Purgatory Online

Thursday, June 30, 2005

The Times today takes note of the fact that this afternoon's day game is expected to take place in scorching weather. I can assure my Southern California readers, for whom each day is a sun-dappled wet kiss from the Almighty Himself, that the weather here has been brutal for the last couple of days, and promises to be worse today. Yesterday, on my way out of the office, I passed a carmine-skinned guy with cloven hooves and a pitchfork who was muttering to himself "seriously, what the fuck?"

At the moment, it's 88 degrees at 9:43 a.m. The forecast is for temps to crack three digits this afternoon, though it will undoubtably feel hotter on the field. I suppose Ervin Santana, who is to start this afternoon for the Angels, can take some comfort in the fact that the Rangers no longer play in old Arlington Stadium, which by all accounts reflected heat so well that NASA considered covering the Space Shuttle in replicas of the place to shield it during re-entry.

Last night did feel like a moral victory, though I'll swap it for an immoral one that shows up in the W column anytime. I was in pretty good seats just to the first-base side of home, and, from what I could see, John Lackey pitched just about the best game I've seen out of him for about three innings or so. He mixed speeds and pitches very, very well, at least at first. In the middle innings, he seemed to either get a little cute or lost a little command, because it seemed as if he was having trouble locating his off-speed stuff, but by and large the pitches the Rangers hit in their four-run fifth inning weren't that bad. Those guys are just good hitters.

McPherson's shot in the ninth was obviously awesome, but I cannot believe that Cordero gave him anything close to a pitch to hit with an 0-2 count. Does he not read the scouting reports?

Anyway, it's hard to feel bad about losing on a couple of freak hits like that, particularly with the kind of momentum the Angels have built over the last couple of weeks. You shrug your shoulders and turn it over to the Grinnin' Dominican, who faces pampered son of privilege and local boy Chris Young. Seriously, dude is from Highland Park, the snobbiest, richest section of Dallas, and went to Princeton. If Scioscia has the umps check his glove, they'll find pâté. So hopefully he'll be so distracted by heat-induced visions of glaceed-apricot-flavored gelato the Angels hitters will continue their rakish ways and Santana can salsa caliente his way to a series win.

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