American League Championship Series - Game 2

Yankees 3, Red Sox 1
Yankees lead, 2-0

I suppose I could be pissed, or bitter about last night's loss - maybe break a few things, but I'm having a difficult time working up the righteous indignation. Mostly, I think, because the Sox' listless performance has rubbed off on me. The same team that lead the majors in number of pitches seen allowed Jon Lieber to coast through 7+ innings on 82 pitches, and everything went to shit from there, despite a very solid performance from Pedro.

I don't want to hear any crap about a curse, or jinx, or the Sox being doomed to lose. Right now, the only excuse is that they're getting completely outplayed. The Yankees have been better in every single phase of the game, except maybe the critical "Quizzical Looks Back at the Plate Umpire After Watching Strike 3" category. No excuses, no complaints - the Yankees have simply and completely been the better team through 2 games.

Bronson Arroyo takes the ball tomorrow night in the biggest start of his life. Curt Schilling told SOSH that Arroyo has "balls the size of Saturn". They'll need to be in Game 3. This series isn't over, with the next 3 games in Boston and the Sox nursing a grudge the size of Arroyo's balls, but it will be if the Sox don't play up to their capabilities.

One little thing, and it may be important: with Curt Schilling now hurt and unavailable until at least Game 6 (and likely not at all), the Sox just became huge underdogs. They thrived in that role last year, and they love to hoist on the mantle of the scrappy, goofy, overacheiver, whether or not it fits. Bears watching, anyway.

Also, of random insignificance, I'll be watching Game 3 in the company of several of my closest friends from the bar in which I (mis)spent much of my college career. That's powerful mojo, right on the heels of my Game 2 disaster - watching with my boss, his boss, and three other vice-presidents from my company. Good guys, all, but I was severely restricted in my ability to throw things, scream obscenities, and act like a mental patient. That won't be the case tomorrow.

American League Championship Series - Game 1

Yankees 10, Red Sox 7
Yankees lead 1-0

If you start with the premise that the Sox are destined to lose a few games in the postseason, even if they go on to win the World Series, then last night's loss, while unpleasant and numbing to watch, is about as "good" a loss as is possible. I see you out there in Blogland, sighing like Al Gore in the 2000 debates, rolling your eyes like C+ Augustus (with credit to Eric Alterman fo the nickname) in the first 2004 debate, calling me a hopeless pollyanna. But stay with me for a moment.

This game could not have gone worse for the Sox from the jump. Curt Schilling was awful, clearly battling his bum ankle. The defense didn't help the early innings, with Manny Ramirez costing the Sox a run by giving Hideki Matsui an extra base in the 1st inning, and Trot Nixon costing the Sox a run by taking a bad angle on Matsui's bases-clearing double in the 3rd. And it didn't help in the late innings, with Manny failing to reach Bernie Williams' 2-run double in the 8th. Plate umpire Randy Marsh seemed to squeeze a few Sox pitchers in key spots - though Mike Mussina's dominance of the strike zone may have made that more a perception than reality. And Mussina was more than dominant, keeping the best offense in the American League off balance (and freaking hitless) for 6+ innings, and taking an 8-0 lead into the 7th.

The game could not have gone worse for the Sox, and yet they had the tying run on 3rd base in the top of the 8th inning, and they got 2 runners on to bring the tying run to the plate in the top of the 9th. They made the Yankee bullpen work hard in a game where they should've been able to take naps. The Sox, and the Nation, should take great solace in the fact that the Sox played as badly as they're probably capable of playing, and they still scared the bejesus out of the Yankees.

That said, if Pedro loses tonight, it's thumb-in-mouth, curl-into-fetal-position, mumble-incoherently time. We'll see whose Daddy comes to play tonight.

3 1/2 Innings In, and I'm Already Looking for Bright Spots

The fact that I'm typing this and not engrossed in game action is clue number 1 that things have gone badly wrong, and quickly, for the Sox. Shall we count the ways, beginning with Curt Schilling's obvious physical discomfort and ineffectiveness? Or maybe, the fact that the first 12 Sox hitters to come to the plate have been retired, including all three in the top of the 4th via called strike 3. 6-0 Yankees after 4, Schilling's long gone - replaced by Curtis Leskanic, who walked the first 2 batters he faced - Mike Mussina's pitching a perfect game, and the Sox are rapidly approaching Assmonkey on Parade status.

But here's the thing: the Yankees lost the first game in last year's ALCS and came back to win the series. Long series, even if the Sox punt the first game.

American League Division Series - Game 3
IT IS ON.

Red Sox 8, Angels 6 (10)
Red Sox win ALDS, 3-0

If nothing else, this game was good practice for what is sure to be a draining 2 weeks to come, a mental preview of the long-awaited ALCS between the Sox and the Yankees. It was also a good lesson to Sox fans: no celebrating allowed until the final out is recorded.

Just like the 35,000+ that were packed into Fenway on Friday afternoon, I was guilty of looking ahead to the ALCS when the Sox took a 6-1 lead into the top of the 7th inning. Like very few of those same folks, I was also guilty of throwing my daughter's toy ball against a sliding glass door and unleashing a torrent of F-bombs - despite the fact that my mother was visiting for the weekend and my daughters were still awake - after Vladimir Guerrero turned that lead into a 6-6 tie with help from Mike Myers and Mike Timlin.

Lesson learned in full, especially in combination with the recalled memory of the 8th inning of Game 7 of last year's ALCS. No premature celebration. No taking anything for granted. Got it.

The catharsis that took wing as David Ortiz' booming fly arced majestically over the Monster in the bottom of the 10th, both in Fenway and in my living room, almost, almost, erased the memories of last year's post-season. Nothing, mind you, short of a World Series championship will truly erase those memories. But you already know that, don't you.

And so, after another 165 games, we find ourselves in exactly the same place we did last year. Good versus Evil. Animal House versus the Establishment. Flobie versus...I don't know the names of any fancy-schmancy salons - but I bet A-Rod does. Except for one thing - last year, the Sox entered the ALCS after an all-timer of a series against the A's, having used their entire bullpen in Game 5, started Pedro Martinez in the ALDS finale, and lost Johnny Damon to a concussion that still bothers him. And they actually won the first game of the ALCS and scared the living hell out of the Yankees in the series.

This year, the Sox are rested, healthy, and inarguably a better team than they were last year. A dispassionate observer would rate the Sox starting pitching markedly better than that of the Yankees - especially given Bronson Arroyo's last 10 starts, while scoring the offenses a wash and the Yankee bullpen slightly better. That, and $4.25 will buy you a cup of coffee at Starbucks.

I won't read any predicitions about this series, because they're worthless. I won't try to analyze this series, because it's impossible. I honestly don't have any gut feeling about this series, except to say that it's the Red Sox and the Yankees and anyone that thinks that numbers on paper offer any insight into the next 4-7 games hasn't been awake for the last 4 years. Do I think the Sox can win? Absofreakinglutely. Do the Yankees scare me just a little? Um, yeah, especially after what they did to Minnesota (who should be renamed the Vichy Twins after their spineless capitulation last week).

I do believe that the Sox have the stuff to stand up to the Yankees, and I think this particular roster features the perfect combination of talent, depth, and - hugely important - personality to be successful in this series. This team is so loose, and so confident - even holding the weight of all of the New England's expectations (positive and negative) - that if any Red Sox team is going to vanquish the demon Yankees, it'll be this one.

Enough words that mean a whole lot of nothing. Game freaking on.

American League Division Series - Game 2

Red Sox 8, Angels 3
Sox lead 2-0

If you're wondering why this post comes so late in the day, you should note that the final pitch of last night's (this morning's?) game was thrown at approximately 1:55 am EST, that I was awake watching it, that I was so amped on adrenaline and anxiety that it took me another 45 minutes or so to fall asleep, and that my daughter woke me up by poking me in the eye with her index finger at 6:05 am. Hell, you should consider yourself lucky that any of the combinations of letters in these "sentences" actually spell real words.

What a weird game, this baseball. By all rights, the Sox should have alternately a) blown the Angels out in the first 2 innings, and b) lost this game handily. The Sox did enough stupid things in the field (Anaheim's 2nd and 3rd runs were set up by a harmless popup that fell to earth between Cabrera and Ramirez), on the basepaths (Bellhorn got picked off at 2nd - by the catcher - with the bases loaded and 2 outs and David Ortiz batting against a laboring Bartolo Colon in the 2nd inning), and at the plate (Trot Nixon swung and popped up the first 2 pitches he saw, Cabrera failed to get a bunt down in three attempts) to easily hand the Angels the win, but Anaheim gave it back through a series of wild pitches, untimely hitting, and fielding mishaps - not to mention the generosity of home plate umpire Jerry Meals (to be fair, he was consistent, except for one really bad call against Troy Glaus).

This game turned on one at-bat by the guy I've lauded before as the Sox' heart and soul. My screensaver is a photo of Jason Varitek rearranging Alex Rodriguez' nasal passages. I love Jason Varitek. And Jason Varitek, when he's off, sends me into paroxysms of vitriolic ranting. His first two at-bats last night were vintage Bad Varitek, waving at pitch after pitch with no real chance of doing anything but jogging back to the bench to don his gear. Then, with 2 outs and a runner on in the top of the 6th inning, with Colon cruising and the vaunted Angel bullpen prepared to get the game's final 9 outs, Varitek launched a Colon fastball deep into the night, tying the game and completely changing the contest's atmosphere. Had Colon completed the 6th with a 3-1 lead, I'm confident that the Angels win this game, probably by a 3-1 score. He didn't, and they didn't, and Jason Varitek adds another exhibit to the people's case for Tek as the 2004 Sox unsung hero.

After the game was tied, the outcome - in my mind, anyway - really wasn't in doubt. Pedro was dominant, and don't let anyone claim otherwise. His line - 7 IP, 6H, 3 ER, 2 BB, 6 K - wasn't vintage, but a closer look at his performance shows that only 2 balls were hit hard against him all night. 5 of his 6 hits could kindly be characterized as flukes - flares, dinks, a popup that wasn't caught - and he had excellent velocity and command. I'm no longer worried even a little about Pedro. He left with a 4-3 lead, courtesy of some patient hitting against Francisco Rodriguez and some poor defense by the Angels. Terry Francona used his bullpen impeccably, getting 6 outs from Timlin, Myers, and Foulke, and the Sox made the bottom of the 9th academic by dinging the (did I say vaunted? I meant haunted.) Angel bullpen for 4 tallies in the top of the inning.

Sox take a 2-0 series lead back to Boston, hopefully wildly aware that a 2-game ALDS lead means nothing if they can't close the deal. See, Oakland circa 2003 for all the reminder they need. That said, I really like the way the Sox are playing now - overcoming mistakes, hitting the ball early and often, and pitching effectively in all phases. A day of much-needed rest (for me - I couldn't care less about them) and Game 3 in Fenway on Friday afternoon. Alrighty then.

American League Division Series - Game 1

Red Sox 9, Angels 3
Sox lead 1-0

Just when I thought I could take a rational, measured approach to playoff baseball, Curt Schilling went and started the Sons of Sam Horn game thread. I mean, if you didn't get goosebumps reading that first paragraph, you're not human. I was pumped and jacked and reporting for duty by noon - and then had to sit in a budget meeting from 4:00 - 5:15, fingers drumming on the table, absent-mindedly blurting out nonsense until I could go home to watch the game. The Sox plated 7 runs in the 4th inning while I was in the car driving home, ending the game for all intents, and enabling me to actually pay attention to my daughters and wife for a few minutes.

Yesterday was simply a red-letter day in my personal history. The Sox won, the Yankees lost, my aging softball team recaptured a little of our past glory for one night, and I got a promotion at work. I'm now sitting here waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Schilling wasn't stellar yesterday, but he did his job once the Sox posted an 8-0 lead. The Sox took advantage of Angel mistakes the way championship teams should, combining 2 walks and an error with 2 homers and a couple of singles to put the Angels away early. The defense was solid, and Alan Embree and Mike Timlin resurrected their 2003 playoff stuff to shut the Halos down over the final 2 1/3.

Now it's on Pedro to keep the Sox moving forward. I've been rightly apprehensive about him over the past month, hoping more than thinking that's he's just playing possum. I still refuse to believe that the game's most intimidating pitcher completely lost it over 4 starts, and most of me expects that he'll step up tonight to show the Sox, Schilling, Anaheim, and the nation at large that he's still El Rey. That other little part of me is hiding in a corner with its thumb in its mouth, mumbling something unintelligble.

Here's a question for the MLC readership. I'm taking a substantial amount of grief from several women in the office about my priorities. Yesterday was my wife's birthday, and I bought her a gift, and flowers, and carry-out dinner from one of our favorite restaurants. I then bailed to play softball for 4 hours. Our 5th wedding anniversary was 10 days ago, and we did it up proper-like. Our daughter's 3rd birthday is Friday, and we've been preparing for that over the past week. Finally, neither of us ever makes a big deal over birthdays. So, the question is this: Is Pedro's hairstyle the real reason he hasn't been pitching well over the past month, and should Eriq Lasalle's character in 'Coming to America' sue the Sox' hurler for impersonating a fictional person? (And, no, I'm not going to admit any weakness on this birthday issue. She knew what she was getting when she boarded this particular party train.)

Games 160 through 162 - Mets
Fade to Black

Expos 4, Mets 2
Expos 6, Mets 3
Mets 8, Expos 1
Record: 71-91
25 GB ATL
22nd-best record in MLB

The season's over already? Huh. I guess time flies when you drink so much you have extended periods of blackout.

What a dreary season. It was remarkable only in its unremarkability, leaving no imprint upon the minds of any but the most fixed fans. The Mets weren't record-setting bad like the Diamondbacks or Royals, they weren't sad-sack but loveable like Detroit a year ago, they were just disappointing, underachieving, and generally uninteresting. (A lot like me in high school, some might say.)

The only notable tidbits from the season included at least one terrible-looking trade, busts all over the place, another wasted payroll, and a mediocre manager fired while even more mediocre management remains. For every young talent that sparked high hopes (David Wright, David Wright, and David Wright), there were several that didn't pan out (Matt Ginter, Tyler Yates, Grant Roberts, Aaron Heilman, etc.). Breakout seasons didn't materialize, injuries ripped through the lineup, and free agent signings blew up in everyone's face. Veterans started strong, then they sniped, whined, and complained until prospects were traded away, then they fell apart. The starting rotation looked too old and too young every other day, the closer got worse with each outing, and the middle relief was the meat of a crap sandwich. The hitting was untimely at best, the lineup changed daily, and the defense was atrocious . . . again, despite a concerted effort to plug the gaps.

Morale was down, and the fans got sick of it by August 1. Off-the-field controversies, though nothing earth-shattering (mainly because no Met hit the ball well enough to be accused of taking steroids), ate away at the clubhouse demeanor until every day was a New York Post drama day. Between the Piazza positional juggling, the Kaz/Reyes positional error, Franco bitching about his usage (all the while getting torched to the point where his FDNY shirt became a bitter irony), Leiter & Co. lobbying for the Kazmir blunder, and Glavine bitching to the press this week, it all painted a pretty petty picture. The New York Mets executive framework looks less like a typical, sensible pyramid and more like a hieroglyphic character; Jim Duquette's job description might as well be in sanskrit. You can have the most expensive bus in town, but if you can't find anyone to drive it properly, you're going to end up in a ditch.

So you can see why I might not be terribly enthused about reminiscing about the 2004 season, eh?

To be honest, this has escalated beyond annoyance for me. This is insulting to all of us, and there's no end in sight. The New York Mets are currently like a bad case of herpes (or so I'm told). The offseason is the remission, where the scars remain and the dread of the inevitable recurrence of flare-up hangs over us all the while. The season is a painful burn that seems to last an eternity and embarrasses us when people who aren't afflicted notice our plight. And it really hurts to take a leak. (Hmm . . . maybe the analogy doesn't go that far.)

Anyway, while most fans have no recourse except to try not to think about it and hope for the cure that's just not coming, I find myself at a unique, once-in-a-lifetime crossroads. I'll elaborate further in a subsequent post, but for the first time, I've got options. Viable options that, although it will cause me to leap into the Sea of Hypocrisy, are appealing options nonetheless. And just like I did back in college, much to my girlfriends' chagrin, I'm keeping my options open. I've dangled such threats in front of my Mets before, but for the first time, this isn't just idle chatter. Stay tuned.

The Age of Unlightenment

I can't even get a rational thought out, I'm so overloaded with anticipation, but it's a different sort of anxiety than last year. I had myself utterly convinced last year that the Sox were a team of destiny, on a mission from God, that I was locked and loaded prior to Game 1. This year, with the phenomenal sprint to the finish balanced by the soul-sucking mediocrity of the season's first 100 games, I can't figure this team out - they still seem to be missing...something.

You can see it in my blogging over the last three weeks, after they all but clinched the playoff spot. It's a bunch of aimless words, no real flow - an author in search of a voice. Last October, I was on it, baby, if I do say so myself. This year...eh, not so much.

But here's the thing (you knew it was coming, and you know you wanted it), last year, for all my surety, all my Era of Positivity, all my inspired blogstylings, the Sox gacked Game 7 of the ALDS. This season, for all my misgivings, and all my whining, and all my "feh", the Sox finished with a better record than they did in 2003, and are better equipped to make a deep run.

Game 7 of the World Series is scheduled for October 31. The Presidential election is 2 days later. Be pretty cool if native son and new President-elect John Kerry shows up at Fanueil Hall for the parade on November 3, wouldn't it? Fuck it, if the Sox win the World Series, Bush and Cheney could push for legislation depositing my paycheck directly into Halliburton's account, instead of indirectly, and I wouldn't bat an eyelash.

Games 159 through 162 - Red Sox
A (Very) Few Thoughts

Red Sox 8, Orioles 3
Red Sox 7, Orioles 5
Red Sox 7, Orioles 5
Orioles 3, Red Sox 2
Final Record: 98-64, 3GB NYY
AL Wild Card
3rd-best record in MLB

So it comes down to this: the Sox were 89-54 against all teams not from Baltimore, and 9-10 against the O's. If Boston had gone 12-7 - simply played to their level against the O's - they'd have won the American League East. That's super.

But enough with the O-bashing - Baltimore's a long way from the playoffs, and their owner gets to spend the rest of his tenure getting his nose rubbed in the Expos/Grays success. We come here not to bury Baltimore, but to praise the Red Sox. And complain about the postseason schedule. Briefly, because the people that sign my paycheck actually think I need to get some work done today - and if I'm going to bail on them early tomorrow, wander in late and bleary-eyed on Thursday morning, and then sneak out early on Friday, I suppose they're entitled.

The Sox were 45-18 from August 1 to the end of the season. After all the gnashing of teeth from this and other corners of the Nation, the Sox actually did perform to their potential. The Nomar trade, like it or not at the time, galvanized the entire roster. Theo Epstein is 8 feet tall and bulletproof at the moment. Curt Schilling won 21 games, Manny and Ortiz became the first teammates since Babe Ruth to both hit 40 homers and drive in 130 runs in one season, Kevin Millar carried the team for a stretch in August, and everyone else chipped in with critical contributions - even Derek Lowe and Tim Wakefield.

The 2004 Sox have now met baseline expectations. They were supposed to get to the playoffs. Do they have the horses to take the next step? As has been noted ad nauseum in the post-Moneyball world, baseball playoffs are a crapshoot, and predicting outcomes is about as useful as tits on John Kruk. Can the Sox win it all? Sure - they've got two very good starting pitchers (depending upon which Pedro Martinez makes the trip to Anaheim), the league's deepest offense, solid if not spectacular relief pitching, and a vastly improved defense. Could the Sox lose 3 straight to Anaheim and go home? Absolutely, especially if Schilling can't win Game 1 and Bartolo Colon steps up in Game 2. All the pontificating and prognosticating in the world doesn't amount to a hill of beans taller than Pedro's 27-inch buddy. All that's left is to hold my breath and watch the games.

Which are being played at 4:00 EST (Tuesday), 10:00 EST (Wednesday), and 4:00 EST (Friday). I could pick a worse set of times, but I'd have to work at it. So, I'll be leaving work early twice (or suffering through CBS Sportsline - a perhaps saner option) and staying up until the wee hours of the morning once. Whatever. It could be worse - I could be a Mets fan.

I was really hoping that the Sox would get to play Oakland, because it's fun to beat the A's, and the Sox have owned them this year. Anaheim scares me, because they don't beat themselves, they play the game the right way, they've got a lights-out bullpen, and they've got Vladimir Guerrero. If - and it's the single big if for the series - the Sox can get to the Angels' middling starting pitching early, I'd take the Sox in a walk. If the series comes down to the Halos' bullpen against the Sox', the Angels have a significant advantage, unless the Sox bullpen finds its 2003 mojo. To me, Pedro Martinez has a chance to be the single most important factor in this series - he could alternately be the stopper, soul-crusher, or life-giver, depending upon what happens in Game 1.

Enough blabbering. 11 wins to go. Stay on target.

Loco-Demotion

Now Omar Minaya is the General Manager of the Mets, and Jim Duquette . . . isn't. He's not fired, he's not resigning, he's taking a demotion. This just feels a little bit wrong, people. We can all agree that a lousy record and some . . . "questionable" moves (that was more generous than calling the Mets a "team") usually warrant the removal of the GM; however, what's become painfully obvious is that The Duke had as much to do with the make-up of this roster as Mr. Met did, maybe less. I don't think that Team "Impose Their" Wilpon is trying to make Duquette the scapegoat with this maneuver, but every action sends a message, and this one is that Jim Duquette didn't get the job done. Maybe he didn't, but like they said in ancient times, don't blame the shepherd for lost sheep when you were the one who tied him to the tree and beat the crap out of him. Or something like that.

Omar Minaya is giddy right now, eager with the anticipation of guiding his hometown team. He's flashing smiles and wide eyes all over New York. In the old fraternity days, we knew this time as the False Sense of Security Party. A year from now, his spirit will be shattered, his hope will have been squashed under a steel-toed boot, and his ass will really, really hurt, but right now, the future is bright. And his fall will be made exponentially more painful with every assurance from ownership that he'll have autonomy. What he doesn't know is that Jeff Wilpon thinks giving his GM's "autonomy" means letting them drive themselves to work.

Good luck, Omar, and godspeed. Duke, you'll want to visit Monster.com. There has got to be a better workplace for you than this.

Games 157 & 158 - Red Sox
That's Why He's Making ESPN Dollars

Red Sox 10, Devil Rays 8 (11)
Devil Rays 6, Red Sox 3 (in progress)

Had to break into my regularly scheduled aimless post-children's bedtime web surfing to make a quick comment. I've been trying, unsuccessfully, to find the words to describe my concerns about Pedro Martinez (tonight's line, 5 IP, 102 pitches, 10 hits, 6 earned runs - blecch). Turns out I don't need to worry about it, because Bill Simmons did it for me.

In his last 4 starts, Pedro's 0-3 (probably 0-4, unless the Sox bail him out) with 20 earned runs, 30 hits allowed, and 11 walks in 23 1/3 innings (a tidy 7.72 ERA). I cannot remember a similarly mediocre 4-game stretch in Pedro's Boston career. It's as if he's shrinking in front of our eyes, and it's not just his physical 'stuff' - Pedro's vaunted duende, his malevolent, arrogant, dominating mound presence has simply wandered off over the course of this season, leaving an obviously confused, very mortal pitcher to fill the void. You see it in his performance, and you hear it in his concession to the Yankees after last weekend's effort.

The impact of the loss of Pedro's mojo is immense. Simply stated, the Sox cannot win the World Series without Pedro. Hell, there's a good chance they can't get out of the ALDS with the current guy that's wearing number 45. Schilling's the ace now, the streak-stopping iron-willed hardass. Pedro just needs to be a 7-inning, 3-run kind of pitcher - the sort of guy he flossed with as recently as 2 years ago - that's all. And I'm really, really concerned that even that sort of effort's too much to ask.

At least Derek Lowe's rounding into shape.

Fuck.

Game 159 - Mets
Just In Case You Were Worried About Any Positive Momentum . . .

Braves 6, Mets 3
Record: 70-89

I'm "working at home" this afternoon, and I happened to notice the Mets/Braves game was being televised. Fortunately, I tuned in just in time to see the Mets give up four runs and go on to lose, 6-3. In doing so, they gave Bobby Cox his 2,000th victory. Awesome. If every one of the shots to the nuts the Mets have delivered to me this year were literal instead of figurative, I'd have gotten double-Kruk surgery months ago. Is it any wonder I alluded to abandoning this team?

I failed to mention the Mets' acquisition of former Expos exec Omar Minaya as president of baseball operations, squeezing him 'twixt the Wilpon Gang and Jim "What Exactly Is My Job Description?" Duquette. It remains to be seen whether this is either a step in the right direction and the Wilpons trust Minaya enough to turn all of the reins over to him or whether he'll just be another guy they survey among the scouts, players, radio show hosts, PA announcers, grounds crew, bleacher bums, and bloggers before arbitrarily making moves.

And I know I said I wouldn't talk about this Expos-to-DC business, but for some reason I feel no obligation to live up to claims I've made where MLB's executive office is concerned. I just need to underline the points Brer Russell made about the preposterous nature of the compensation MLB plans to provide Peter "There Is Currently No Expletive Vile Enough" Angelos. It's a dangerous, precedent-setting concession so they can avoid a confrontation they would have easily won. A couple of weeks ago, Thomas Boswell wrote an article in The Washington Post talking about how the deal was close to being done mainly because tough guy owner Jerry Reinsdorf was doing Bud's dirty job of standing up to Angelos. Now it's clear that this was the most misinformed 1,500 words since my outlook for the 2004 Mets.

The diminutive, surly Angelos has been likened to Napoleon throughout his tenure as Baltimore litigator and Orioles owner. Now Major League Baseball appears poised to complete the comparison with this coronation. Why not go the next step and guarantee the Orioles 75 wins a year and adjust the standings accordingly? Iron-clad guarantees are so ill-advised, and this will undoubtedly come back to bite baseball in the Bud. Rob is right about Angelos's track record of integrity, and it could be a very interesting few years in Baltimore. Leave it to Sneaky Pete to tank it for the next few seasons, blame the Senators, and make another mint. This is another shady deal to follow that initial purchase of the franchise by all of the owners. And as much as I'm thrilled baseball is coming here, this deal stinks.

How Bud Selig's popularity among the masses is at a "record high" is beyond me, but of course it's not the first approval ratings poll to stun me. Selig is a guy who, bless him, tries to please everyone but ends up bungling it every time. Bud, you can't make everybody happy, so figure out what's best for the sport and do it without feeling guilty, dammit. Washington, DC is best for baseball, though it may hurt the Orioles. So do it (two years ago). Compensate the Orioles, because fair is fair, but don't overdo it in an attempt to win back Angelos's love. Give him a few million dollars, maybe the clause about the sale price, and be done with it. Firm and fair. Instead, you've taken a win-scenario for your loss-loss-loss-loss-loss-loss track record and somehow, astoundingly, made it another loss. He's the anti-PR commissioner, saving embarrassment, criticism and ridicule from the jaws of public acclaim.

Games 157 & 158 - Mets
Cutting Our Losses

Mets 2, Braves 1
Braves 5, Mets 2
Record: 70-88

Like I said, it's always nice to beat the Braves. And like I also said, the Mets can't provide any smile that doesn't quickly become a smirk. There were but a couple of hours to enjoy the 2-1 win, what with the Braves leading 5-2 by the 6th inning of Game 2. Steve Trachsel was the star of Game 1, falling just short in his quest to dive back under a 4.00 ERA. He may have one more crack at it Sunday. The nightcap was simply more of the same for Tommy Glavine, who is employed by the Mets but owned by the Braves. Check out Glavine's month-by-month ERA:

April - 1.64
May - 2.59
June - 2.14
July - 4.31
August - 5.79
September - 6.69

Good thing the season ends now, eh? He did finish with a 3.66 ERA overall, but in case you can't recall (understandably so), he was gunning for the title a couple of months ago. As was Al Leiter, who was undone by a 4.46 August and a 5.33 September. Our well-documented concerns about these aged arms wearing down late in the season seem pretty obvious in retrospect, no? As for Trachsel, good luck figuring him out. His monthly progression:

4.50/1.96/5.06/3.35/5.86/3.48

I've had girlfriends that were less bipolar (not many, though).

Despite Game 2's perpetuation of the Met mantra what-goes-up-must-come-down-pronto, plenty of positive can be taken from the fact that a twinbill on the Mets' schedule didn't result in an embarrassing sweep. I did blanch when my eyes caught a snippet on the ticker saying that Wright had been hit in the ankle with a line drive. Of course it was Jaret Wright, but I mistakenly assumed it was David until further research steered me right. Phew. That'd be all we need. The right Wright continues to shine, one of the few bright spots I've talked about and longed for during the blight of '04.

A few of you have written in inquiring about the status of the two big wagers on the line for me. While the Mets are almost a lock to cost me 24 cold ones, at least they've dragged it out this far. Rob's magic number is 1 for a push and 2 to win, as the Sox have been hovering around that 25-game lead on the Mets for a few weeks now. I think he wanted Harpoon or something else Bostonian. He can post his choice once the unavoidable happens.

My other bet, the one involving DC's current hometown team (heh heh heh), the Orioles, is similarly coming down to the wire. After coasting to a huge lead, then utterly blowing it and looking doomed, the O's have rallied back into a comfortable 74-81 position, needing just one win to propel me to the break-even point in beverage bets. Think the Orioles can't lose all of their remaining games, though? You'd better believe they can. One comforting thought is that they still have a bone to pick with Rob Russell for his negative press in the face of their roughing up the Sox' wild card opponents (who, without Baltimore's contributions, would still be making the Red Sox fight it out until Game 162). So look for them to smack the Sox around just for kicks. I'll drink to that.

Speaking of things I'll drink to, as Rob mentioned (with a link to the Washington Times, defying my Top 10 list of things I swore I never see on this site), the Montreal Expos are becoming the Washington ______s next year. (If the Rangers extort this team for the rights to the Senators moniker after ditching DC 33 years ago, they ought to be contracted.) If you believe the press, which I don't, and if you believe MLB, which I gave up for Lent in 1994 and it stuck, and if you believe the DC City Council will do the right thing, which is to Total Recall yourself into not remembering that Marion Barry just received election onto the Council (that last bit is worthy of an entire blog of its own; not a blog post, an entire website), then you can safely be assured that Washington, DC will have a baseball team next year. If you're like me, you're cautiously optimistic at best, and at worst just waiting for the bomb to drop.

There will be plenty of time to celebrate this new ballclub when the time comes, but that time is not right now. There will be time to ponder whether the heralding of the new team in DC is appropriate material for this space, considering the intended topic. There will even be time to investigate the heart and mind of Whitney Lester and try to determine whether his allegiances will be tested -- or even scarier, if his beloved Mets have burned him so many times of late that he'd just walk away given this unique opportunity. There will be time for these discussions and more, but until Bud, his owners, Peter Angelos, the Council, and the new owners all publicly confirm that the neo-Senators have arrived, I'm not saying a thing here.

But man, I wish I could.

Sitting Here Beside Myself

According to the Associated Press, Major League Baseball will announce today that the Montreal Expos will be moved to Washington, DC beginning in 2005. Inasmuch as this is the right move and long overdue, and that common sense and MLB have long been bitter enemies, you could knock me over with a feather. As a resident of the D.C. metropolitan area (Whitney might argue that), I'm pumped and jacked. As a baseball fan who has seen MLB in action, I'm not quite ready to buy my season tickets just yet. And as a Red Sox fan, this is great, because of the terms of the deal.

Apparently Oriole owner Peter Angelos is willing to stand aside graciously on 2 conditions:

1. The Orioles be guaranteed a minimum revenue stream each year - if they fail to reach such revenue stream, MLB will make up the difference.

2. Angelos be guaranteed a minimum sale price when he decides to give the fans of Charm City a real owner and divest himself of the team. If he cannot find a prospective owner willing to meet the minimum, MLB will subsidize the difference.

Forget for a moment that Angelos' rabid-dog personality and predeliction for legal bullying is the only leg he's got to stand upon, and that he holds no legal claim to the Washington, D.C. market. Even if he had iron-clad territorial rights, the conditions listed above are laughably generous. Angelos has shown no inclination to put a good team on the field in his tenure as Oriole owner. The notion of a guaranteed revenue stream will allow him to drastically cut costs in all areas, including player development and salaries, and field a team of bargain-basement castoffs and misfits, knowing that the lower he can drive costs, the higher his profit margin. MLB is asking for a disaster here, and even though I want baseball in Washington, and even though the new-look wOe's would be great for the Sox to play 19 times each season, this deal is bad for baseball.

Which, of course, guarantees that it'll get done.

Game 156 - Red Sox
Tito's Dilemma

Red Sox 7, Devil Rays 3
Record: 94-62
Clinched AL Wild Card

That sound you hear - not the clinking noise, that's Derek Lowe waking amidst the remnants of a 12-pack, wearing Trot Nixon's underwear on his head, face decorated with Sharpie-drawn penises courtesy of Varitek and Schilling - is the entire Northeastern seaboard and large pockets of people around the Nation exhaling.

It's been a foregone conclusion since early September that the Sox would make the playoffs, but that hasn't stopped me from fretting over every opponent's mini-rally, or from feverishly checking my Blackberry - even in socially unacceptable situations - for Sox/Angels/Rangers updates. That's the nature of Sox fandom, dontchaknow, to look for the dark cloud in every silver lining.

That said, clinching a postseason berth with 6 games to go presents the Sox with an interesting set of decisions and dilemmas. Do they rest their big guns and conserve energy in preparation for the AL Division Series, or do they go great guns to catch the Yankees and try to win the AL East? Would they rather play Minnesota or the AL West winner in the first round of the playoffs? Will one of Tim Wakefield/Derek Lowe snap out of his season-long stupor long enough to contribute in October - and more seriously, what does the playoff rotation look like?

The first one's a no-brainer, and a little bit out of the Sox' control. The psychological and actual benefits of winning the division and securing home-field advantage in the ALDS are important enough that I'd make every effort to win each and every game until the Sox are mathematically eliminated. The Twins have played the Yankees tough in recent series', so it's possible that the season's final weekend will matter. Of course, if it does, the Orioles will likely take 3 of 4 to doom the Sox. Bastards.

On the second question my preference is clear - if the Sox are the Wild Card entry, I'd much rather go out west to face Oakland or Anaheim than to the heartland to face Johan Santana and Brad Radke on the carpet in Minneapolis. The Sox have played really well against both AL West contenders this season - especially in the last several weeks, and Minnesota has both a historical advantage at home in the postseason and the league's undisputed best and most dominant pitcher in Santana. The Sox would be lucky - very lucky - to get out of Minny with a split in the series' first two games. If they went down 0-2, they'd be looking at Derek Lowe to keep the season alive, and that thought makes me want to solder my eyes shut without anesthesia.

And finally, while I believe that Curt Schilling's the Sox' best starter at the moment, I'd lead off the ALDS with Pedro, regardless of opponent. Pedro would be getting the ball on regular rest in Game 1, and I'd rather place the burden of a must-win start on Schilling's capable shoulders should Pedro falter. The difference between the two - at least from the talent perspective - is negligible. They're both studs. But Pedro's notoriously more of a prima donna, and there's no need to alter his routine if it's not absolutely required. So the mantra, then, is 'Petey and Curt and pray Derek loses his skirt'.

A week of relaxation - for me, anyway - before the tightness in my chest returns. Game on.