The only times otherwise-good movies or television series become seriously annoying is when they ignore their own reality. So right now, watching Studio 60 on DVR, I am watching the fourth Nancy Grace incarnation in two weeks.
I've seen Nancy Grace for real (beyond description), a Nancy Grace character on "Boston Legal" (inconsequential), Nancy Grace on "SNL" (pretty funny, actually), and now a sketch of a "Nancy Grace Sketch" on the "Studio 60" show which is part of "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip."
The problem? This latest Nancy Grace, as presented on the show-within-the-show, is beyond not funny. And the entire cast and crew is laughing more pathetically than the cast of Fox's NFL pre-game show. They're telling me it's funny. I'm saying they left out the funny.
I'm watching the sketch, everyone is cracking up, and there's no funny.
Here's the Star Wars theory of life. Tell me a starship can travel at light speed, and I'm on board, the laws of physics be damned. But present Han Solo as a space stud and then have him act like a wuss, and I'm not buying.
Tell me something is funny, then present something un-funny, and I get off.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Liveblog: Twinkletoes vs. the Monsters of the Midway
Some Monday Night games seem designed to provide the answers to "What if?" questions. As in, "What would happen if the most ferocious defense of the last twenty years met A) the worst offensive line in the league, and B) A glamour-boy rookie quarterback that half the country would like to see knocked on his butt?"
Strangely enough, both A and B are in play tonight. Saturday night at Buffalo Wild Wings, I had two people notice my USC t-shirt and say, "I hope your guy is all right." Meaning, they were hoping not that Matt Leinart would win or play well or even not disgrace himself. They meant that that when those 11 two-legged meatgrinders known as the Chicago Bears defense put Leinart in the hospital, it was hoped that the stay would not be overlong.
What this Bears defense would do to Leinart was, it appeared, the theme of the weekend. During "Monday Night Countdown," Michael Irvin said, "I hope the Cardinals are ready to dial 911." During the preview to the start of the game, Mike Ditka said, "Matt Leinart better have that bronzed Heisman Trophy with him. He'll have to use it to beat off that ferocious Chicago front seven."
So, a liveblog.
7:43: Kickoff to the Bears, run back to the 47. On to the field comes Rex Grossman, the new, new thing.
7:46. Bears punt. First down: pass in the flat to Anquon Boldin. Five-yard gain.
7:76. Second down: Hand-off to Edge. Nothing.
7:47. Third and five. Pass to Jackson. First down. Kornheiser says the Cardinals should quit right now. "You've got the first down, get in your cars, drive home, say that you got a first down against the Bears!" Oh ho ho ho.
7:48. Nine-yard completion to Pope. Astrogirl asks me, "Is Kornheiser Joe Morgan's best friend? They're both such assholes."
7:50. Hand-off to Edge, first down.
7:51. Edge. Nine yards.
7:51. Edge up the middle. First down.
7:51. Leinart pass complete, first down. The sound you hear is Kornheiser backpedalling better than Champ Bailey in the flat.
7:52. Edge for five. Second on the Bears' fifteenth. Now Kornheiser thinks this game could be the "movie of Leinart's life." Mike Tirico asks, "Didn't you just say they should go home?" Kornheiser: "Well, nobody remembers what I say." We should live so long.
7:53. Leinart to Brian Johnson--who slips through the Bears' defense for a touchdown. Kornheiser is now officially Leinart's best friend. I mean, this is pathetic. 7-0 Cardinals.
8:03. Bears, three and out. Leinart, back on the field.
8:06. Third-and-two, Leinart makes the first inexcusable mistake of the night, trying to thread the needle. Matt, you can't do that. Ruled an interception, challenged by Green . . . and . . .
8:08. Joe Theismann, with an assist from Tirico, gives us the nine millionth rendition of the Coach's Challenge theme song--only with a twist: "Remember. The evidence has got to be conclusive."
Tiricio (nervously): "Uh, irrefutable."
Theisman: "Irrefewwwwtable."
This, apparently, is a big deal.
I always look forward to The Dissertation of the First Coach's Challenge, which thrills me as much as, in a game when John Madden is broadcasting, I always look forward to the first time a quarterback throws the ball away, because I know what will follow is Madden's windy, word-for-word-never-changes explanation of the intentional grounding rule: "See, he was outside the tackle box . . . what you call the tackle box is kinda the hashmarks . . . but he was outside the tackle box and he threw it while outside the tackle box and it went past the line of scrimmage, which is different from the tackle box in that the tackle box is kinda the hash marks." Really, my favorite moment in any Madden game.
8:10. The challenge goes the Cardinals' way. Punt.
8:16. Third down, Bears. Grossman's pass intercepted by Francisco, who runs it back inside the thirty.
8:18. Leinart passes to Boldin, who dashes through the Bears secondary. 14-0. Now Kornheiser announces that he wants to suckle Leinart's forthcoming child so they might "raise it as our own." Okay, I made that up.
8:33: Grossman throws the ball that Cardinal Hayes would have to duck to avoid. Interception.
8:38. Cardinals, third and long at the Bears' thirty. Charles Barkley, demonstrating the flair for the dramatically inopportune that is clearly the prototype of every booth-visitor in every sporting event ever broadcasted, seeks to interject himself at what, clearly, is the tipping point in the game. "They're going to score," Barkley says. Incomplete pass.
This is the state of prediction-making by a generation of Americans raised on "The McGlaughlin Group"--either directly or by osmosis. The key is to make the craziest, most outlandish prediction possible. If it comes through, you're a sage. If not, nobody remembers.
8:39. Missed field goal. Not to channel Barkley, but they can't let these opportunities go.
8:48. Rex Grossman is tackled and doesn't even come close to not fumbling away. Cards' ball.
8:55. Leinart goes three and out (including a stupid penalty). Field goal--which feels like a victory for the Bears. 17-0. Should be 21-0 at least, maybe 28-0.
8:59. Bears, third-and-short. Grossman, back to pass. He absolutely, postively not-even-close fails to not fumble. Cardinal ball, inside the thirty.
9:00. Theisman: "Cardinals need a touchdown right here. Seventeen doesn't do it. Twenty doesn't do it."
Kornheiser: "Hey, I've got your momentum right here."
(A slight pause, while we pay tribute to the most intelligent Kornheiser comment of the night.)
9:05. Third and long, inside the fifteen. Leinart throws underneath, complete,but not enough for the first. Barkley says, "Awww, he should have gone for the juggler." Then: "I'll tell you one thing. Twenty doesn't win this game."
I hate those comments, mostly because I agree with both of them.
9:10. Field goal. 20-0. Won't be enough.
9:25. Start of second half. Cardinals, three and out.
9:29. Third and short. Bear running back Jones makes the first down, barely, close enough for a measurement. "They did not make it," Theisman insists. "They did not make it. They are six inches short."
In what is already perfectly clear to anyone watching the game, first down. "Just like I said it," Theisman says, prompting the requisite fake laughter from all. As Phil Mushnick wondered this morning in the New York Post, what would all these fake-laughers do if anyone actually said something funny?
9:31. Bears, first and goal.
9:35. Three plays later, Bears, fourth and goal. And this is why I like college football so much better than pro football. With a 20-0 deficit, the Bears needed three touchdowns to go ahead. Anyone knows this. Now, with a field goal, how many touchdowns do they need to go ahead? Three. Somehow, the Pete Carrolls and Mack Browns and Tim Tesslers of the world are wired to the realities of a deficit; simply "putting points on the board" becomes subordinate to everything.
9:40. One Bear blunder after another (kickoff out of bounds, roughing the kicker on a Cardinal punt), but the Cardinals don't seem to make anything of it . . .
9:45. And with that, Leinart throws a seventeeen-yard completion to Boldin for the first down. Biggest offensive play of the half.
9:50. No, this is the biggest Cardinal offensive play of the half: complete for a first down to that old Trojan nemesis, Lavar Arrington. Inside the twenty.
9:53. Rackers field goal. 23-3, Cardinals. Back we're we started, 13 minutes ago.
10:02. After a good punt, Leinart is hit from behind, when Oliver Ross lets Mark Anderson proceed, unblocked and unnoticed, to Leinart's blind side. Fumble, Bear recovery, touchdown. 23-10.
Gentlemen, we have a game.
A few minutes ago, Theisman was talking about how this was the fourth offensive unit the Cardinals had deployed this season. Kornheiser said, "I think this is one unit they'll stick with." Yeah, and what I wouldn't give to be Ross on film day, listening to Denny Green go into full meltdown mode.
10:08. Okay, I confess. What is the point of the Levi's Stevie Wonder "Superstition" commercial? That the jeans have a mind of their own, or a life, or something? Is this a commercial based on the Jackie Chan's The Tuxedo?
10:10. Out of the time-out, a first-down throw, Leinart to Boldin. This was what Leinart exceeded at so many times at USC: waiting for a spot where Trojan fans would say, "Crap, we're in trouble," and immediately doing something reassuring.
10:11. Edge. First down. Vet that he is, he makes sure to stay in-bounds. Classy.
10:12. Wait. How many Bears defenders have been carted off? Five? Sixteen? Michelle TaFoya, give us a total.
10:17. Bears, third down. Grossman, incomplete, thanks to Eric Green going Jack Tatum on a receiver. Punt.
10:21. Hey, did you know that the 1985 Bears had a 12-0 record, then went to Miami to play the Dolphins, the only team to go undefeated, on Monday Night Football? And then the Bears lost to the Dolphins, in the highest rated Monday Night game ever? And then the Bears went on to win the Super Bowl that year? Thought I'd pass that along.
10:24. Bears, thirteen points down. Ten minutes to go. Bears' ball, Cards territory. This is the game.
10:29. Fourth down. Bears go for it. Grossman's pass . . . tipped, tipped, juggled, tipped, and finally brought in by the Cardinal' Darnell Dockett, who lands on a Bear, gets up, and runs for a touchdown . . . only the entire officiating crew realizes that Dockett was down by contact and moves to set up the extra point as slowly as road graders, hoping that Lovie Smith will throw the red flag and save them from themselves. Challenge, reverse. Cards' ball.
10:36. Quick three and out. Not good.
10:40. Second-down, Grossman's pass absolutely, completely, platonically, super-duper fantastically does not come close to not being intercepted. Six Bear turnovers.
10:43. Officially, the craziest game I have ever seen. Urlacher rips the ball from Edge, Bear Mike Tillman picks it up runs it in. Two touchdowns from the defense. Incredible. 23-17. Not happening.
10:46. A decent return by Arrington . . . who then gives it all back by spiking the ball and is called for "talenting." Fifteen yards. Talenting? This is a penalty?
10:48. Leinart throws, first-down to Boldin. Huge play.
10:48. Brian Urlacher has officially declared Edge his bitch.
10:52. Punt to Bear Devin Hester . . . who runs it back for a touchdown. 24-23 Bears. Unfreakingbelievable.
11:00. Leinart drives the bulk of the field. First down, USC at the thirty. Field-goal range.
11:02. Fourth down. Fifty-three seconds to go. Racker on for the kick. And . . .
11:03. Wide left.
11:05. And that's your ballgame, folks. 24-23 Bears.
I'm not a Cardinal fan. And I'm pissed.
Update: The morning after. I went back, fixed the grammar in a few spots, inserted some apostrophes, but let two blunders stand. First, my excoriation of the Bears for kicking the field goal when down 20 points, when all it did was help give Chicago the winning margin. The second was from Brendan Loy, aka The Irish Trojan, who pointed out that I wrote "First down, USC," instead of, "First down, Cardinaals," on the final drive. I wish I had done that on purpose. Consider where my head was at.
Leinart will have better days.
Update: Reader isuquinn writes: "The penalty was for TAUNTING not TALENTING. :) Talenting is not a penalty like you said." I stand corrected.
Strangely enough, both A and B are in play tonight. Saturday night at Buffalo Wild Wings, I had two people notice my USC t-shirt and say, "I hope your guy is all right." Meaning, they were hoping not that Matt Leinart would win or play well or even not disgrace himself. They meant that that when those 11 two-legged meatgrinders known as the Chicago Bears defense put Leinart in the hospital, it was hoped that the stay would not be overlong.
What this Bears defense would do to Leinart was, it appeared, the theme of the weekend. During "Monday Night Countdown," Michael Irvin said, "I hope the Cardinals are ready to dial 911." During the preview to the start of the game, Mike Ditka said, "Matt Leinart better have that bronzed Heisman Trophy with him. He'll have to use it to beat off that ferocious Chicago front seven."
So, a liveblog.
7:43: Kickoff to the Bears, run back to the 47. On to the field comes Rex Grossman, the new, new thing.
7:46. Bears punt. First down: pass in the flat to Anquon Boldin. Five-yard gain.
7:76. Second down: Hand-off to Edge. Nothing.
7:47. Third and five. Pass to Jackson. First down. Kornheiser says the Cardinals should quit right now. "You've got the first down, get in your cars, drive home, say that you got a first down against the Bears!" Oh ho ho ho.
7:48. Nine-yard completion to Pope. Astrogirl asks me, "Is Kornheiser Joe Morgan's best friend? They're both such assholes."
7:50. Hand-off to Edge, first down.
7:51. Edge. Nine yards.
7:51. Edge up the middle. First down.
7:51. Leinart pass complete, first down. The sound you hear is Kornheiser backpedalling better than Champ Bailey in the flat.
7:52. Edge for five. Second on the Bears' fifteenth. Now Kornheiser thinks this game could be the "movie of Leinart's life." Mike Tirico asks, "Didn't you just say they should go home?" Kornheiser: "Well, nobody remembers what I say." We should live so long.
7:53. Leinart to Brian Johnson--who slips through the Bears' defense for a touchdown. Kornheiser is now officially Leinart's best friend. I mean, this is pathetic. 7-0 Cardinals.
8:03. Bears, three and out. Leinart, back on the field.
8:06. Third-and-two, Leinart makes the first inexcusable mistake of the night, trying to thread the needle. Matt, you can't do that. Ruled an interception, challenged by Green . . . and . . .
8:08. Joe Theismann, with an assist from Tirico, gives us the nine millionth rendition of the Coach's Challenge theme song--only with a twist: "Remember. The evidence has got to be conclusive."
Tiricio (nervously): "Uh, irrefutable."
Theisman: "Irrefewwwwtable."
This, apparently, is a big deal.
I always look forward to The Dissertation of the First Coach's Challenge, which thrills me as much as, in a game when John Madden is broadcasting, I always look forward to the first time a quarterback throws the ball away, because I know what will follow is Madden's windy, word-for-word-never-changes explanation of the intentional grounding rule: "See, he was outside the tackle box . . . what you call the tackle box is kinda the hashmarks . . . but he was outside the tackle box and he threw it while outside the tackle box and it went past the line of scrimmage, which is different from the tackle box in that the tackle box is kinda the hash marks." Really, my favorite moment in any Madden game.
8:10. The challenge goes the Cardinals' way. Punt.
8:16. Third down, Bears. Grossman's pass intercepted by Francisco, who runs it back inside the thirty.
8:18. Leinart passes to Boldin, who dashes through the Bears secondary. 14-0. Now Kornheiser announces that he wants to suckle Leinart's forthcoming child so they might "raise it as our own." Okay, I made that up.
8:33: Grossman throws the ball that Cardinal Hayes would have to duck to avoid. Interception.
8:38. Cardinals, third and long at the Bears' thirty. Charles Barkley, demonstrating the flair for the dramatically inopportune that is clearly the prototype of every booth-visitor in every sporting event ever broadcasted, seeks to interject himself at what, clearly, is the tipping point in the game. "They're going to score," Barkley says. Incomplete pass.
This is the state of prediction-making by a generation of Americans raised on "The McGlaughlin Group"--either directly or by osmosis. The key is to make the craziest, most outlandish prediction possible. If it comes through, you're a sage. If not, nobody remembers.
8:39. Missed field goal. Not to channel Barkley, but they can't let these opportunities go.
8:48. Rex Grossman is tackled and doesn't even come close to not fumbling away. Cards' ball.
8:55. Leinart goes three and out (including a stupid penalty). Field goal--which feels like a victory for the Bears. 17-0. Should be 21-0 at least, maybe 28-0.
8:59. Bears, third-and-short. Grossman, back to pass. He absolutely, postively not-even-close fails to not fumble. Cardinal ball, inside the thirty.
9:00. Theisman: "Cardinals need a touchdown right here. Seventeen doesn't do it. Twenty doesn't do it."
Kornheiser: "Hey, I've got your momentum right here."
(A slight pause, while we pay tribute to the most intelligent Kornheiser comment of the night.)
9:05. Third and long, inside the fifteen. Leinart throws underneath, complete,but not enough for the first. Barkley says, "Awww, he should have gone for the juggler." Then: "I'll tell you one thing. Twenty doesn't win this game."
I hate those comments, mostly because I agree with both of them.
9:10. Field goal. 20-0. Won't be enough.
9:25. Start of second half. Cardinals, three and out.
9:29. Third and short. Bear running back Jones makes the first down, barely, close enough for a measurement. "They did not make it," Theisman insists. "They did not make it. They are six inches short."
In what is already perfectly clear to anyone watching the game, first down. "Just like I said it," Theisman says, prompting the requisite fake laughter from all. As Phil Mushnick wondered this morning in the New York Post, what would all these fake-laughers do if anyone actually said something funny?
9:31. Bears, first and goal.
9:35. Three plays later, Bears, fourth and goal. And this is why I like college football so much better than pro football. With a 20-0 deficit, the Bears needed three touchdowns to go ahead. Anyone knows this. Now, with a field goal, how many touchdowns do they need to go ahead? Three. Somehow, the Pete Carrolls and Mack Browns and Tim Tesslers of the world are wired to the realities of a deficit; simply "putting points on the board" becomes subordinate to everything.
9:40. One Bear blunder after another (kickoff out of bounds, roughing the kicker on a Cardinal punt), but the Cardinals don't seem to make anything of it . . .
9:45. And with that, Leinart throws a seventeeen-yard completion to Boldin for the first down. Biggest offensive play of the half.
9:50. No, this is the biggest Cardinal offensive play of the half: complete for a first down to that old Trojan nemesis, Lavar Arrington. Inside the twenty.
9:53. Rackers field goal. 23-3, Cardinals. Back we're we started, 13 minutes ago.
10:02. After a good punt, Leinart is hit from behind, when Oliver Ross lets Mark Anderson proceed, unblocked and unnoticed, to Leinart's blind side. Fumble, Bear recovery, touchdown. 23-10.
Gentlemen, we have a game.
A few minutes ago, Theisman was talking about how this was the fourth offensive unit the Cardinals had deployed this season. Kornheiser said, "I think this is one unit they'll stick with." Yeah, and what I wouldn't give to be Ross on film day, listening to Denny Green go into full meltdown mode.
10:08. Okay, I confess. What is the point of the Levi's Stevie Wonder "Superstition" commercial? That the jeans have a mind of their own, or a life, or something? Is this a commercial based on the Jackie Chan's The Tuxedo?
10:10. Out of the time-out, a first-down throw, Leinart to Boldin. This was what Leinart exceeded at so many times at USC: waiting for a spot where Trojan fans would say, "Crap, we're in trouble," and immediately doing something reassuring.
10:11. Edge. First down. Vet that he is, he makes sure to stay in-bounds. Classy.
10:12. Wait. How many Bears defenders have been carted off? Five? Sixteen? Michelle TaFoya, give us a total.
10:17. Bears, third down. Grossman, incomplete, thanks to Eric Green going Jack Tatum on a receiver. Punt.
10:21. Hey, did you know that the 1985 Bears had a 12-0 record, then went to Miami to play the Dolphins, the only team to go undefeated, on Monday Night Football? And then the Bears lost to the Dolphins, in the highest rated Monday Night game ever? And then the Bears went on to win the Super Bowl that year? Thought I'd pass that along.
10:24. Bears, thirteen points down. Ten minutes to go. Bears' ball, Cards territory. This is the game.
10:29. Fourth down. Bears go for it. Grossman's pass . . . tipped, tipped, juggled, tipped, and finally brought in by the Cardinal' Darnell Dockett, who lands on a Bear, gets up, and runs for a touchdown . . . only the entire officiating crew realizes that Dockett was down by contact and moves to set up the extra point as slowly as road graders, hoping that Lovie Smith will throw the red flag and save them from themselves. Challenge, reverse. Cards' ball.
10:36. Quick three and out. Not good.
10:40. Second-down, Grossman's pass absolutely, completely, platonically, super-duper fantastically does not come close to not being intercepted. Six Bear turnovers.
10:43. Officially, the craziest game I have ever seen. Urlacher rips the ball from Edge, Bear Mike Tillman picks it up runs it in. Two touchdowns from the defense. Incredible. 23-17. Not happening.
10:46. A decent return by Arrington . . . who then gives it all back by spiking the ball and is called for "talenting." Fifteen yards. Talenting? This is a penalty?
10:48. Leinart throws, first-down to Boldin. Huge play.
10:48. Brian Urlacher has officially declared Edge his bitch.
10:52. Punt to Bear Devin Hester . . . who runs it back for a touchdown. 24-23 Bears. Unfreakingbelievable.
11:00. Leinart drives the bulk of the field. First down, USC at the thirty. Field-goal range.
11:02. Fourth down. Fifty-three seconds to go. Racker on for the kick. And . . .
11:03. Wide left.
11:05. And that's your ballgame, folks. 24-23 Bears.
I'm not a Cardinal fan. And I'm pissed.
Update: The morning after. I went back, fixed the grammar in a few spots, inserted some apostrophes, but let two blunders stand. First, my excoriation of the Bears for kicking the field goal when down 20 points, when all it did was help give Chicago the winning margin. The second was from Brendan Loy, aka The Irish Trojan, who pointed out that I wrote "First down, USC," instead of, "First down, Cardinaals," on the final drive. I wish I had done that on purpose. Consider where my head was at.
Leinart will have better days.
Update: Reader isuquinn writes: "The penalty was for TAUNTING not TALENTING. :) Talenting is not a penalty like you said." I stand corrected.
Election 2006: Are things as dark as they seem?
Is it all about Iraq, or is it something else? I just filled up my gas tank for a whoppping $1.96 per gallon. The stock market is about to crack 12,000. Unemployment is at 4.6 percent: basically, a job for anyone who wants one. The deficit is around 200 million, around the same as during Reagan, meaning--in real dollars--substantionally less. Inflation has been so low, and for so long, not one person in a hundred could tell you what the current rate is. (I just asked my office-mate, Aaron Knight, a smart guy, government professor, and chair of social sciences, if he knew the current rate of inflation. He didn't, I don't, and neither do you.) In other words, Absent Iraq everything points to the GOP at least holding its own, never mind six-year fatigue, never mind the scandals of DeLay, Ney, and Foley. The past two elections, the GOP has run rings around the Democrats, in part because of the perceived Democratic preoccupation with all things process in the War on Terror.
Up to about this past spring, every New York Times bombshell regarding this or that sleuthing technique was worth at least five points in the polls. Democrats looked so inept attempting to block President Bush's Supreme Court nominees that usually hapless Press Secretary Scott McClellan took to clowning John Kerry for announcing a filibuster "from the ski slopes of Davos." There was talk of a filibuster-proof 60-person GOP majority in the Senate. And now--what? Dean Barnett, currently blogging at Hugh Hewitt, shares the gloom.
If the election were held today, the Dems would hold all their Senate seats (if one categorizes, correctly I think, a Liberman victory as a "hold") and would pick up 5 seats with a minimum of difficulty: those held by Burns, Santorum, Chaffee, DeWine and the retiring Frist. That would make it 50-50, with Cheney as the tie-breaker. The troubles of Reps. DeLay, Ney, and Foley may make the Dems' 15-seat deficit a 12-seat deficit: a much easier mountain.
At this point, one of three things will happen. The GOP will fight to a stalemate and keep narrow control of at least one House. Or the Dems will fight and scratch for six Senate seats and 20 or so House seats and assume narrow majorities.
Or: napalm. Forty House seats, seven or eight Senate seats, in a landslide that results not from Foley (however Time and Newsweek would wish otherwise), but from a collective reaction to a dozen little things. Plus, Iraq.
Up to about this past spring, every New York Times bombshell regarding this or that sleuthing technique was worth at least five points in the polls. Democrats looked so inept attempting to block President Bush's Supreme Court nominees that usually hapless Press Secretary Scott McClellan took to clowning John Kerry for announcing a filibuster "from the ski slopes of Davos." There was talk of a filibuster-proof 60-person GOP majority in the Senate. And now--what? Dean Barnett, currently blogging at Hugh Hewitt, shares the gloom.
If the election were held today, the Dems would hold all their Senate seats (if one categorizes, correctly I think, a Liberman victory as a "hold") and would pick up 5 seats with a minimum of difficulty: those held by Burns, Santorum, Chaffee, DeWine and the retiring Frist. That would make it 50-50, with Cheney as the tie-breaker. The troubles of Reps. DeLay, Ney, and Foley may make the Dems' 15-seat deficit a 12-seat deficit: a much easier mountain.
At this point, one of three things will happen. The GOP will fight to a stalemate and keep narrow control of at least one House. Or the Dems will fight and scratch for six Senate seats and 20 or so House seats and assume narrow majorities.
Or: napalm. Forty House seats, seven or eight Senate seats, in a landslide that results not from Foley (however Time and Newsweek would wish otherwise), but from a collective reaction to a dozen little things. Plus, Iraq.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
USC-Notre Dame, revisited
The The Irish Trojan, a look back on one of the great days in college football, and one of the great games in the history of the sport.
34-31, USC. Even now . . . wow. What I wrote to Brendan:
Historically, the only parallel I can think of is Borg v. McEnroe, Wimbledon men’s singles championship, 1980. This match–almost certainly the greatest tennis match in history–reached its moment of sublimity in the fourth-set tiebreaker, when Borg forced McEnroe to seven Champonship Points, only to see Johnny Mac impossibily, improbably, fight them all off, then win the tiebreaker, and hence the set, 18-16.
Honest to God, I was thinking of Borg a year ago today, of what Borg later revealed he’d been thinking as he took his place for the fifth set. Here was a man who hadn’t lost at Wimbledon in five years, who had walked astride the grounds as a colossus, but–by his own account–all he could say to himself as he took his place was, “Oh my God, I’m going to lose. Oh my God, I’m going to lose.”
But, of course, he did not lose, but instead pulled out the fifth set an impossible 8-6.
I go back to this because this was how I was in my den a year ago today, staring at fourth-and-nine and–I see where you come from, Brendan–almost at peace with the presumptive outcome, and yet saying to myself, “Oh my God, they’re going to lose. Oh my God, they’re going to lose.”
And then Leinart saw Jarrett in man coverage.
34-31, USC. Even now . . . wow. What I wrote to Brendan:
Historically, the only parallel I can think of is Borg v. McEnroe, Wimbledon men’s singles championship, 1980. This match–almost certainly the greatest tennis match in history–reached its moment of sublimity in the fourth-set tiebreaker, when Borg forced McEnroe to seven Champonship Points, only to see Johnny Mac impossibily, improbably, fight them all off, then win the tiebreaker, and hence the set, 18-16.
Honest to God, I was thinking of Borg a year ago today, of what Borg later revealed he’d been thinking as he took his place for the fifth set. Here was a man who hadn’t lost at Wimbledon in five years, who had walked astride the grounds as a colossus, but–by his own account–all he could say to himself as he took his place was, “Oh my God, I’m going to lose. Oh my God, I’m going to lose.”
But, of course, he did not lose, but instead pulled out the fifth set an impossible 8-6.
I go back to this because this was how I was in my den a year ago today, staring at fourth-and-nine and–I see where you come from, Brendan–almost at peace with the presumptive outcome, and yet saying to myself, “Oh my God, they’re going to lose. Oh my God, they’re going to lose.”
And then Leinart saw Jarrett in man coverage.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Another close shave
Anyone betting on USC these days is slowly going broke.
Out at Buffalo Wild Wings tonight, I was there to see USC v ASU, Florida v. Auburn, Michigan v. Penn State.
More to the point, I was looking to see 1) an easy win by the Trojans before the true meat of the season; 2) a win by Auburn over Florida in the rock-paper-scissors world that is the SEC; 3) how long Penn State could ride the wave of the crowd and stay in it against Michigan.
Well, two out of three. No, make it two and three. The Trojans cruised out to a 21-0 lead and I was already thinking ahead: bye, then Oregon. Down the road, Cal. Then high noon against the Irish, Thanksgiving Saturday.
I was waiting for SC to score again. Up 28-0, it becomes an early evening, home to root for Auburn.
Then, a Sun Devil touchdown.
Halftime.
Then, a Booty fumble. ASU touchdown. 21-14.
Then, a few posessions later, the worst-executed play since the Paul Hackett era, a Booty pass straight at the numeral 8 of Sun Devil Keno Walter-White. 21-21.
But a late touchdown for the Trojans. 28-21.
Such a close win will probably guarantee USC stays number three, as Michigan becomes the fourth team to ascend to number two. And this is justified. Will this be the first time a #3 team finds itself behind three different #2 teams in three consecutive weeks?
Some thoughts:
1. Here is the tipping point of the season, a point whereby we find that USC is either a) a very good team working out the bugs before the meat of the schedule, or b) a team whose luck runs out. Any win against Oregon and Cal will be a plus, full stop. Any loss at home exposes a team living off the 2002-2005 rep.
2. We have sort of known as much, but we are four seasons spoiled at QB, and it is time for us to grow up. In 2002, Carson Palmer shook off four-plus years of injury and disappointment to finally mature over nine incredible games. Matt Leinart was sui generis, the greatest college quarterback ever, and his like will not happen by again. No, Booty is not “better than Leinart.” Nor, at this point, better than Rob Johnson. It became clear in the the fourth quarter that the only way USC would lose the game would be if Booty lost it for them. No way would ASU drive the length of the field against USC’s defense; no way would ASU’s D-line stop Washington and Moody. So Carroll did the only thing he could, the one thing nearly guaranteed to work: he went smash-mouth (translation: kept the ball out of Booty’s hands–fancy that!), and the game was over.
3. On a neutral field, either Ohio State or Michigan would be 10-point favorites against USC, minimum.
Now, as for ASU. To my most faithful correspondents, SundevilJoe, RobbieBoy and DesertRose: God knows I'm a Sun Devil fan 364 days a year. And I know how much everyone corresponds to Darryl Rodgers' dictum, "W's are W's, and L's are L's." No such thing as moral victories. But ASU has always been best when it was opportunistic: Mike Haynes, John Jefferson, Al Harris, Vernon Maxwell, Pat Tillman, and now Keno Walter-White. Their performance here is their best in a loss since the 2002 Holiday Bowl. USC is the team of the decade, and you guys had it scared to death. Build on it!
Out at Buffalo Wild Wings tonight, I was there to see USC v ASU, Florida v. Auburn, Michigan v. Penn State.
More to the point, I was looking to see 1) an easy win by the Trojans before the true meat of the season; 2) a win by Auburn over Florida in the rock-paper-scissors world that is the SEC; 3) how long Penn State could ride the wave of the crowd and stay in it against Michigan.
Well, two out of three. No, make it two and three. The Trojans cruised out to a 21-0 lead and I was already thinking ahead: bye, then Oregon. Down the road, Cal. Then high noon against the Irish, Thanksgiving Saturday.
I was waiting for SC to score again. Up 28-0, it becomes an early evening, home to root for Auburn.
Then, a Sun Devil touchdown.
Halftime.
Then, a Booty fumble. ASU touchdown. 21-14.
Then, a few posessions later, the worst-executed play since the Paul Hackett era, a Booty pass straight at the numeral 8 of Sun Devil Keno Walter-White. 21-21.
But a late touchdown for the Trojans. 28-21.
Such a close win will probably guarantee USC stays number three, as Michigan becomes the fourth team to ascend to number two. And this is justified. Will this be the first time a #3 team finds itself behind three different #2 teams in three consecutive weeks?
Some thoughts:
1. Here is the tipping point of the season, a point whereby we find that USC is either a) a very good team working out the bugs before the meat of the schedule, or b) a team whose luck runs out. Any win against Oregon and Cal will be a plus, full stop. Any loss at home exposes a team living off the 2002-2005 rep.
2. We have sort of known as much, but we are four seasons spoiled at QB, and it is time for us to grow up. In 2002, Carson Palmer shook off four-plus years of injury and disappointment to finally mature over nine incredible games. Matt Leinart was sui generis, the greatest college quarterback ever, and his like will not happen by again. No, Booty is not “better than Leinart.” Nor, at this point, better than Rob Johnson. It became clear in the the fourth quarter that the only way USC would lose the game would be if Booty lost it for them. No way would ASU drive the length of the field against USC’s defense; no way would ASU’s D-line stop Washington and Moody. So Carroll did the only thing he could, the one thing nearly guaranteed to work: he went smash-mouth (translation: kept the ball out of Booty’s hands–fancy that!), and the game was over.
3. On a neutral field, either Ohio State or Michigan would be 10-point favorites against USC, minimum.
Now, as for ASU. To my most faithful correspondents, SundevilJoe, RobbieBoy and DesertRose: God knows I'm a Sun Devil fan 364 days a year. And I know how much everyone corresponds to Darryl Rodgers' dictum, "W's are W's, and L's are L's." No such thing as moral victories. But ASU has always been best when it was opportunistic: Mike Haynes, John Jefferson, Al Harris, Vernon Maxwell, Pat Tillman, and now Keno Walter-White. Their performance here is their best in a loss since the 2002 Holiday Bowl. USC is the team of the decade, and you guys had it scared to death. Build on it!
Snow in Buffalo
In October. Via > http://www.brendanloy.com/2006/10/buffalo-buried.html>The Irish Trojan.
Perhaps I'm only amusing myself, but I always do the same thing in these circumstances. I write, Well thank God for global warming, or it would be worse. This always prompts the same response: Global warming causes more extreme tempratures, blah blah blah.
Well, all right. We are just now coming out of one of the most benign hurricane seasons in recent memory. So perhaps things are not as bad as all that?
Well, of course not. Available information, if not proof of global warming, is to be discounted.
Look, is the world getting warmer? Porbably, just as--thirty-five years ago--it was cooling, and every available authority (including psychics polled in The Book of Lists #2) predicted an imminent Ice Age. Is there anything we can do about it? Probably not. Will it end in catastrophe? Maybe, just as icebergs carved out the Great Lakes and a meteor did in the dinosaurs. And maybe not.
Look, I feel guilty enough about the poor and the undereducated. I refuse to feel guilty about the weather.
Perhaps I'm only amusing myself, but I always do the same thing in these circumstances. I write, Well thank God for global warming, or it would be worse. This always prompts the same response: Global warming causes more extreme tempratures, blah blah blah.
Well, all right. We are just now coming out of one of the most benign hurricane seasons in recent memory. So perhaps things are not as bad as all that?
Well, of course not. Available information, if not proof of global warming, is to be discounted.
Look, is the world getting warmer? Porbably, just as--thirty-five years ago--it was cooling, and every available authority (including psychics polled in The Book of Lists #2) predicted an imminent Ice Age. Is there anything we can do about it? Probably not. Will it end in catastrophe? Maybe, just as icebergs carved out the Great Lakes and a meteor did in the dinosaurs. And maybe not.
Look, I feel guilty enough about the poor and the undereducated. I refuse to feel guilty about the weather.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Unreal
The First Rule of the Loony Left Bloggers is as follows: as a thread lengthens, its likelihood of reverting to Bush hatred rapidly approaches one.
Every so often, I test the theory--in a story so (eventually) completely removed from Bush as to defy belief. Over at Huffpost, Cory Lidle's death 600-some posts later, we join the discussion in full swing:
Posts such as the above--plus (surprise!)more Mark Foley stuff--prompt the following, almost a pleading, from a fan who remembered Lidle from his Oakland days:
Which prompts this reply:
Note to self: Okay. Time to shake off Yankee failure and wade back into politics.
Every so often, I test the theory--in a story so (eventually) completely removed from Bush as to defy belief. Over at Huffpost, Cory Lidle's death 600-some posts later, we join the discussion in full swing:
How about this as a possible October Surprise -
Bush/Rove let the situation in Baghdad deteriorate so badly that they 'engineer' the Seige of the Green Zone, a Christian Masada, a New Alamo?
Ramadan ends Oct. 23 - Seige of the Green Zone starts Oct. 24.
80,000 Troops trapped 300 miles inside hostile territory will make the whole country worry.
Who will we blame? Iran, of course, and the battle lines of Bush's Plan to Cleanse the ME of 'extremeists' will be drawn.
80,000 Troops surrounded? Draft? No problem!
Desire to nuke Iran and North Korea? Goes way up!
Invade the oil fields of Iran (geographically concentrated into a relatively small area)? Of course, to deny the 'extremeists' their source of funds.
Noodle on that and see if it makes sense.
Maybe that's why the FUNDIES haven't voiced outrage over FOLEY - Rove revealed to them a more glorious ending - a biblical scale event sure to sound the rapture call and initiate the fight against the Devil on earth - 'Radical' Islam, of course.
All of BUSH's MIC stakeholders 'win' with his New Alamo Plan.
Don't fall for it!
Take Back America!
Out with the BUSH Poodles!
Posts such as the above--plus (surprise!)more Mark Foley stuff--prompt the following, almost a pleading, from a fan who remembered Lidle from his Oakland days:
I'm sorry, I'm going to try this one more time, because I really think you mean well, but YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT.
I didn't come here looking for empathy (and sorry you have such a limited supply) and I didn't come here looking for sympathy.
I posted a comment about Cory Lidle; this is the "Yankees Pitcher Cory Lidle Killed...." thread, it seemed appropriate to share a memory and comment that he was a very nice man. Then all this crap comes pouring out of the spamming trolls.
This is not the foley thread - you can go find that - I, personally, am still wishing the Lidle family and the other passenger's family all the best tonight.
Which prompts this reply:
Look, no disrespect to families of anyone who has been hurt or killed in this terrible accident, but isn't it a little out of proportion that this is the number one story on a day that the Pentagon announced that the U.S. military, which probably loses more than a couple Americans a day, will be in Iraq until at least 2010?
The story about the military wasn't even on CNN.com's front page. And thousands of Americans have died. Is it really more newsworthy when the person who died was a celebrity?
Note to self: Okay. Time to shake off Yankee failure and wade back into politics.
Cory Lidle, RIP
In an airplane crash into a Manhattan high-rise.
I've was just coming out of my post-Yankee fetal crouch, and was driving all around Houston as the story unfolded. All I can add is . . .
Fascinating. The last acting New York Yankee to die: Thurman Munson, 27 summers ago. In a plane crash.
I've was just coming out of my post-Yankee fetal crouch, and was driving all around Houston as the story unfolded. All I can add is . . .
Fascinating. The last acting New York Yankee to die: Thurman Munson, 27 summers ago. In a plane crash.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
The Fallout begins
I said to Astrogirl yesterday: "If A-Rod doesn't produce in the eight-hole, Torre may bat him tenth."
Lupica, today: "You know why Torre batted A-Rod eighth? Because he couldn't bat him tenth."
More here.
Word is that Torre is out, Piniella in. As for A-Rod: never mind the money (never a consideration for the Yankees); the price, I think, would be a bunch of prime prospects, especially young pitchers.
Lupica, today: "You know why Torre batted A-Rod eighth? Because he couldn't bat him tenth."
More here.
Word is that Torre is out, Piniella in. As for A-Rod: never mind the money (never a consideration for the Yankees); the price, I think, would be a bunch of prime prospects, especially young pitchers.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Phew
Another big red-letter day for Pac-10 officiating.
Trailing by six, near the goal line, the Washington Huskies drive to a first down with two seconds remaining. As every person who follows college football knows, the clock stops on a first down then re-starts when the chains are re-set. The officials spot the ball, reset the chains, and . . . nothing.
One of the announcers says that Ty Willingham is claiming three more seconds on the clock (how he would know, I have no idea). But as the officials stand around as if waiting for a Red Car (I didn't even see them conferring), Willingham trots onto the field to confer with his quarterback. As the two of them talk and talk, and the clock stays frozen, as the officials look at one another, Pete Carroll, on the opposite sideline, is going bananas, making the windmill motion and clearly screaming, "Start the f---ing clock! What the f--- is the matter with you?"
Finally, the clock starts . . . only the Huskies aren't set to snap. Tick, tick, and the game ends before the hike. As Washington players plead their case, Carroll sprints onto the field ahead of his team and looks desperately for someone in purple to shake hands with.
Against all odds, the final score, 26-20, holds.
Unreal.
Trailing by six, near the goal line, the Washington Huskies drive to a first down with two seconds remaining. As every person who follows college football knows, the clock stops on a first down then re-starts when the chains are re-set. The officials spot the ball, reset the chains, and . . . nothing.
One of the announcers says that Ty Willingham is claiming three more seconds on the clock (how he would know, I have no idea). But as the officials stand around as if waiting for a Red Car (I didn't even see them conferring), Willingham trots onto the field to confer with his quarterback. As the two of them talk and talk, and the clock stays frozen, as the officials look at one another, Pete Carroll, on the opposite sideline, is going bananas, making the windmill motion and clearly screaming, "Start the f---ing clock! What the f--- is the matter with you?"
Finally, the clock starts . . . only the Huskies aren't set to snap. Tick, tick, and the game ends before the hike. As Washington players plead their case, Carroll sprints onto the field ahead of his team and looks desperately for someone in purple to shake hands with.
Against all odds, the final score, 26-20, holds.
Unreal.
Saturday afternoon
A tale of two teams:
USC, leading Washington 14-10 and looking like world-beaters.
The Yankees, 0-0 versus the Tigers . . . oops, 1-0, Ordonez's homer, and looking dead. They took the field as if for a hanging.
Update: I was right, unfortunately. 4-0, fifth inning. I stopped watching two innings ago.
USC 23, UDub 13. Third quarter.
Texas 14, Oklahoma 10.
If anything could cheer me up, college football is it.
Update: Detroit 7, Yankees 0. Can't say I didn't see it coming.
Well, I always thought Lou Piniella deserved a third shot as manager.
USC, leading Washington 14-10 and looking like world-beaters.
The Yankees, 0-0 versus the Tigers . . . oops, 1-0, Ordonez's homer, and looking dead. They took the field as if for a hanging.
Update: I was right, unfortunately. 4-0, fifth inning. I stopped watching two innings ago.
USC 23, UDub 13. Third quarter.
Texas 14, Oklahoma 10.
If anything could cheer me up, college football is it.
Update: Detroit 7, Yankees 0. Can't say I didn't see it coming.
Well, I always thought Lou Piniella deserved a third shot as manager.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Life in Hell
I'm not seeing this. I'm not seeing the worst call in maybe a decade, the throw-out of Pudge Rodriguez at third base that umpire wossname called safe; the call that probably cost the Yankees two runs; the call that ruins a night when Unit's performance (pitch-for-pitch) exceeds one's greatest expectations . . .
Let's not forget the offense, the $150 million starting nine that has gone scoreless for the past ten innings, who can't bring a lead-off double around to score.
Against Kenny Rodgers? You're kidding me. 3-0 through five?
Update: 5-0. I hate myself.
Let's not forget the offense, the $150 million starting nine that has gone scoreless for the past ten innings, who can't bring a lead-off double around to score.
Against Kenny Rodgers? You're kidding me. 3-0 through five?
Update: 5-0. I hate myself.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Yanks-Tigers, Game 2
BEEEAT THE TIGERS!!
Still feels funny. Not having the Red Sox in the playoffs is like . . . help me out here.
This what daytime baseball is like: Me, watching the game, juggling class preparations and facing a lecture at 2:30, two-and-half hours away. During the afternoons, the UH campus is a twenty-minute drive from here. Considering the length of Yankee games, I should have to leave at about the fifth or sixth inning.
Damn.
Bottom one. Damon gets on with a bloop. Jeter puts down (or rather, up) an atrocious bunt that Pudge catches with ease. (TFT calls it an "Astro special.") Abreu walks. Sheff whiffs. Giambi walks. Which brings up . . .
Ulp.
A-Rod. Bases loaded, two outs.
Fastball up and in. Whiff. Another fastball, a foul. Then a sweet curve that breaks over the bag at the last possible second. Strike three.
The situation always finds you.
Update: Top two. Moose gets two almost effortless outs, then the Tigers go double-single for a run. Moose escapes further damage.
Okay, I really need to prepare for class.
Update: For this I raced home.
The only bright spot was in the fourth, when the Yankees put two men on basae with none out. It was about now that TFT announced that her new name was Astrogirl, "no matter how embarrassing that team was."
Fair enough. Astrogirl. Astrogirl asked, "Who's up?"
Me: "Cano."
AG: "Cano's a good hitter."
Cano made out.
AG: "Who's up?"
Me: "Damon."
AG: "Damon's a good hitter."
"Look," I said, "They're all good hitters. Are we going to do this all afternoon?", whereupon Damon hit a three-run homer. We celebrated for a minute or two, after which she said, "Told you!"
High point of the day, as it turned out. 4-3 Tigers, and the blame rests on the middle of the order: Sheffield, Giambi, and A-Rod, with their big fat 0-for-11.
Still feels funny. Not having the Red Sox in the playoffs is like . . . help me out here.
This what daytime baseball is like: Me, watching the game, juggling class preparations and facing a lecture at 2:30, two-and-half hours away. During the afternoons, the UH campus is a twenty-minute drive from here. Considering the length of Yankee games, I should have to leave at about the fifth or sixth inning.
Damn.
Bottom one. Damon gets on with a bloop. Jeter puts down (or rather, up) an atrocious bunt that Pudge catches with ease. (TFT calls it an "Astro special.") Abreu walks. Sheff whiffs. Giambi walks. Which brings up . . .
Ulp.
A-Rod. Bases loaded, two outs.
Fastball up and in. Whiff. Another fastball, a foul. Then a sweet curve that breaks over the bag at the last possible second. Strike three.
The situation always finds you.
Update: Top two. Moose gets two almost effortless outs, then the Tigers go double-single for a run. Moose escapes further damage.
Okay, I really need to prepare for class.
Update: For this I raced home.
The only bright spot was in the fourth, when the Yankees put two men on basae with none out. It was about now that TFT announced that her new name was Astrogirl, "no matter how embarrassing that team was."
Fair enough. Astrogirl. Astrogirl asked, "Who's up?"
Me: "Cano."
AG: "Cano's a good hitter."
Cano made out.
AG: "Who's up?"
Me: "Damon."
AG: "Damon's a good hitter."
"Look," I said, "They're all good hitters. Are we going to do this all afternoon?", whereupon Damon hit a three-run homer. We celebrated for a minute or two, after which she said, "Told you!"
High point of the day, as it turned out. 4-3 Tigers, and the blame rests on the middle of the order: Sheffield, Giambi, and A-Rod, with their big fat 0-for-11.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Kent and Drew tagged out at home . . . on the same play
Tom Boswell has the details.
Yes, I saw it the last time it happened: 1985, Monday Night Baseball, Comiskey Park, Yanks-White Sox. Dale Berra (who was probably out of his mind on coke that night) and Bobby Meacham. Pudge Fisk kept his feet as Meacham crashed.
There are four basic rules of baseball. The game will always humble you. In the field, the ball will find you. At bat, the more you try to hide a batter, the more the situation will seek him out.
And mental lapses will haunt you.
Had Berra simply stayed at second (and the play was his fault--third-base coach Stick Michael wanted Meacham to stay but had to send him when Berra came roaring up, and then Berra ran through a stone stop sign), the Yankees would have had nobody out, bases loaded, with 1985 MVP and RBI leader Don Mattingly due up and in-his-prime Dave Winfield on deck.
Instead, they lost in extra innings by one run, when Ozzie Guillen (yes, him) scored from second on a wild pitch.
And they lost the division by two games.
Yes, I saw it the last time it happened: 1985, Monday Night Baseball, Comiskey Park, Yanks-White Sox. Dale Berra (who was probably out of his mind on coke that night) and Bobby Meacham. Pudge Fisk kept his feet as Meacham crashed.
There are four basic rules of baseball. The game will always humble you. In the field, the ball will find you. At bat, the more you try to hide a batter, the more the situation will seek him out.
And mental lapses will haunt you.
Had Berra simply stayed at second (and the play was his fault--third-base coach Stick Michael wanted Meacham to stay but had to send him when Berra came roaring up, and then Berra ran through a stone stop sign), the Yankees would have had nobody out, bases loaded, with 1985 MVP and RBI leader Don Mattingly due up and in-his-prime Dave Winfield on deck.
Instead, they lost in extra innings by one run, when Ozzie Guillen (yes, him) scored from second on a wild pitch.
And they lost the division by two games.
Back-Page Headlines
Daily News: "Mr. Perfect"
NY Post: "Big One"
TFT: "It should have been 'Big Won'"
Maybe.
NY Post: "Big One"
TFT: "It should have been 'Big Won'"
Maybe.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The Smelly Lounge
BEAT THE TIGERS!
Hmm. Feels funny without the Red Sox.
7:20: First pitch: Granderson fouls into the stands. Wang has the ball up! Danger! Danger!
Jim Leyland supposedly called the Yankee line-up "Murderer's Row and Cano." As they say, Nice, if true.
7:22: Granderson flies to Matsui. Okay, now I'm panicking. Get the ball down!
7:23: Comebacker to Wang. Okay, I feel a little better.
7:25: Sean Casey, Mr. Nice Guy, grounds to Cano. Easy inning.
7:25: Okay, I'm worried. No stupid Fox tie-in yet, no ESPN cross-promotion, not one reference to doing something completely useless on a Cingular cell phone. Where's Kiefer Sutherland? Where's the "War at Home" guy (you know, the chunky one who screwed things up with Martha Plimpton in Beautiful Girls)?
7:29: Jeter singles to left. I'm feeling foolish, knowing that, over on ESPN.com, Bill Simmons is doing this same thing much better, and before an audience of thousands. Astrogirl, SunDevilJoe, RobbieBoy, Cannil, Langston, Chumley Felix: Welcome. You too, John "Alan Trammell is God" Harvey. You notice I've gone for a smaller, more intimate room. One of the great losses of my life was missing out on those smelly old Vegas lounges where Redd Foxx would walk in and do a set at 3 a.m. for a half-dozen drunks, the one broke tourist hiding from his wife and the one guy trying to pick up the girl who looked like Peter Boyle. Gentlemen, welcome to the Smelly Lounge.
7:30: Buck gives us the obligatory "Melky/Phillips/Moose came through when Matsui/Sheff/Wright blah blah blah" rendition. Watching on MLB.com, on ESPN, and now on FOX, I've probably heard about 15 different broadcast teams perform it. Buck is nicely brief. And: Nice to get the refrain out of the way early.
7:35: Commercial. Tommy Lasorda pulls a pouty Red Sox fan out of the restroom by pointing out that she can root against the Yankees. LOL, as the kids say.
7:37: Ordonez doubles off the wall. Wang. Ball. Down. You. Now.
7:40: Is there any conceivable reason that Wang walked Guillen to get to Pudge? Anybody?
7:42: Pudge swings through; Posada comes up with the first big play of the night by throwing out Ordonez at third.
7:47: The Moment, part one of who knows how many. A-Rod at bat, runner on first . . .
7:50: . . . full count . . .
7:51: . . . And A-Rod hits a screamer that Polanco jumps to catch, nearly doubling Giambi off.
A-Rod now reminds me of what Jim Murray once said of boxer Floyd Patterson: "He's the employee who's always spilling soup on the boss's wife."
8:02: First and third, one out, Polanco at bat . . . and . . . YES! Double play, Jeter to Cano to Sheffield, into a split.
8:04: The commercial for Borat comes on. "Borat" finishes the ad by saying, "If my movie isn't successful, I will be executed."
The fair Tammie asks me, "What's that about?"
Me: "This new movie."
TFT: "Yeah, but what'd he say?"
Me: "That if his movie isn't successful he'll be executed."
TFT: "Oh. Then we'd better go."
Me: "No. I mean we can go, but that was just part of the movie."
TFT: "So who is he?"
Me: "He plays an Iranian, I think?"
TFT: "And he'll be executed?"
Me: "Only in the movie."
TFT: "So we'd better go see it."
Me: "We can see it if you want."
TFT: "So he doesn't get executed."
Me: "No, it's part of the movie he's executed."
TFT: "So we'd better go see it."
Imagine five more minutes of this.
8:14: Abreu doubles to right-center, sending Damon and Jeter home. I turn to TFT and say, "Wow! Nobody out! And here comes Sheff, Giambi, A-Rod!"
TFT: "A-Rod batting sixth? Wow. What did he do?"
Me: "Nothing. I've got it figured out. Torre's going lefty-righty, to throw off the kid."
TFT: "But why put A-Rod down?"
Me: "It was either sixth or fourth. Maybe Sheff matches up better. They may be trying to relax A-Rod."
TFT: "Is Torre giving him a time-out?"
Me: "No."
TFT: "Did he smart off?"
Me: "I really doubt it."
8:18: Sheff sends Abreu home on a single. 3-0.
8:19: Giambi . . . into the bleachers. 5-0.
8:21: A-Rod singles, in maybe the most gratifying at-bat of the inning. A city exhales. Two hard-hit balls, one hit.
8:35: Torre, from the dugout, goes into his, "Well, we're playing well and the guys are seeing the ball well, I like my chances," just as Jeter goes to 3-for-3. Torre resists the urge to laugh and say, "Christ, who am I kidding? Robertson? Next inning the grounds crew will have to drag the warning track."
The only good thing about Berman working the Cards-Padres game today is that he'll be far away from Bristol, and thus unable to say: "DEREK! JETER! MAYBE THE GREATEST CLUTCH PLAYER OF HIS GENERATION!"
8:38: On a hit-and-run, Abreu dives out of the way of a hit-and-run, hanging Jeter up. We've heard the Abreu-is-soft stories since he came over from Philly. Yah think?
8:45: Monroe homers. 5-1. I'm waiting for McCarver's dissertation on Wang's sinker and it's not coming.
8:50: Palonco doubles in Inge. 5-2. Reason for concern.
8:52: Casey doubles in Palonco. 5-3. Real reason for concern.
9:02: I love this stuff. As Leyland is interviewed in the dugout, Giambi is hit--and it requires every ounce of self-control fro Leyland not to turn and scream. God, but does he need a smoke. A-Rod is up . . .
9:03: And becomes Robertson's first strikeout victim. I'm not kidding; tonight seems to be designed for A-Rod's humiliation. First, Wendlestadt waits so long to ring A-Rod up that A-Rod is actually set in his batter's stance for the next pitch when the fist comes up. Second, Wendlestadt's ring-up seems one especially designed for tonight--literally, a punch directed at A-Rod's head, like something out of the Three Stooges. Right now, in the movie of this Yankees season, A-Rod is played by either young Ray Milland or young Tony Randall. (Just to round it out, Jeter is played by Cary Grant. Giambi is Alan Hale, Jr., the Skipper from "Gilligan's Island." Mo Rivera is Jack Palance from his Shane days. Wang is Bruce Lee. Torre is Gary Cooper. Cano is Denzel Washington. Matsui is Jackie Chan. Melky is Cantinflas. Sheff is . . . who? Marcel from Pulp Fiction. Jorge is Ray Romano. Damon. Okay, Damon has me stumped.)
9:10: Three-and-oh to Guillen, Wang throws a sinker that sinks to the middle of the plate, belt-high. Thankfully, Guillen is taking all the way. And then the ground-out.
9:19: More Rivera talk. Yeah. If Rivera can't work two innings at all . . . troubles.
9:20: Another Denzel shot. Damn, don't tell me he doesn't have something coming up on Fox! Does he guest-star on "Prison Break"? Sit down with Chris Wallace to discuss Mark Foley? Anything?
9:21: Jeter doubles, going 4-for-4 and sending Damon to third. A-Rod's single is looming bigger and bigger, if you look at it a certain way.
9:23: Two-run RBI by Abreu, scoring two runs. 7-3. Robertson leaves.
9:34: And now Wang leaves. My absolute favorite TV crowd shot: a standing ovation for a hometown pitcher as he leaves after a strong start. Yes, even better than the gallery shot at the Master's after a closing putt (think Nicklaus's eagle on 17 in '86, Lefty's birdie on 18 two years ago). It is amazing how many TV producers frame the shot from the crowd's point of view, and show only the player. Unbelievable.
9:38: I could see why Torre took out Wang--Monroe had hit a home run off him already. So Myers comes in . . . and gives up a home run to Monroe. Out goes Myers, in comes Proctor . . .
9:42: Base hit for Polanco. Wang had thrown ninety-three pitches. Now, 2-0 to Casey. You're kidding me.
9:44: Casey sends Polanco over to third. Tying run to the plate. Wang looks like he could come back in and pitch. This is potentially Pedro '04 in reverse.
9:46: Ordonez flies out, on the sort of chest-high-fastball-to-coax-an-easy-pop-fly pitch that Proctor had tried to get away with all inning. Wang unwinds by practicing flips off the parallel bars. And now . . .
9:47: The Yankees' tenth man, Ronan Tynan, comes in to freeze out the Tigers' pitcher by singing all 15 stanzas of "God Bless America." This is followed by "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." After 9/11 The Yankees' post-season seventh-inning stretch was stretched to such length, Ron Gardenhire of the Twins complained in 2003, saying his pitcher (Brad Radke, as I remember) stiffened in the chilly Bronx autumn. When the teams repaired to Minneapolis for Game 3 of the series, I half-expected the Twins to trot out "This Land is Your Land," followed by readings from The Best of Al Franken, followed by Garrison Keillor walking to home plate to say, "It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon . . ."
9:53: Lead-off walk to Giambi--but oddly, no pitch-runner. Preserving Giambi's bat, just in case? Or in recognition of Giambi's tippy-toe steal a few innings previous. And now, oh, A-Rod . . .
9:56; . . . hits his third hard ball of the night, his second straight at a Twins' defender. One for four. Thank God for that single.
9:58: Posada, a loud single. Matsui, who erased Giambi on a fielder's choice, goes to third. This batting order is something else.
10:02: Cano misses a three-run dinger by thismuch. On to the eighth.
10:04: Okay, are we supposed to pretend that William Shatner, with that thing on his head, is the same Captain Kirk from 25 years ago? No? Good.
10:05: In comes the start of Torre's Hands Team. Phillips to first.
10:06: And a big post-season hello to Kardiac Kyle Farnsworth. Hello, lead-off walk. TFT, with memories of last-season's five-run, two-home run, one grand-slam, late-inning Astro comeback against Farnsworth when he played for the Braves, thinks she recognizes a familiar face.
TFT: "Isn't he the one who . . ."
Me: "Yes."
TFT: "Who last year against the . . ."
Me: "Yes."
10:15: One on (his lead-off walk), two out. Pop-up to (who else) Jeter. Kardiac Kyle . . . a scoreless eighth!
10:20: Derek Jeter. I say, "You know, 5-for-5 would be cool," whereupon Jeter deposits the ball over the centerfield fence, some 415 feet away. Yankee Stadium goes into full meltdown. M-V-P. De-rek Je-ter. You know it's a good night when you start envisioning the next day's Daily News headline: CAPTAIN COURAGEOUS! No. M-V-POW! Maybe. CAP'N CRUNCH! Ah, been done.
10:30: Mo works a scoreless ninth, allows one hit. Actually, a crazy, 26-hit game. The Yanks should be happy they escaped. And that Jeter was on their side.
Hmm. Feels funny without the Red Sox.
7:20: First pitch: Granderson fouls into the stands. Wang has the ball up! Danger! Danger!
Jim Leyland supposedly called the Yankee line-up "Murderer's Row and Cano." As they say, Nice, if true.
7:22: Granderson flies to Matsui. Okay, now I'm panicking. Get the ball down!
7:23: Comebacker to Wang. Okay, I feel a little better.
7:25: Sean Casey, Mr. Nice Guy, grounds to Cano. Easy inning.
7:25: Okay, I'm worried. No stupid Fox tie-in yet, no ESPN cross-promotion, not one reference to doing something completely useless on a Cingular cell phone. Where's Kiefer Sutherland? Where's the "War at Home" guy (you know, the chunky one who screwed things up with Martha Plimpton in Beautiful Girls)?
7:29: Jeter singles to left. I'm feeling foolish, knowing that, over on ESPN.com, Bill Simmons is doing this same thing much better, and before an audience of thousands. Astrogirl, SunDevilJoe, RobbieBoy, Cannil, Langston, Chumley Felix: Welcome. You too, John "Alan Trammell is God" Harvey. You notice I've gone for a smaller, more intimate room. One of the great losses of my life was missing out on those smelly old Vegas lounges where Redd Foxx would walk in and do a set at 3 a.m. for a half-dozen drunks, the one broke tourist hiding from his wife and the one guy trying to pick up the girl who looked like Peter Boyle. Gentlemen, welcome to the Smelly Lounge.
7:30: Buck gives us the obligatory "Melky/Phillips/Moose came through when Matsui/Sheff/Wright blah blah blah" rendition. Watching on MLB.com, on ESPN, and now on FOX, I've probably heard about 15 different broadcast teams perform it. Buck is nicely brief. And: Nice to get the refrain out of the way early.
7:35: Commercial. Tommy Lasorda pulls a pouty Red Sox fan out of the restroom by pointing out that she can root against the Yankees. LOL, as the kids say.
7:37: Ordonez doubles off the wall. Wang. Ball. Down. You. Now.
7:40: Is there any conceivable reason that Wang walked Guillen to get to Pudge? Anybody?
7:42: Pudge swings through; Posada comes up with the first big play of the night by throwing out Ordonez at third.
7:47: The Moment, part one of who knows how many. A-Rod at bat, runner on first . . .
7:50: . . . full count . . .
7:51: . . . And A-Rod hits a screamer that Polanco jumps to catch, nearly doubling Giambi off.
A-Rod now reminds me of what Jim Murray once said of boxer Floyd Patterson: "He's the employee who's always spilling soup on the boss's wife."
8:02: First and third, one out, Polanco at bat . . . and . . . YES! Double play, Jeter to Cano to Sheffield, into a split.
8:04: The commercial for Borat comes on. "Borat" finishes the ad by saying, "If my movie isn't successful, I will be executed."
The fair Tammie asks me, "What's that about?"
Me: "This new movie."
TFT: "Yeah, but what'd he say?"
Me: "That if his movie isn't successful he'll be executed."
TFT: "Oh. Then we'd better go."
Me: "No. I mean we can go, but that was just part of the movie."
TFT: "So who is he?"
Me: "He plays an Iranian, I think?"
TFT: "And he'll be executed?"
Me: "Only in the movie."
TFT: "So we'd better go see it."
Me: "We can see it if you want."
TFT: "So he doesn't get executed."
Me: "No, it's part of the movie he's executed."
TFT: "So we'd better go see it."
Imagine five more minutes of this.
8:14: Abreu doubles to right-center, sending Damon and Jeter home. I turn to TFT and say, "Wow! Nobody out! And here comes Sheff, Giambi, A-Rod!"
TFT: "A-Rod batting sixth? Wow. What did he do?"
Me: "Nothing. I've got it figured out. Torre's going lefty-righty, to throw off the kid."
TFT: "But why put A-Rod down?"
Me: "It was either sixth or fourth. Maybe Sheff matches up better. They may be trying to relax A-Rod."
TFT: "Is Torre giving him a time-out?"
Me: "No."
TFT: "Did he smart off?"
Me: "I really doubt it."
8:18: Sheff sends Abreu home on a single. 3-0.
8:19: Giambi . . . into the bleachers. 5-0.
8:21: A-Rod singles, in maybe the most gratifying at-bat of the inning. A city exhales. Two hard-hit balls, one hit.
8:35: Torre, from the dugout, goes into his, "Well, we're playing well and the guys are seeing the ball well, I like my chances," just as Jeter goes to 3-for-3. Torre resists the urge to laugh and say, "Christ, who am I kidding? Robertson? Next inning the grounds crew will have to drag the warning track."
The only good thing about Berman working the Cards-Padres game today is that he'll be far away from Bristol, and thus unable to say: "DEREK! JETER! MAYBE THE GREATEST CLUTCH PLAYER OF HIS GENERATION!"
8:38: On a hit-and-run, Abreu dives out of the way of a hit-and-run, hanging Jeter up. We've heard the Abreu-is-soft stories since he came over from Philly. Yah think?
8:45: Monroe homers. 5-1. I'm waiting for McCarver's dissertation on Wang's sinker and it's not coming.
8:50: Palonco doubles in Inge. 5-2. Reason for concern.
8:52: Casey doubles in Palonco. 5-3. Real reason for concern.
9:02: I love this stuff. As Leyland is interviewed in the dugout, Giambi is hit--and it requires every ounce of self-control fro Leyland not to turn and scream. God, but does he need a smoke. A-Rod is up . . .
9:03: And becomes Robertson's first strikeout victim. I'm not kidding; tonight seems to be designed for A-Rod's humiliation. First, Wendlestadt waits so long to ring A-Rod up that A-Rod is actually set in his batter's stance for the next pitch when the fist comes up. Second, Wendlestadt's ring-up seems one especially designed for tonight--literally, a punch directed at A-Rod's head, like something out of the Three Stooges. Right now, in the movie of this Yankees season, A-Rod is played by either young Ray Milland or young Tony Randall. (Just to round it out, Jeter is played by Cary Grant. Giambi is Alan Hale, Jr., the Skipper from "Gilligan's Island." Mo Rivera is Jack Palance from his Shane days. Wang is Bruce Lee. Torre is Gary Cooper. Cano is Denzel Washington. Matsui is Jackie Chan. Melky is Cantinflas. Sheff is . . . who? Marcel from Pulp Fiction. Jorge is Ray Romano. Damon. Okay, Damon has me stumped.)
9:10: Three-and-oh to Guillen, Wang throws a sinker that sinks to the middle of the plate, belt-high. Thankfully, Guillen is taking all the way. And then the ground-out.
9:19: More Rivera talk. Yeah. If Rivera can't work two innings at all . . . troubles.
9:20: Another Denzel shot. Damn, don't tell me he doesn't have something coming up on Fox! Does he guest-star on "Prison Break"? Sit down with Chris Wallace to discuss Mark Foley? Anything?
9:21: Jeter doubles, going 4-for-4 and sending Damon to third. A-Rod's single is looming bigger and bigger, if you look at it a certain way.
9:23: Two-run RBI by Abreu, scoring two runs. 7-3. Robertson leaves.
9:34: And now Wang leaves. My absolute favorite TV crowd shot: a standing ovation for a hometown pitcher as he leaves after a strong start. Yes, even better than the gallery shot at the Master's after a closing putt (think Nicklaus's eagle on 17 in '86, Lefty's birdie on 18 two years ago). It is amazing how many TV producers frame the shot from the crowd's point of view, and show only the player. Unbelievable.
9:38: I could see why Torre took out Wang--Monroe had hit a home run off him already. So Myers comes in . . . and gives up a home run to Monroe. Out goes Myers, in comes Proctor . . .
9:42: Base hit for Polanco. Wang had thrown ninety-three pitches. Now, 2-0 to Casey. You're kidding me.
9:44: Casey sends Polanco over to third. Tying run to the plate. Wang looks like he could come back in and pitch. This is potentially Pedro '04 in reverse.
9:46: Ordonez flies out, on the sort of chest-high-fastball-to-coax-an-easy-pop-fly pitch that Proctor had tried to get away with all inning. Wang unwinds by practicing flips off the parallel bars. And now . . .
9:47: The Yankees' tenth man, Ronan Tynan, comes in to freeze out the Tigers' pitcher by singing all 15 stanzas of "God Bless America." This is followed by "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." After 9/11 The Yankees' post-season seventh-inning stretch was stretched to such length, Ron Gardenhire of the Twins complained in 2003, saying his pitcher (Brad Radke, as I remember) stiffened in the chilly Bronx autumn. When the teams repaired to Minneapolis for Game 3 of the series, I half-expected the Twins to trot out "This Land is Your Land," followed by readings from The Best of Al Franken, followed by Garrison Keillor walking to home plate to say, "It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon . . ."
9:53: Lead-off walk to Giambi--but oddly, no pitch-runner. Preserving Giambi's bat, just in case? Or in recognition of Giambi's tippy-toe steal a few innings previous. And now, oh, A-Rod . . .
9:56; . . . hits his third hard ball of the night, his second straight at a Twins' defender. One for four. Thank God for that single.
9:58: Posada, a loud single. Matsui, who erased Giambi on a fielder's choice, goes to third. This batting order is something else.
10:02: Cano misses a three-run dinger by thismuch. On to the eighth.
10:04: Okay, are we supposed to pretend that William Shatner, with that thing on his head, is the same Captain Kirk from 25 years ago? No? Good.
10:05: In comes the start of Torre's Hands Team. Phillips to first.
10:06: And a big post-season hello to Kardiac Kyle Farnsworth. Hello, lead-off walk. TFT, with memories of last-season's five-run, two-home run, one grand-slam, late-inning Astro comeback against Farnsworth when he played for the Braves, thinks she recognizes a familiar face.
TFT: "Isn't he the one who . . ."
Me: "Yes."
TFT: "Who last year against the . . ."
Me: "Yes."
10:15: One on (his lead-off walk), two out. Pop-up to (who else) Jeter. Kardiac Kyle . . . a scoreless eighth!
10:20: Derek Jeter. I say, "You know, 5-for-5 would be cool," whereupon Jeter deposits the ball over the centerfield fence, some 415 feet away. Yankee Stadium goes into full meltdown. M-V-P. De-rek Je-ter. You know it's a good night when you start envisioning the next day's Daily News headline: CAPTAIN COURAGEOUS! No. M-V-POW! Maybe. CAP'N CRUNCH! Ah, been done.
10:30: Mo works a scoreless ninth, allows one hit. Actually, a crazy, 26-hit game. The Yanks should be happy they escaped. And that Jeter was on their side.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Frank and Pete
Moving toward the last day of the baseball season, Powerline has an appreciation of Frank Robinson.
I never saw Frank Robinson play and rooted against most of the teams he managed. But Powerline's appreciation brings me to a thought I had a few years ago: namely, that the inclusion of Pete Rose, instead of either Frank Robinson or Roberto Clemente, on Major League Baseball's 20th Century All-Star team, was a crime and a joke.
Frank Robinson and Roberto Clemente were superlative five-tool players of historic proportions, and the records bear this out. Pete Rose was a very good singles hitter for a very long time, a front-runner and showboat who had no power, played lousy defense, and, for a lead-off man, was laughably slow. He was fortunate that, on the 1970s Cincinnati Reds teams in which he forged his reputation, he hit in front of a string of bruisers and bashers: Morgan, Bench, Perez, Foster, Griffey. (Morgan is another show-off, but at least he could hit for distance. As he's been known to mention.) Rose's award for "Player of the Seventies" by The Sporting News was patently ridiculous; never mind Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson, Willie Stargell, Jim Palmer, and Catfish Hunter; at any given time Rose was never better than the fourth-best player on his own team.
What edged Rose into the realm of greatness was (give Rose this, at least) his longevity. Give him a .305 batting average and 3,000 hits, instead of 4,000, and you basically have a modern-day Al Simmons. Or a George Brett minus the home runs. Who can't field. Writers tip-toed aroudn the fact that, as player-manager of the Reds, he had free reign to pencil himself in day after day, right up to the point where his presence on the field was embarrassing.
I'm sorry to see Frank Robinson go. I'm sorrier that, on a certain October night in Atlanta, he didn't get his due.
I never saw Frank Robinson play and rooted against most of the teams he managed. But Powerline's appreciation brings me to a thought I had a few years ago: namely, that the inclusion of Pete Rose, instead of either Frank Robinson or Roberto Clemente, on Major League Baseball's 20th Century All-Star team, was a crime and a joke.
Frank Robinson and Roberto Clemente were superlative five-tool players of historic proportions, and the records bear this out. Pete Rose was a very good singles hitter for a very long time, a front-runner and showboat who had no power, played lousy defense, and, for a lead-off man, was laughably slow. He was fortunate that, on the 1970s Cincinnati Reds teams in which he forged his reputation, he hit in front of a string of bruisers and bashers: Morgan, Bench, Perez, Foster, Griffey. (Morgan is another show-off, but at least he could hit for distance. As he's been known to mention.) Rose's award for "Player of the Seventies" by The Sporting News was patently ridiculous; never mind Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson, Willie Stargell, Jim Palmer, and Catfish Hunter; at any given time Rose was never better than the fourth-best player on his own team.
What edged Rose into the realm of greatness was (give Rose this, at least) his longevity. Give him a .305 batting average and 3,000 hits, instead of 4,000, and you basically have a modern-day Al Simmons. Or a George Brett minus the home runs. Who can't field. Writers tip-toed aroudn the fact that, as player-manager of the Reds, he had free reign to pencil himself in day after day, right up to the point where his presence on the field was embarrassing.
I'm sorry to see Frank Robinson go. I'm sorrier that, on a certain October night in Atlanta, he didn't get his due.
Seems like old times
I originally typed "Seems like out times"
This was the game everyone feared, a throwback to the late 90s and early aughts, the three times the Astros motored into the playoffs with increasingly higher levels of expectation--only to run into the three-headed Hall-of-Fame goliath named Maddux, Glavine and Smoltz.
Between 1997 and 2001, the Astros played 10 playoff games against the Braves and lost nine of them. The top three reasons, far and away, were Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, and John Smoltz, who often blew threw the Astros' line-up with laughable ease.
If Jeff Bagwell is robbed of his rightful place in the Hall of Fame, his sub-.200, no-homer playoff performance against those three will be the primary reason.
So today was back to the past: six shut-out innings by Smoltz, the last remaining Brave from the HOF trio, to knock the Astros out of the playoffs. Everyone who remembered those late-90s Braves knew how the game would go, starting with Mike Lamb's opening error in the first (one run), to Jeff Francouer's solo homer in the second. What happened in the top of the third was vintage 'Stros: two on, nobody out . . . then, strike out. Then, a bullet of a line drive that Francouer stabbed, then threw to the plate to complete the double play.
As with Friday night, 2-0 might has well have been 20-0, and the names on the backs of the jerseys might have read "Berry" and "Gonzalez" and "Bell" as well as "Biggio" and "Ausmus."
In other news, as SunDevilJoe pointed out, manager Bernie Williams installed pinch-hitter Bernie Williams in the night for the Yankees, whereupon Williams demonstrated the wisdom of his manager and stroked a double. Williams's main concerns today were 1) Keep everyone from getting hurt, and 2) manipulate Derek Jeter's plate appearances to give him the best chance for a batting title. Williams managed the first and did as well as he could in the second; however, Jeter went cold after his first hit and finished at .339.
MVP? Probably, though Mauer, as a catcher, may be more deserving. I'm guessing that enough "It's his turn" sentiment will send the trophy Jeter's way.
Now. Bring on the play-offs.
And the midterms.
Heck of a ride, these past twelve days.
This was the game everyone feared, a throwback to the late 90s and early aughts, the three times the Astros motored into the playoffs with increasingly higher levels of expectation--only to run into the three-headed Hall-of-Fame goliath named Maddux, Glavine and Smoltz.
Between 1997 and 2001, the Astros played 10 playoff games against the Braves and lost nine of them. The top three reasons, far and away, were Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, and John Smoltz, who often blew threw the Astros' line-up with laughable ease.
If Jeff Bagwell is robbed of his rightful place in the Hall of Fame, his sub-.200, no-homer playoff performance against those three will be the primary reason.
So today was back to the past: six shut-out innings by Smoltz, the last remaining Brave from the HOF trio, to knock the Astros out of the playoffs. Everyone who remembered those late-90s Braves knew how the game would go, starting with Mike Lamb's opening error in the first (one run), to Jeff Francouer's solo homer in the second. What happened in the top of the third was vintage 'Stros: two on, nobody out . . . then, strike out. Then, a bullet of a line drive that Francouer stabbed, then threw to the plate to complete the double play.
As with Friday night, 2-0 might has well have been 20-0, and the names on the backs of the jerseys might have read "Berry" and "Gonzalez" and "Bell" as well as "Biggio" and "Ausmus."
In other news, as SunDevilJoe pointed out, manager Bernie Williams installed pinch-hitter Bernie Williams in the night for the Yankees, whereupon Williams demonstrated the wisdom of his manager and stroked a double. Williams's main concerns today were 1) Keep everyone from getting hurt, and 2) manipulate Derek Jeter's plate appearances to give him the best chance for a batting title. Williams managed the first and did as well as he could in the second; however, Jeter went cold after his first hit and finished at .339.
MVP? Probably, though Mauer, as a catcher, may be more deserving. I'm guessing that enough "It's his turn" sentiment will send the trophy Jeter's way.
Now. Bring on the play-offs.
And the midterms.
Heck of a ride, these past twelve days.
Sunday
Some days are simply the best in sports:
Conference championship Sunday in the NFL.
Sunday at the Master's.
The first Thursday and Friday of March Madness. (I happened to be in Las Vegas on those days this past March; the line in the Bally's Sports Book went left, then right, like the Matterhorn line at Disneyland, then it snaked up the stairs, past the food court, and all the way to the lobby. I made money on George Mason, as I remember.)
And the last day of the baseball season, which dovetails nicely with a serious NFL slate.
Good times.
Conference championship Sunday in the NFL.
Sunday at the Master's.
The first Thursday and Friday of March Madness. (I happened to be in Las Vegas on those days this past March; the line in the Bally's Sports Book went left, then right, like the Matterhorn line at Disneyland, then it snaked up the stairs, past the food court, and all the way to the lobby. I made money on George Mason, as I remember.)
And the last day of the baseball season, which dovetails nicely with a serious NFL slate.
Good times.
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