Coming to Grips
Several times in the past week, I've spontaneously and all-but-involuntarily burst out yelling, "How the fuck did they lose that game?!?". I've replayed the 8th inning over and over again, and I can't get past Grady Little's immense mishandling of the most critical situation in his managerial tenure.
Monday, October 20, 2003
Friday, October 17, 2003
American League Championship Series - Games 6 & 7
Red Sox 9, Yankees 6
Yankees 6, Red Sox 5 (11)
Red Sox lose, 4 games to 3 (mind you, Red Sox lose, not Yankees win)
I suppose I'll look back on this season in the coming weeks and months and remember the 2003 Red Sox fondly. I'm not nearly ready to talk about them now, though.
In short, and I'll expand upon this soon, the Red Sox manager cost his team a shot at a World Series title. With glory a few outs away, Grady Little froze, and in so doing added his name to the pantheon of Red Sox anti-heroes. Little had the chance to immortalize Pedro Martinez and himself, and instead cast shame on both men. By failing to make the most elementary of decisions, Grady Little banished the 2003 Red Sox to the same historical scrap pile as the '86, '78, '75, '67, 'and '46 versions of the Olde Towne Team, and ushered the Yankees to their 27th World Championship.
The Yankees weren't better than the Red Sox, just more ready to win, and guided by more stable and capable hands. No more ball left. No more targets, just a sick feeling in my stomach.
Red Sox 9, Yankees 6
Yankees 6, Red Sox 5 (11)
Red Sox lose, 4 games to 3 (mind you, Red Sox lose, not Yankees win)
I suppose I'll look back on this season in the coming weeks and months and remember the 2003 Red Sox fondly. I'm not nearly ready to talk about them now, though.
In short, and I'll expand upon this soon, the Red Sox manager cost his team a shot at a World Series title. With glory a few outs away, Grady Little froze, and in so doing added his name to the pantheon of Red Sox anti-heroes. Little had the chance to immortalize Pedro Martinez and himself, and instead cast shame on both men. By failing to make the most elementary of decisions, Grady Little banished the 2003 Red Sox to the same historical scrap pile as the '86, '78, '75, '67, 'and '46 versions of the Olde Towne Team, and ushered the Yankees to their 27th World Championship.
The Yankees weren't better than the Red Sox, just more ready to win, and guided by more stable and capable hands. No more ball left. No more targets, just a sick feeling in my stomach.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
American League Championship Series - Games 4 & 5
Red Sox 3, Yankees 2
Yankees 4, Red Sox 2
Up, down, up, down, and where the hell are the bats. 10 games into this rollercoaster postseason and the Sox have scored a total of 32 runs. The best offense in the history of baseball - at least by some statistical measures - has averaged 3.2 runs per game. Some might argue that the pitching is better in the postseason, and they would be right, to a degree. But 3 runs a game better? Holding the Sox to a .190 batting average better? I think not.
Who would have thought that my final few entries of the season would bemoan the lack of offense, and praise the bullpen? (And don't get all negative on me - maximum, I've got 9 games left to discuss.) The Sox pitching staff has allowed 36 runs in 10 games, and the bullpen has been absolutely sick. The best offense in baseball? Nowhere to be found. Nomar Garciaparra has left man after man after man on base, and even when he finally drove in a run yesterday, he did it with a groundout. Manny Ramirez has failed time after time, including yesterday, when he flailed defensively at a David Wells curveball with the bases loaded and two outs to end the inning with a meek groundout. David Ortiz is batting .188. Kevin Millar, .156, but he looks worse than that. Johnny Damon, Todd Walker, and Trot Nixon are the only Sox who are producing, and that doesn't sustain victories.
The Sox face the Yankees today in the Bronx, with John Burkett taking the hill against Andy Pettitte. This is a colossal mismatch on paper.
But here's the thing:
Haven't we been on this ride long enough to know that this Sox team is at its best when the chips are down? Aren't the Sox bats due to wake up and rip off back to back double-digit outbursts? Jump on the Positivity Train, boys and girls, next stop Game 1 of the World Series. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Red Sox 3, Yankees 2
Yankees 4, Red Sox 2
Up, down, up, down, and where the hell are the bats. 10 games into this rollercoaster postseason and the Sox have scored a total of 32 runs. The best offense in the history of baseball - at least by some statistical measures - has averaged 3.2 runs per game. Some might argue that the pitching is better in the postseason, and they would be right, to a degree. But 3 runs a game better? Holding the Sox to a .190 batting average better? I think not.
Who would have thought that my final few entries of the season would bemoan the lack of offense, and praise the bullpen? (And don't get all negative on me - maximum, I've got 9 games left to discuss.) The Sox pitching staff has allowed 36 runs in 10 games, and the bullpen has been absolutely sick. The best offense in baseball? Nowhere to be found. Nomar Garciaparra has left man after man after man on base, and even when he finally drove in a run yesterday, he did it with a groundout. Manny Ramirez has failed time after time, including yesterday, when he flailed defensively at a David Wells curveball with the bases loaded and two outs to end the inning with a meek groundout. David Ortiz is batting .188. Kevin Millar, .156, but he looks worse than that. Johnny Damon, Todd Walker, and Trot Nixon are the only Sox who are producing, and that doesn't sustain victories.
The Sox face the Yankees today in the Bronx, with John Burkett taking the hill against Andy Pettitte. This is a colossal mismatch on paper.
But here's the thing:
Haven't we been on this ride long enough to know that this Sox team is at its best when the chips are down? Aren't the Sox bats due to wake up and rip off back to back double-digit outbursts? Jump on the Positivity Train, boys and girls, next stop Game 1 of the World Series. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Saturday, October 11, 2003
American League Championship Series - Games 2 & 3
Yankees 6, Red Sox 2
Yankees 4, Red Sox 3
This Sox team refuses to make anything easy. One flat game, and one really ugly game, and the Yankees have ripped the momentum right back.
The Game 2 loss was pretty much preordained, in hindsight. Derek Lowe was game, but just a touch off after pitching in 3 of 5 ALDS games. I don't hang this one on him. I had a bad feeling after 7 of the first 9 Sox batters reached base and they only plated 1 run. Turned to my mother, who is visiting for the week (and, not incidentally, making it really hard for me to fully release my psychosis during the games), and said, "That'll come back to haunt them." And it did.
Today's game, though, was a different deal altogether. The Sox spotted Pedro a 2-0 lead after the first inning, but he couldn't keep them in check - the story of several Pedro vs. New York outings this year. It was ugly enough when Derek Jeter pounded a hanging breaking pitch over the Monster in the 3rd inning, but things took a turn for the surreal in the 4th. Pedro had given up a double to Hideki Matsui to give the Yankees a 3-2 lead and leave runners on 2nd and 3rd with no outs. His next pitch was a straight fastball at Karim Garcia's head, which drilled the Yankee batsman on the upper back as he frantically dipped out of the way.
Garcia yelled at Pedro, Pedro yelled back, both benches were warned, and Pedro went back to work. Make no mistake, Pedro threw at Garcia. I'll defend Pedro to the ends of the earth for his heart and guts, but he was pissed because he wasn't making good pitches, and he tried to drill Garcia. No doubt in my mind.
Alfonso Soriano grounded into a 6-4-3 double play, during which Garcia took out his anger at Pedro with a late, dangerous slide into Todd Walker's knees. As players from both benches moved to the top steps of the dugout, Pedro got into a verbal altercation with Yankee catcher Jorge Posada, during which it appeared that Martinez told Posada that he would throw at his head next. Yankee bench coach and Gollum understudy Don Zimmer was especially mouthy during the exchange, which ended with players from both teams milling about outside their dugouts.
Manny Ramirez led off the bottom of the 4th (sidebar: shocker that Nomar made another out. No. 5 is my favorite Sox player, but he has killed them in this series - mediocre offense from him today and they win easily.), Yankee pitcher Roger Clemens missed very high (but not really inside) with a 1-2 pitch. Manny took serious offense, walking several steps toward the mound and engaging Clemens in an academic discussion about the uses of the words "Fuck", "You", and "Off".
Both benches cleared, and trouble would have been avoided, except that the 72 year-old Zimmer charged Pedro and took a wild swing at the already-irritated Sox hurler. Pedro grabbed Zimmer around the head and shoulders and drove him to the ground. It looked awful initially, when the cameras only caught the last part of it and missed Zimmer's provocation. Pedro was defending himself, but history will not be kind to a 30 year-old athlete who injured a senior citizen. It was among the most bizarre situations in an already Dali-esque postseason for the Sox. Can't wait to see Shaughnessy's anti-Pedro rant in tomorrow's Globe.
The game calmed way down after the fireworks, with the Sox missing a golden opportunity to get back into the contest with runners on 1st and 3rd and no out in the 7th. To their credit, they did not roll over after the disturbance, and Pedro himself was unhittable after the 4th. The damage had been done, though, and the Yankees ran the table in the 8th and 9th behind Mariano Rivera to take a 2-1 series lead.
Things appear bleak for my boys, down in the series and facing a John Burkett start in tomorrow's game. By all rights, the Yankees should end this series in Boston.
But here's the thing:
I will continue to be positive about this team. I got away from it a little bit today because I was disappointed in Pedro's lack of composure, but this team will not die. They will batter David Wells in Game 4 and go into Game 5 rejuvenated. The 2003 Red Sox are not going out soft. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Yankees 6, Red Sox 2
Yankees 4, Red Sox 3
This Sox team refuses to make anything easy. One flat game, and one really ugly game, and the Yankees have ripped the momentum right back.
The Game 2 loss was pretty much preordained, in hindsight. Derek Lowe was game, but just a touch off after pitching in 3 of 5 ALDS games. I don't hang this one on him. I had a bad feeling after 7 of the first 9 Sox batters reached base and they only plated 1 run. Turned to my mother, who is visiting for the week (and, not incidentally, making it really hard for me to fully release my psychosis during the games), and said, "That'll come back to haunt them." And it did.
Today's game, though, was a different deal altogether. The Sox spotted Pedro a 2-0 lead after the first inning, but he couldn't keep them in check - the story of several Pedro vs. New York outings this year. It was ugly enough when Derek Jeter pounded a hanging breaking pitch over the Monster in the 3rd inning, but things took a turn for the surreal in the 4th. Pedro had given up a double to Hideki Matsui to give the Yankees a 3-2 lead and leave runners on 2nd and 3rd with no outs. His next pitch was a straight fastball at Karim Garcia's head, which drilled the Yankee batsman on the upper back as he frantically dipped out of the way.
Garcia yelled at Pedro, Pedro yelled back, both benches were warned, and Pedro went back to work. Make no mistake, Pedro threw at Garcia. I'll defend Pedro to the ends of the earth for his heart and guts, but he was pissed because he wasn't making good pitches, and he tried to drill Garcia. No doubt in my mind.
Alfonso Soriano grounded into a 6-4-3 double play, during which Garcia took out his anger at Pedro with a late, dangerous slide into Todd Walker's knees. As players from both benches moved to the top steps of the dugout, Pedro got into a verbal altercation with Yankee catcher Jorge Posada, during which it appeared that Martinez told Posada that he would throw at his head next. Yankee bench coach and Gollum understudy Don Zimmer was especially mouthy during the exchange, which ended with players from both teams milling about outside their dugouts.
Manny Ramirez led off the bottom of the 4th (sidebar: shocker that Nomar made another out. No. 5 is my favorite Sox player, but he has killed them in this series - mediocre offense from him today and they win easily.), Yankee pitcher Roger Clemens missed very high (but not really inside) with a 1-2 pitch. Manny took serious offense, walking several steps toward the mound and engaging Clemens in an academic discussion about the uses of the words "Fuck", "You", and "Off".
Both benches cleared, and trouble would have been avoided, except that the 72 year-old Zimmer charged Pedro and took a wild swing at the already-irritated Sox hurler. Pedro grabbed Zimmer around the head and shoulders and drove him to the ground. It looked awful initially, when the cameras only caught the last part of it and missed Zimmer's provocation. Pedro was defending himself, but history will not be kind to a 30 year-old athlete who injured a senior citizen. It was among the most bizarre situations in an already Dali-esque postseason for the Sox. Can't wait to see Shaughnessy's anti-Pedro rant in tomorrow's Globe.
The game calmed way down after the fireworks, with the Sox missing a golden opportunity to get back into the contest with runners on 1st and 3rd and no out in the 7th. To their credit, they did not roll over after the disturbance, and Pedro himself was unhittable after the 4th. The damage had been done, though, and the Yankees ran the table in the 8th and 9th behind Mariano Rivera to take a 2-1 series lead.
Things appear bleak for my boys, down in the series and facing a John Burkett start in tomorrow's game. By all rights, the Yankees should end this series in Boston.
But here's the thing:
I will continue to be positive about this team. I got away from it a little bit today because I was disappointed in Pedro's lack of composure, but this team will not die. They will batter David Wells in Game 4 and go into Game 5 rejuvenated. The 2003 Red Sox are not going out soft. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Thursday, October 09, 2003
American League Championship Series - Game 1
Red Sox 5, New York Yankees 2
The Yankees had everything tilting in their favor heading into Game 1 of the most highly anticipated ALCS in years. The New York nine were rested and ready to drum the Sox and their #3 starter, Tim Wakefield in front of a packed house in the Bronx. The national media was eulogizing the Sox after their draining series against Oakland. A funny thing happened on the way to a Yankee sweep: Tim Wakefield's knuckleball fluttered and danced its way past the Yankees' bats, Manny, Ortiz, and Walker went longball, Derek Jeter's abysmal range was exposed, the much-maligned Boston bullpen pitched three scoreless innings, and the Sox won without a whole lot of drama.
My take is that the Sox had absolutely no pressure to win Game 1, and they played the same brand of loose, freewheeling baseball that got them into the playoffs, and it paid off. Meanwhile, the heavily favored Yankees made a series of little mistakes - maybe because of tension - that wound up costing them: Mussina grooved a fastball to Ortiz after just failing to reach Manny's bouncer to the right side; Jeter just missed two ground balls that most shortstops would have routinely fielded; the Yankee bats failed to take advantage of scoring opportunities in the early innings, and so on.
Now, the Sox are under even less pressure, but the Yankees have the weight of the world on their shoulders. I honestly felt really good about Game 1 - based on the "no pressure" theory I posited above. I feel great about Game 2, because I have renewed faith in Derek Lowe. And - here's the kicker - even if the Sox lay an egg, which is certainly possible given that their adrenaline high has to fade one of these days, they've still split in the Bronx with Pedro on the hill for Game 3.
Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Red Sox 5, New York Yankees 2
The Yankees had everything tilting in their favor heading into Game 1 of the most highly anticipated ALCS in years. The New York nine were rested and ready to drum the Sox and their #3 starter, Tim Wakefield in front of a packed house in the Bronx. The national media was eulogizing the Sox after their draining series against Oakland. A funny thing happened on the way to a Yankee sweep: Tim Wakefield's knuckleball fluttered and danced its way past the Yankees' bats, Manny, Ortiz, and Walker went longball, Derek Jeter's abysmal range was exposed, the much-maligned Boston bullpen pitched three scoreless innings, and the Sox won without a whole lot of drama.
My take is that the Sox had absolutely no pressure to win Game 1, and they played the same brand of loose, freewheeling baseball that got them into the playoffs, and it paid off. Meanwhile, the heavily favored Yankees made a series of little mistakes - maybe because of tension - that wound up costing them: Mussina grooved a fastball to Ortiz after just failing to reach Manny's bouncer to the right side; Jeter just missed two ground balls that most shortstops would have routinely fielded; the Yankee bats failed to take advantage of scoring opportunities in the early innings, and so on.
Now, the Sox are under even less pressure, but the Yankees have the weight of the world on their shoulders. I honestly felt really good about Game 1 - based on the "no pressure" theory I posited above. I feel great about Game 2, because I have renewed faith in Derek Lowe. And - here's the kicker - even if the Sox lay an egg, which is certainly possible given that their adrenaline high has to fade one of these days, they've still split in the Bronx with Pedro on the hill for Game 3.
Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
American League Divisional Series - Game 5
Red Sox 4, Oakland A's 3
Sox win series, 3-2
I will never, ever, ever say another bad thing about Derek Lowe's psychological makeup. The Sox hurler turned in one of the epic clutch pitching performances in baseball history last night, rescuing the Sox from a potentially devastating, and certainly season-ending loss, and catapulting the Sox into the AL Championship Series against the Yankees.
Lowe entered the game in the bottom of the 9th with the Sox clinging to a 4-3 lead after Scott Williamson had walked the first two batters of the inning. (Williamson was working for the 5th straight game, so I'm going to cut him some slack, and know that he's ready for the Yankees.) Ramon Hernandez bunted the runners over, leaving A's on 2nd and 3rd with one out, and the series winning run on second base.
The Sox drew the infield in to cut off the run from third, exposing themselves to potential doom if a dribbler snuck through to the outfield. A single almost certainly would have ended the series, as the Sox outfield was playing deep. Lowe, the league's most proficient groundball pitcher, had to pitch against type and not allow any contact at all. I was lightheaded from holding my breath, and next to exhausted from expending vast amounts of nervous energy. Lowe went 3-2 to pinch hitter Adam Melhuse before freezing the Oakland backup catcher with a sick frontdoor slider/cut fastball.
Lowe walked the next batter after battling for several pitchers, filling the bases and bringing Terrence Long to the plate. The Oakland Coliseum was absolutely batshit, and I was curled into a fetal position on my couch, mumbling to myself and talking to the television like a heroin addict in the throes of a particularly bad withdrawal. The count to Long reached 2 strikes, and Lowe broke off one of the nastiest pressure pitches I have or will ever see. The ball started at Long's midsection, then dove as if radar-controlled towards the outside corner. The umpire rang Long up, I leapt from the couch, Lowe punched the air, and the entire Sox team rushed the pitcher's mound in a mix of pent-up tension and joy.
Lowe's performance was the stuff of New England legends, but there were several other critical - if only slightly less nerve-wracking - plays that contributed to this win:
1. Jason Varitek hit a solo homer off of Barry Zito to open the 6th inning and tie the game at 1. Zito had been flat out dealing for the first 4+ innings - absolutely unhittable. Finally, in the 5th, his curveball started to miss the strike zone, and he started to struggle with his command. "He's losing it," I said to nobody in particular. I kept repeating that mantra in the 6th, as Johnny Damon followed Tek's homer with a walk, and then Zito hit Todd Walker after inducing Nomar to pop out (shocked, I'm shocked). Manny followed Walker, and...
2...just missed a 2-strike fastball, fouling it straight back. Zito had made Manny look silly in his first two plate appearances, but then the Oakland lefty tempted fate, coming back with another fastball in the same place, and Manny belted it to left. As the ball left the bat, Manny simply walked about ten paces towards first, then pointed at the Sox dugout with Crash Davis-esque glee as the ball richocheted off the concrete steps beyond the left-field wall. Fox broadcasters Steve Lyons and Thom Brenneman excoriated Manny for his hotdogging far beyond what was appropriate for the transgression. Yes, Manny showboated. Yes, it was probably over the top. But Lyons and Brenneman made it a Federal crime. Tell you what, Psycho. Next time you hit a three-run homer in a series-deciding playoff game, you get to judge Manny. Until then, keep your pants on and stick to what you know.
3. In the bottom of the 7th, with the score now 4-2, Oakland's Jermaine Dye lifted a two-out popup to shallow center. Damian Jackson raced out after the ball, and Johnny Damon sprinted in to get it. The two collided in one of the most gruesome baseball moments I've ever seen, rendering them both prostrate. As they lay motionless, Nomar stepped between them, retrieved the ball and slung it to second, where thirdbaseman Bill Mueller - in one of the great heads-up plays of the series - had moved to cover the empty bag. Nomar's throw beat the sliding Dye to end the inning.
4. Alan Embree and Mike Timlin slammed the door on the A's in the bottom of the 8th, after Pedro surrendered back to back hits to make the score 4-3. Huge, huge performance in this game and in the whole series by the Boston bullpen, who surrendered 2 earned runs in 16 innings to keep the Sox alive.
5. Mad props to Whitney Lester, who donned an A's cap in a successful attempt to jinx the Oakland nine. Of course, this followed two horrible losses that were registered when he was openly rooting for the Red Sox. I'm in the process of purchasing him some Yankee paraphenalia. Which leads me to...
The American League Championship Series
Sox versus Yankees. Good versus evil. Years of frustration versus dynastic dominance. Blah blah blah. The Yankees have all the advantages in this series: they're at home for 4 games, they have their pitching rotation set perfectly - while the Sox have to start the series with Tim Wakefield, Johnny Damon may not play at all in the series - at least at this writing, the Yankee bats are booming, and their bullpen is rested. So why do I think that the Sox are ready to Cowboy Up and make some magic? To steal from my all-time favorite movie goosebump scene, you tell the Yankees the Sox are coming, and hell's coming with them.
Lotta ball left. Stay on target
Red Sox 4, Oakland A's 3
Sox win series, 3-2
I will never, ever, ever say another bad thing about Derek Lowe's psychological makeup. The Sox hurler turned in one of the epic clutch pitching performances in baseball history last night, rescuing the Sox from a potentially devastating, and certainly season-ending loss, and catapulting the Sox into the AL Championship Series against the Yankees.
Lowe entered the game in the bottom of the 9th with the Sox clinging to a 4-3 lead after Scott Williamson had walked the first two batters of the inning. (Williamson was working for the 5th straight game, so I'm going to cut him some slack, and know that he's ready for the Yankees.) Ramon Hernandez bunted the runners over, leaving A's on 2nd and 3rd with one out, and the series winning run on second base.
The Sox drew the infield in to cut off the run from third, exposing themselves to potential doom if a dribbler snuck through to the outfield. A single almost certainly would have ended the series, as the Sox outfield was playing deep. Lowe, the league's most proficient groundball pitcher, had to pitch against type and not allow any contact at all. I was lightheaded from holding my breath, and next to exhausted from expending vast amounts of nervous energy. Lowe went 3-2 to pinch hitter Adam Melhuse before freezing the Oakland backup catcher with a sick frontdoor slider/cut fastball.
Lowe walked the next batter after battling for several pitchers, filling the bases and bringing Terrence Long to the plate. The Oakland Coliseum was absolutely batshit, and I was curled into a fetal position on my couch, mumbling to myself and talking to the television like a heroin addict in the throes of a particularly bad withdrawal. The count to Long reached 2 strikes, and Lowe broke off one of the nastiest pressure pitches I have or will ever see. The ball started at Long's midsection, then dove as if radar-controlled towards the outside corner. The umpire rang Long up, I leapt from the couch, Lowe punched the air, and the entire Sox team rushed the pitcher's mound in a mix of pent-up tension and joy.
Lowe's performance was the stuff of New England legends, but there were several other critical - if only slightly less nerve-wracking - plays that contributed to this win:
1. Jason Varitek hit a solo homer off of Barry Zito to open the 6th inning and tie the game at 1. Zito had been flat out dealing for the first 4+ innings - absolutely unhittable. Finally, in the 5th, his curveball started to miss the strike zone, and he started to struggle with his command. "He's losing it," I said to nobody in particular. I kept repeating that mantra in the 6th, as Johnny Damon followed Tek's homer with a walk, and then Zito hit Todd Walker after inducing Nomar to pop out (shocked, I'm shocked). Manny followed Walker, and...
2...just missed a 2-strike fastball, fouling it straight back. Zito had made Manny look silly in his first two plate appearances, but then the Oakland lefty tempted fate, coming back with another fastball in the same place, and Manny belted it to left. As the ball left the bat, Manny simply walked about ten paces towards first, then pointed at the Sox dugout with Crash Davis-esque glee as the ball richocheted off the concrete steps beyond the left-field wall. Fox broadcasters Steve Lyons and Thom Brenneman excoriated Manny for his hotdogging far beyond what was appropriate for the transgression. Yes, Manny showboated. Yes, it was probably over the top. But Lyons and Brenneman made it a Federal crime. Tell you what, Psycho. Next time you hit a three-run homer in a series-deciding playoff game, you get to judge Manny. Until then, keep your pants on and stick to what you know.
3. In the bottom of the 7th, with the score now 4-2, Oakland's Jermaine Dye lifted a two-out popup to shallow center. Damian Jackson raced out after the ball, and Johnny Damon sprinted in to get it. The two collided in one of the most gruesome baseball moments I've ever seen, rendering them both prostrate. As they lay motionless, Nomar stepped between them, retrieved the ball and slung it to second, where thirdbaseman Bill Mueller - in one of the great heads-up plays of the series - had moved to cover the empty bag. Nomar's throw beat the sliding Dye to end the inning.
4. Alan Embree and Mike Timlin slammed the door on the A's in the bottom of the 8th, after Pedro surrendered back to back hits to make the score 4-3. Huge, huge performance in this game and in the whole series by the Boston bullpen, who surrendered 2 earned runs in 16 innings to keep the Sox alive.
5. Mad props to Whitney Lester, who donned an A's cap in a successful attempt to jinx the Oakland nine. Of course, this followed two horrible losses that were registered when he was openly rooting for the Red Sox. I'm in the process of purchasing him some Yankee paraphenalia. Which leads me to...
The American League Championship Series
Sox versus Yankees. Good versus evil. Years of frustration versus dynastic dominance. Blah blah blah. The Yankees have all the advantages in this series: they're at home for 4 games, they have their pitching rotation set perfectly - while the Sox have to start the series with Tim Wakefield, Johnny Damon may not play at all in the series - at least at this writing, the Yankee bats are booming, and their bullpen is rested. So why do I think that the Sox are ready to Cowboy Up and make some magic? To steal from my all-time favorite movie goosebump scene, you tell the Yankees the Sox are coming, and hell's coming with them.
Lotta ball left. Stay on target
Monday, October 06, 2003
American League Divisional Series - Games 3 & 4
Red Sox 3, Oakland A's 1 (11)
Red Sox 5, Oakland A's 4
Told ya so.
The Sox won two of the most wrenching, bizarre, seat-of-the-pants, edge-of-the-seat spellbinders I've ever seen to force Game 5 of the ALDS. And now Pedro goes on full rest against Barry Zito, who is pitching for the first time in his career on three days' rest. Oh, and did I mention that Tim Hudson told reporters, "I'd rather have Barry Zito than Pedro Martinez any day."? Hudson, probably embarrassed about having to leave yesterday's game after 1 inning, just yanked hard on Superman's cape.
I'm getting exhausted recounting this team's resiliency and refusal to go quietly. They were on the ropes late again yesterday, trailing 4-2 after the top of the 6th. They were down, 4-3, heading to the bottom of the 9th with Oakland closer Keith Foulke taking the hill. And I knew - knew - that they were going to win. Nomar doubled with one out, but Walker popped up to put the Sox on the brink.
I was sitting forward on my couch, gripping and regripping my daughter's soccer ball (with pretty ladybug designs), rocking back and forth like a mental patient (or Braves pitching coach Leo Mazzone). Manny woke from his series-long slumber and ripped a groundball to left, but he hit it so hard that Nomar had to stop at third.
David Ortiz, who - as much as anyone - symbolizes the Sox magic this season, stepped up with two on and two out. Ortiz had been mired in an 0-for-16 slump in the series, when even mediocrity would have meant at least 1 more Sox victory. The big Dominican worked the count to 3-and-2, and...smoked a laser to right. I leapt off the couch with both arms raised, thinking it was into the seats. The Sox crowd let out a feral roar as Oakland's Jermaine Dye raced back to the wall. The ball arced over Dye's glove, short-hopping the rightfield wall. Dye's throw to the infield sailed over the cutoff man's head as Manny slid gleefully across the plate with the go-ahead run.
Red Sox Nation was delirious. Though my daughter was napping, I could not control my emotions, screaming "Yes, Yes, Yes" at the top of my lungs. (Coupled with several "Fucks" from earlier in the game, and aided by open windows on a beautiful fall day, my outbursts surely have my neighbors questioning my sanity, or what goes on in my house.) My daughter woke up crying, and I had to sprint upstairs to comfort her, saying, "Daddy's yelling because he's happy, not upset. The Red Sox do that to Daddy sometimes." I think she understood.
Scott Williamson absolutely slammed the door on the A's in the top of the 9th. (Side note: So that's what it feels like to have a closer. Interesting.) Game over, and Game On!
Game 5 tonight. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Red Sox 3, Oakland A's 1 (11)
Red Sox 5, Oakland A's 4
Told ya so.
The Sox won two of the most wrenching, bizarre, seat-of-the-pants, edge-of-the-seat spellbinders I've ever seen to force Game 5 of the ALDS. And now Pedro goes on full rest against Barry Zito, who is pitching for the first time in his career on three days' rest. Oh, and did I mention that Tim Hudson told reporters, "I'd rather have Barry Zito than Pedro Martinez any day."? Hudson, probably embarrassed about having to leave yesterday's game after 1 inning, just yanked hard on Superman's cape.
I'm getting exhausted recounting this team's resiliency and refusal to go quietly. They were on the ropes late again yesterday, trailing 4-2 after the top of the 6th. They were down, 4-3, heading to the bottom of the 9th with Oakland closer Keith Foulke taking the hill. And I knew - knew - that they were going to win. Nomar doubled with one out, but Walker popped up to put the Sox on the brink.
I was sitting forward on my couch, gripping and regripping my daughter's soccer ball (with pretty ladybug designs), rocking back and forth like a mental patient (or Braves pitching coach Leo Mazzone). Manny woke from his series-long slumber and ripped a groundball to left, but he hit it so hard that Nomar had to stop at third.
David Ortiz, who - as much as anyone - symbolizes the Sox magic this season, stepped up with two on and two out. Ortiz had been mired in an 0-for-16 slump in the series, when even mediocrity would have meant at least 1 more Sox victory. The big Dominican worked the count to 3-and-2, and...smoked a laser to right. I leapt off the couch with both arms raised, thinking it was into the seats. The Sox crowd let out a feral roar as Oakland's Jermaine Dye raced back to the wall. The ball arced over Dye's glove, short-hopping the rightfield wall. Dye's throw to the infield sailed over the cutoff man's head as Manny slid gleefully across the plate with the go-ahead run.
Red Sox Nation was delirious. Though my daughter was napping, I could not control my emotions, screaming "Yes, Yes, Yes" at the top of my lungs. (Coupled with several "Fucks" from earlier in the game, and aided by open windows on a beautiful fall day, my outbursts surely have my neighbors questioning my sanity, or what goes on in my house.) My daughter woke up crying, and I had to sprint upstairs to comfort her, saying, "Daddy's yelling because he's happy, not upset. The Red Sox do that to Daddy sometimes." I think she understood.
Scott Williamson absolutely slammed the door on the A's in the top of the 9th. (Side note: So that's what it feels like to have a closer. Interesting.) Game over, and Game On!
Game 5 tonight. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Friday, October 03, 2003
American League Divisional Series, Games 1 & 2
Oakland A's 5, Red Sox 4 (12)
Oakland A's 5, Red Sox 1
I'm very, very hesitant to type this entry, because I'm emotionally and physically drained by the Sox efforts in the first two games of the ALDS, and I don't want my psychic state to color my fondness for the 2003 Boston Red Sox. That said, what an unmercifully painful cockpunch these first two games provided.
Game 1 was moments away from being an all-time great Sox victory. It had so many positive elements - great, clutch performance by Todd Walker, stone cold willpower from Pedro, a come-from-behind surprise, a terrific performance by Mike Timlin, and then...and then the manager stepped in and snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. B.H. Kim recorded two outs in the bottom of the 9th - he scuffled, and he had men on first and second, but he was one out from victory with Erubiel Durazo headed to the plate. Grady yanked Kim in favor of Alan Embree to get a lefty versus lefty matchup against Durazo. But Embree hadn't pitched in 10 days, and isn't markedly better against lefties than he is against righties.
Predictably, Durazo lined an Embree fastball (he has no other pitches) to left to plate the tying run and ensure that I would be up until the wee hours of the morning. Oh, I haven't mentioned that the game started at 10:00 EST? Another exquisite postseason baseball touch brought to you by the fine people at Major League Baseball and their friends in the television industry.
Later, at 2:45 am, A's catcher Ramon Hernandez made like Jake Taylor in Major League, and dropped a pretty bunt down the thirdbase line to score the winning run, while the Sox infield stared at it with an "oh, shit" look on their faces. But it never should have got to that moment, and here's why:
1. Grady got managed into a corner in the top of the 8th. The Sox had runners on 2nd and 3rd with 1 out and Trot Nixon coming to the plate, leading 4-3. A's lefthander Ricardo Rincon was on the hill, so Grady pinch-hit with right-handed hitter David McCarty. Predictably, A's manager Ken Macha replaced Rincon with the right-handed Chad Bradford. Grady responded by pinch hitting for his pinch-hitter, sending Adrian Brown to the plate to bat from the left side. Keep in mind, now, that all the Sox really needed in this instance was a fly ball to score a critical insurance run. David McCarty is no Manny Ramirez, but he's an acceptable option when you need to put a ball in play. Adrian Brown's not even a very good AAA hitter, and he only had 15 ABs in the regular season. I knew that he would not make contact with the ball when I saw him at the plate, and I was right, save for one meek foul tip.
2. The aforementioned yanking of the Bunger. If Grady was going to pull his "closer" to take advantage of a matchup, he should have taken advantage of a matchup, and brought in a true lefthanded specialist. Though I hate him, Scott Sauerbeck does fit that description.
3. Johnny Damon reached base in the late innings with 2 outs. Nomar, who had hit the ball well, came to the plate. Damon stole second, opening first base for the A's, who quickly walked Nomar to face...Damian Jackson, who had entered the game to replace Todd Walker at 2nd base. Inning over.
4. During the A's game-winning rally, with Derek Lowe on the mound (the presumable Game 3 starter, by the way), the A's had runners on 1st and 3rd with 2 out. Terrence Long, a weak hitter under the best of circumstances, took strike 1 from Lowe. Scott Hatteberg stole second. Grady ordered Long walked to load the bases, even though he already had a strike, and even though it put much more pressure on Lowe to throw strikes, and even though he sucks.
There's more, but I'm too depressed to continue, and too tired to remember with any sort of clarity.
Game 2 was a foregone conclusion, as the Sox sleptwalked through the whole thing while the A's danced on their lifeless bodies.
Here's the thing, though:
The Era of Positivity has not ended, goddammit. The Sox will win Game 3, they will win Game 4, and Pedro will take the hill in Oakland on Tuesday like a gladiator. I haven't given this much of my heart to this team to see them swept. I remember 1999, and I remember the greatest comeback in my lifetime. Cowboy up, motherfuckers, because there's still a lotta ball left. Stay on goddamn target.
Oakland A's 5, Red Sox 4 (12)
Oakland A's 5, Red Sox 1
I'm very, very hesitant to type this entry, because I'm emotionally and physically drained by the Sox efforts in the first two games of the ALDS, and I don't want my psychic state to color my fondness for the 2003 Boston Red Sox. That said, what an unmercifully painful cockpunch these first two games provided.
Game 1 was moments away from being an all-time great Sox victory. It had so many positive elements - great, clutch performance by Todd Walker, stone cold willpower from Pedro, a come-from-behind surprise, a terrific performance by Mike Timlin, and then...and then the manager stepped in and snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. B.H. Kim recorded two outs in the bottom of the 9th - he scuffled, and he had men on first and second, but he was one out from victory with Erubiel Durazo headed to the plate. Grady yanked Kim in favor of Alan Embree to get a lefty versus lefty matchup against Durazo. But Embree hadn't pitched in 10 days, and isn't markedly better against lefties than he is against righties.
Predictably, Durazo lined an Embree fastball (he has no other pitches) to left to plate the tying run and ensure that I would be up until the wee hours of the morning. Oh, I haven't mentioned that the game started at 10:00 EST? Another exquisite postseason baseball touch brought to you by the fine people at Major League Baseball and their friends in the television industry.
Later, at 2:45 am, A's catcher Ramon Hernandez made like Jake Taylor in Major League, and dropped a pretty bunt down the thirdbase line to score the winning run, while the Sox infield stared at it with an "oh, shit" look on their faces. But it never should have got to that moment, and here's why:
1. Grady got managed into a corner in the top of the 8th. The Sox had runners on 2nd and 3rd with 1 out and Trot Nixon coming to the plate, leading 4-3. A's lefthander Ricardo Rincon was on the hill, so Grady pinch-hit with right-handed hitter David McCarty. Predictably, A's manager Ken Macha replaced Rincon with the right-handed Chad Bradford. Grady responded by pinch hitting for his pinch-hitter, sending Adrian Brown to the plate to bat from the left side. Keep in mind, now, that all the Sox really needed in this instance was a fly ball to score a critical insurance run. David McCarty is no Manny Ramirez, but he's an acceptable option when you need to put a ball in play. Adrian Brown's not even a very good AAA hitter, and he only had 15 ABs in the regular season. I knew that he would not make contact with the ball when I saw him at the plate, and I was right, save for one meek foul tip.
2. The aforementioned yanking of the Bunger. If Grady was going to pull his "closer" to take advantage of a matchup, he should have taken advantage of a matchup, and brought in a true lefthanded specialist. Though I hate him, Scott Sauerbeck does fit that description.
3. Johnny Damon reached base in the late innings with 2 outs. Nomar, who had hit the ball well, came to the plate. Damon stole second, opening first base for the A's, who quickly walked Nomar to face...Damian Jackson, who had entered the game to replace Todd Walker at 2nd base. Inning over.
4. During the A's game-winning rally, with Derek Lowe on the mound (the presumable Game 3 starter, by the way), the A's had runners on 1st and 3rd with 2 out. Terrence Long, a weak hitter under the best of circumstances, took strike 1 from Lowe. Scott Hatteberg stole second. Grady ordered Long walked to load the bases, even though he already had a strike, and even though it put much more pressure on Lowe to throw strikes, and even though he sucks.
There's more, but I'm too depressed to continue, and too tired to remember with any sort of clarity.
Game 2 was a foregone conclusion, as the Sox sleptwalked through the whole thing while the A's danced on their lifeless bodies.
Here's the thing, though:
The Era of Positivity has not ended, goddammit. The Sox will win Game 3, they will win Game 4, and Pedro will take the hill in Oakland on Tuesday like a gladiator. I haven't given this much of my heart to this team to see them swept. I remember 1999, and I remember the greatest comeback in my lifetime. Cowboy up, motherfuckers, because there's still a lotta ball left. Stay on goddamn target.
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Monday, September 29, 2003
Games 158-161 - Mets, or R.I.P. '03
Pirates 3, Mets 1
Marlins 4, Mets 3
Mets 9, Marlins 3
Marlins 4, Mets 0
Final Record: 66-95, Last in NL East, 34.5 GB ATL, 27th of 30 MLB teams
So that's it. The New York Mets close their horrendous 2003 season with the most muffled of whimpers, managing four hits and no runs in a meaningless game against the playoff-bound Marlins. I had hoped for a tiny bit of drama in this series, figuring the wild card fate might still be out there. Sadly for Philadelphians, the Phils did their best Mets impression, lying down and dying pathetically when it came down to it.
The last month of this season was exponentially more painful than the rest of it. It's sometimes a shame that there is no option to "fold" in baseball. What had been a refreshing change, watching the youngsters get their AB's and IP's while putting a spark back into the daily dugout, quickly and without warning became depressing drudgery. The upstarts came tumbling back down to earth. The veterans looked very tired (save Leiter & Trachsel). And I got bored.
Watching baseball on television is not for many folks, especially in this era of TV. To feel the draw requires a fairly deep knowledge of the game, a familiarity with the current players and teams, and a level of criticality. The criticality can come in the form of diversionary, media-built subplots, but it's usually simple contention in the races that develop. When that element fades, the knowledge of the game and its players may not be enough. In my extreme case, when you have watched waaaay too much baseball in one season, thanks to modern technology and a sister's Christmas gift, when the drama is removed, the joy of watching the national pastime leaks out like rinsewater through a colander, leaving a pile of cold, wet beans. And the latter portion of this Mets season didn't amount to a hill of said beans.
Thank goodness for the Red Sox. This column would otherwise have become a terrible read, a collection of intermittent, drab pieces chronicling in spots the torture of Mets fans. In some ways, it's an interesting case study for the damage a bad team can do on its fans' state of mind. April and May seem like distant memories at this point, but I seem to recall a vigor in reporting the latest unfoldings at Shea that was sapped in later months. I remember an energy about this project, one that dictated that every day was a blog day, or at least every weekday. It was fun to attempt creativity and generate new angles, metaphors, and inane lines of discussion. It was a new experiment, this format, and it was a good thing.
Was it the Mets that railroaded this project? Was it the bevy of overpaid, underperforming fat cats? Was it the failed prospects? Was it the uninspiring management? Was it just Armando Benitez? Was it simply that all of these people added up to a boatload of losses?
Or can the Mets blame external forces? Can they point to an array of distractions in this would-be journalist's life? A birth, a move, summer vacation, increased workload, increased commutes, increased tabs at The Irish Times, long weekends, short attention spans, hurricanes, blackouts, and an ever-diminishing memory bank? While all of these items factored into the equation, if the Mets had pulled off what the BoSox had, I'd be chiming in with the same frequency as my cohort. But no.
And so this space can be viewed as a profile into bitter indifference, if there is such a thing. The taste is surely bitter, it just registers with decreased frequency upon the palate, and not coincidentally. For me, though there have been rays of brightness along the way, this season has lived up to the Misery Loves Company title. The trouble has been that I have received no company from my friend Rob Russell. What's to be miserable about in a 95-win season? The Sox finished 28.5 games ahead of the Mets, when he only needed them to be 13 better to win beer. The only way that Mr. Russell could provide company at this point would be if the Red Sox managed to get ever-so-close to the World Series trophy, only to fall flat at the last second in some agonizing way. But that never happens.
Pirates 3, Mets 1
Marlins 4, Mets 3
Mets 9, Marlins 3
Marlins 4, Mets 0
Final Record: 66-95, Last in NL East, 34.5 GB ATL, 27th of 30 MLB teams
So that's it. The New York Mets close their horrendous 2003 season with the most muffled of whimpers, managing four hits and no runs in a meaningless game against the playoff-bound Marlins. I had hoped for a tiny bit of drama in this series, figuring the wild card fate might still be out there. Sadly for Philadelphians, the Phils did their best Mets impression, lying down and dying pathetically when it came down to it.
The last month of this season was exponentially more painful than the rest of it. It's sometimes a shame that there is no option to "fold" in baseball. What had been a refreshing change, watching the youngsters get their AB's and IP's while putting a spark back into the daily dugout, quickly and without warning became depressing drudgery. The upstarts came tumbling back down to earth. The veterans looked very tired (save Leiter & Trachsel). And I got bored.
Watching baseball on television is not for many folks, especially in this era of TV. To feel the draw requires a fairly deep knowledge of the game, a familiarity with the current players and teams, and a level of criticality. The criticality can come in the form of diversionary, media-built subplots, but it's usually simple contention in the races that develop. When that element fades, the knowledge of the game and its players may not be enough. In my extreme case, when you have watched waaaay too much baseball in one season, thanks to modern technology and a sister's Christmas gift, when the drama is removed, the joy of watching the national pastime leaks out like rinsewater through a colander, leaving a pile of cold, wet beans. And the latter portion of this Mets season didn't amount to a hill of said beans.
Thank goodness for the Red Sox. This column would otherwise have become a terrible read, a collection of intermittent, drab pieces chronicling in spots the torture of Mets fans. In some ways, it's an interesting case study for the damage a bad team can do on its fans' state of mind. April and May seem like distant memories at this point, but I seem to recall a vigor in reporting the latest unfoldings at Shea that was sapped in later months. I remember an energy about this project, one that dictated that every day was a blog day, or at least every weekday. It was fun to attempt creativity and generate new angles, metaphors, and inane lines of discussion. It was a new experiment, this format, and it was a good thing.
Was it the Mets that railroaded this project? Was it the bevy of overpaid, underperforming fat cats? Was it the failed prospects? Was it the uninspiring management? Was it just Armando Benitez? Was it simply that all of these people added up to a boatload of losses?
Or can the Mets blame external forces? Can they point to an array of distractions in this would-be journalist's life? A birth, a move, summer vacation, increased workload, increased commutes, increased tabs at The Irish Times, long weekends, short attention spans, hurricanes, blackouts, and an ever-diminishing memory bank? While all of these items factored into the equation, if the Mets had pulled off what the BoSox had, I'd be chiming in with the same frequency as my cohort. But no.
And so this space can be viewed as a profile into bitter indifference, if there is such a thing. The taste is surely bitter, it just registers with decreased frequency upon the palate, and not coincidentally. For me, though there have been rays of brightness along the way, this season has lived up to the Misery Loves Company title. The trouble has been that I have received no company from my friend Rob Russell. What's to be miserable about in a 95-win season? The Sox finished 28.5 games ahead of the Mets, when he only needed them to be 13 better to win beer. The only way that Mr. Russell could provide company at this point would be if the Red Sox managed to get ever-so-close to the World Series trophy, only to fall flat at the last second in some agonizing way. But that never happens.
Games 160-162 - Red Sox (or, maybe, PawSox)
Red Sox 7, Devil Rays 2
Rays 5, Red Sox 4
Rays 3, Red Sox 1
Final Record: 95-67, AL Wild Card Winner
About the only drama in the final games of the season was whether Bill Mueller could hold off Manny Ramirez and Derek Jeter to win the AL batting championship. Yankee fans screamed bloody murder when the Sox sat Mueller in the meaningless final game of the season, but c'mon - what's more important, "defending" a batting championship lead, or making certain that the vital cogs of the team are healthy for the postseason? The point was rendered moot when Jeter went 0-3 against Baltimore. So Billy Mueller, Professional Hitter, is your AL Batting Champion. You could've made a lot of money on that in Vegas before the season started.
I wrote - several times - in this space that I didn't care how the Sox made the playoffs, as long as they did, and as long as Pedro was healthy when the postseason started. The Sox did, and he is, so let the games begin. I cannot remember a postseason that dawned as wide open as this one. I believe that any of the 8 teams that open the playoffs this week can legitimately win the World Series, and yes, that includes the Boston Red Sox.
Pedro goes tomorrow against Tim Hudson, in a game that begins at 10:00 EST. Crikey, I'll be firing up a pot of coffee to see me through the wee hours in this one. ESPN knows that Red Sox fans would have watched this one at 3:00 AM, if need be, so late night be damned. Postseason Pedro is a thing to behold, but Tim Hudson's pretty damn good himself. This series boils down to the league's best offense against the league's best defense. Them that knows about this stuff say that pitching wins championships. Here's hoping that "they" didn't factor in an offense as good as Boston's.
Red Sox 7, Devil Rays 2
Rays 5, Red Sox 4
Rays 3, Red Sox 1
Final Record: 95-67, AL Wild Card Winner
About the only drama in the final games of the season was whether Bill Mueller could hold off Manny Ramirez and Derek Jeter to win the AL batting championship. Yankee fans screamed bloody murder when the Sox sat Mueller in the meaningless final game of the season, but c'mon - what's more important, "defending" a batting championship lead, or making certain that the vital cogs of the team are healthy for the postseason? The point was rendered moot when Jeter went 0-3 against Baltimore. So Billy Mueller, Professional Hitter, is your AL Batting Champion. You could've made a lot of money on that in Vegas before the season started.
I wrote - several times - in this space that I didn't care how the Sox made the playoffs, as long as they did, and as long as Pedro was healthy when the postseason started. The Sox did, and he is, so let the games begin. I cannot remember a postseason that dawned as wide open as this one. I believe that any of the 8 teams that open the playoffs this week can legitimately win the World Series, and yes, that includes the Boston Red Sox.
Pedro goes tomorrow against Tim Hudson, in a game that begins at 10:00 EST. Crikey, I'll be firing up a pot of coffee to see me through the wee hours in this one. ESPN knows that Red Sox fans would have watched this one at 3:00 AM, if need be, so late night be damned. Postseason Pedro is a thing to behold, but Tim Hudson's pretty damn good himself. This series boils down to the league's best offense against the league's best defense. Them that knows about this stuff say that pitching wins championships. Here's hoping that "they" didn't factor in an offense as good as Boston's.
Friday, September 26, 2003
Games 158-159 - Red Sox. We're Goin' to Disneyland, er, Oakland
Orioles 7, Red Sox 3
Red Sox 14, Orioles 3
Record: 94-65
Clinched AL Wild Card Berth
33,500 people had a party for the ages in Fenway Park last night, and it was only a Wild Card celebration. The Sox took the suspense out of the game early, posting 7 runs on the O's in the first two innings and adding another touchdown to clinch a postseason berth. As soon as Ramiro Mendoza struck out Brian Roberts to end the game, the Sox commenced an hour-long festival, spraying each other, the management, and random fans with champagne, beer, and in the case of Manny Ramirez, water from a hose that was lying around. Trot Nixon smashed two beer cans together and shotgunned them. Nomar, Lowe, Wakefield, Damon, and several others smoked massive stogies in the infield. Burkett ran the bases sporting a "Cowboy Up!" t-shirt that featured a picture of David Ortiz wearing a 10-gallon hat. Manny hugged Wally the Green Monster. Theo Epstein slugged champagne right from the bottle. Frankly, I don't think the Sox will have enough sober guys to field a team against the Rays tonight.
I had somewhat mixed emotions watching the celebration. I was pumped and jacked that the Sox clinched a playoff berth - I've said from the beginning that I thought they have a real chance if they just get to the playoffs. I was also really happy for the Sox players - this is, without a doubt, my favorite collection of Sox, and they were so unbelievably giddy that I couldn't help but get a little caught up myself. And it was awesome to see the fans react with a full-throated cathartic joy. But here it comes - a little part of me is wondering if it was all a little excessive, considering that a) it's only a Wild Card, and b) there's a lot of baseball left. If I'm the Oakland A's, I just got a little hop in my step knowing that the Red Sox are making this big a deal of the postseason, and I just got a bulletin board quote from Todd Walker, who said, "We're gonna go to Oakland, whip their ass, and go from there."
On the other hand, if this is what the Wild Card celebration looks like, there aren't enough law enforcement officials in Greater Boston to police the Hub when the Sox win the World Series. The Sox magic number is now 11. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Orioles 7, Red Sox 3
Red Sox 14, Orioles 3
Record: 94-65
Clinched AL Wild Card Berth
33,500 people had a party for the ages in Fenway Park last night, and it was only a Wild Card celebration. The Sox took the suspense out of the game early, posting 7 runs on the O's in the first two innings and adding another touchdown to clinch a postseason berth. As soon as Ramiro Mendoza struck out Brian Roberts to end the game, the Sox commenced an hour-long festival, spraying each other, the management, and random fans with champagne, beer, and in the case of Manny Ramirez, water from a hose that was lying around. Trot Nixon smashed two beer cans together and shotgunned them. Nomar, Lowe, Wakefield, Damon, and several others smoked massive stogies in the infield. Burkett ran the bases sporting a "Cowboy Up!" t-shirt that featured a picture of David Ortiz wearing a 10-gallon hat. Manny hugged Wally the Green Monster. Theo Epstein slugged champagne right from the bottle. Frankly, I don't think the Sox will have enough sober guys to field a team against the Rays tonight.
I had somewhat mixed emotions watching the celebration. I was pumped and jacked that the Sox clinched a playoff berth - I've said from the beginning that I thought they have a real chance if they just get to the playoffs. I was also really happy for the Sox players - this is, without a doubt, my favorite collection of Sox, and they were so unbelievably giddy that I couldn't help but get a little caught up myself. And it was awesome to see the fans react with a full-throated cathartic joy. But here it comes - a little part of me is wondering if it was all a little excessive, considering that a) it's only a Wild Card, and b) there's a lot of baseball left. If I'm the Oakland A's, I just got a little hop in my step knowing that the Red Sox are making this big a deal of the postseason, and I just got a bulletin board quote from Todd Walker, who said, "We're gonna go to Oakland, whip their ass, and go from there."
On the other hand, if this is what the Wild Card celebration looks like, there aren't enough law enforcement officials in Greater Boston to police the Hub when the Sox win the World Series. The Sox magic number is now 11. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Games 156-157 - Mets. Who are those guys?
Mets 1, Pirates 0
Mets 5, Pirates 3
Record: 65-92
Maybe if the Mets had a rotation of all Al Leiters (15-9) and Steve Trachsels (16-10), they might have had some hope. Maybe in this series the Mets just want to leave the fans with a slightly lessened sour taste. Maybe this is a split-second flash of what might be next year. Maybe the Pirates just suck, maybe even as bad as the Mets do. Yep, that's probably it.
In consequential equivalent of a spring training game-- no, make that an Old-Timers game, the Mets have given me a little dollop of the enjoyment that I have seen all too rarely this season, especially this month. Al Leiter throws a complete game shutout and Steve Trachsel wins his career-high sixteenth. (Had it not been for Armando & the TNT bullpen early in the season and Trachsel might have aspired to greater numerical peaks.)
The Mets finish up against the Pirates tonight, then head to Miami for three against the wild card-leading Marlins. Despite the wins against the Bucs, hear me now and believe me later: The Marlins will coast into the playoffs on the New York Mets. I knew we'd screw the Phillies somehow, it just wasn't via beating them in baseball games.
Mets 1, Pirates 0
Mets 5, Pirates 3
Record: 65-92
Maybe if the Mets had a rotation of all Al Leiters (15-9) and Steve Trachsels (16-10), they might have had some hope. Maybe in this series the Mets just want to leave the fans with a slightly lessened sour taste. Maybe this is a split-second flash of what might be next year. Maybe the Pirates just suck, maybe even as bad as the Mets do. Yep, that's probably it.
In consequential equivalent of a spring training game-- no, make that an Old-Timers game, the Mets have given me a little dollop of the enjoyment that I have seen all too rarely this season, especially this month. Al Leiter throws a complete game shutout and Steve Trachsel wins his career-high sixteenth. (Had it not been for Armando & the TNT bullpen early in the season and Trachsel might have aspired to greater numerical peaks.)
The Mets finish up against the Pirates tonight, then head to Miami for three against the wild card-leading Marlins. Despite the wins against the Bucs, hear me now and believe me later: The Marlins will coast into the playoffs on the New York Mets. I knew we'd screw the Phillies somehow, it just wasn't via beating them in baseball games.
Games 151-155 - Mets, or Wheeeeeee!
Cubs 2, Mets 0
Expos 1, Mets 0
Expos 7, Mets 1
Expos 4, Mets 3
Expos 4, Mets 2
Record: 63-92
What do you call bungee-jumping with no bungee cord? That's what the Mets did for 17 games, sandwiching a tiny win between two eight-game losing streaks. Boy, that's Tigers-esque. Speaking of which, it's time for . . .
Tigers Watch!
Record: 40-118
Winning Percentage: .253
Yes, last night Les Tigres finally reached that elusive 40-win plateau, keeping them just 49 games out of first place in the AL Central. (Fortunately for Detroit, they left the AL East 10 years ago; were they in that division, they'd trail the Yanks by an unfathomable 58 games.) (Oh, and just to beat this dead tiger further, Detroit is 53 games out of the wild card race. The wild card race. El wildo cardo race-o. Can we all see how wretched that is?) These 40 wins represent the benchmark for futility, courtesy of your New York Mets circa 1962. But those Mets won 40 of just 160 games; the Tigers still must win one of their four remaining games to top the Mets' .250 winning percentage. Let's face it -- they're going to be recalled for a long time as one of the worst teams ever, no matter if they do edge Casey's Clowns in this regard, but they might as well keep aiming for some goal. Meanwhile . . .
The Mets have nothing to shoot for, no milestone to reach. The one record-setting personal achievement, Mike Piazza's quest for the all-time HRs as a catcher, will annoyingly drag itself and the controversy (C vs. 1B?) into the '04 season. And so, the Mets go 1-16 in this stretch, aiding and abetting every playoff hopeful in the daggone league. In the second half of this aesthetic equivalent of ipecac syrup, the Mets have suffered 4-game sweeps to the Braves, Phillies, and Expos. That leaves just the Marlins, who didn't have a four game series on the 2nd-half schedule. They did get swept in the only 3-game series they played against Florida, and they have the final trio of this season's games to make it 6 in a row. The Mets also gave three up to the Cubbies in crunch time, much to the chagrin of the Cards and Astros, but they have only themselves to blame, for they allowed the Pollys (again, the preferred abbreviation for Metropolitans) to take one and two games, respectively, in their latter-half contests. Playing the Mets is like walking into a going out of business clearance sale. They're just giving everything away! Come on down before it's too late!
Cubs 2, Mets 0
Expos 1, Mets 0
Expos 7, Mets 1
Expos 4, Mets 3
Expos 4, Mets 2
Record: 63-92
What do you call bungee-jumping with no bungee cord? That's what the Mets did for 17 games, sandwiching a tiny win between two eight-game losing streaks. Boy, that's Tigers-esque. Speaking of which, it's time for . . .
Tigers Watch!
Record: 40-118
Winning Percentage: .253
Yes, last night Les Tigres finally reached that elusive 40-win plateau, keeping them just 49 games out of first place in the AL Central. (Fortunately for Detroit, they left the AL East 10 years ago; were they in that division, they'd trail the Yanks by an unfathomable 58 games.) (Oh, and just to beat this dead tiger further, Detroit is 53 games out of the wild card race. The wild card race. El wildo cardo race-o. Can we all see how wretched that is?) These 40 wins represent the benchmark for futility, courtesy of your New York Mets circa 1962. But those Mets won 40 of just 160 games; the Tigers still must win one of their four remaining games to top the Mets' .250 winning percentage. Let's face it -- they're going to be recalled for a long time as one of the worst teams ever, no matter if they do edge Casey's Clowns in this regard, but they might as well keep aiming for some goal. Meanwhile . . .
The Mets have nothing to shoot for, no milestone to reach. The one record-setting personal achievement, Mike Piazza's quest for the all-time HRs as a catcher, will annoyingly drag itself and the controversy (C vs. 1B?) into the '04 season. And so, the Mets go 1-16 in this stretch, aiding and abetting every playoff hopeful in the daggone league. In the second half of this aesthetic equivalent of ipecac syrup, the Mets have suffered 4-game sweeps to the Braves, Phillies, and Expos. That leaves just the Marlins, who didn't have a four game series on the 2nd-half schedule. They did get swept in the only 3-game series they played against Florida, and they have the final trio of this season's games to make it 6 in a row. The Mets also gave three up to the Cubbies in crunch time, much to the chagrin of the Cards and Astros, but they have only themselves to blame, for they allowed the Pollys (again, the preferred abbreviation for Metropolitans) to take one and two games, respectively, in their latter-half contests. Playing the Mets is like walking into a going out of business clearance sale. They're just giving everything away! Come on down before it's too late!
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Game 157 - Red Sox. I. Love. This. Team.
Red Sox 6, Orioles 5 (10)
Record: 93-64
AL East: Over, Yankees clinch
Wild Card: 1st - 3.5 up on Sea
Write on the blackboard 1000 times: Never Give Up on the 2003 Red Sox.
The seeds of negativity were creeping in on several occasions last night as the Sox played 8.5 innings of relatively flat, undisciplined ball against their 2003 nemesis. The league's best offense had runners on third base with less than two outs 4, count 'em, 4 times in the first 8 innings and failed to plate them. Nomar dropped a popup, Sauerbeck struggled through the 8th inning (although he did emerge unscathed), and Bronson Arroyo gave up a two-out, two-strike single in the top of the 9th to Jay Gibbons that scored 2 runs when Gabe Kapler kicked it around right field. The last of these events caused me to throw my daughter's soccer ball against the television. God bless Nerf.
I was mentally composing my blog entry as the Sox came to the plate in the bottom of the 9th, going on about the offense's continuing slump, and how this team had no chance in the postseason with the bullpen in its current state. Trot Nixon popped out on ball four to start the inning, but then Jason Varitek singled to left. I sat up in my chair - just a little - when Varitek reached second on a passed ball, but slumped back once again as Johnny Damon grounded out to second. Two outs, man on third, down three runs, and in danger of losing yet again to the mediOcre's.
"Just get on base", I urged Nomar, and he obliged, working Jorge Julio for a walk. Todd Walker, batting in the 3-spot because of Nomar's recent slump, stepped up as the tying run. Adrian Brown loomed, um, small, in the on-deck circle, courtesy of Grady's penchant for removing Manny for pinch-runners in the late innings of close games. Walker worked the count to 3-2, and then, with all of Red Sox Nation holding their breath, laced a low, inside fastball to deep right.
"Get out!", I yelled as I leapt from the couch. The camera panned to Jay Gibbons as the Oriole rightfielder turned his back to the plate and ran towards the wall. The O's bullpen staff slumped in dismay as the ball cleared the fence, and Todd Walker's fistpumps matched mine as he rounded the bases to score the tying run. Oriole GM Jim Beattie was in attendance, and Mike Hargrove watched his term as Baltimore manager end as Walker's shot touched ground in the bullpen.
Fenway, to understate the moment, nearly rocked off its foundation as Walker toured the bases. The Sox secondbaseman would later say that it was the biggest thrill of his life. I bounded around my living room exclaiming, "No fucking way! No fucking way!".
As I sat back down to watch Adrian Brown gaze meekly at strike 3, I consoled myself with the knowledge that David Ortiz would lead off the bottom of the 10th for the Sox. After B.H. Kim set the O's down with only minor difficulty in the top of the frame, I said out loud, "Ortiz is going to end it."
Four pitches later, the heart and soul of the 2003 Sox made me prescient, blasting Kurt Ainsworth's hanging changeup over the Monster. When he hit the ball, Ortiz flipped his bat in the air and turned to the Sox dugout as if to say, "Gaze upon me, for I am the MAN, and have delivered this ballgame unto you." He'll probably take a pitch in the ear from the O's today, but it was well earned. He would later tell the media, "The dugout was yelling at me to run, but I said back to them, 'No, I crushed that. It's gone.'" In other words, "Bring that shit to me, mon".
I spent 10 minutes giggling uncontrollably about the outcome, and vowing never again to let the creep of doubt darken the foundation of my fondness for this edition of the Red Sox. They may not win the World Series - hell, they still haven't clinched the Wild Card - but they have given me more than my share of Holy Shit moments this season.
There was one little thing that escaped me at the time, but really speaks volumes about this Sox team. Bill Mueller batted in the 6th inning with nobody out and Kevin Millar on second. Mueller is in the thick of a race for the AL Batting title, entering the game at .327 to Manny's .325 and Derek Jeter's .323. With that backstory in mind, Mueller punched a John Parrish fastball to the right side of the infield, sacrificing himself to get Millar to third with 1 out. Completely unselfish, completely team-focused, and completely professional. Describes this Sox team to a "t".
Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
Red Sox 6, Orioles 5 (10)
Record: 93-64
AL East: Over, Yankees clinch
Wild Card: 1st - 3.5 up on Sea
Write on the blackboard 1000 times: Never Give Up on the 2003 Red Sox.
The seeds of negativity were creeping in on several occasions last night as the Sox played 8.5 innings of relatively flat, undisciplined ball against their 2003 nemesis. The league's best offense had runners on third base with less than two outs 4, count 'em, 4 times in the first 8 innings and failed to plate them. Nomar dropped a popup, Sauerbeck struggled through the 8th inning (although he did emerge unscathed), and Bronson Arroyo gave up a two-out, two-strike single in the top of the 9th to Jay Gibbons that scored 2 runs when Gabe Kapler kicked it around right field. The last of these events caused me to throw my daughter's soccer ball against the television. God bless Nerf.
I was mentally composing my blog entry as the Sox came to the plate in the bottom of the 9th, going on about the offense's continuing slump, and how this team had no chance in the postseason with the bullpen in its current state. Trot Nixon popped out on ball four to start the inning, but then Jason Varitek singled to left. I sat up in my chair - just a little - when Varitek reached second on a passed ball, but slumped back once again as Johnny Damon grounded out to second. Two outs, man on third, down three runs, and in danger of losing yet again to the mediOcre's.
"Just get on base", I urged Nomar, and he obliged, working Jorge Julio for a walk. Todd Walker, batting in the 3-spot because of Nomar's recent slump, stepped up as the tying run. Adrian Brown loomed, um, small, in the on-deck circle, courtesy of Grady's penchant for removing Manny for pinch-runners in the late innings of close games. Walker worked the count to 3-2, and then, with all of Red Sox Nation holding their breath, laced a low, inside fastball to deep right.
"Get out!", I yelled as I leapt from the couch. The camera panned to Jay Gibbons as the Oriole rightfielder turned his back to the plate and ran towards the wall. The O's bullpen staff slumped in dismay as the ball cleared the fence, and Todd Walker's fistpumps matched mine as he rounded the bases to score the tying run. Oriole GM Jim Beattie was in attendance, and Mike Hargrove watched his term as Baltimore manager end as Walker's shot touched ground in the bullpen.
Fenway, to understate the moment, nearly rocked off its foundation as Walker toured the bases. The Sox secondbaseman would later say that it was the biggest thrill of his life. I bounded around my living room exclaiming, "No fucking way! No fucking way!".
As I sat back down to watch Adrian Brown gaze meekly at strike 3, I consoled myself with the knowledge that David Ortiz would lead off the bottom of the 10th for the Sox. After B.H. Kim set the O's down with only minor difficulty in the top of the frame, I said out loud, "Ortiz is going to end it."
Four pitches later, the heart and soul of the 2003 Sox made me prescient, blasting Kurt Ainsworth's hanging changeup over the Monster. When he hit the ball, Ortiz flipped his bat in the air and turned to the Sox dugout as if to say, "Gaze upon me, for I am the MAN, and have delivered this ballgame unto you." He'll probably take a pitch in the ear from the O's today, but it was well earned. He would later tell the media, "The dugout was yelling at me to run, but I said back to them, 'No, I crushed that. It's gone.'" In other words, "Bring that shit to me, mon".
I spent 10 minutes giggling uncontrollably about the outcome, and vowing never again to let the creep of doubt darken the foundation of my fondness for this edition of the Red Sox. They may not win the World Series - hell, they still haven't clinched the Wild Card - but they have given me more than my share of Holy Shit moments this season.
There was one little thing that escaped me at the time, but really speaks volumes about this Sox team. Bill Mueller batted in the 6th inning with nobody out and Kevin Millar on second. Mueller is in the thick of a race for the AL Batting title, entering the game at .327 to Manny's .325 and Derek Jeter's .323. With that backstory in mind, Mueller punched a John Parrish fastball to the right side of the infield, sacrificing himself to get Millar to third with 1 out. Completely unselfish, completely team-focused, and completely professional. Describes this Sox team to a "t".
Lotta ball left. Stay on target.
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