Games 12 through 15 - Mets
Mets 8, Phillies 1
Mets 9, Marlins 2
Mets 11, Marlins 3
Braves 7, Mets 3
Record: 10-5
A mere cameo today for me before this afternoon's tilt against the loathsome Braves. Much like the ballgames over this week's stretch, MLC has gotten away from me. If you don't make a concerted effort after each contest to weigh in, the next thing you know four games have slipped by; in a similar vein, the Phillies and Marlins watched slim leads evolve into fat ones before they could regroup and make a run. Laughers ensued in each case. And then Atlanta turned the tables on the Mets last night.
Crow is never eaten in April where baseball's blowhards are concerned, so it's hardly time to rub folks' faces in the fact that the Met starters have proven better than serviceable at this early juncture. Between the fact that it's only been a few spins through the rotation and Mike Pelfrey being pelted early and often last night, chattering about it now would be silly. But when the majority of the Township took an "I'm okay with it" attitude about a pitching staff that bozos with by-lines called "ghastly," this is roughly what we expected. Up until last night, quality starts were becoming the norm.
To date, the Mets currently have the best OPS and the best team ERA in the bigs. As Alex Rodriguez may find out the hard way, however, nobody remembers April stats come June, much less October. Those of us who watch nearly every pitch of each Metscast see a few holes that need patching (Delgado's swing, Heilman's elbow, etc.); no major improvement projects, just a little spackling and some touch-up paint. Randolph & Minaya General Contractors, Inc., need to get on it.
This weekend coincidentally offers match-ups with the Sox' and Mets' least loved opponents. Not a lot of gnashing of teeth in this early going, but there is simply something about seeing the pinstripes or the Tomahawk Chop that raises our adrenaline beyond the rational. It looked for all the world last night like we'd be miserable company this morning after series-opening drubbings; alas, it was not to be. Each club made some late inning noise, but all the Mets could manage was to bust up the shutout. David Wright can take some credit, breaking up a would-be game-ending double play that made Kelly Johnson's throw to (the) first (row) a chuckle-inducer. Shawn Green's subsequent bomb to right made it a more respectable score without really raising a glint of hope.
I was able to go most of last year without bitching about the Atlanta Braves and my impassioned abhorrence of everything about them. Looks like they aren't the middling, mediocre mass of nothingness amid the middle of the standings that they were a year ago. Stay tuned for more of the incessant whining you know you missed last summer.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Echo and the Bunnymen
Games 13 and 14 – Red Sox
Red Sox 4, Blue Jays 1
Red Sox 5, Blue Jays 3
Record: 9-5
Bring on the dancing horses, sang the above-mentioned Liverpudlians, and the Sox, Yankees, and media hordes will oblige starting this evening. All manner of dancing horses, circus freaks, and carny barkers descend upon the Bronx for the first of 19 between the American League’s colossi.
Both teams did their respective parts yesterday, coming from behind to extend recent streaks of success and ensuring that they’d enter this evening’s action atop the AL East. The Sox got timely hits from Manny Ramirez (finally) and Alex Cora (really?) to rally from 3-1 down to top the Jays. The Yankees, fresh off consecutive bludgeonings of Indian pitching, sportingly spotted the Tribe a 4-run lead and waited until two outs were recorded in the bottom of the 9th before flicking Cleveland’s Joe Borowski away like a gnat. The coup de grace in this cat versus prey tableaux was administered by the unconscious Alex Rodriguez, who blasted his 10th homer of the early season (and took a 10-5 lead over the Washington Nationals in MLC's running gimmick) to provide the game’s final runs.
And so it happens that April 20 brings us the next renewal of the age-old good pitching versus good hitting donnybrook. The Sox’ offense has been marginal, doing just enough to get by, lifted by dominant starting pitching and lights-out short relief. The Yankee bats have been epic, averaging a league-leading 6.5 runs a game. The Sox have been the league’s best team in terms of preventing runs, allowing a miniscule 2.57 tallies per. Boston starts Curt Schilling, Josh Beckett, and Daisuke Matsuzaka against New York’s Andy Pettitte, Jeff Karstens, and Chase Wright. The pitching matchups certainly look to be tilted drastically in the Sox’ favor, but the Yankee sticks are the great equalizer.
The Boston Herald’s Gerry Callahan does his part to fuel the fire today, predicting that A-Rod and his pretty pink lips (no, really, Callahan describes A-Rod’s lips – sick fuck) will be wearing a Sox uniform next season. Christ Almighty on a popsicle stick, can we just let them all play baseball without the attendant faux-dramatic media oneupsmanship?
I’d like to say that this’ll be fun to watch, but that would imply that an upset stomach, elevated heart rate, and flop sweat are all fun things. And I don’t really want to explore the psychological implications inherent in accepting those realities. I’m looking forward to the weekend, I think. Of course, I might just watch a movie tonight, instead, and save the angst for September.
Red Sox 4, Blue Jays 1
Red Sox 5, Blue Jays 3
Record: 9-5
Bring on the dancing horses, sang the above-mentioned Liverpudlians, and the Sox, Yankees, and media hordes will oblige starting this evening. All manner of dancing horses, circus freaks, and carny barkers descend upon the Bronx for the first of 19 between the American League’s colossi.
Both teams did their respective parts yesterday, coming from behind to extend recent streaks of success and ensuring that they’d enter this evening’s action atop the AL East. The Sox got timely hits from Manny Ramirez (finally) and Alex Cora (really?) to rally from 3-1 down to top the Jays. The Yankees, fresh off consecutive bludgeonings of Indian pitching, sportingly spotted the Tribe a 4-run lead and waited until two outs were recorded in the bottom of the 9th before flicking Cleveland’s Joe Borowski away like a gnat. The coup de grace in this cat versus prey tableaux was administered by the unconscious Alex Rodriguez, who blasted his 10th homer of the early season (and took a 10-5 lead over the Washington Nationals in MLC's running gimmick) to provide the game’s final runs.
And so it happens that April 20 brings us the next renewal of the age-old good pitching versus good hitting donnybrook. The Sox’ offense has been marginal, doing just enough to get by, lifted by dominant starting pitching and lights-out short relief. The Yankee bats have been epic, averaging a league-leading 6.5 runs a game. The Sox have been the league’s best team in terms of preventing runs, allowing a miniscule 2.57 tallies per. Boston starts Curt Schilling, Josh Beckett, and Daisuke Matsuzaka against New York’s Andy Pettitte, Jeff Karstens, and Chase Wright. The pitching matchups certainly look to be tilted drastically in the Sox’ favor, but the Yankee sticks are the great equalizer.
The Boston Herald’s Gerry Callahan does his part to fuel the fire today, predicting that A-Rod and his pretty pink lips (no, really, Callahan describes A-Rod’s lips – sick fuck) will be wearing a Sox uniform next season. Christ Almighty on a popsicle stick, can we just let them all play baseball without the attendant faux-dramatic media oneupsmanship?
I’d like to say that this’ll be fun to watch, but that would imply that an upset stomach, elevated heart rate, and flop sweat are all fun things. And I don’t really want to explore the psychological implications inherent in accepting those realities. I’m looking forward to the weekend, I think. Of course, I might just watch a movie tonight, instead, and save the angst for September.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Stevie Wonder
The Sox have no hits through 4 innings against Tomo Ohka thus far this evening. Tomo Ohka.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Rush
Game 12 – Red Sox
Toronto Blue Jays 2, Red Sox 1
Record: 7-5
NESN’s cameras caught noted Canadian rocker Geddy Lee in the crowd for last night’s Sox/Jays tilt. Carlos Lee would’ve been more helpful to the Sox’ cause, as they once again found themselves dominated by a middling lefthanded starter. And much like the Mariners’ Felix Hernandez, Jays’ starter Gustavo Chacin left the Limelight to Daisuke Matsuzaka while outpitching him.
The Sox’ first foray into the Great White North offered an echo of the Distant Early Warning signs that have Sox fans apprehensive. Yet again, the Sox wasted a terrific pitching performance, failing to muster anything at all against the Jays’ staff, despite several early opportunities. Outside of Julio Lugo, David Ortiz, Kevin Youkilis and J.D. Drew, the Sox’ bats have been beyond anemic. Mike Lowell and Jason Varitek look for all the world like their days as productive major league hitters have gone the way of Tom Sawyer’s youth.
Matsuzaka was flat out dominant, except for one bizarre and ultimately telling five-batter stretch. He held the Jays to one baserunner through the first three innings. Vernon Wells reached on a little nubber with one out in the bottom of the 4th, and though Matsuzaka was visibly miffed by an umpiring decision during the Wells at-bat, little seemed amiss. After Wells reached, though, Matsuzaka channeled Ebby Calvin for an uncomfortably wild stretch, walking Frank Thomas before giving up a ripped single to Lyle Overbay. Lugo should’ve turned Overbay’s well-hit smash into an inning-ending double play, but the ball eluded him to score Wells from second.
Matsuzaka walked Aaron Hill to load the bases on a combination of wildly high fastballs and 50-foot curves and then issued a walk to Gregg Zaun to plate Toronto’s second run. Then, as soon as the storm blew up, it dissipated as Matsuzaka blew Royce Clayton away and got Jason Smith on a long Fly By Night to center. Outside of that five-batter hiccup, the Jays only got one baserunner against Sox pitching. Matsuzaka’s ability to calm himself and regain his form was instructive, but so was the frustration and emotion that he showed while getting into the jam in the first place. Opposing managers (and AL umpires, not insignificantly) will watch this game tape with some interest.
The Big Money portion of the Sox offense (hell, all portions) took the night off, the only run scoring on Wily Mo Pena’s gargantuan blast to center in the top of the 3rd. Finally a Working Man after being invisible for the season’s first 10 games, Wily Mo was the only real bright spot for the Sox.
The Sox play 10 of their next 12 against the Blue Jays and Yankees, both of whom are significantly banged up. There’s no such thing as a must-win April game, or even series, but if the Sox fail to make hay over the next two weeks, they may look back with fond regret as the temperatures climb and their Freewill becomes subject to other teams’ whimsy.
Toronto Blue Jays 2, Red Sox 1
Record: 7-5
NESN’s cameras caught noted Canadian rocker Geddy Lee in the crowd for last night’s Sox/Jays tilt. Carlos Lee would’ve been more helpful to the Sox’ cause, as they once again found themselves dominated by a middling lefthanded starter. And much like the Mariners’ Felix Hernandez, Jays’ starter Gustavo Chacin left the Limelight to Daisuke Matsuzaka while outpitching him.
The Sox’ first foray into the Great White North offered an echo of the Distant Early Warning signs that have Sox fans apprehensive. Yet again, the Sox wasted a terrific pitching performance, failing to muster anything at all against the Jays’ staff, despite several early opportunities. Outside of Julio Lugo, David Ortiz, Kevin Youkilis and J.D. Drew, the Sox’ bats have been beyond anemic. Mike Lowell and Jason Varitek look for all the world like their days as productive major league hitters have gone the way of Tom Sawyer’s youth.
Matsuzaka was flat out dominant, except for one bizarre and ultimately telling five-batter stretch. He held the Jays to one baserunner through the first three innings. Vernon Wells reached on a little nubber with one out in the bottom of the 4th, and though Matsuzaka was visibly miffed by an umpiring decision during the Wells at-bat, little seemed amiss. After Wells reached, though, Matsuzaka channeled Ebby Calvin for an uncomfortably wild stretch, walking Frank Thomas before giving up a ripped single to Lyle Overbay. Lugo should’ve turned Overbay’s well-hit smash into an inning-ending double play, but the ball eluded him to score Wells from second.
Matsuzaka walked Aaron Hill to load the bases on a combination of wildly high fastballs and 50-foot curves and then issued a walk to Gregg Zaun to plate Toronto’s second run. Then, as soon as the storm blew up, it dissipated as Matsuzaka blew Royce Clayton away and got Jason Smith on a long Fly By Night to center. Outside of that five-batter hiccup, the Jays only got one baserunner against Sox pitching. Matsuzaka’s ability to calm himself and regain his form was instructive, but so was the frustration and emotion that he showed while getting into the jam in the first place. Opposing managers (and AL umpires, not insignificantly) will watch this game tape with some interest.
The Big Money portion of the Sox offense (hell, all portions) took the night off, the only run scoring on Wily Mo Pena’s gargantuan blast to center in the top of the 3rd. Finally a Working Man after being invisible for the season’s first 10 games, Wily Mo was the only real bright spot for the Sox.
The Sox play 10 of their next 12 against the Blue Jays and Yankees, both of whom are significantly banged up. There’s no such thing as a must-win April game, or even series, but if the Sox fail to make hay over the next two weeks, they may look back with fond regret as the temperatures climb and their Freewill becomes subject to other teams’ whimsy.
Reverend Horton Heat
Game 11 – Red Sox
Red Sox 7, Angels 2
Record: 7-4
I’d like to thank the magic of portable electronic communications technology for keeping me up to date with the Sox yesterday, with a big assist to Whitney. I was stuck in an all-day meeting here at Inatech’s global headquarters in Philly and assumed that the biblical deluges along the Eastern Seaboard would wash out the day’s action entirely. I got an email from my brother in blog telling me that the game was on and asking if I’d like him to update me on its progress.
And update me he did, though the game was effectively over before the Sox recorded a single out in the bottom of the first inning. Thanks to Angel starter Ervin Santana and his array of meaty offerings (and free-flinging second sacker Howie Kendrick and his avant-garde defensive stylings) the Sox led 6-1 after a single frame. Whitney’s updates got much shorter from that point on, though I particularly liked the one entitled “Whoa”, which read:
“Manny makes a crazy grab on a pop-up in short left that this Candlestick-like wind did goofy things with. Saves a run. Going to Bottom 2. Still 6-1.”
The mental image of Manny sauntering in circles, dancing to his own salsa/punk beat before snaring the ball made me smile, and brought back fond memories of his convention-defying adventures during Game 1 of the 2004 World Series.
The stats say that Beckett continued his torrid April pace, and the highlights I saw on Baseball Tonight confirmed something I noticed in Spring Training. Beckett’s throwing far more breaking pitches far more effectively thus far in 2007 than he did last year during his introduction to the American League. Per ESPN, 75% of his pitches last year were fastballs, while 63% of his 2007 pitches come after Jason Varitek extends a single finger. That mix, combined with the enhanced movement Beckett’s getting from his two-seam fastball versus the very straight four-seamer he threw most of the time last year (and you know what Serrano says about straight balls), has been deadly to hitters in the early going. Beckett’s pitched 18 innings, striking out 18 while only allowing 10 hits. Still early, but I’m pretty sure I saw Matsuzaka nod slowly and approvingly in the dugout yesterday, and I like what the early returns imply for the rest of the season.
My trip to Citizen’s Bank Park got rained out last night – probably for the best. It was miserable here yesterday. I’m catching a cold just thinking about sitting out in the elements for 3 hours in that drizzly dreck. Jose Reyes’ hamstrings and the entire Township give thanks to MLB for calling that one off.
Red Sox 7, Angels 2
Record: 7-4
I’d like to thank the magic of portable electronic communications technology for keeping me up to date with the Sox yesterday, with a big assist to Whitney. I was stuck in an all-day meeting here at Inatech’s global headquarters in Philly and assumed that the biblical deluges along the Eastern Seaboard would wash out the day’s action entirely. I got an email from my brother in blog telling me that the game was on and asking if I’d like him to update me on its progress.
And update me he did, though the game was effectively over before the Sox recorded a single out in the bottom of the first inning. Thanks to Angel starter Ervin Santana and his array of meaty offerings (and free-flinging second sacker Howie Kendrick and his avant-garde defensive stylings) the Sox led 6-1 after a single frame. Whitney’s updates got much shorter from that point on, though I particularly liked the one entitled “Whoa”, which read:
“Manny makes a crazy grab on a pop-up in short left that this Candlestick-like wind did goofy things with. Saves a run. Going to Bottom 2. Still 6-1.”
The mental image of Manny sauntering in circles, dancing to his own salsa/punk beat before snaring the ball made me smile, and brought back fond memories of his convention-defying adventures during Game 1 of the 2004 World Series.
The stats say that Beckett continued his torrid April pace, and the highlights I saw on Baseball Tonight confirmed something I noticed in Spring Training. Beckett’s throwing far more breaking pitches far more effectively thus far in 2007 than he did last year during his introduction to the American League. Per ESPN, 75% of his pitches last year were fastballs, while 63% of his 2007 pitches come after Jason Varitek extends a single finger. That mix, combined with the enhanced movement Beckett’s getting from his two-seam fastball versus the very straight four-seamer he threw most of the time last year (and you know what Serrano says about straight balls), has been deadly to hitters in the early going. Beckett’s pitched 18 innings, striking out 18 while only allowing 10 hits. Still early, but I’m pretty sure I saw Matsuzaka nod slowly and approvingly in the dugout yesterday, and I like what the early returns imply for the rest of the season.
My trip to Citizen’s Bank Park got rained out last night – probably for the best. It was miserable here yesterday. I’m catching a cold just thinking about sitting out in the elements for 3 hours in that drizzly dreck. Jose Reyes’ hamstrings and the entire Township give thanks to MLB for calling that one off.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Snow
Game 10 - Red Sox
Red Sox 8, Angels 0
Record: 6-4
When Jason Varitek lined out to center to leave the bases loaded in the bottom of the third, this game turned from mildly frustrating to cat-kicking aggravating. The Sox had similarly failed in the bottom of the second, with Julio Lugo swinging at ball four and flying to center with the bases loaded to allow Angels starter Hector Carrasco off the hook. Varitek's failure to come through in the clutch was especially wrenching considering the fact that Erik Hinske had led off the bottom of the third with a triple in front of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. The Sox stranded 7 runners in the game's first 3 innings, and appeared well on their way to boosting drywall repair bills across New England.
Except that Varitek didn't line out to center. His swing connected so purely with Carrasco's offering that the ball screamed to center in an unholy conflagration of Josh Beckett's fastball and Tim Wakefield's knuckler, caroming painfully off of Gary Matthews' wrist and bounding away to allow the game's first two runs to score. Matthews was charged with an error, but he had absolutely no chance. After fate opened the doors for the Sox' offense, they did the rest, battering the Angels' bullpen for 6 more runs to back Curt Schilling's second win in as many outings.
And just like that, the Sox chose Frost's path, traveling the road they've largely eschewed during the season's first 10 games and taking the easy route to victory. Schilling was dominant again, going 8 innings and allowing 4 hits and no runs. Papi drove in 4 runs, the final 3 on a mammoth blast to deepest centerfield. Hinske played his role to perfection, reaching base 4 times and scoring 3 runs in his first start of the season. Mike Lowell made a sick diving grab to keep Schilling out of trouble in the early going, and Brendan Donnelly pitched a perfect ninth inning to close out the tidy victory.
The Sox reach the 1/16th pole with the American League's best ERA, posting a 2.79 mark to date. Sox starters have averaged 6.2 innings per game, allowing 18 earned runs and 48 hits in 62 innings. With the offense scuffling along to a .722 OPS and scoring runs in uneven lumps (1,7,4,0,4,3,14,0,10, and 8 in the first 10 games) the staff has clearly been the squad's dominant unit in the early going.
That early going looks to stall here for a while, just like the massive storm front that's taken up residence on the East Coast. Today's tilt with the Angels has already been washed out, and tomorrow's traditional early morning Patriots' Day game will almost certainly meet with the same fate. As an aside, Whit and I have a friend running the Boston Marathon tomorrow. With forecasts calling for sub-40 temps and 20-30 mph winds, I sincerely hope he ducks into the first open pub and spends his morning quaffing whiskey and smoking cigarettes instead of carrying out his scheduled agenda. Knowing our guy, the odds of him choosing the former are probably better than even. We'll be rooting for him either way.
I've got tickets to tomorrow night's Mets/Phils contest at Citizen's Bank Park in the City of Brotherly Love. (One day we'll examine the most ironic/least fitting city nicknames. Outside of Baltimore's Charm City moniker, Philly's may well be the most laughably ill-suited nom de metro. The City of Fuck You, Asshole is a bit closer to accurate, but doesn't sell as many t-shirts.) As much as I really would like to see the ballpark, I also really like the fact that I've never had pneumonia, and sitting outside in drizzly, 40-degree weather doesn't make the few-of-my-favorite-things list. I'll still probably go, but I'll reserve the right to whine and complain bitterly.
The large-scale washouts across the league put a bit of a damper on the celebration the 60th anniversary of Jackie Robinson's barrier-shattering debut with the Dodgers. I know as much about the black experience as I do about particle physics, so I'm ill-suited to provide much worthwhile commentary here. I do think that recent highly-charged and widely publicized events frame Robinson's struggle and ultimate triumph in much starker and more remarkable terms. If 60 years later, we're still struggling to gain relative equilibrium and transparency on racial issues, what must society have been like in 1947?
As the answer to that question damns us all in places we don't want to talk about at cocktail parties, it also serves to elevate Jackie Robinson's accomplishments beyond their already esteemed status. End of misplaced rant, and back to your regularly scheduled idiocy in a few days when I get back from Philly.
Red Sox 8, Angels 0
Record: 6-4
When Jason Varitek lined out to center to leave the bases loaded in the bottom of the third, this game turned from mildly frustrating to cat-kicking aggravating. The Sox had similarly failed in the bottom of the second, with Julio Lugo swinging at ball four and flying to center with the bases loaded to allow Angels starter Hector Carrasco off the hook. Varitek's failure to come through in the clutch was especially wrenching considering the fact that Erik Hinske had led off the bottom of the third with a triple in front of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. The Sox stranded 7 runners in the game's first 3 innings, and appeared well on their way to boosting drywall repair bills across New England.
Except that Varitek didn't line out to center. His swing connected so purely with Carrasco's offering that the ball screamed to center in an unholy conflagration of Josh Beckett's fastball and Tim Wakefield's knuckler, caroming painfully off of Gary Matthews' wrist and bounding away to allow the game's first two runs to score. Matthews was charged with an error, but he had absolutely no chance. After fate opened the doors for the Sox' offense, they did the rest, battering the Angels' bullpen for 6 more runs to back Curt Schilling's second win in as many outings.
And just like that, the Sox chose Frost's path, traveling the road they've largely eschewed during the season's first 10 games and taking the easy route to victory. Schilling was dominant again, going 8 innings and allowing 4 hits and no runs. Papi drove in 4 runs, the final 3 on a mammoth blast to deepest centerfield. Hinske played his role to perfection, reaching base 4 times and scoring 3 runs in his first start of the season. Mike Lowell made a sick diving grab to keep Schilling out of trouble in the early going, and Brendan Donnelly pitched a perfect ninth inning to close out the tidy victory.
The Sox reach the 1/16th pole with the American League's best ERA, posting a 2.79 mark to date. Sox starters have averaged 6.2 innings per game, allowing 18 earned runs and 48 hits in 62 innings. With the offense scuffling along to a .722 OPS and scoring runs in uneven lumps (1,7,4,0,4,3,14,0,10, and 8 in the first 10 games) the staff has clearly been the squad's dominant unit in the early going.
That early going looks to stall here for a while, just like the massive storm front that's taken up residence on the East Coast. Today's tilt with the Angels has already been washed out, and tomorrow's traditional early morning Patriots' Day game will almost certainly meet with the same fate. As an aside, Whit and I have a friend running the Boston Marathon tomorrow. With forecasts calling for sub-40 temps and 20-30 mph winds, I sincerely hope he ducks into the first open pub and spends his morning quaffing whiskey and smoking cigarettes instead of carrying out his scheduled agenda. Knowing our guy, the odds of him choosing the former are probably better than even. We'll be rooting for him either way.
I've got tickets to tomorrow night's Mets/Phils contest at Citizen's Bank Park in the City of Brotherly Love. (One day we'll examine the most ironic/least fitting city nicknames. Outside of Baltimore's Charm City moniker, Philly's may well be the most laughably ill-suited nom de metro. The City of Fuck You, Asshole is a bit closer to accurate, but doesn't sell as many t-shirts.) As much as I really would like to see the ballpark, I also really like the fact that I've never had pneumonia, and sitting outside in drizzly, 40-degree weather doesn't make the few-of-my-favorite-things list. I'll still probably go, but I'll reserve the right to whine and complain bitterly.
The large-scale washouts across the league put a bit of a damper on the celebration the 60th anniversary of Jackie Robinson's barrier-shattering debut with the Dodgers. I know as much about the black experience as I do about particle physics, so I'm ill-suited to provide much worthwhile commentary here. I do think that recent highly-charged and widely publicized events frame Robinson's struggle and ultimate triumph in much starker and more remarkable terms. If 60 years later, we're still struggling to gain relative equilibrium and transparency on racial issues, what must society have been like in 1947?
As the answer to that question damns us all in places we don't want to talk about at cocktail parties, it also serves to elevate Jackie Robinson's accomplishments beyond their already esteemed status. End of misplaced rant, and back to your regularly scheduled idiocy in a few days when I get back from Philly.
El DeBarge
Game 11 - Mets
Nationals 6, Mets 2
Record: 7-4
"We worked so hard, I mean so hard, to get these girls to come up to my apartment, and now all I want in the world is for them to leave."
--Bryan S., Richmond, VA
Hard not to feel like MLC fan Bryan yesterday, as I wrangled and juggled and carved out a little afternoon time to take in the Mets, then wished I hadn't bothered. They just didn't look the part of pennant contenders yesterday, stranding runners and giving up four-baggers with all too much comfortable consistency. Bit of an eyesore, it was, and here's hoping today either brings a revitalized approach or an April shower to prevent more of the same.
It wasn't a blowout -- the Nots don't do blowouts -- and actually, David Wright's fly ball off Jon "Who's Jonny?" Rauch in the 8th was a foot and a half from being out of reach and into the pen for a game-tightening three-run dinger. As it was, Ryan Church made a nice play look easy, Shawn Green followed that disappointment with a nifty 4-6-3 inning-ender, and there went any hopes of a rally.
Meanwhile, Orlando Hernandez served up lunchables to Dmitri Young, Church, and Chris Snelling (in chronological order as well as that of acceptability) to the tune of five runs. El Duque couldn't seem to get into the rhythm of the afternoon, missing the zone entirely and finding the meat of the plate intermittently. He got tossed for plunking Shawn Hill after the second gopher ball, which was a rookie mistake by a veteran umpire, but it didn't change the outcome.
This game toed the line between a winnable loss and one of Rob's 35 games that you aren't going to win. For every time the Mets began to put something together (like when Endy Chavez led off an inning with a triple and 3-4-5 coming up) the Mets seemed to undo themselves (like when 3-4-5 stranded Chavez in hideous fashion). El Duque failed to provide a quality start, but the offensive efficiency was nil. Any way you looked at it, and I looked at the whole thing, it frustrated more than entertained. Wipe it clean and move on the next one.
Nationals 6, Mets 2
Record: 7-4
"We worked so hard, I mean so hard, to get these girls to come up to my apartment, and now all I want in the world is for them to leave."
--Bryan S., Richmond, VA
Hard not to feel like MLC fan Bryan yesterday, as I wrangled and juggled and carved out a little afternoon time to take in the Mets, then wished I hadn't bothered. They just didn't look the part of pennant contenders yesterday, stranding runners and giving up four-baggers with all too much comfortable consistency. Bit of an eyesore, it was, and here's hoping today either brings a revitalized approach or an April shower to prevent more of the same.
It wasn't a blowout -- the Nots don't do blowouts -- and actually, David Wright's fly ball off Jon "Who's Jonny?" Rauch in the 8th was a foot and a half from being out of reach and into the pen for a game-tightening three-run dinger. As it was, Ryan Church made a nice play look easy, Shawn Green followed that disappointment with a nifty 4-6-3 inning-ender, and there went any hopes of a rally.
Meanwhile, Orlando Hernandez served up lunchables to Dmitri Young, Church, and Chris Snelling (in chronological order as well as that of acceptability) to the tune of five runs. El Duque couldn't seem to get into the rhythm of the afternoon, missing the zone entirely and finding the meat of the plate intermittently. He got tossed for plunking Shawn Hill after the second gopher ball, which was a rookie mistake by a veteran umpire, but it didn't change the outcome.
This game toed the line between a winnable loss and one of Rob's 35 games that you aren't going to win. For every time the Mets began to put something together (like when Endy Chavez led off an inning with a triple and 3-4-5 coming up) the Mets seemed to undo themselves (like when 3-4-5 stranded Chavez in hideous fashion). El Duque failed to provide a quality start, but the offensive efficiency was nil. Any way you looked at it, and I looked at the whole thing, it frustrated more than entertained. Wipe it clean and move on the next one.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Queens of (in) the Stone Age
Game 10 - Mets
Mets 3, Nationals 2
Record: 7-3
Through five innings, last night's game was playing out exactly as I'd feared and mentioned below. When you're the clear favorite, sometimes you get away from the fundamentals and the measured game plan. And sometimes it takes a wily veteran to know his limitations, play within himself, and get the job done. Case in point.
The Washington Nationals were -- and are going to be all season -- massive underdogs. Most gambling sites (and we here at MLC do not encourage gambling for anything except massive quantities of malt beverage) have the Nots posting a slim-to-none chance of winning any ballgame in this early going. The Mets are projected to win more games this year than Washington may win in two seasons. And yet, as they say, on any given Friday anything can happen in baseball.
The Mets were facing the Nots' "ace," John Patterson, while they trotted out youngster Mike Pelfrey for his first start of the season. There was a seriously stiff win blowing in, one which knocked down a handful of would-be taters off Met bats. These are factors to level the playing field, and there were more. The home plate umpire -- standing in for a fellow crew member who was off for family reasons -- had a . . . peculiar . . . strike zone. I'd call it amoeba-like: very small, amorphous, and perpetually changing dimensions. Not what Pelf needed to get into a groove. The temperature was thirtysomething, and ultimately the game's fate came down to the only man in the ballgame who was in the big leagues when that show was on the air.
The heart of the Mets' lineup seemed to want to ignore that there was a more than serviceable pitcher on the hill and that gale force winds were flying in over the Home Run Apple. Many a great power stroke was rendered inconsequential by the wind, but the Metbats seemed determined to better this inferior club through the long ball. Didn't happen. The night's five runs were plated on two groundouts and three singles.
As I said, after five frames I was getting antsy. This was the blueprint for losing to the worst team in baseball. Overswinging on offense and some early wildness from the young starter. Not good. 2-1, Nationals, in what was presumed (to a degree) to be a cakewalk of a series. Soon enough, however, the Mets reverted to the other potent aspect of their game: speed and the ability to manufacture runs.
Jose Reyes did what he wouldn't have a year or two ago; he led off with a walk. After stealing second (a given, it seems), Carlos Delgado plated him with a base-knock in the sixth. 2-2.
It's too early to get the excitement into overdrive, but David Wright has come around nicely over the last couple of games. We love the guy, but don't let the 10-game/22-game hitting streak fool you; he'd been popping a floof-ball into the shallow outfield for a hit once a night for a stretch, but the last couple of games have brought us the Dee-Dub of last year's first half. Avoiding the urge to pull the ball for power has always netted him big results. Thursday's triple and last night's up-the-middle single in the bottom of the eighth were the crunch-time successes we're used to seeing. Please, David, keep on keepin' on.
And then he stole second, taking a page from his partner in poster-boyness. That set the stage for Julio Franco to shuffle to the plate with two down. I'll be honest, as much as I think Franco's is a great story and his clubhouse presence shouldn't be understated, it seemed to me that, with a few exceptions, the latter half of '06 saw more K's and GIDP's from him i
n crucial moments than any sort of heroics. Not enough to bash him, just enough to trample expectations when he's announced.
And then he shut me up and raised hopes for his 2007, knocking one into center field to score Wright and leave the game in Billy Wagner's capable hands. It goes without saying: like my little friend across the aisle, I am an idiot.
Keep making it happen, boys. (And elder gentlemen . . . sir . . . Mr. Franco.) El Duque -- another person who was alive when the Washington Senators were still playing; true fact: the Nationals cannot claim one such player on their roster -- goes against Shawn Hill this afternoon in a match-up in which ESPN.com projects a 67% chance of a Met win. Let's pretend we didn't see that.
Mets 3, Nationals 2
Record: 7-3
Through five innings, last night's game was playing out exactly as I'd feared and mentioned below. When you're the clear favorite, sometimes you get away from the fundamentals and the measured game plan. And sometimes it takes a wily veteran to know his limitations, play within himself, and get the job done. Case in point.
The Washington Nationals were -- and are going to be all season -- massive underdogs. Most gambling sites (and we here at MLC do not encourage gambling for anything except massive quantities of malt beverage) have the Nots posting a slim-to-none chance of winning any ballgame in this early going. The Mets are projected to win more games this year than Washington may win in two seasons. And yet, as they say, on any given Friday anything can happen in baseball.
The Mets were facing the Nots' "ace," John Patterson, while they trotted out youngster Mike Pelfrey for his first start of the season. There was a seriously stiff win blowing in, one which knocked down a handful of would-be taters off Met bats. These are factors to level the playing field, and there were more. The home plate umpire -- standing in for a fellow crew member who was off for family reasons -- had a . . . peculiar . . . strike zone. I'd call it amoeba-like: very small, amorphous, and perpetually changing dimensions. Not what Pelf needed to get into a groove. The temperature was thirtysomething, and ultimately the game's fate came down to the only man in the ballgame who was in the big leagues when that show was on the air.
The heart of the Mets' lineup seemed to want to ignore that there was a more than serviceable pitcher on the hill and that gale force winds were flying in over the Home Run Apple. Many a great power stroke was rendered inconsequential by the wind, but the Metbats seemed determined to better this inferior club through the long ball. Didn't happen. The night's five runs were plated on two groundouts and three singles.
As I said, after five frames I was getting antsy. This was the blueprint for losing to the worst team in baseball. Overswinging on offense and some early wildness from the young starter. Not good. 2-1, Nationals, in what was presumed (to a degree) to be a cakewalk of a series. Soon enough, however, the Mets reverted to the other potent aspect of their game: speed and the ability to manufacture runs.
Jose Reyes did what he wouldn't have a year or two ago; he led off with a walk. After stealing second (a given, it seems), Carlos Delgado plated him with a base-knock in the sixth. 2-2.
It's too early to get the excitement into overdrive, but David Wright has come around nicely over the last couple of games. We love the guy, but don't let the 10-game/22-game hitting streak fool you; he'd been popping a floof-ball into the shallow outfield for a hit once a night for a stretch, but the last couple of games have brought us the Dee-Dub of last year's first half. Avoiding the urge to pull the ball for power has always netted him big results. Thursday's triple and last night's up-the-middle single in the bottom of the eighth were the crunch-time successes we're used to seeing. Please, David, keep on keepin' on.
And then he stole second, taking a page from his partner in poster-boyness. That set the stage for Julio Franco to shuffle to the plate with two down. I'll be honest, as much as I think Franco's is a great story and his clubhouse presence shouldn't be understated, it seemed to me that, with a few exceptions, the latter half of '06 saw more K's and GIDP's from him i
n crucial moments than any sort of heroics. Not enough to bash him, just enough to trample expectations when he's announced.And then he shut me up and raised hopes for his 2007, knocking one into center field to score Wright and leave the game in Billy Wagner's capable hands. It goes without saying: like my little friend across the aisle, I am an idiot.
Keep making it happen, boys. (And elder gentlemen . . . sir . . . Mr. Franco.) El Duque -- another person who was alive when the Washington Senators were still playing; true fact: the Nationals cannot claim one such player on their roster -- goes against Shawn Hill this afternoon in a match-up in which ESPN.com projects a 67% chance of a Met win. Let's pretend we didn't see that.
Mighty Mighty Bosstones
Game 9 - Red Sox
Red Sox 10, Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim 1
Record: 5-4
As far back as MLC's inaugural post in April 2003, we've understood and cautiously embraced the Epstein/James high-leverage bullpen construction model. Cautiously embraced in theory, anyway, because the Sox never had the overall depth to make it really work in practice. The model says that the game's final three outs may not always be the most important, and that a manager should be willing to use the best arm(s) available in non-traditional closer situations.
Last night was one of Terry Francona's shining strategic moments as the manager of the Sox, and a repudiation of sorts of the nattering ninnies who decried the new-fangled bullpen thingy when it collapsed under the weight of too many Chad Foxes, Bobby Howrys, and Brandon Lyons back in 2003. The Sox led the Angels 4-1 in the top of the 8th, but found themselves in a tense spot when Brendan Donnelly hit old friend Orlando Cabrera to put runners on the corners with one out and the menace of Vladimir Guerrero digging in at the plate.
Tying run at the plate in the form of the opponent's most dangerous bat, and Francona wasted not a moment in going to the pen to get Jonathan Papelbon. Six pitches later, Guerrero had whiffed to end a mano a mano showdown and Garrett Anderson had lined to left to end the inning. The game was saved in that sequence.
The Sox plated 6 in the bottom of the 8th and Francona lifted Papelbon, saving his most explosive weapon for another day. No save for Paps, which might impact the ego of a more fragile or less team-focused closer. Managers don't often win or lose games, but you could argue that Francona's prudent and decisive deployment of his best bullpen arm weighed heavily in the final tally last night. Even more importantly for the long term, he sent a clear signal to his team that wins are more important than individuals - and Papelbon boosted his skipper by going right along with the decision. It's worth highlighting, by the way, the balls Paps showed in staring down Guerrero and beating the Angels' stud strength-on-strength. I've analyzed this in some detail, and I've come to the conclusion that Papelbon can pitch the baseball.
Tim Wakefield turned in his second sterling outing in as many chances, and was finally rewarded with some offensive support. Wake scattered 5 hits in 7 innings with only 2 walks on his ledger, and only Mike Lowell's wide throw on Maicer Izturis' leadoff grounder in the top of the 8th kept Wake from going deeper into the game.
Papi shook off consecutive strikeouts to start the game to drive in 3 clutch runs on roped liners to right. J.D. Drew continued to endear himself to Sully and Murph, driving in 2 runs on 2 hits and smoothly handling a tough chance on a liner by Casey Kotchman that kicked crazily off Fenway's unique walls. In fact, in what's becoming a mournful and increasingly bitter refrain, the only part of the offense that underperformed was Coco Crisp.
The Sox' centerfielder had real and viable excuses for his struggles in 2006 - he was burdened with high expectations and huge shoes to fill as he replaced the beloved Johnny Damon, and Crisp's early-season broken finger impacted him for the rest of the year. The Nation was unusually patient as Crisp turned in a .702 OPS, more than 100 points below his 2005 mark with the Indians, partly because the rest of the team wasn't very good, and partly because his performance could be written off to the injury. This year, though, that patience has already begun to wane. Crisp's 0-for-5 last night dropped his average to .121 and his OPS to a pitcher-like .353. As bad as that sounds, it looks even worse - the newly bestowed Coco Pops nickname testifies to his inability to drive anything and the overmatched presence he's carried to the plate thus far in 2007. Francona's next miracle: to lift Covelli from the depths of this slump, because the Sox haven't much in the way of options behind him in center.
After last night, though, in Terry We Trust, at least for now.
Red Sox 10, Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim 1
Record: 5-4
As far back as MLC's inaugural post in April 2003, we've understood and cautiously embraced the Epstein/James high-leverage bullpen construction model. Cautiously embraced in theory, anyway, because the Sox never had the overall depth to make it really work in practice. The model says that the game's final three outs may not always be the most important, and that a manager should be willing to use the best arm(s) available in non-traditional closer situations.
Last night was one of Terry Francona's shining strategic moments as the manager of the Sox, and a repudiation of sorts of the nattering ninnies who decried the new-fangled bullpen thingy when it collapsed under the weight of too many Chad Foxes, Bobby Howrys, and Brandon Lyons back in 2003. The Sox led the Angels 4-1 in the top of the 8th, but found themselves in a tense spot when Brendan Donnelly hit old friend Orlando Cabrera to put runners on the corners with one out and the menace of Vladimir Guerrero digging in at the plate.
Tying run at the plate in the form of the opponent's most dangerous bat, and Francona wasted not a moment in going to the pen to get Jonathan Papelbon. Six pitches later, Guerrero had whiffed to end a mano a mano showdown and Garrett Anderson had lined to left to end the inning. The game was saved in that sequence.
The Sox plated 6 in the bottom of the 8th and Francona lifted Papelbon, saving his most explosive weapon for another day. No save for Paps, which might impact the ego of a more fragile or less team-focused closer. Managers don't often win or lose games, but you could argue that Francona's prudent and decisive deployment of his best bullpen arm weighed heavily in the final tally last night. Even more importantly for the long term, he sent a clear signal to his team that wins are more important than individuals - and Papelbon boosted his skipper by going right along with the decision. It's worth highlighting, by the way, the balls Paps showed in staring down Guerrero and beating the Angels' stud strength-on-strength. I've analyzed this in some detail, and I've come to the conclusion that Papelbon can pitch the baseball.
Tim Wakefield turned in his second sterling outing in as many chances, and was finally rewarded with some offensive support. Wake scattered 5 hits in 7 innings with only 2 walks on his ledger, and only Mike Lowell's wide throw on Maicer Izturis' leadoff grounder in the top of the 8th kept Wake from going deeper into the game.
Papi shook off consecutive strikeouts to start the game to drive in 3 clutch runs on roped liners to right. J.D. Drew continued to endear himself to Sully and Murph, driving in 2 runs on 2 hits and smoothly handling a tough chance on a liner by Casey Kotchman that kicked crazily off Fenway's unique walls. In fact, in what's becoming a mournful and increasingly bitter refrain, the only part of the offense that underperformed was Coco Crisp.
The Sox' centerfielder had real and viable excuses for his struggles in 2006 - he was burdened with high expectations and huge shoes to fill as he replaced the beloved Johnny Damon, and Crisp's early-season broken finger impacted him for the rest of the year. The Nation was unusually patient as Crisp turned in a .702 OPS, more than 100 points below his 2005 mark with the Indians, partly because the rest of the team wasn't very good, and partly because his performance could be written off to the injury. This year, though, that patience has already begun to wane. Crisp's 0-for-5 last night dropped his average to .121 and his OPS to a pitcher-like .353. As bad as that sounds, it looks even worse - the newly bestowed Coco Pops nickname testifies to his inability to drive anything and the overmatched presence he's carried to the plate thus far in 2007. Francona's next miracle: to lift Covelli from the depths of this slump, because the Sox haven't much in the way of options behind him in center.
After last night, though, in Terry We Trust, at least for now.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Doug E. Fresh
So Doug Mirabelli walks to the plate in the bottom of the 5th inning tonight, Sox trailing by a run and scoreless for 13 straight innings. And as the NESN graphic displays Dougie's 0-for-5 start, I say to myself, "It's a shame, sure looks like Mirabelli's toast."
One pitch later, Mirabelli breaks up John Lackey's shutout with an absolute bomb to deep, deep right-center.
The lesson...c'mon, do I really need to say it? I am, as you know, an idiot.
One pitch later, Mirabelli breaks up John Lackey's shutout with an absolute bomb to deep, deep right-center.
The lesson...c'mon, do I really need to say it? I am, as you know, an idiot.
Loverboy
The always-entertaining (and massively prolific) team at Surviving Grady posted their AL East season preview this morning. Good stuff, as usual, from Red and Denton, but I mention it mostly because of the fantastic picture of Jonathan Papelbon and NESN's sideline babe Tina Cervasio. Papelbon, like any normal red-blooded American in his early 20s, is getting a serious eye workout while examining the rear-facing curves of the comely Ms. Cervasio. His expression is, as they say, priceless. Add one more to the long and growing list of reasons to love young Paps.
Tonic
Game 9 - Mets
Mets 5, Phillies 3
Record: 6-3
Chalk one up for the hometown nine -- a losable win that takes the series, alters a downward trend, features a comeback, gains a game on the Braves (for whatever that's wor
th on April 13), and sends the fans home happy. Tom Glavine earns win #292 (and #50 as a Met), suffering only Jimmy Rollins-inflicted damage along the way. The bullpen holds, the defense shines, and Jose Reyes is carrying the team in stretches at this point.
Rollins' pair of homers capped off a strong series for the guy most written about for his preseason quotes. If all 25 Phils had made such bold statements and followed through with Jimmy's tenacity, Charlie Manuel wouldn't be headed for the unemployment line. As it is, they're 2-7 and underachieving, albeit at this early juncture, and even Jimmy Rollins' old friend Roy Hobbs couldn't will this team to win.
This was a big victory for the Mets, relatively speaking; the lowly Washington Nationals come to town this weekend, and losing 4 of 5 before facing the league's worst team (by leaps and bounds; see Gheorghe: The Blog for an ongoing look at "The Nots") might've made the Mets tight and apt to force things as the huge favorite. After a series win, there is just a palpable degree of calmness to take into the next battle.
Tight is the last thing they'll need to be tonight, as Mike Pelfrey makes his first start of the season in 30-40 degree weather. As expected, Lastings Milledge, who's been seeing the field with the regularity of a back-up quarterback, heads to N'Awlins to pick up som
e at-bats and ready himself for an inevitable return. The Mets' shift from the AAA Norfolk Tides to the New Orleans Zephyrs doesn't make much geographic sense, and it certainly foils my plans for following the club's prospects, but it should make for more appealing demotions. See you in two weeks at JazzFest, Lastings; save me some oysters at Cooter Brown's.
Pelfrey represents another piece of what many considered the Mets' overstuffed question mark this year. In theory, it's fortuitous that he can open up with a wretched Nationals squad; after they beat John Smoltz and the Braves last night, however, let's not look ahead to the two-gamer in Philly next week just yet.
And did I mention Jose Reyes?
He currently leads the team in hits, runs, RBI, total bases, batting average, on-base percentage, and slugging percentage. He has more walks than strikeouts; hell, he has more stolen bases than strikeouts. It's apparent that he's worked extremely hard to address the few but obvious flaws that hampered him the past few seasons while expanding his strengths even further. It's almost as if the public's fawning over David Wright has inspired him to greatness in a "Hey, don't forget about me, guys" kind of way; unfortunately, we now need Dee-Dub to take a page from Reyes and continue his own evolution. Legging out last night's opposite-field triple meant an insurance run and a pleasant reminder of Wright's capabilities. Keep it up -- both of yous.
Mets 5, Phillies 3
Record: 6-3
Chalk one up for the hometown nine -- a losable win that takes the series, alters a downward trend, features a comeback, gains a game on the Braves (for whatever that's wor
th on April 13), and sends the fans home happy. Tom Glavine earns win #292 (and #50 as a Met), suffering only Jimmy Rollins-inflicted damage along the way. The bullpen holds, the defense shines, and Jose Reyes is carrying the team in stretches at this point.Rollins' pair of homers capped off a strong series for the guy most written about for his preseason quotes. If all 25 Phils had made such bold statements and followed through with Jimmy's tenacity, Charlie Manuel wouldn't be headed for the unemployment line. As it is, they're 2-7 and underachieving, albeit at this early juncture, and even Jimmy Rollins' old friend Roy Hobbs couldn't will this team to win.
This was a big victory for the Mets, relatively speaking; the lowly Washington Nationals come to town this weekend, and losing 4 of 5 before facing the league's worst team (by leaps and bounds; see Gheorghe: The Blog for an ongoing look at "The Nots") might've made the Mets tight and apt to force things as the huge favorite. After a series win, there is just a palpable degree of calmness to take into the next battle.
Tight is the last thing they'll need to be tonight, as Mike Pelfrey makes his first start of the season in 30-40 degree weather. As expected, Lastings Milledge, who's been seeing the field with the regularity of a back-up quarterback, heads to N'Awlins to pick up som
e at-bats and ready himself for an inevitable return. The Mets' shift from the AAA Norfolk Tides to the New Orleans Zephyrs doesn't make much geographic sense, and it certainly foils my plans for following the club's prospects, but it should make for more appealing demotions. See you in two weeks at JazzFest, Lastings; save me some oysters at Cooter Brown's.Pelfrey represents another piece of what many considered the Mets' overstuffed question mark this year. In theory, it's fortuitous that he can open up with a wretched Nationals squad; after they beat John Smoltz and the Braves last night, however, let's not look ahead to the two-gamer in Philly next week just yet.
And did I mention Jose Reyes?
He currently leads the team in hits, runs, RBI, total bases, batting average, on-base percentage, and slugging percentage. He has more walks than strikeouts; hell, he has more stolen bases than strikeouts. It's apparent that he's worked extremely hard to address the few but obvious flaws that hampered him the past few seasons while expanding his strengths even further. It's almost as if the public's fawning over David Wright has inspired him to greatness in a "Hey, don't forget about me, guys" kind of way; unfortunately, we now need Dee-Dub to take a page from Reyes and continue his own evolution. Legging out last night's opposite-field triple meant an insurance run and a pleasant reminder of Wright's capabilities. Keep it up -- both of yous.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
BB King
Game 8 - Mets
Phillies 5, Mets 2
Record: 5-3
Whoa. It was throwback night at Shea Stadium last night, both in the sense of saluting the "gory days" of 2003-04 and also in the sense of throw-up in the back of my mouth.
Come the second inning, the Jekyll/Hyde Oliver Perez was as effective in locating the strike zone as this search. He walked the bases loaded in unsightly fashion (12 balls against two strikes, with a three-pitch strikeout in the middle just for kicks) but escaped trouble by retiring Phillie pitcher Adam Eaton. The next frame began promisingly with a pair of outs, then let us the viewing audience know that Inning 2 was no anomaly. X's cover of the Troggs classic echoed throughout Shea while "Juuust a bit outside" could be heard from every grimacing fan. Lordy.
Fast fact: A skateboard move where you get air without grabbing your board with your hands is called an Ollie.
Fast fact 2: An attempt at said move that results in road rash on your face and neck is called an Ollie Perez.
Aaron "Postur-Pedic" Sele filled in fairly nicely in a not-quite mop-up (swiffer-up?) role after Ollie was -- eventually -- lifted with the score 3-0. Meanwhile, the Metbats were as effective at getting to Eaton as Eaton himself was at getting to his new CD a few years back. And so went the Mets, 5-2. End of story. Fini. That's it.
Oh, right. Like we can leave well enough alone.
The furor in the Mets' tiny corner of the blogosphere over the last day or so has had everything to do with Willie Randolph pitching to Ryan Howard, a move I lambasted below but ultimately cast aside as a one-off blunder. The scrutiny, analysis, and cases made for the prosecution and the defense were everywhere, and from my cursory scans of them, I came away with just one thing: the Township-given nickname for Ambiorix Burgos, "The Amburglar," is one of the best the Mets have ever had. So good.
Wont as I am at times to take Robert Frost's road when it comes to the pervasive sentiments kicking around the Mets' fan base, I didn't dwell on Willie's bungling Monday like the masses did -- instead, I'll flout him for last night's work, which will probably go unmentioned by most. I'm special like that. Anyway, it's the recurrent theme in Mr. Randolph's handling of the pitching staff, his consistent knack for leaving pitchers in the game one to three batters too long. It's a point I've made throughout his tenure here, and it's one contested by more than a few when I've made it, but I won't abandon it just yet.
Based on the second inning's hideous near-miss, Willie Randolph & Rick Peterson should have had the bullpen on high alert, just in case. The aforementioned two quick outs were calming but obviously misleading after the single/walk/walk that followed. And make no mistake -- watching Ollie struggle, it was far clearer than any recap could convey. He didn't have it. A number of his Ball Fours (there were seven of them in 2 2/3 innings, mind you) were two feet out of the zone, high and wide and wild and a sure sign that things were not right with him last night. After he walked Wesse Helms on four not-even-that-close pitches to bring in a run, it was time to go get him.
And then there was that lull, the one where you just know Willie's going to leave him in there. Which was more predictable at that point, the mighty skipper's statuesque, stationary stance or the subsequent base on balls that Oliver Perez promptly issued?
And after that . . . Willie looked on stoically. Okeydokey, Cap'n.
Perez then proceeded to fire a 2-2 pitch off Rod Barajas's knee, so a third Phillie run jogged home. Oh, well, I figured, this is what Willie does on occasion. It's the Alay Soler disaster all over again, conceding victory after a few runs in the early frames. He'll leave Ollie in there to work himself out or die trying, and in turn he saves the bullpen for another day.
And just as the thought crossed my mind, Willie yanked Ollie (turn that around and this site is blocked from work) so that Aaron Sele could come in and face Adam Eaton . . . what??
Well, at least the Met's pitcher spot was second to bat in the bottom of the inning so Sele could hit for himself. I can't comprehend what passes for the handling of pitchers in the Randolph Regime.
I'll refrain from insinuating that this thought process, or lack thereof, was devastatingly egregious, but Willie Randolph's day-late-buck-short hook drives me up a wall. Short of hitting Mr. Met atop the dugout, Oliver Perez couldn't have sent any clearer a signal that he couldn't find the plate last night. When he's on, Smokin' O.P. is unhittable. When he's off, he's also unhittable; some sort of a boat oar or pole vault would have been needed to reach a great many of his offerings. And yet the manager either didn't notice or didn't think it mattered.
In ninth grade, I took the mound for the JV Bulldogs one afternoon with great excitement. I got the first batter to fly out, then walked the next four batsmen on an array of horrible pitches, including one that bounced well before the plate. I was dying out there; I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but nothing was going to help me that day. My manager came out, took the ball, and mercifully sent me over to play first base. (Though I was wishing I could hide my face in the dugout.) The first thing that happened was the old first baseman / new pitcher zipped the ball to me, I tagged out the leaning runner, and it was two down. Refreshed, we came back and won something like 8-3. So maybe that recollection makes me more of a quick hook kind of guy (or maybe it's my softball squad, who let me hand out 41 free passes in 33 innings one season before making a change). Not sure, but I just know there are days when guys "don't have it." Pack 'em up and save 'em for another day.
I can make the standard concessions about using your bullpen shrewdly, patience with pitchers being a virtue, etc., but I'm not being the ignorant fan hollering "Get him outta there!" at every turn. Such hesitation costs the Mets games. Games add up. Last night was even more annoying, since he bailed out on his usual M.O. halfway through it. Look, I can say what I want about the tenets of leaving young pitchers out there to dry, but at least it's an ethos.
All new managers that weren't pitching coaches say that the hardest part of the job is learning to manage the pitching staff during the game. It's Year 3, and this mixed-up, muddled-up, shook-up Big Willie Style of working the 'pen seems as "by the seat of the pants" as any greenhorn skipper.
And that's all I have to say about that. For now.
Phillies 5, Mets 2
Record: 5-3
Whoa. It was throwback night at Shea Stadium last night, both in the sense of saluting the "gory days" of 2003-04 and also in the sense of throw-up in the back of my mouth.
Come the second inning, the Jekyll/Hyde Oliver Perez was as effective in locating the strike zone as this search. He walked the bases loaded in unsightly fashion (12 balls against two strikes, with a three-pitch strikeout in the middle just for kicks) but escaped trouble by retiring Phillie pitcher Adam Eaton. The next frame began promisingly with a pair of outs, then let us the viewing audience know that Inning 2 was no anomaly. X's cover of the Troggs classic echoed throughout Shea while "Juuust a bit outside" could be heard from every grimacing fan. Lordy.
Fast fact: A skateboard move where you get air without grabbing your board with your hands is called an Ollie.
Fast fact 2: An attempt at said move that results in road rash on your face and neck is called an Ollie Perez.
Aaron "Postur-Pedic" Sele filled in fairly nicely in a not-quite mop-up (swiffer-up?) role after Ollie was -- eventually -- lifted with the score 3-0. Meanwhile, the Metbats were as effective at getting to Eaton as Eaton himself was at getting to his new CD a few years back. And so went the Mets, 5-2. End of story. Fini. That's it.
Oh, right. Like we can leave well enough alone.
The furor in the Mets' tiny corner of the blogosphere over the last day or so has had everything to do with Willie Randolph pitching to Ryan Howard, a move I lambasted below but ultimately cast aside as a one-off blunder. The scrutiny, analysis, and cases made for the prosecution and the defense were everywhere, and from my cursory scans of them, I came away with just one thing: the Township-given nickname for Ambiorix Burgos, "The Amburglar," is one of the best the Mets have ever had. So good.
Wont as I am at times to take Robert Frost's road when it comes to the pervasive sentiments kicking around the Mets' fan base, I didn't dwell on Willie's bungling Monday like the masses did -- instead, I'll flout him for last night's work, which will probably go unmentioned by most. I'm special like that. Anyway, it's the recurrent theme in Mr. Randolph's handling of the pitching staff, his consistent knack for leaving pitchers in the game one to three batters too long. It's a point I've made throughout his tenure here, and it's one contested by more than a few when I've made it, but I won't abandon it just yet.
Based on the second inning's hideous near-miss, Willie Randolph & Rick Peterson should have had the bullpen on high alert, just in case. The aforementioned two quick outs were calming but obviously misleading after the single/walk/walk that followed. And make no mistake -- watching Ollie struggle, it was far clearer than any recap could convey. He didn't have it. A number of his Ball Fours (there were seven of them in 2 2/3 innings, mind you) were two feet out of the zone, high and wide and wild and a sure sign that things were not right with him last night. After he walked Wesse Helms on four not-even-that-close pitches to bring in a run, it was time to go get him.
And then there was that lull, the one where you just know Willie's going to leave him in there. Which was more predictable at that point, the mighty skipper's statuesque, stationary stance or the subsequent base on balls that Oliver Perez promptly issued?
And after that . . . Willie looked on stoically. Okeydokey, Cap'n.
Perez then proceeded to fire a 2-2 pitch off Rod Barajas's knee, so a third Phillie run jogged home. Oh, well, I figured, this is what Willie does on occasion. It's the Alay Soler disaster all over again, conceding victory after a few runs in the early frames. He'll leave Ollie in there to work himself out or die trying, and in turn he saves the bullpen for another day.
And just as the thought crossed my mind, Willie yanked Ollie (turn that around and this site is blocked from work) so that Aaron Sele could come in and face Adam Eaton . . . what??
Well, at least the Met's pitcher spot was second to bat in the bottom of the inning so Sele could hit for himself. I can't comprehend what passes for the handling of pitchers in the Randolph Regime.
I'll refrain from insinuating that this thought process, or lack thereof, was devastatingly egregious, but Willie Randolph's day-late-buck-short hook drives me up a wall. Short of hitting Mr. Met atop the dugout, Oliver Perez couldn't have sent any clearer a signal that he couldn't find the plate last night. When he's on, Smokin' O.P. is unhittable. When he's off, he's also unhittable; some sort of a boat oar or pole vault would have been needed to reach a great many of his offerings. And yet the manager either didn't notice or didn't think it mattered.
In ninth grade, I took the mound for the JV Bulldogs one afternoon with great excitement. I got the first batter to fly out, then walked the next four batsmen on an array of horrible pitches, including one that bounced well before the plate. I was dying out there; I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but nothing was going to help me that day. My manager came out, took the ball, and mercifully sent me over to play first base. (Though I was wishing I could hide my face in the dugout.) The first thing that happened was the old first baseman / new pitcher zipped the ball to me, I tagged out the leaning runner, and it was two down. Refreshed, we came back and won something like 8-3. So maybe that recollection makes me more of a quick hook kind of guy (or maybe it's my softball squad, who let me hand out 41 free passes in 33 innings one season before making a change). Not sure, but I just know there are days when guys "don't have it." Pack 'em up and save 'em for another day.
I can make the standard concessions about using your bullpen shrewdly, patience with pitchers being a virtue, etc., but I'm not being the ignorant fan hollering "Get him outta there!" at every turn. Such hesitation costs the Mets games. Games add up. Last night was even more annoying, since he bailed out on his usual M.O. halfway through it. Look, I can say what I want about the tenets of leaving young pitchers out there to dry, but at least it's an ethos.
All new managers that weren't pitching coaches say that the hardest part of the job is learning to manage the pitching staff during the game. It's Year 3, and this mixed-up, muddled-up, shook-up Big Willie Style of working the 'pen seems as "by the seat of the pants" as any greenhorn skipper.
And that's all I have to say about that. For now.
King Missile
Game 8 – Red Sox
Mariners 3, Red Sox 0
Record: 4-4
Man, how great is baseball? I’m quite certain I’ve never felt less deflated after watching the Sox flail harmlessly about for nine innings. Last night was an object lesson in potential realized, and even though it came at the Sox’ expense, I’m glad I got to watch it.
Mariner righty Felix Hernandez woke the echoes of Pedro Martinez in Fenway Park, dominating the Red Sox offense in a complete-game 1-hit effort. J.D. Drew’s sharp single up the middle in the top of the 8th broke up Hernandez’ no-hit bid, but there was little to no chance that the Sox would mount any kind of sustained threat before or after. None of the 3 baserunners wearing home whites so much as reached second base, thanks to Hernandez’ otherworldly assortment of pitches and some timely defense from the Mariners’ middle infield.
As a SoSH poster from last night’s game thread eloquently put it, “I watch Matsuzaka pitch and I think, ‘wow, that’s nasty’. I watch Hernandez pitch, and my reaction is, ‘wow, that’s unhittable’.” Hernandez struggled through a disappointing sophomore campaign in 2006 as a result of carrying a few too many pounds on his young frame. Now 20 pounds lighter after offseason workouts, he’s held opponents to 4 hits in 51 at-bats thus far in 2007. His fastball topped out in the high 90s, and was augmented with nose-diving high 80s curveballs and sliders that skittered away from bats with alarming alacrity. (Cue Bill Raftery, I’m starting to feel it here.) After last night, I’m torn between wishing the Sox played the M’s more often so I could see this kid pitch more frequently, and really happy that the Sox don’t play the M’s more often so they don’t have to get bitch-slapped by a 21 year-old.
With all the oxygen in the greater New England area and most of the sporting universe sucked into Daisuke Matsuzaka’s orbit, it’s a wonder that that Sox’ import was able to lift his arm to get things started against Ichiro last night. Given the circumstances surrounding his home debut and the 45-degree weather, Matsuzaka’s 7-inning, 3-run performance was fairly damn impressive. He clearly struggled with his command, especially on breaking pitches, but even so managed to post a very quality outing. That bodes well for future starts when the weather approaches comfortable and he can relax a bit. Nothing to be ashamed of in last night’s loss, despite the obvious dejection Matsuzaka displayed in his post-game presser.
No real shame for the Sox’ batsmen yesterday, either. They just got beat by a guy who pitched what will almost certainly wind up as one of the top 3 games anyone will throw at the Sox all year. Tip your cap, and dig in against Jarrod Washburn this afternoon. Baseball, it’s pretty damn cool.
Mariners 3, Red Sox 0
Record: 4-4
Man, how great is baseball? I’m quite certain I’ve never felt less deflated after watching the Sox flail harmlessly about for nine innings. Last night was an object lesson in potential realized, and even though it came at the Sox’ expense, I’m glad I got to watch it.
Mariner righty Felix Hernandez woke the echoes of Pedro Martinez in Fenway Park, dominating the Red Sox offense in a complete-game 1-hit effort. J.D. Drew’s sharp single up the middle in the top of the 8th broke up Hernandez’ no-hit bid, but there was little to no chance that the Sox would mount any kind of sustained threat before or after. None of the 3 baserunners wearing home whites so much as reached second base, thanks to Hernandez’ otherworldly assortment of pitches and some timely defense from the Mariners’ middle infield.
As a SoSH poster from last night’s game thread eloquently put it, “I watch Matsuzaka pitch and I think, ‘wow, that’s nasty’. I watch Hernandez pitch, and my reaction is, ‘wow, that’s unhittable’.” Hernandez struggled through a disappointing sophomore campaign in 2006 as a result of carrying a few too many pounds on his young frame. Now 20 pounds lighter after offseason workouts, he’s held opponents to 4 hits in 51 at-bats thus far in 2007. His fastball topped out in the high 90s, and was augmented with nose-diving high 80s curveballs and sliders that skittered away from bats with alarming alacrity. (Cue Bill Raftery, I’m starting to feel it here.) After last night, I’m torn between wishing the Sox played the M’s more often so I could see this kid pitch more frequently, and really happy that the Sox don’t play the M’s more often so they don’t have to get bitch-slapped by a 21 year-old.
With all the oxygen in the greater New England area and most of the sporting universe sucked into Daisuke Matsuzaka’s orbit, it’s a wonder that that Sox’ import was able to lift his arm to get things started against Ichiro last night. Given the circumstances surrounding his home debut and the 45-degree weather, Matsuzaka’s 7-inning, 3-run performance was fairly damn impressive. He clearly struggled with his command, especially on breaking pitches, but even so managed to post a very quality outing. That bodes well for future starts when the weather approaches comfortable and he can relax a bit. Nothing to be ashamed of in last night’s loss, despite the obvious dejection Matsuzaka displayed in his post-game presser.
No real shame for the Sox’ batsmen yesterday, either. They just got beat by a guy who pitched what will almost certainly wind up as one of the top 3 games anyone will throw at the Sox all year. Tip your cap, and dig in against Jarrod Washburn this afternoon. Baseball, it’s pretty damn cool.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The Wreckers
Game 7 - Red Sox
Red Sox 14, Seattle Mariners 3
Record: 4-3
Hard to find anything to complain about in a 14-3 asskicking, so I'll just sit back, smoke this cigar, drink this beer (Sierra Nevada - nothing fancy this evening) and enjoy the afterglow.
Josh Beckett's now pitched 12 innings in 2007 and given up 4 hits and 2 runs. A few more outings like this afternoon's and we'll have to consign the Ebby Calvin moniker to the celluloid dustbin. Matsuzaka lifts an eyebrow and smiles coyly, telling Beckett, "Ah, you are indeed a gladiator. Perhaps I underestimated your karate after that season-opening start." Of course, he was speaking Japanese, so all Beckett understood was "karate". In fact, I'd pay really good money to watch Beckett and Matsuzaka try to communicate with one another.
Jason Varitek had 3 hits and drove in 3 runs, silencing for the next day or so the growing chorus of worry surrounding the captain and his diminshed batsmanship. In terms of the volume of grumbling, it's pretty much Varitek, Coco Crisp, Julian Tavarez, Mike Lowell, and the field for Sox fans over the season's first week. I'm all for the wisdom of the masses in this case.
J.D. Drew chose an auspicious time to hit his first homer in a Sox uniform, launching one to centerfield to give the Sox a 7-0 lead in the 2nd inning. WEEI plans to run an expose tomorrow on Drew, certain that he could've hit a homer in the first inning, but for his utter lack of "gamerness" and "dirtdoggitude".
Matsuzaka takes on the Mariners tomorrow evening as he makes his debut in home whites. I'm trying, really trying, to manage my expectations. He is, after all, human. I think.
Red Sox 14, Seattle Mariners 3
Record: 4-3
Hard to find anything to complain about in a 14-3 asskicking, so I'll just sit back, smoke this cigar, drink this beer (Sierra Nevada - nothing fancy this evening) and enjoy the afterglow.
Josh Beckett's now pitched 12 innings in 2007 and given up 4 hits and 2 runs. A few more outings like this afternoon's and we'll have to consign the Ebby Calvin moniker to the celluloid dustbin. Matsuzaka lifts an eyebrow and smiles coyly, telling Beckett, "Ah, you are indeed a gladiator. Perhaps I underestimated your karate after that season-opening start." Of course, he was speaking Japanese, so all Beckett understood was "karate". In fact, I'd pay really good money to watch Beckett and Matsuzaka try to communicate with one another.
Jason Varitek had 3 hits and drove in 3 runs, silencing for the next day or so the growing chorus of worry surrounding the captain and his diminshed batsmanship. In terms of the volume of grumbling, it's pretty much Varitek, Coco Crisp, Julian Tavarez, Mike Lowell, and the field for Sox fans over the season's first week. I'm all for the wisdom of the masses in this case.
J.D. Drew chose an auspicious time to hit his first homer in a Sox uniform, launching one to centerfield to give the Sox a 7-0 lead in the 2nd inning. WEEI plans to run an expose tomorrow on Drew, certain that he could've hit a homer in the first inning, but for his utter lack of "gamerness" and "dirtdoggitude".
Matsuzaka takes on the Mariners tomorrow evening as he makes his debut in home whites. I'm trying, really trying, to manage my expectations. He is, after all, human. I think.
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