits into a double-play to end the game. Mueller's no goat, but Rivera's back to being top dog. NY fans rejoice, Boston fans head to the nearest Irish pub. And it ain't over by a long shot.
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