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Thursday, October 31, 2002
Posted
2:54 PM
by Sean
Part 2 of the Game 7 experience is posted below, continuous with part 1 as part of the 10/30/2002 5:30:16 post.
Part 2 of the Game 7 experience is posted below, continuous with part 1 as part of the 10/30/2002 5:30:16 post.
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
Posted
5:30 PM
by Sean
"What'd you pay for your tickets?" was a popular question. It wasn't delivered in a nosy, how-much-can-you-afford kind of way, but with a wry, morbid curiosity: how much did the bastards get you for? Everyone who asked knew that we who had waited all this time were not about to let a small thing like finances or an economic slowdown stop us from seeing the Angels in the World Series; whatever we had on us, we would pay, and commisserate quietly together about scalpers later. And so when I'd answer, modestly, "face," their expressions would be of satisfaction that someone, at least, had gamed the ticket brokers out of a few bills. It wasn't until I told them that I'd actually gotten through to Ticketmaster to obtain my ticket that their faces took on looks of disbelief. "Really?" they'd say. "Wow. You're the only one I know."
I met Irene in Albuquerque. Irene's late husband, Don, had covered the Angels for thirty years for a newspaper in Long Beach, and now she lives about ten minutes from the stadium. On the ride to Phoenix she told me about meeting Gene Autry, Bo Belinsky, Dean Chance, and others of the early teams. She and her family had been to Games 1 and 2, as well as games from the ALDS and ALCS, but couldn't scare up four together for Game 7, and decided to watch it together in front of the TV instead of separately at the ballpark. Irene had seen hundreds of Angels games, but nothing like what had been happening for the last few weeks. "It's so loud," she said. "And everyone is wearing red!" The last time she was there, the line to get into the team store - where a jersey costs $80, mind you - was over three hours long.
In line to check in for the Phoenix to Orange County leg of the trip, I met a tall, athletic guy, maybe 25 years old, who had just run from another gate to catch this flight. He turned out to be Wes, a buddy of John Lackey's who had played with him in Boise, short-season ball, 1999. Lack had called him the night before, he said, in Minnesota, and told him to get to Anaheim ASAP--his old buddy had been tapped to pitch Game 7 of the World Series. Later, after the flight landed, we split a cab to the ballpark, and he told me that he and Lackey had both been starting pitchers in Boise--they would have been about 21 then--and would go out after their starts to eat pizza, drink beer, and fantasize about making it to the Series together. I checked out his stats after I got home--it seemed impolite to ask at the time--and damned if he didn't have a great year for Boise, good enough to get promoted a couple of times through the advanced-A California League and into Anaheim's Double-A affiliate in Arkansas. But then, he said, "a couple of surgeries later..." And he shrugged, because that's baseball. He and his reconstructed physique spent this past summer in the independent Northern League, playing for the St. Paul Saints, but for now, by God, he was going to the World Series, just like his friend promised.
I got to the stadium at 2:00, half an hour before the gates were due to open and two and a half hours before the game started. The parking lot was half full. A van from one of the local radio stations had attracted a crowd; interns were chucking free red T-shirts out of the open back doors. California law allows for ticket scalping, but prohibits it on the grounds of the stadium, so there were only a few guys wandering around with thousand-yard stares and carefully modulated voices, asking if anyone had an extra ticket. No one did.
The gates opened just after 2:30. Security was surprisingly light - purses and packages were inspected cursorily, but since I had neither I went through an "express gate." In the five minutes it took me to find the main souvenir store inside the stadium, it had already filled and shoppers were being allowed access only when others were exiting. The line wrapped around the side of the building. Since I never have to wait to get onto the store's web site, I moved on.
One bratwurst later, I was making a circuit of the stadium. Edison Field is nice - not spectacular, like Kaufmann Stadium in Kansas City, or stuffed with amusements, like Minute Maid in Houston, but much better than, say, the Metrodome or old Fulton County Stadium. It looks like what it is: a multipurpose stadium that's been renovated to make it baseball-only, with some pre-fab rocks and fountains placed past the left-center field wall to give it some character. In the outfield concourse, there are the ubiquitous "see how fast you can throw the ball" and "see how far you can hit the (virtual) ball" machines, only no one was playing them, because how many kids can afford $150 a ticket?
On the way to my seat, I looked for a beer and was somewhat disappointed to find nothing in the way of stuff from local breweries. Fortunately, I spotted the Heineken logo on a nearby cart. That'll do in a pinch, I though. Heineken's fine. Heineken's drinkable. Heineken's...nine dollars?
Nothing like a cold Budweiser at the ball game.
My seat turned out to be in the second deck, which is the same height the luxury boxes have. My section had an "attendant," who took food orders and entered them into an electronic handheld device, where the fans' doganacokes were transmitted to the ether, displayed on a screen in a nearby concession stand, and delivered by runners. Unfortunately, I was also as far from the plate as it's possible to get without actually being in the outfield - home plate, the left field foul pole, and I lined up straight. But it was in the stadium.
I read from my offical World Series program ($10) for a while, and every time I looked up it seemed like someone had turned on another tap. The stadium was 5% full. I read the Commissioner's welcome message. The stadium was 15% full. I checked out the 2002 American League highlights. The stadium was 50% full. Meanwhile, banner-pulling airplanes filled the sky, to the point that I suspected some air traffic controller was pulling special duty from a box on the roof. I counted nine airplanes, two helicopers, and the blimp in the sky at the same time, not counting what I couldn't see behind me.
To help pass the time, I inflated my official-issue World Series ThunderStix. They were giving these things out free at the gates - essentially long, oblate balloons you inflate with straws, ThunderStix, when banged together, make a noise like a bucket of turkey guts dropped onto a plastic sheet from five stories up. Prior to showing up at the ballpark, my biggest concern about ThunderStix was that they'd block my view of the game, but now it was clear that I was going to be in serious danger of hearing loss comparable to someone who's stood underneath a 747 during takeoff or been to a Blue Oyster Cult concert.
I was sitting on the aisle, and eventually my neighors arrived - a father and his son, maybe ten years old. The boy had just come from watching batting practice up close, and had gotten some autographs on a ball he'd brought. "I got Adam Kennedy, Benji Gil, and Tim Salmon, this time," he said. This time. It wasn't a big deal, getting these guys to sign a baseball. It's what baseball players do, right?
Finally, the festivities got rolling. Melissa Etheridge sang the National Anthem. The obligatory big-game flyby of jets happened. And then, the weirdest thing happened: a baseball game started.
It sounds stupid, but one of the strangest things about the whole trip was how normal the game itself was. We tend to think of Game 7 of the World Series as the biggest possible moment in sports (stop emailing me, World Cup fans, I don't care). The crowds are larger and louder, the culmination of thousands of games played during the season turns on a few inches here or there. Accomplishments in that environment are mythic. For all that, however, it's still just a baseball game. Homers aren't worth 6 runs, you still get one out for three strikes, nobody gains the power of flight. Nothing happened in Game 7 that you would think twice about if you saw it in June. Sure, Darin Erstad made a terrific catch on a sinking line drive to rob David Bell of a leadoff hit in the top of the 5th, but Darin Erstad makes those plays all the time. The juxtaposition of these perfectly ordinary plays with the never-before-seen (in Anaheim) Game 7 atmosphere made things surreal.
Don't, however, think that just because the game itself was normal it wasn't a great game to watch. Aside from the fans and the fanfare, the Giants and Angels played a terrific, tense game that came down to the last batter. I knew from talking to Lackey's minor-league buddy that he had gone to Scioscia and asked for the ball, a sign that he had the confidence and wouldn't be rattled early. Hernandez had looked bad in game 3, and looked bad in the first inning, too, and the crowd was on its feet as he walked two to put David Eckstein in scoring position with one out. But then Eckstein was doubled off second on Anderson's liner to center, and suddenly I knew what "taking the crowd out of the game" meant.
Bonds led off the second, and suddenly no one was making noise. The entire crowd was braced for another crushed ball, and I remember thinking only that Lackey had done a good job to make sure Bonds didn't come up with men on base. But then he lined out, and it was like a call from the governor at 11:59. In his subsequent at-bats, Bonds would single, pop up, and walk, and each time he reached the plate his mystique was diminished a little more. When he drew a walk in the eighth inning, with two out and nobody on, the crowd cheered wildly: with four outs left to get and a three-run lead, Barry Bonds had been eliminated as a factor.
Hernandez was terrible. Even from my seat, I could tell he was nervous, not hitting his spots. I kept expecting Baker to start the bullpen, but even after giving up back-to-back hits to Eckstein and Erstad to start the third, all was quiet down there. When Hernandez hit Salmon to load the bases, it was obvious that good things were about to happen for the Angels.
Anderson's bases-clearing double chased Hernandez (he was actually left in for one more batter, to intentially walk Troy Glaus), and then the game really got good. On the brink of being blown out, Chad Zerbe got the Giants out of the two-on, no-out jam and kept them in the game. I've read a lot of stories by people who called Game 7 "anticlimactic" because the winning runs were scored in the third and there wasn't the dramatic comeback win featured in Game 6. Nobody in that stadium, however, thought that the game was anticlimactic; I suspect that every single one of the 40,000+ fans in attendance would have been surprised to learn that Anderson's double in the third would score the last runs of the ball game. With six innings of Bonds, Kent, Sanders, et al coming up, I looked on the Angels' failure to score Anderson from second as a potentially devastating loss.
In fact, that would be pretty much it for the Anaheim offense. Aside from a double by Molina in the 6th, the Giants' relief pitching shut down the Angels' bats. Kirk Rueter, in particular, pitched four scoreless innings, and I'll be damned if I can figure out how. One of the really nice features of Edison Field is that they have the pitcher's total pitch count, balls, and strikes posted on the scoreboard at all times, and Rueter was throwing very nearly as many balls as strikes. Ordinarily, that's not such a good sign, but in this case he was getting the Angels to chase balls out of the strike zone, or look for balls away when he was coming in, or something. I haven't had a chance to watch the videotape from those innings yet, but for four innings it frustrated the hell out of me.
Meanwhile, Lackey was starting to wobble. In the fifth, he looked like he was struggling, throwing a lot of balls down and away, and it looked like it was only a matter of time before he started walking guys, which would force him to throw over the plate more, which would let the Giants start hitting the ball. Erstad saved his bacon with his catch to lead off the inning, though, and Lackey struck out Pedro Feliz (who may be the worst hitter ever to DH in a World Series game). He walked Lofton, and the bullpen was up - I could see Donnelly and Schoeneweis getting ready - but then Aurilia flied out to end the inning, and that was it for Lackey.
Donnelly kept us on the edge of our seats in the 6th and 7th. According to the game log, the 6th looked like the bigger threat, what with Snow on second and Santiago on third with two outs, but in all honesty when Baker pinch hit Goodwin for Sanders it was like that call from the governor again. Goodwin dutifully struck out.
It was the one-two-three seventh that was really the adventure. Bell led off by hitting a 2-2 pitch into deep left and I was positive it was gone, but Anderson, backed up to the wall, nonchalantly settled under it for the out. Feliz again struck out, and then Lofton hit another bomb - but again, it was just shy of home run power, backing Salmon up to the right-field wall. The woman in the seat in front of me turned around. "I hate that Donnelly," she said.
During the Angels' half of the seventh, I watch Frankie Rodriguez--"K-Rod," they call him in Anaheim--warm up. My seat looked right down on the bullpen, so I had seen Lackey, Donnelly, Schoeneweis, and now Rodriguez warm up. While the other three had looked like they were working the kinks out, however, Rodriguez looked not just ready to go, but ready to dominate. The ball had such incredible speed and movement on it that it looked like someone had given him a golf ball to throw. I knew Bonds was due up third in the eighth, but, looking at Rodriguez warm up, I didn't think there was any way anyone was going to be on base when he did.
I was right. Rodriguez is 20 (or so he says, anyway), and maybe that's just too young to know you're supposed to lose control in such situations. But K-Rod gave Aurilia and Kent no chance. Aurilia went down on three pitches, Kent on four.
I HAVE watched the videotape of this inning, and can say that Rodriguez certainly looked like he was pitching to Bonds - just not giving him anything to hit. I don't think he was trying to pitch around Bonds, exactly, but gave him pitches that were just bad enough to get him out if he swung. Bonds has a preternatural eye at the plate, though, and walked, which no one in the stadium thought was a bad thing. And then, faced with someone who wasn't Barry Bonds, Rodriguez went right after Santiago and struck him out on four pitches.
It's hard to overestimate the importance of a good closer to a baseball fan's psyche, and Troy Percival is a terrific closer. He came to the Angels in 1995, served as Lee Smith's setup man, and has been one of the best relief pitchers in baseball ever since. But Lord God he does like to make things interesting, and this especially is where I don't understand why anyone thought the game was anticlimactic: it came down to a two-on, two-out at-bat, Troy Percival vs. Kenny Lofton. Lofton is not some banjo-hitting callup; he bats leadoff and hit 11 home runs this year.
When he connected with the first pitch, it took about two seconds to realize that it was going to stay in the park, and it wasn't until that moment that I really believed that the Angels were going to win the World Series. Throughout the eighth and ninth, knowing that Rodriguez and Percival were what they were, I was half-expecting a terrorist attack, or asteroid, or some damn thing. "The Angels win the World Series" seemed like such an improbable thing; even when the organization spent decades trying with increasing desperation to "win one for the cowboy," "one" referred to an American League pennant, not the World Series. But when I saw that ball was going to come down, and saw Erstad waving his arms, I had just one thought left:
Please, God, don't let Ochoa go for it too.
A second later, Ochoa had pulled up and was watching Erstad make the Angels World Champs. I needed about six pairs of eyes, then. I wanted to see Erstad and Ochoa sprint in from the outfield, Molina leap into Percival's arms, Spiezio and Glaus rush in from the corners, Anderson break into his first grin of the season, and every section of the stadium go bananas.
They did a remarkable job setting up the stage on the field for the presentation of the trophies; I heard that they had actually set everything up in the Giants' clubhouse the night before when it looked like they were going to win, and just as quickly tore it down when they didn't. Within ten minutes, Jeanne Zelasko was introducing Bud Selig, who was roundly booed, and Michael Eisner, who was booed a little less, and then Scioscia was hoisting the trophy over his head and the place just exploded.
I left about an hour later, after watching Salmon take a victory lap with the trophy, Glaus receive his MVP award, and Ben Weber emerge from the dugout to spray champagne on the fans who had stayed to watch a seemingly endless procession of interviews with David Eckstein on the field. My hotel was about a mile and a half away, and I don't think I went twenty feet at any given time without being honked at by somebody who had spotted my cap and red shirt.
The next morning, I made the Orange County-Phoenix-El Paso-Dallas return home. I left Orange County at 6:45 a.m., and my plane landed in Dallas at 3:20 p.m. But I have no idea when I'll come back to Earth.
"What'd you pay for your tickets?" was a popular question. It wasn't delivered in a nosy, how-much-can-you-afford kind of way, but with a wry, morbid curiosity: how much did the bastards get you for? Everyone who asked knew that we who had waited all this time were not about to let a small thing like finances or an economic slowdown stop us from seeing the Angels in the World Series; whatever we had on us, we would pay, and commisserate quietly together about scalpers later. And so when I'd answer, modestly, "face," their expressions would be of satisfaction that someone, at least, had gamed the ticket brokers out of a few bills. It wasn't until I told them that I'd actually gotten through to Ticketmaster to obtain my ticket that their faces took on looks of disbelief. "Really?" they'd say. "Wow. You're the only one I know."
I met Irene in Albuquerque. Irene's late husband, Don, had covered the Angels for thirty years for a newspaper in Long Beach, and now she lives about ten minutes from the stadium. On the ride to Phoenix she told me about meeting Gene Autry, Bo Belinsky, Dean Chance, and others of the early teams. She and her family had been to Games 1 and 2, as well as games from the ALDS and ALCS, but couldn't scare up four together for Game 7, and decided to watch it together in front of the TV instead of separately at the ballpark. Irene had seen hundreds of Angels games, but nothing like what had been happening for the last few weeks. "It's so loud," she said. "And everyone is wearing red!" The last time she was there, the line to get into the team store - where a jersey costs $80, mind you - was over three hours long.
In line to check in for the Phoenix to Orange County leg of the trip, I met a tall, athletic guy, maybe 25 years old, who had just run from another gate to catch this flight. He turned out to be Wes, a buddy of John Lackey's who had played with him in Boise, short-season ball, 1999. Lack had called him the night before, he said, in Minnesota, and told him to get to Anaheim ASAP--his old buddy had been tapped to pitch Game 7 of the World Series. Later, after the flight landed, we split a cab to the ballpark, and he told me that he and Lackey had both been starting pitchers in Boise--they would have been about 21 then--and would go out after their starts to eat pizza, drink beer, and fantasize about making it to the Series together. I checked out his stats after I got home--it seemed impolite to ask at the time--and damned if he didn't have a great year for Boise, good enough to get promoted a couple of times through the advanced-A California League and into Anaheim's Double-A affiliate in Arkansas. But then, he said, "a couple of surgeries later..." And he shrugged, because that's baseball. He and his reconstructed physique spent this past summer in the independent Northern League, playing for the St. Paul Saints, but for now, by God, he was going to the World Series, just like his friend promised.
I got to the stadium at 2:00, half an hour before the gates were due to open and two and a half hours before the game started. The parking lot was half full. A van from one of the local radio stations had attracted a crowd; interns were chucking free red T-shirts out of the open back doors. California law allows for ticket scalping, but prohibits it on the grounds of the stadium, so there were only a few guys wandering around with thousand-yard stares and carefully modulated voices, asking if anyone had an extra ticket. No one did.
The gates opened just after 2:30. Security was surprisingly light - purses and packages were inspected cursorily, but since I had neither I went through an "express gate." In the five minutes it took me to find the main souvenir store inside the stadium, it had already filled and shoppers were being allowed access only when others were exiting. The line wrapped around the side of the building. Since I never have to wait to get onto the store's web site, I moved on.
One bratwurst later, I was making a circuit of the stadium. Edison Field is nice - not spectacular, like Kaufmann Stadium in Kansas City, or stuffed with amusements, like Minute Maid in Houston, but much better than, say, the Metrodome or old Fulton County Stadium. It looks like what it is: a multipurpose stadium that's been renovated to make it baseball-only, with some pre-fab rocks and fountains placed past the left-center field wall to give it some character. In the outfield concourse, there are the ubiquitous "see how fast you can throw the ball" and "see how far you can hit the (virtual) ball" machines, only no one was playing them, because how many kids can afford $150 a ticket?
On the way to my seat, I looked for a beer and was somewhat disappointed to find nothing in the way of stuff from local breweries. Fortunately, I spotted the Heineken logo on a nearby cart. That'll do in a pinch, I though. Heineken's fine. Heineken's drinkable. Heineken's...nine dollars?
Nothing like a cold Budweiser at the ball game.
My seat turned out to be in the second deck, which is the same height the luxury boxes have. My section had an "attendant," who took food orders and entered them into an electronic handheld device, where the fans' doganacokes were transmitted to the ether, displayed on a screen in a nearby concession stand, and delivered by runners. Unfortunately, I was also as far from the plate as it's possible to get without actually being in the outfield - home plate, the left field foul pole, and I lined up straight. But it was in the stadium.
I read from my offical World Series program ($10) for a while, and every time I looked up it seemed like someone had turned on another tap. The stadium was 5% full. I read the Commissioner's welcome message. The stadium was 15% full. I checked out the 2002 American League highlights. The stadium was 50% full. Meanwhile, banner-pulling airplanes filled the sky, to the point that I suspected some air traffic controller was pulling special duty from a box on the roof. I counted nine airplanes, two helicopers, and the blimp in the sky at the same time, not counting what I couldn't see behind me.
To help pass the time, I inflated my official-issue World Series ThunderStix. They were giving these things out free at the gates - essentially long, oblate balloons you inflate with straws, ThunderStix, when banged together, make a noise like a bucket of turkey guts dropped onto a plastic sheet from five stories up. Prior to showing up at the ballpark, my biggest concern about ThunderStix was that they'd block my view of the game, but now it was clear that I was going to be in serious danger of hearing loss comparable to someone who's stood underneath a 747 during takeoff or been to a Blue Oyster Cult concert.
I was sitting on the aisle, and eventually my neighors arrived - a father and his son, maybe ten years old. The boy had just come from watching batting practice up close, and had gotten some autographs on a ball he'd brought. "I got Adam Kennedy, Benji Gil, and Tim Salmon, this time," he said. This time. It wasn't a big deal, getting these guys to sign a baseball. It's what baseball players do, right?
Finally, the festivities got rolling. Melissa Etheridge sang the National Anthem. The obligatory big-game flyby of jets happened. And then, the weirdest thing happened: a baseball game started.
It sounds stupid, but one of the strangest things about the whole trip was how normal the game itself was. We tend to think of Game 7 of the World Series as the biggest possible moment in sports (stop emailing me, World Cup fans, I don't care). The crowds are larger and louder, the culmination of thousands of games played during the season turns on a few inches here or there. Accomplishments in that environment are mythic. For all that, however, it's still just a baseball game. Homers aren't worth 6 runs, you still get one out for three strikes, nobody gains the power of flight. Nothing happened in Game 7 that you would think twice about if you saw it in June. Sure, Darin Erstad made a terrific catch on a sinking line drive to rob David Bell of a leadoff hit in the top of the 5th, but Darin Erstad makes those plays all the time. The juxtaposition of these perfectly ordinary plays with the never-before-seen (in Anaheim) Game 7 atmosphere made things surreal.
Don't, however, think that just because the game itself was normal it wasn't a great game to watch. Aside from the fans and the fanfare, the Giants and Angels played a terrific, tense game that came down to the last batter. I knew from talking to Lackey's minor-league buddy that he had gone to Scioscia and asked for the ball, a sign that he had the confidence and wouldn't be rattled early. Hernandez had looked bad in game 3, and looked bad in the first inning, too, and the crowd was on its feet as he walked two to put David Eckstein in scoring position with one out. But then Eckstein was doubled off second on Anderson's liner to center, and suddenly I knew what "taking the crowd out of the game" meant.
Bonds led off the second, and suddenly no one was making noise. The entire crowd was braced for another crushed ball, and I remember thinking only that Lackey had done a good job to make sure Bonds didn't come up with men on base. But then he lined out, and it was like a call from the governor at 11:59. In his subsequent at-bats, Bonds would single, pop up, and walk, and each time he reached the plate his mystique was diminished a little more. When he drew a walk in the eighth inning, with two out and nobody on, the crowd cheered wildly: with four outs left to get and a three-run lead, Barry Bonds had been eliminated as a factor.
Hernandez was terrible. Even from my seat, I could tell he was nervous, not hitting his spots. I kept expecting Baker to start the bullpen, but even after giving up back-to-back hits to Eckstein and Erstad to start the third, all was quiet down there. When Hernandez hit Salmon to load the bases, it was obvious that good things were about to happen for the Angels.
Anderson's bases-clearing double chased Hernandez (he was actually left in for one more batter, to intentially walk Troy Glaus), and then the game really got good. On the brink of being blown out, Chad Zerbe got the Giants out of the two-on, no-out jam and kept them in the game. I've read a lot of stories by people who called Game 7 "anticlimactic" because the winning runs were scored in the third and there wasn't the dramatic comeback win featured in Game 6. Nobody in that stadium, however, thought that the game was anticlimactic; I suspect that every single one of the 40,000+ fans in attendance would have been surprised to learn that Anderson's double in the third would score the last runs of the ball game. With six innings of Bonds, Kent, Sanders, et al coming up, I looked on the Angels' failure to score Anderson from second as a potentially devastating loss.
In fact, that would be pretty much it for the Anaheim offense. Aside from a double by Molina in the 6th, the Giants' relief pitching shut down the Angels' bats. Kirk Rueter, in particular, pitched four scoreless innings, and I'll be damned if I can figure out how. One of the really nice features of Edison Field is that they have the pitcher's total pitch count, balls, and strikes posted on the scoreboard at all times, and Rueter was throwing very nearly as many balls as strikes. Ordinarily, that's not such a good sign, but in this case he was getting the Angels to chase balls out of the strike zone, or look for balls away when he was coming in, or something. I haven't had a chance to watch the videotape from those innings yet, but for four innings it frustrated the hell out of me.
Meanwhile, Lackey was starting to wobble. In the fifth, he looked like he was struggling, throwing a lot of balls down and away, and it looked like it was only a matter of time before he started walking guys, which would force him to throw over the plate more, which would let the Giants start hitting the ball. Erstad saved his bacon with his catch to lead off the inning, though, and Lackey struck out Pedro Feliz (who may be the worst hitter ever to DH in a World Series game). He walked Lofton, and the bullpen was up - I could see Donnelly and Schoeneweis getting ready - but then Aurilia flied out to end the inning, and that was it for Lackey.
Donnelly kept us on the edge of our seats in the 6th and 7th. According to the game log, the 6th looked like the bigger threat, what with Snow on second and Santiago on third with two outs, but in all honesty when Baker pinch hit Goodwin for Sanders it was like that call from the governor again. Goodwin dutifully struck out.
It was the one-two-three seventh that was really the adventure. Bell led off by hitting a 2-2 pitch into deep left and I was positive it was gone, but Anderson, backed up to the wall, nonchalantly settled under it for the out. Feliz again struck out, and then Lofton hit another bomb - but again, it was just shy of home run power, backing Salmon up to the right-field wall. The woman in the seat in front of me turned around. "I hate that Donnelly," she said.
During the Angels' half of the seventh, I watch Frankie Rodriguez--"K-Rod," they call him in Anaheim--warm up. My seat looked right down on the bullpen, so I had seen Lackey, Donnelly, Schoeneweis, and now Rodriguez warm up. While the other three had looked like they were working the kinks out, however, Rodriguez looked not just ready to go, but ready to dominate. The ball had such incredible speed and movement on it that it looked like someone had given him a golf ball to throw. I knew Bonds was due up third in the eighth, but, looking at Rodriguez warm up, I didn't think there was any way anyone was going to be on base when he did.
I was right. Rodriguez is 20 (or so he says, anyway), and maybe that's just too young to know you're supposed to lose control in such situations. But K-Rod gave Aurilia and Kent no chance. Aurilia went down on three pitches, Kent on four.
I HAVE watched the videotape of this inning, and can say that Rodriguez certainly looked like he was pitching to Bonds - just not giving him anything to hit. I don't think he was trying to pitch around Bonds, exactly, but gave him pitches that were just bad enough to get him out if he swung. Bonds has a preternatural eye at the plate, though, and walked, which no one in the stadium thought was a bad thing. And then, faced with someone who wasn't Barry Bonds, Rodriguez went right after Santiago and struck him out on four pitches.
It's hard to overestimate the importance of a good closer to a baseball fan's psyche, and Troy Percival is a terrific closer. He came to the Angels in 1995, served as Lee Smith's setup man, and has been one of the best relief pitchers in baseball ever since. But Lord God he does like to make things interesting, and this especially is where I don't understand why anyone thought the game was anticlimactic: it came down to a two-on, two-out at-bat, Troy Percival vs. Kenny Lofton. Lofton is not some banjo-hitting callup; he bats leadoff and hit 11 home runs this year.
When he connected with the first pitch, it took about two seconds to realize that it was going to stay in the park, and it wasn't until that moment that I really believed that the Angels were going to win the World Series. Throughout the eighth and ninth, knowing that Rodriguez and Percival were what they were, I was half-expecting a terrorist attack, or asteroid, or some damn thing. "The Angels win the World Series" seemed like such an improbable thing; even when the organization spent decades trying with increasing desperation to "win one for the cowboy," "one" referred to an American League pennant, not the World Series. But when I saw that ball was going to come down, and saw Erstad waving his arms, I had just one thought left:
Please, God, don't let Ochoa go for it too.
A second later, Ochoa had pulled up and was watching Erstad make the Angels World Champs. I needed about six pairs of eyes, then. I wanted to see Erstad and Ochoa sprint in from the outfield, Molina leap into Percival's arms, Spiezio and Glaus rush in from the corners, Anderson break into his first grin of the season, and every section of the stadium go bananas.
They did a remarkable job setting up the stage on the field for the presentation of the trophies; I heard that they had actually set everything up in the Giants' clubhouse the night before when it looked like they were going to win, and just as quickly tore it down when they didn't. Within ten minutes, Jeanne Zelasko was introducing Bud Selig, who was roundly booed, and Michael Eisner, who was booed a little less, and then Scioscia was hoisting the trophy over his head and the place just exploded.
I left about an hour later, after watching Salmon take a victory lap with the trophy, Glaus receive his MVP award, and Ben Weber emerge from the dugout to spray champagne on the fans who had stayed to watch a seemingly endless procession of interviews with David Eckstein on the field. My hotel was about a mile and a half away, and I don't think I went twenty feet at any given time without being honked at by somebody who had spotted my cap and red shirt.
The next morning, I made the Orange County-Phoenix-El Paso-Dallas return home. I left Orange County at 6:45 a.m., and my plane landed in Dallas at 3:20 p.m. But I have no idea when I'll come back to Earth.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Posted
3:47 PM
by Sean
First of all, the dog is going to need therapy.
The day the playoffs started, I bought a bottle of champagne and told myself that, once the Angels' season was over, I'd drink to the fact that after sixteen years they'd finally managed to make it in again. I wasn't thinking about a World Series; I was mostly thinking that they needed to go after a split in Yankee Stadium, then come back and get a split at home, then roll the dice in Game 5. I was thinking that it would be nice if they could do a little damage, win a couple of games, make everyone who expected the Yankees to roll into an ALCS showdown with the A's realize that the Angels weren't your typical wild-card team; they went 93-49 over the last 142 games of the season and were every bit as good as the Yankees and definitely could contend with the A's. But FOX kept showing that graphic to tell all of us at home that the Yankees had playoff experience - Lord, yes, scads of playoff experience - and the Angels players had a sum total of two games in the playoffs, both by Kevin Appier.
Funny thing, though: four games later, the bottle was still getting cold, Derek Jeter was staring morosely over the bullpen railing, and the Angels had won their first postseason series, ever. Mike Scioscia was an idiot for 24 hours after not using Percival to protect a lead in the eighth inning of Game 1, then magically became some kind of genius after the team won the next three. Meanwhile, the Minnesota Twins were everybody's darlings, beating the A's in five games. The A's were the overwhelming favorite of baseball writers everywhere going into the postseason - they had Zito, Mulder, Hudson, Tejada, Justice, and on, and on....and, oops, out. Gone in the first round for the third straight year, the A's had a spectacular second half of the season that encompassed a 20-win streak that overshadowed the brilliant baseball being played by the Angels during the same time period. That they could be knocked off by the Twins served to show that the Minnesotans, having escaped contraction, were rampaging towards their destiny and would not be denied.
Except then they were. Again faced with a team for whom the concept of home-field advantage was very real, the Angels split the first two games of the ALCS in the Twins' dingy rec room of a ballpark, came home, and swept all three in Anaheim. For the first time ever, I was able to say "the Angels won the pennant." By this time, the champagne had migrated to the back of the refrigerator. I could see the neck of the bottle behind the orange juice; if I shuffled the bread around I could see some of the label.
During the World Series, it just got worse. The fridge was full of take-out and cold cuts. There was no way I was cooking while the Angels were on. From Game 1 through Game 5, that bottle was invisible.
Not so in Game Six. The Giants jumped out to an early lead on a home run by Shawon Dunston--Shawon Dunston, for God's sake--and then another by Barry Bonds, who had proven and was proving that pitching to him and walking him were both losing propositions. By the seventh inning, it was 5-0. The Giants had it in the bag, and I was starting to think about pushing the cartons and packages out of the way, retrieving the bottle, and toasting the American League Champions. The Giants' bullpen was as competent as they come, and Robb Nen had been lights-out against the Angels. So when Spiezio lifted that three-run homer over Reggie Sanders's glove and into the fourth row of the right-field seats, I told myself that at least they'd made it interesting--but I didn't forget that bottle.
The top of the eighth came and went. Donuts, our shy yellow lab mix, came over to be petted. Darin Erstad came to the plate to hit against Tim Worrell, and I kept one eye on him and one eye on the dog. A ball. A strike. And then a swing, and a shot off the sweet part of the bat that raced for the right-field wall, and I was on my feet, screaming "get out of here!" Donuts, the ball, and all thoughts of that bottle of champagne disappeared at the same time.
Ersty's home run only made it 5-4, but after that the team was in full throat, baying for more hits, more runs, more games, more of this unbelievable season. Worrell threw ball one to Salmon, who then smacked a single into center field and was pulled for Chone Figgins, the fastest man on the team but a guy who had made multiple baserunning mistakes against the Twins in the ALCS. Garret Anderson fouled one off, then dropped a bloop down the left-field line that Bonds misplayed, Figgins goes to third, Anderson ends up on second. Dusty Baker pulls Worrell in favor of Nen, but by this time it's too late. The hit train has arrived. Glaus takes a 2-1into the gap in left center, Figgins and Anderson score, the Angels take the lead, and before anyone can even get nervous about a ninth-inning rally, Troy Percival has blown through Goodwin, Lofton, and Aurilia. Good night, see you tomorrow.
And when the Series is over, the dog will need therapy.
First of all, the dog is going to need therapy.
The day the playoffs started, I bought a bottle of champagne and told myself that, once the Angels' season was over, I'd drink to the fact that after sixteen years they'd finally managed to make it in again. I wasn't thinking about a World Series; I was mostly thinking that they needed to go after a split in Yankee Stadium, then come back and get a split at home, then roll the dice in Game 5. I was thinking that it would be nice if they could do a little damage, win a couple of games, make everyone who expected the Yankees to roll into an ALCS showdown with the A's realize that the Angels weren't your typical wild-card team; they went 93-49 over the last 142 games of the season and were every bit as good as the Yankees and definitely could contend with the A's. But FOX kept showing that graphic to tell all of us at home that the Yankees had playoff experience - Lord, yes, scads of playoff experience - and the Angels players had a sum total of two games in the playoffs, both by Kevin Appier.
Funny thing, though: four games later, the bottle was still getting cold, Derek Jeter was staring morosely over the bullpen railing, and the Angels had won their first postseason series, ever. Mike Scioscia was an idiot for 24 hours after not using Percival to protect a lead in the eighth inning of Game 1, then magically became some kind of genius after the team won the next three. Meanwhile, the Minnesota Twins were everybody's darlings, beating the A's in five games. The A's were the overwhelming favorite of baseball writers everywhere going into the postseason - they had Zito, Mulder, Hudson, Tejada, Justice, and on, and on....and, oops, out. Gone in the first round for the third straight year, the A's had a spectacular second half of the season that encompassed a 20-win streak that overshadowed the brilliant baseball being played by the Angels during the same time period. That they could be knocked off by the Twins served to show that the Minnesotans, having escaped contraction, were rampaging towards their destiny and would not be denied.
Except then they were. Again faced with a team for whom the concept of home-field advantage was very real, the Angels split the first two games of the ALCS in the Twins' dingy rec room of a ballpark, came home, and swept all three in Anaheim. For the first time ever, I was able to say "the Angels won the pennant." By this time, the champagne had migrated to the back of the refrigerator. I could see the neck of the bottle behind the orange juice; if I shuffled the bread around I could see some of the label.
During the World Series, it just got worse. The fridge was full of take-out and cold cuts. There was no way I was cooking while the Angels were on. From Game 1 through Game 5, that bottle was invisible.
Not so in Game Six. The Giants jumped out to an early lead on a home run by Shawon Dunston--Shawon Dunston, for God's sake--and then another by Barry Bonds, who had proven and was proving that pitching to him and walking him were both losing propositions. By the seventh inning, it was 5-0. The Giants had it in the bag, and I was starting to think about pushing the cartons and packages out of the way, retrieving the bottle, and toasting the American League Champions. The Giants' bullpen was as competent as they come, and Robb Nen had been lights-out against the Angels. So when Spiezio lifted that three-run homer over Reggie Sanders's glove and into the fourth row of the right-field seats, I told myself that at least they'd made it interesting--but I didn't forget that bottle.
The top of the eighth came and went. Donuts, our shy yellow lab mix, came over to be petted. Darin Erstad came to the plate to hit against Tim Worrell, and I kept one eye on him and one eye on the dog. A ball. A strike. And then a swing, and a shot off the sweet part of the bat that raced for the right-field wall, and I was on my feet, screaming "get out of here!" Donuts, the ball, and all thoughts of that bottle of champagne disappeared at the same time.
Ersty's home run only made it 5-4, but after that the team was in full throat, baying for more hits, more runs, more games, more of this unbelievable season. Worrell threw ball one to Salmon, who then smacked a single into center field and was pulled for Chone Figgins, the fastest man on the team but a guy who had made multiple baserunning mistakes against the Twins in the ALCS. Garret Anderson fouled one off, then dropped a bloop down the left-field line that Bonds misplayed, Figgins goes to third, Anderson ends up on second. Dusty Baker pulls Worrell in favor of Nen, but by this time it's too late. The hit train has arrived. Glaus takes a 2-1into the gap in left center, Figgins and Anderson score, the Angels take the lead, and before anyone can even get nervous about a ninth-inning rally, Troy Percival has blown through Goodwin, Lofton, and Aurilia. Good night, see you tomorrow.
And when the Series is over, the dog will need therapy.
Posted
9:05 AM
by Sean
I'm back. I'll be posting about games 6 and 7 later today; for now I'll just say that I made it to the game and it was incredible. Everyone should get to do that.
I'm back. I'll be posting about games 6 and 7 later today; for now I'll just say that I made it to the game and it was incredible. Everyone should get to do that.
Saturday, October 26, 2002
Posted
4:15 PM
by Sean
Incidentally, I really do have a ticket to Game 7. Fortunately, I have a ticket voucher from Southwest Airlines that's good any time, so I didn't have to shell out for a plane ticket without knowing whether the game would be played. I just finished making reservations (which I can cancel at no penalty if there's no Game 7). Thanks to absurd laws governing flights from Love Field, however, my itinerary includes, tomorrow, departing at 9:20 Central Time, flying to Alburquerque, flying to Phoenix, and then flying to Orange County, arriving at 12:50 Pacific Time. My return, on Monday, puts me on a 6:45 a.m. flight out of Orange County, a stop in Phoenix, a plane change in El Paso, and a return to Dallas at 3:25. Needless to say, any updates after Game 7 will be delayed.
Incidentally, I really do have a ticket to Game 7. Fortunately, I have a ticket voucher from Southwest Airlines that's good any time, so I didn't have to shell out for a plane ticket without knowing whether the game would be played. I just finished making reservations (which I can cancel at no penalty if there's no Game 7). Thanks to absurd laws governing flights from Love Field, however, my itinerary includes, tomorrow, departing at 9:20 Central Time, flying to Alburquerque, flying to Phoenix, and then flying to Orange County, arriving at 12:50 Pacific Time. My return, on Monday, puts me on a 6:45 a.m. flight out of Orange County, a stop in Phoenix, a plane change in El Paso, and a return to Dallas at 3:25. Needless to say, any updates after Game 7 will be delayed.
Posted
4:10 PM
by Sean
Tonight, Game 6. Kevin Appier v. Russ Ortiz. Again. The last time this happened, we got an 11-10 slugfest. Tonight, well...
Appier says that he's identified a slight flaw in his mechanics from that 11-10 game, and that's good, I suppose, but I think that at this point just about every starter the Angels have is out of gas. There's really no reason to believe that Appier will be any more crisp this time around, just as there's no reason to believe Ortiz will, either. So this one will likely come down to a battle of the bullpens again, and the Angels can't rely on Weber, who has looked completely cashed in during his last two appearances. They can probably get some work out of Donnelly, Schoeneweis, Rodriguez, and Percival (especially Percival). But the Appier-Ortiz portion of the game could result in a swing of several runs either way. Dice-tossing time.
Tonight, Game 6. Kevin Appier v. Russ Ortiz. Again. The last time this happened, we got an 11-10 slugfest. Tonight, well...
Appier says that he's identified a slight flaw in his mechanics from that 11-10 game, and that's good, I suppose, but I think that at this point just about every starter the Angels have is out of gas. There's really no reason to believe that Appier will be any more crisp this time around, just as there's no reason to believe Ortiz will, either. So this one will likely come down to a battle of the bullpens again, and the Angels can't rely on Weber, who has looked completely cashed in during his last two appearances. They can probably get some work out of Donnelly, Schoeneweis, Rodriguez, and Percival (especially Percival). But the Appier-Ortiz portion of the game could result in a swing of several runs either way. Dice-tossing time.
Posted
3:57 PM
by Sean
Fresh on the heels of scolding Jason Christiansen (see below), Sandy Alderson gets on top of the children in the dugouts issue. Except, of course, he doesn't, not really. Essentially, it boils down to "keep a closer eye on the kids." If I was a Giants fan, I'd be thrilled that my manager is okay with dividing his time that way.
Fresh on the heels of scolding Jason Christiansen (see below), Sandy Alderson gets on top of the children in the dugouts issue. Except, of course, he doesn't, not really. Essentially, it boils down to "keep a closer eye on the kids." If I was a Giants fan, I'd be thrilled that my manager is okay with dividing his time that way.
Friday, October 25, 2002
Posted
4:18 PM
by Sean
Okay, now that all that bile is expelled, I'm going to take Dean Chance's advice and forget about it. Time to kick Russ Ortiz's ass tomorrow night.
Okay, now that all that bile is expelled, I'm going to take Dean Chance's advice and forget about it. Time to kick Russ Ortiz's ass tomorrow night.
Posted
4:15 PM
by Sean
And now, a few words about the dumbest moments of this, or any, World Series. First of all, the entire idea of ranking baseball's most memorable moments is a concept of staggering doltishness to begin with. Why in God's name do we care what most people perceive as "most memorable?" What, exactly, do we do with that information? Is there some point to this, beyond demonstrating to the masses that baseball can put on pre-game festivities that are every bit as turgid and loud as the Super Bowl's?
Then again, judging from the reaction Pete Rose got, I suspect that the masses wouldn't know their asses from a hole in the ground if you gave them a textbook on telling them difference and sent them to an adult-education class. Rose bet on the Reds, a violation that carries an automatic punishment of being declared permanently ineligible, agreed to a settlement in which he agreed not to contest the ban, and is manifestly unrepentant about the whole thing. Nuts to Pete Rose.
And nuts to MLB, too, for delaying the start of this game until after 8:30 Eastern Time for this foolishness. Are they really so irony-impaired that they don't see anything wrong with letting this vapid twaddle ensure that millions of people who don't want to stay up until midnight won't see the end of the game? Better celebrate those memories, pal, 'cause you sure ain't gonna be making any new ones. If kids on the East Coast hadn't already been irretrievably lost to basketball and football, this had to have pushed them over the edge.
Finally, while we're on the subject of children, the daycare that is the Giants' dugout is ridiculous - and dangerous. J.T. Snow shouldn't have to worry about plucking the manager's three-year-old son out of danger as he crosses the plate.
And now, a few words about the dumbest moments of this, or any, World Series. First of all, the entire idea of ranking baseball's most memorable moments is a concept of staggering doltishness to begin with. Why in God's name do we care what most people perceive as "most memorable?" What, exactly, do we do with that information? Is there some point to this, beyond demonstrating to the masses that baseball can put on pre-game festivities that are every bit as turgid and loud as the Super Bowl's?
Then again, judging from the reaction Pete Rose got, I suspect that the masses wouldn't know their asses from a hole in the ground if you gave them a textbook on telling them difference and sent them to an adult-education class. Rose bet on the Reds, a violation that carries an automatic punishment of being declared permanently ineligible, agreed to a settlement in which he agreed not to contest the ban, and is manifestly unrepentant about the whole thing. Nuts to Pete Rose.
And nuts to MLB, too, for delaying the start of this game until after 8:30 Eastern Time for this foolishness. Are they really so irony-impaired that they don't see anything wrong with letting this vapid twaddle ensure that millions of people who don't want to stay up until midnight won't see the end of the game? Better celebrate those memories, pal, 'cause you sure ain't gonna be making any new ones. If kids on the East Coast hadn't already been irretrievably lost to basketball and football, this had to have pushed them over the edge.
Finally, while we're on the subject of children, the daycare that is the Giants' dugout is ridiculous - and dangerous. J.T. Snow shouldn't have to worry about plucking the manager's three-year-old son out of danger as he crosses the plate.
Posted
3:32 PM
by Sean
Ugh. See yesterday's entry.
See also the entry from Game 3, and substitute the word "wrong" for the word "right," and put the word "not" next to every verb.
Ugh. See yesterday's entry.
See also the entry from Game 3, and substitute the word "wrong" for the word "right," and put the word "not" next to every verb.
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Posted
2:37 PM
by Sean
I've actually had this weblog since May, and wrote the occasional piece to post as a kind of experiment - do I want to write about baseball every day, or even every week? I've turned the archives off primarily because the previous postings were so sporadic that they're pretty much worthless - an Angels game here, an outbreak of steroids allegations there. Now, of course, with the Angels in their first-ever World Series, I wish I'd been more diligent about it all.
Right now, however, I'm reminded of one of the major reasons I have a hard time writing daily about this topic. When the Angels lose, it's a lot harder to relive it, drag out the mistakes and look at them in the sunshine (or in the fog, anyway - the weather here sucks right now). I'd really rather wait until there's good news.
Unfortunately, it was Giants 4, Angels 3 last night. This one hurt, for a lot of reasons. Obviously, being up 3-1 is a whole lot better than being tied 2-2, even if two of the last three are at home. And it's never pleasant to lose a three-run lead, even if two of the critical "hits" involved (Rueter and Lofton) were entirely matters of luck. Most frustrating, though, is the knowledge that the Angels shut down Barry Bonds to no avail. Of course, when you're talking about Bonds, "shut down" is a relative term, but in general they got away with walking him when they walked him, and got away with pitching to him when they pitched to him. That may not happen again.
There is one silver lining for me personally in all this - I have a ticket to Game 7. If it goes that far, I'll be flying to Anaheim Sunday to see my first postseason game, and my first game in Anaheim. I'm still rooting for the Angels in six.
I've actually had this weblog since May, and wrote the occasional piece to post as a kind of experiment - do I want to write about baseball every day, or even every week? I've turned the archives off primarily because the previous postings were so sporadic that they're pretty much worthless - an Angels game here, an outbreak of steroids allegations there. Now, of course, with the Angels in their first-ever World Series, I wish I'd been more diligent about it all.
Right now, however, I'm reminded of one of the major reasons I have a hard time writing daily about this topic. When the Angels lose, it's a lot harder to relive it, drag out the mistakes and look at them in the sunshine (or in the fog, anyway - the weather here sucks right now). I'd really rather wait until there's good news.
Unfortunately, it was Giants 4, Angels 3 last night. This one hurt, for a lot of reasons. Obviously, being up 3-1 is a whole lot better than being tied 2-2, even if two of the last three are at home. And it's never pleasant to lose a three-run lead, even if two of the critical "hits" involved (Rueter and Lofton) were entirely matters of luck. Most frustrating, though, is the knowledge that the Angels shut down Barry Bonds to no avail. Of course, when you're talking about Bonds, "shut down" is a relative term, but in general they got away with walking him when they walked him, and got away with pitching to him when they pitched to him. That may not happen again.
There is one silver lining for me personally in all this - I have a ticket to Game 7. If it goes that far, I'll be flying to Anaheim Sunday to see my first postseason game, and my first game in Anaheim. I'm still rooting for the Angels in six.
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
Posted
3:52 PM
by Sean
Tonight, it's John Lackey vs. Kirk Rueter. Lackey was a Godsend for the Angels, coming in around the middle of the year and going 9-4 after Schoeneweis was "demoted" to the bullpen (where he did quite well). He's been very consistent, in that he's never had a nuclear meltdown of a game, and usually works 6 innings or so with 2 or 3 earned runs.
Rueter, meanwhile, has also had a very good year, though he's looked vulnerable in the postseason. He's also the first left-hander the Giants have thrown at the Angels, and the Angels have been hell on lefties this year. The primary question for Scioscia in making out the lineup will be whether or not to replace Adam Kennedy at second base with Benji Gil - the two of them platooned during much of the year, but by the end Kennedy was hitting left-handers so well that he got the occasional start against them. Gil had a pinch-single last night, and I suspect Scioscia will start him, since this will leave him AK as an option in the late innings if Dusty Baker puts in a right-handed reliever (between Kennedy and Fullmer, who will also be on the bench, those are some pretty nice options).
Tonight, it's John Lackey vs. Kirk Rueter. Lackey was a Godsend for the Angels, coming in around the middle of the year and going 9-4 after Schoeneweis was "demoted" to the bullpen (where he did quite well). He's been very consistent, in that he's never had a nuclear meltdown of a game, and usually works 6 innings or so with 2 or 3 earned runs.
Rueter, meanwhile, has also had a very good year, though he's looked vulnerable in the postseason. He's also the first left-hander the Giants have thrown at the Angels, and the Angels have been hell on lefties this year. The primary question for Scioscia in making out the lineup will be whether or not to replace Adam Kennedy at second base with Benji Gil - the two of them platooned during much of the year, but by the end Kennedy was hitting left-handers so well that he got the occasional start against them. Gil had a pinch-single last night, and I suspect Scioscia will start him, since this will leave him AK as an option in the late innings if Dusty Baker puts in a right-handed reliever (between Kennedy and Fullmer, who will also be on the bench, those are some pretty nice options).
Posted
3:38 PM
by Sean
Newhan, incidentally, wrote a surprisingly good book about the Angels' history a couple of years ago. I say surprisingly merely because it's not a fluffy, rah-rah kind of history (then again, how could it be?), but rather a fairly sober assessment of their long and mostly tragic history up through the 1999 season. Newhan has been covering the Angels since their start in 1961, and was actually present for some pretty pivotal events in their history.
Newhan, incidentally, wrote a surprisingly good book about the Angels' history a couple of years ago. I say surprisingly merely because it's not a fluffy, rah-rah kind of history (then again, how could it be?), but rather a fairly sober assessment of their long and mostly tragic history up through the 1999 season. Newhan has been covering the Angels since their start in 1961, and was actually present for some pretty pivotal events in their history.
Posted
3:34 PM
by Sean
Ross Newhan, in the L.A. Times, describes Bonds after last night's game:
"It was much later, as he stood at a locker protected from the media rabble by his black leather lounge chair and personal television, that Bonds was asked if he could take any satisfaction from the home run records he is in the process of setting or tying in this Series and postseason?
"'No,' he responded cryptically, turning then to what has been his mantra: 'I just want to win, I just want a World Series ring.'"
Really, Barry? No satisfaction? Is that why it took you almost as long to get to first base after your dinger as it took Tony Bennett to sing the first two bars of the National Anthem?
After three games, it seems as if the question being settled here is whether or not a group of extremely talented baseball players, playing as a team, can beat another group of talented players plus one superstar who happen to wear the same uniform (Bonds, you'll notice, wouldn't even deign to high-five his teammates during the introductions). Bonds does make a difference - without him in the mix, the Angels would be looking for the sweep tonight - but for all his moon-shot home runs, for all the respect he's given as the most fearsome offensive player of our lifetimes, his feats are merely marvels, not inspirations. Whereas the Angels, who have batted around six times now in twelve playoff games, are feeding off each other.
Ross Newhan, in the L.A. Times, describes Bonds after last night's game:
"It was much later, as he stood at a locker protected from the media rabble by his black leather lounge chair and personal television, that Bonds was asked if he could take any satisfaction from the home run records he is in the process of setting or tying in this Series and postseason?
"'No,' he responded cryptically, turning then to what has been his mantra: 'I just want to win, I just want a World Series ring.'"
Really, Barry? No satisfaction? Is that why it took you almost as long to get to first base after your dinger as it took Tony Bennett to sing the first two bars of the National Anthem?
After three games, it seems as if the question being settled here is whether or not a group of extremely talented baseball players, playing as a team, can beat another group of talented players plus one superstar who happen to wear the same uniform (Bonds, you'll notice, wouldn't even deign to high-five his teammates during the introductions). Bonds does make a difference - without him in the mix, the Angels would be looking for the sweep tonight - but for all his moon-shot home runs, for all the respect he's given as the most fearsome offensive player of our lifetimes, his feats are merely marvels, not inspirations. Whereas the Angels, who have batted around six times now in twelve playoff games, are feeding off each other.
Posted
3:12 PM
by Sean
Giants pitcher Jason Christiansen is in trouble with Major League Baseball for putting Darryl Kile's initials and uniform on his cap during the World Series. Kile, who died suddenly earlier this year and pitched for the St. Louis Cardinals, and Christiansen were teammates and friends. Sandy Alderson, who is MLB's Executive Vice President, and Bob Watson, who is in charge of discipline, went so far as to accost Christeansen in the dugout to tell him he couldn't wear the cap...despite that fact that Christiansen isn't on the World Series roster and won't even be playing.
Technically, of course, MLB is right that this violates the "one team, one uniform" policy. But that doesn't mean this isn't the basest, sorriest, most incompetent decision they could have made. No, you don't want everyone decorating their caps differently, but if a guy in the dugout wants to pay tribute to his dead friend, I think maybe you could have a little compassion and look the other way. I'm not as critical of a lot of MLB's actions as some - stopping the All-Star Game and ending it in a tie was absolutely the right decision, by the way - but they deserve every bit of bad press they're going to get over this.
Giants pitcher Jason Christiansen is in trouble with Major League Baseball for putting Darryl Kile's initials and uniform on his cap during the World Series. Kile, who died suddenly earlier this year and pitched for the St. Louis Cardinals, and Christiansen were teammates and friends. Sandy Alderson, who is MLB's Executive Vice President, and Bob Watson, who is in charge of discipline, went so far as to accost Christeansen in the dugout to tell him he couldn't wear the cap...despite that fact that Christiansen isn't on the World Series roster and won't even be playing.
Technically, of course, MLB is right that this violates the "one team, one uniform" policy. But that doesn't mean this isn't the basest, sorriest, most incompetent decision they could have made. No, you don't want everyone decorating their caps differently, but if a guy in the dugout wants to pay tribute to his dead friend, I think maybe you could have a little compassion and look the other way. I'm not as critical of a lot of MLB's actions as some - stopping the All-Star Game and ending it in a tie was absolutely the right decision, by the way - but they deserve every bit of bad press they're going to get over this.
Posted
2:58 PM
by Sean
Oops. Benito Santiago is only 37. That's younger than Bonds. He just looks ancient.
Oops. Benito Santiago is only 37. That's younger than Bonds. He just looks ancient.
Posted
2:56 PM
by Sean
Angels 10, Giants 4. What can I say, except that the Angels did almost every single thing right last night. That was obviously true on offense - they stayed aggressive on the bases and hit line drives, took advantage of defensive alignments (the Erstad-Salmon double steal was particularly nice), and kept the pressure on until the last out was made. I actually wonder if the double steal was in some way related to Jeter's taking third in the ALDS - maybe Erstad recognized that the situation was similar.
It may be, however, that it was Scott Schoeneweis that gave the Angels the gift that keeps on giving last night. I thought he pitched very well, throwing ball one to a couple of hitters but never falling behind 2-0 or 3-1. In fact, he didn't throw very many pitches to any one batter, retiring six with only 16 pitches and letting Scioscia save Rodriguez, Weber, and Percival for tonight, while still having Schoeneweis himself available to pitch to Bonds in the late innings.
I suppose the bad news, if there is some, is that Lofton, Kent, and Aurilia are showing a little more ability to get on base in front of Bonds. After three games, though, Benito Santiago is 2 for 13 (.154) with two singles. I know he was the NLCS MVP, but he's also about 608 years old, and with the way Bonds is hitting the ball it's making more and more sense to walk Bonds, even with runners on and less than 2 out, and make Santiago try to do the damage.
Angels 10, Giants 4. What can I say, except that the Angels did almost every single thing right last night. That was obviously true on offense - they stayed aggressive on the bases and hit line drives, took advantage of defensive alignments (the Erstad-Salmon double steal was particularly nice), and kept the pressure on until the last out was made. I actually wonder if the double steal was in some way related to Jeter's taking third in the ALDS - maybe Erstad recognized that the situation was similar.
It may be, however, that it was Scott Schoeneweis that gave the Angels the gift that keeps on giving last night. I thought he pitched very well, throwing ball one to a couple of hitters but never falling behind 2-0 or 3-1. In fact, he didn't throw very many pitches to any one batter, retiring six with only 16 pitches and letting Scioscia save Rodriguez, Weber, and Percival for tonight, while still having Schoeneweis himself available to pitch to Bonds in the late innings.
I suppose the bad news, if there is some, is that Lofton, Kent, and Aurilia are showing a little more ability to get on base in front of Bonds. After three games, though, Benito Santiago is 2 for 13 (.154) with two singles. I know he was the NLCS MVP, but he's also about 608 years old, and with the way Bonds is hitting the ball it's making more and more sense to walk Bonds, even with runners on and less than 2 out, and make Santiago try to do the damage.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Posted
5:05 PM
by Sean
Rob Neyer is annoyed about the "loophole" that allowed Frankie Rodriguez to take a spot on the Angels' playoff roster despite being called up on September 15. Quoth Neyer:
"It might be one thing if Rodriguez was taking the place of, say, Troy Percival or John Lackey. But the intent of the rule is presumably to allow a team to replace a key member of the roster, and Steve Green's major-league experience consists of exactly one game and six innings, on April 7, 2001."
What Neyer ignores is that, prior to his callup, Rodriguez had even less experience than Steve Green - zero innings pitched, in zero games played. That's right, Rodriguez's major league debut occurred on September 18, 2002. So one inexperienced pitcher was replaced by another, who turned out to be fantastic, against all odds. Two words: tough noogies.
Rob Neyer is annoyed about the "loophole" that allowed Frankie Rodriguez to take a spot on the Angels' playoff roster despite being called up on September 15. Quoth Neyer:
"It might be one thing if Rodriguez was taking the place of, say, Troy Percival or John Lackey. But the intent of the rule is presumably to allow a team to replace a key member of the roster, and Steve Green's major-league experience consists of exactly one game and six innings, on April 7, 2001."
What Neyer ignores is that, prior to his callup, Rodriguez had even less experience than Steve Green - zero innings pitched, in zero games played. That's right, Rodriguez's major league debut occurred on September 18, 2002. So one inexperienced pitcher was replaced by another, who turned out to be fantastic, against all odds. Two words: tough noogies.
Posted
2:00 PM
by Sean
Frankie Rodriguez is making Angels fans out of Orange County Hispanics. This is something the Angels have worked on for years, although I've always gotten the sense that they've done so begrudgingly, because they can't woo Dodgers fans away. They've taken some positive steps, like broadcasting all the games in Spanish and providing free transportation to games from Santa Ana, but there's no substitute for a genuine, bona fide playoff hero. Hopefully they'll build on this.
Frankie Rodriguez is making Angels fans out of Orange County Hispanics. This is something the Angels have worked on for years, although I've always gotten the sense that they've done so begrudgingly, because they can't woo Dodgers fans away. They've taken some positive steps, like broadcasting all the games in Spanish and providing free transportation to games from Santa Ana, but there's no substitute for a genuine, bona fide playoff hero. Hopefully they'll build on this.
Posted
1:43 PM
by Sean
This year's series is getting the lowest ratings ever. "While Sunday's game got a 35.1/53 in San Francisco and a 29.8/47 in Los Angeles, it dropped to a 10.9 rating in New York, a 9.1 in Boston and an 8.4 in Philadelphia. It received a 19.3 in Phoenix, a 15.2 in Minneapolis, a 14.9 in St. Louis and a 13.5 in Chicago." I wonder whatever happened to all those "baseball" fans in New York and Boston?
This year's series is getting the lowest ratings ever. "While Sunday's game got a 35.1/53 in San Francisco and a 29.8/47 in Los Angeles, it dropped to a 10.9 rating in New York, a 9.1 in Boston and an 8.4 in Philadelphia. It received a 19.3 in Phoenix, a 15.2 in Minneapolis, a 14.9 in St. Louis and a 13.5 in Chicago." I wonder whatever happened to all those "baseball" fans in New York and Boston?
Posted
11:24 AM
by Sean
So tonight it's Ramon Ortiz vs. Livan Hernandez. The knock on Ortiz is that he's "excitable," and tends to be wild in pressure situations. The main evidence for this seems to be his start against the Yankees in the ALDS, in which he gave up six earned runs on three hits and four walks in 2 2/3 innings. Prior to that, however, he finished the season by going 6-0 in his last nine starts with a 2.77 ERA during a time when the Angels were scrapping for a playoff spot. And after his ALDS start, he went 5 1/3 innings against the Twins in the Metrodome, giving up 3 earned runs on 10 hits - not the greatest numbers, true, but he only walked one, so he wasn't particularly wild. I'd bet that Ortiz's biggest challenge won't be excitement, but rather rust; he hasn't pitched since that game against the Twins on October 9.
Hernandez, meanwhile, gets a lot of mileage with sportswriters because he's undefeated for his career in the postseason. This doesn't spill a lot of beer with me, though, because said postseason appearances prior to this year happened entirely in 1997 and don't seem to have much bearing on how good he's going to be tonight. Admittedly, he was great that year (except, oddly, in the World Series, when he was the Series MVP despite a 5.27 ERA, 15 hits, and 10 walks in 13 2/3 innings pitched). When you look at his recent starts, though, it is clear that he's throwing pretty well. He had a few bad games in June and July, and some kind of meltdown against the Dodgers at the end of September, but clearly he's capable of pitching well for several innings.
Given that Pac Bell is considered quite the pitcher's park, we may have the opposite of Game 2 - fast and low-scoring. The keys for the Angels will be getting Ortiz to throw strikes early in the count and keep Lofton, Aurelia, and Kent off the bases, and for Salmon, Anderson, and Glaus to shorten their swings a little and punch the ball instead of going for the fences. Making productive outs is something at which the Angels excel - in Game 2, they didn't strike out at all. If they do that again tonight, they've got a chance.
So tonight it's Ramon Ortiz vs. Livan Hernandez. The knock on Ortiz is that he's "excitable," and tends to be wild in pressure situations. The main evidence for this seems to be his start against the Yankees in the ALDS, in which he gave up six earned runs on three hits and four walks in 2 2/3 innings. Prior to that, however, he finished the season by going 6-0 in his last nine starts with a 2.77 ERA during a time when the Angels were scrapping for a playoff spot. And after his ALDS start, he went 5 1/3 innings against the Twins in the Metrodome, giving up 3 earned runs on 10 hits - not the greatest numbers, true, but he only walked one, so he wasn't particularly wild. I'd bet that Ortiz's biggest challenge won't be excitement, but rather rust; he hasn't pitched since that game against the Twins on October 9.
Hernandez, meanwhile, gets a lot of mileage with sportswriters because he's undefeated for his career in the postseason. This doesn't spill a lot of beer with me, though, because said postseason appearances prior to this year happened entirely in 1997 and don't seem to have much bearing on how good he's going to be tonight. Admittedly, he was great that year (except, oddly, in the World Series, when he was the Series MVP despite a 5.27 ERA, 15 hits, and 10 walks in 13 2/3 innings pitched). When you look at his recent starts, though, it is clear that he's throwing pretty well. He had a few bad games in June and July, and some kind of meltdown against the Dodgers at the end of September, but clearly he's capable of pitching well for several innings.
Given that Pac Bell is considered quite the pitcher's park, we may have the opposite of Game 2 - fast and low-scoring. The keys for the Angels will be getting Ortiz to throw strikes early in the count and keep Lofton, Aurelia, and Kent off the bases, and for Salmon, Anderson, and Glaus to shorten their swings a little and punch the ball instead of going for the fences. Making productive outs is something at which the Angels excel - in Game 2, they didn't strike out at all. If they do that again tonight, they've got a chance.
Monday, October 21, 2002
Posted
5:09 PM
by Sean
J.T. Snow says the infield warning track at Edison Field sucks, and doesn't get much of an argument from anyone. Snow, of course, used to play first base for the Angels, but was traded before the new rubberized track went in, so it must have come as a nasty shock to him to find himself falling down and going boom in Game 1. I give him a lot of credit for sticking with the ball, although it looked like Santiago probably would have caught it anyway.
It's interesting to think of such a thing as being part of the home-field advantage - from the article, Glaus clearly has an idea of how to approach making plays on the track. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for dirty groundskeeping tricks, including the rumors that various clubs that played their home games in domes would turn the air conditioning on and off to create advantages for their pitchers and hitters. The most famous groundskeepers in baseball history have probably been the Bossards, who have been working for the White Sox, Indians, and others for decades. And if the Giants have a mind to rig Pac Bell, they've got a pretty savvy groundskeeper at their disposal, too.
J.T. Snow says the infield warning track at Edison Field sucks, and doesn't get much of an argument from anyone. Snow, of course, used to play first base for the Angels, but was traded before the new rubberized track went in, so it must have come as a nasty shock to him to find himself falling down and going boom in Game 1. I give him a lot of credit for sticking with the ball, although it looked like Santiago probably would have caught it anyway.
It's interesting to think of such a thing as being part of the home-field advantage - from the article, Glaus clearly has an idea of how to approach making plays on the track. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for dirty groundskeeping tricks, including the rumors that various clubs that played their home games in domes would turn the air conditioning on and off to create advantages for their pitchers and hitters. The most famous groundskeepers in baseball history have probably been the Bossards, who have been working for the White Sox, Indians, and others for decades. And if the Giants have a mind to rig Pac Bell, they've got a pretty savvy groundskeeper at their disposal, too.
Posted
8:54 AM
by Sean
Angels 11, Giants 10. I didn't think it was possible for games to be more exhausting than they have been over the last six weeks, but somehow this one was. Michael Eisner is quoted in the L.A. Times as saying "have you ever seen a game like that? That's a good as it gets." No, Michael. "As good as it gets" has scores like 14-0 and 22-3.
Ugly as last night was, of course, a win's a win, and this one meant more than most - it buys the Angels the opportunity to get their home-field advantage back with one win in San Francisco. Ordinarily I don't put much stock in the home field advantage, but in a short series every little bit helps. And now, it's best-of-five.
Frankie Rodriguez was amazing, and it was good to see him come back after he was looking gassed in game 5 against the Twins. Hopefully he'll be available again by Wednesday at the latest.
And finally...that home run by Bonds. I can only say it because the Angels won, but JESUS H. CHRIST IN A CHICKEN BASKET, HE HIT THAT ONE A LONG WAY!
Angels 11, Giants 10. I didn't think it was possible for games to be more exhausting than they have been over the last six weeks, but somehow this one was. Michael Eisner is quoted in the L.A. Times as saying "have you ever seen a game like that? That's a good as it gets." No, Michael. "As good as it gets" has scores like 14-0 and 22-3.
Ugly as last night was, of course, a win's a win, and this one meant more than most - it buys the Angels the opportunity to get their home-field advantage back with one win in San Francisco. Ordinarily I don't put much stock in the home field advantage, but in a short series every little bit helps. And now, it's best-of-five.
Frankie Rodriguez was amazing, and it was good to see him come back after he was looking gassed in game 5 against the Twins. Hopefully he'll be available again by Wednesday at the latest.
And finally...that home run by Bonds. I can only say it because the Angels won, but JESUS H. CHRIST IN A CHICKEN BASKET, HE HIT THAT ONE A LONG WAY!
Sunday, October 20, 2002
Posted
8:17 PM
by Sean
Eleven runs in two innings? Good God. In a way, it's almost a curse to knock Ortiz out this early; Zerbe may just settle in and throw zeroes at them for the next three innings or so. With a travel day tomorrow, it's not that big a deal for the Giants to go deep into their bullpen. Let's hope Appier can avoid the longball for a couple of innings, long enough to turn it over to Donnelly et al.
Eleven runs in two innings? Good God. In a way, it's almost a curse to knock Ortiz out this early; Zerbe may just settle in and throw zeroes at them for the next three innings or so. With a travel day tomorrow, it's not that big a deal for the Giants to go deep into their bullpen. Let's hope Appier can avoid the longball for a couple of innings, long enough to turn it over to Donnelly et al.
Posted
7:02 PM
by Sean
The only prediction I'll make all series: Appier will walk Bonds at least twice tonight. Appier gives me ulcers usually, the way he falls behind the hitters. If I don't update later, send the paramedics.
The only prediction I'll make all series: Appier will walk Bonds at least twice tonight. Appier gives me ulcers usually, the way he falls behind the hitters. If I don't update later, send the paramedics.
Posted
6:44 PM
by Sean
So I'm waiting for coverage of the World Series, because my local affiliate here in Dallas is covering the Cowboys-Cardinals game in overtime. And the Cardinals get the ball down to the Cowboys' 30 or so, and one of the announcers (I don't know who) says something like "The Cardinals need to keep playing football here." Which is fortunate, because I think at least seven of them were thinking of bringing tennis rackets to the line of scrimmage. It's enough to make me grateful for Steve Lyons and Thom Brenneman.
Okay, no, not really.
So I'm waiting for coverage of the World Series, because my local affiliate here in Dallas is covering the Cowboys-Cardinals game in overtime. And the Cardinals get the ball down to the Cowboys' 30 or so, and one of the announcers (I don't know who) says something like "The Cardinals need to keep playing football here." Which is fortunate, because I think at least seven of them were thinking of bringing tennis rackets to the line of scrimmage. It's enough to make me grateful for Steve Lyons and Thom Brenneman.
Okay, no, not really.
Posted
3:56 PM
by Sean
Oh, no! PETA objects to the rally monkey!
"Sharing the view that something is wrong with the Angels is animal rights activist Amy Rhodes, a spokeswoman for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
"Rhodes was aghast at the notion of the Rally Monkey, a small brown primate that has been dressed up in an Angels uniform and forced to hold signs that say, 'Believe in the Power of the Rally Monkey' and 'Rally Time.'
"Images of the poor monkey are displayed proudly on the Angels' official Web site.
"'That,' said Rhodes, 'is unacceptable and it's really sick.'"
Game over, man. How can the Angels hope to stand against a group that just got their asses kicked by schoolchildren?
Oh, no! PETA objects to the rally monkey!
"Sharing the view that something is wrong with the Angels is animal rights activist Amy Rhodes, a spokeswoman for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
"Rhodes was aghast at the notion of the Rally Monkey, a small brown primate that has been dressed up in an Angels uniform and forced to hold signs that say, 'Believe in the Power of the Rally Monkey' and 'Rally Time.'
"Images of the poor monkey are displayed proudly on the Angels' official Web site.
"'That,' said Rhodes, 'is unacceptable and it's really sick.'"
Game over, man. How can the Angels hope to stand against a group that just got their asses kicked by schoolchildren?
Posted
2:05 PM
by Sean
For Christ's sake, could someone please talk about the Angels without sounding as if the Rally Monkey actually plays for them? Fox did the same thing last night. It's actually pretty ironic: once it became clear that they were going to have to cover the Angels this postseason, there was a stung-wildebeeste stampede to anoint them as anonymous Cinderellas. So now, instead of a discussion from the national media about the roles these players have in the lineup, we hear about their marketing gimmick. Look, I like the rally monkey fine, okay? But the rally monkey didn't make any brilliant catches in left field last night, nor did he throw lasers across the diamond three or four times to get a runner at first. If you want to write about the Angels' lack of offense, that's fine, but at least talk about the guys on the field.
For Christ's sake, could someone please talk about the Angels without sounding as if the Rally Monkey actually plays for them? Fox did the same thing last night. It's actually pretty ironic: once it became clear that they were going to have to cover the Angels this postseason, there was a stung-wildebeeste stampede to anoint them as anonymous Cinderellas. So now, instead of a discussion from the national media about the roles these players have in the lineup, we hear about their marketing gimmick. Look, I like the rally monkey fine, okay? But the rally monkey didn't make any brilliant catches in left field last night, nor did he throw lasers across the diamond three or four times to get a runner at first. If you want to write about the Angels' lack of offense, that's fine, but at least talk about the guys on the field.
Posted
11:25 AM
by Sean
Well, okay, Angels lose, 4-3. And yes, they looked pretty terrible with runners in scoring position. The good news, though, is that they didn't get beat by the top of the Giants' lineup - Lofton, Aurelia, and Kent were more or less shut down. If they can do that consistently, it gives them license to pitch Bonds any way they want - and I doubt that Reggie Sanders and J.T. Snow are going to become home run machines all of a sudden.
Well, okay, Angels lose, 4-3. And yes, they looked pretty terrible with runners in scoring position. The good news, though, is that they didn't get beat by the top of the Giants' lineup - Lofton, Aurelia, and Kent were more or less shut down. If they can do that consistently, it gives them license to pitch Bonds any way they want - and I doubt that Reggie Sanders and J.T. Snow are going to become home run machines all of a sudden.
Saturday, October 19, 2002
Posted
10:39 AM
by Sean
The Angels may use a four-man outfield against Bonds. Wacky, but if that's where his hits go, then that's where it makes sense to play him. Shifting Eckstein over to the other side of second base worked reasonably well against Giambi (except when it allowed Jeter to take third on a steal of second because Glaus had to cover second and no one was left to cover third). I wonder where in the outfield Kennedy will play, though? Bond's hit chart does show a propensity to hit grounders to the right side and spray fly balls - would it be an even distribution of four outfielders at a similar depth? A softball-style "deep second" alignment? And has Kennedy ever played outfield before? According to his ESPN profile, he's played 3,765.2 innings as a major league second baseman, and 0.2 as a center fielder.
The Angels may use a four-man outfield against Bonds. Wacky, but if that's where his hits go, then that's where it makes sense to play him. Shifting Eckstein over to the other side of second base worked reasonably well against Giambi (except when it allowed Jeter to take third on a steal of second because Glaus had to cover second and no one was left to cover third). I wonder where in the outfield Kennedy will play, though? Bond's hit chart does show a propensity to hit grounders to the right side and spray fly balls - would it be an even distribution of four outfielders at a similar depth? A softball-style "deep second" alignment? And has Kennedy ever played outfield before? According to his ESPN profile, he's played 3,765.2 innings as a major league second baseman, and 0.2 as a center fielder.
Friday, October 18, 2002
Posted
5:19 PM
by Sean
This discussion by Davey Johnson had me laughing out loud. The sunny tone, the non sequiturs, the cheerfully baseless assertions...it all sounded familiar, somehow. And then I realized: if he'd only try to pronouce "Alfredo Amezaga" backwards, he'd be the second coming of Harry Caray.
This discussion by Davey Johnson had me laughing out loud. The sunny tone, the non sequiturs, the cheerfully baseless assertions...it all sounded familiar, somehow. And then I realized: if he'd only try to pronouce "Alfredo Amezaga" backwards, he'd be the second coming of Harry Caray.
Posted
2:51 PM
by Sean
Here we are, ticking down the hours before the first pitch of the first game of the World Series, and toute le (baseball) monde is staggeringly, sweatingly out of things to write about. I heard someone on ESPN News (Gammons, I think) compare these past few days to Super Bowl week, and he's exactly right, which touches on one of the reasons why the World Series is commonly high drama, while the Super Bowl drowns in its own excess: pacing. Dramatic tension can be built only so far before people realize that they don't like being tense all the time and lose interest. Honestly, I fail to see why the baseball playoffs have to start and end on weekends when all the weekend games are night/evening start times anyway. Don't people mostly go out on Saturday nights? Wouldn't you get better ratings in the middle of the week?
Anyway, the crop of stories grown tall in the marshy ground of the baseball commentariat over the past week is of three varieties: the human interest story, about which I've written already and don't feel the need to elaborate, the wisdom of pitching to Bonds, about which I'm not qualified to write and which will be situational anyway, and matchup analysis and prediction. It's pretty much agreed that this is going to be a close series, but whether that represents a considered appraisal or the collective scrambling of sportswriters to cover their asses after ignoring these two teams in favor of the also-rans is up for grabs. Regardless, here for your amusement are all of the predictions I've been able to find so far:
John Donovan says Angels in six. "How do you pick it?" he says. "Short of a dart board and a blindfold, you go with the team that makes fewer mistakes, the one that is more aggressive, the one that has more contributors to the cause (in case anyone breaks down), the one that played in the tougher division." Well, Jesus, is that all you're basing it on?
Stephen Cannella takes the Angels in seven, although he won't say why. Includes a position-by-position comparison, but no clue as to how he weights them.
Rob Neyer takes the Giants in...well, he doesn't say. After conceding that the Angels won more games and had a better run differential (the engine of his beloved Pythagorean standings), Neyer casts his usual tools into a well because he has a psychic hunch that the Giants will be favored to win more games than the Angels in 2003. Really, I'm not making that up. That's the reason.
Joe Morgan goes with the Giants, too. Poor Joe. He was so sure the A's were going all the way this year.
Tim Kirkjian says Giants in seven, completing the ESPN troika.
Andrew Sutton takes the Angels in seven.
I can't find a prediction by anyone at The New York Times (other than on their message board). This is odd, considering that the Times routinely publishes predictions for the exact final score of every NFL game, a practice that has led to a 0-608 record and a certain amount of derision from people who care about such things.
Finally, King Kaufman says it's the Giants in seven.
I'll update this if I find additional guesses between now and tomorrow night. In the meantime, I've gotta get the rally monkey away from the dog.
Here we are, ticking down the hours before the first pitch of the first game of the World Series, and toute le (baseball) monde is staggeringly, sweatingly out of things to write about. I heard someone on ESPN News (Gammons, I think) compare these past few days to Super Bowl week, and he's exactly right, which touches on one of the reasons why the World Series is commonly high drama, while the Super Bowl drowns in its own excess: pacing. Dramatic tension can be built only so far before people realize that they don't like being tense all the time and lose interest. Honestly, I fail to see why the baseball playoffs have to start and end on weekends when all the weekend games are night/evening start times anyway. Don't people mostly go out on Saturday nights? Wouldn't you get better ratings in the middle of the week?
Anyway, the crop of stories grown tall in the marshy ground of the baseball commentariat over the past week is of three varieties: the human interest story, about which I've written already and don't feel the need to elaborate, the wisdom of pitching to Bonds, about which I'm not qualified to write and which will be situational anyway, and matchup analysis and prediction. It's pretty much agreed that this is going to be a close series, but whether that represents a considered appraisal or the collective scrambling of sportswriters to cover their asses after ignoring these two teams in favor of the also-rans is up for grabs. Regardless, here for your amusement are all of the predictions I've been able to find so far:
John Donovan says Angels in six. "How do you pick it?" he says. "Short of a dart board and a blindfold, you go with the team that makes fewer mistakes, the one that is more aggressive, the one that has more contributors to the cause (in case anyone breaks down), the one that played in the tougher division." Well, Jesus, is that all you're basing it on?
Stephen Cannella takes the Angels in seven, although he won't say why. Includes a position-by-position comparison, but no clue as to how he weights them.
Rob Neyer takes the Giants in...well, he doesn't say. After conceding that the Angels won more games and had a better run differential (the engine of his beloved Pythagorean standings), Neyer casts his usual tools into a well because he has a psychic hunch that the Giants will be favored to win more games than the Angels in 2003. Really, I'm not making that up. That's the reason.
Joe Morgan goes with the Giants, too. Poor Joe. He was so sure the A's were going all the way this year.
Tim Kirkjian says Giants in seven, completing the ESPN troika.
Andrew Sutton takes the Angels in seven.
I can't find a prediction by anyone at The New York Times (other than on their message board). This is odd, considering that the Times routinely publishes predictions for the exact final score of every NFL game, a practice that has led to a 0-608 record and a certain amount of derision from people who care about such things.
Finally, King Kaufman says it's the Giants in seven.
I'll update this if I find additional guesses between now and tomorrow night. In the meantime, I've gotta get the rally monkey away from the dog.
Thursday, October 10, 2002
Posted
11:53 AM
by Sean
One of the most bizarre things about making it this far into the postseason has been the sudden raft of human-interest stories surrounding the Angels (and, I've no doubt, the Twins, Cardinals, and Giants). Brendan Donnelly is "homeless." Ortiz's father is sick. Frankie Rodriguez grew up poor and parentless. And a couple of days ago, we had a really sappy story from the L.A. Times about the deaths of various parents of the coaching staff.
Probably the worst offenders, of course, have been the FOX people. It's ironic that after 162 games of knowledgeable commentary from ESPN broadcast teams and entertaining homerism from Rex Hudler, we're now forced to endue terrible color and play-by-play, the dimwit babblings of the anchors, and the mushy, slo-mo vignettes about trial and heartache on the road to the pennant. Every game should be done by ESPN announcers and shown on FOX. Work it out, people. At least then we'd hear people talking about the game.
FOX is clearly trying to do to the baseball playoffs what always gets done to the NCAA tournament and the Olympics - they're so terrified that people won't watch unless they have some human interest story to cause them to root for particular teams or players. They're also obviously trying to generate some of that tournament hysteria associated with the NCAAs, primarily by displaying those ludicrous "brackets" whenever they go to an anchor segment.
One of the most bizarre things about making it this far into the postseason has been the sudden raft of human-interest stories surrounding the Angels (and, I've no doubt, the Twins, Cardinals, and Giants). Brendan Donnelly is "homeless." Ortiz's father is sick. Frankie Rodriguez grew up poor and parentless. And a couple of days ago, we had a really sappy story from the L.A. Times about the deaths of various parents of the coaching staff.
Probably the worst offenders, of course, have been the FOX people. It's ironic that after 162 games of knowledgeable commentary from ESPN broadcast teams and entertaining homerism from Rex Hudler, we're now forced to endue terrible color and play-by-play, the dimwit babblings of the anchors, and the mushy, slo-mo vignettes about trial and heartache on the road to the pennant. Every game should be done by ESPN announcers and shown on FOX. Work it out, people. At least then we'd hear people talking about the game.
FOX is clearly trying to do to the baseball playoffs what always gets done to the NCAA tournament and the Olympics - they're so terrified that people won't watch unless they have some human interest story to cause them to root for particular teams or players. They're also obviously trying to generate some of that tournament hysteria associated with the NCAAs, primarily by displaying those ludicrous "brackets" whenever they go to an anchor segment.