You know that weird feeling when you get very drunk, go to bed, wake up hung over, go about your day, and then the next night when you're sober you go into the bedroom and it feels like you never slept there the night before? Like you've been on vacation, or something?
Well let me tell ya: I'm gonna misremember the fuck out of my bed tonight. (In other words, please forgive me if this particular post isn't everything you dreamed.)
I'm not one of those folks who gets all braggy about being drunk. In fact, I don't really get too gonzo anymore. I'm old, and I like to fake responsibility. But last night a few events conspired. First, it's fall break at school, meaning that I just finished a bunch of papers and quizzes and et cetera and the J-Gang (sweet nickname for J-School students that only I use...for now) was out in force. Second, the Yanks jumped out to an early lead. Third, the girlfriend was going to be at work until 11. Around 4:30 or so, I fully acquiesced to the drinking impulse. The timing was right, and I knew that if Texas came back and ended our season at Yankee Stadium, I'd want to be twelve nautical miles past sobriety.
Here's what I remember:
1. I somehow missed like every Robbie Cano at-bat. For the home run, I had to go fetch a forgotten hat from campus. Later, it was just bad luck; looking away at the wrong time, getting involved in a conversation, things like that. Long story short, he's still awesome.
2. CC was pretty scary in the early going. But unlike last time, he kept his shit together and gave us a quintessential CC start: not dominating, necessarily, but seeming to get better with every inning and letting the offense do its work. Just another win for the Big Bear. And we got to see some awesome 'CC's pumped!' moments, like when he got Moreland on the sick curve.
3. Lance Berkman looked like he got hurt bad on that wipeout. My friend Josh told me they kept giving him smelling salts in the dugout, which I see from the ESPN story is true. I also enjoyed this quote:
"I hurt pretty much the entire back side from the top of the head to the rear-end area," Berkman said.
What a gamer. Concussed, ass hurting, 40 years old, and the dude calls for the salts and keeps chugging. On a side note, is it possible to have a bigger swing in fielding ability than going from Mark Teixeira to a concussed Lance Berkman?
4. There was on play in the second inning where Texas made about 4 throwing errors in a Three Stooges type routine. My pal Nick compared them to the American little leaguers getting totally rattled by Chinese Taipei in the championship game. Somehow Posada managed to motor around the bases and score. Jeter likened him to Rickey Henderson. ESPN called him a 'snail-like' runner.
5. Kerry Wood is apparently a pick-off master.
6. Grandy hit a homer, Mo closed it out. Brilliant.
CJ Wilson looked much more hittable than in Game One, which was great to see. Hopefully Colby Lewis follows suit on Friday. A few people have ragged me about thinking the series was over yesterday, and rightly so. Things look slightly- just slightly, mind you- better. Cliff Lee isn't looming any less, though. He's still there, stroking his goatee and laughing all sinister. And I still think Game Four will be our big regret when all is said and done. But it's good to see the series move back to Texas, at least. Make 'em earn it.
By the way: from a purely wins-and-losses perspective, the injury to Teixeira helps the Yankees. Has to be said. Berkman or Thames or whoever plays first will have a better shot to get a base hit than he had. Tex and the playoffs just don't mix. And Girardi obviously wasn't going to bench him. If the Yanks pull off a miracle in this series, we might look at the strained hamstring as a weird turning point. I hope he's okay, but I'm just saying. I'm just saying.
Speaking of nothing, what is it with Boston people? I met a guy at the bar last night who described himself as a "huge Red Sox fan." He went on to argue with me that Cliff Lee should start Game Six on short rest in Texas. "Anything can happen in Game Seven," he said for justification. He was dead wrong, obviously, but he had that unique Boston way of making every sentence drip with condescension, meanness, and arrogance. Eventually I had to put on my douche hat and be like "dude, 'anything can happen Game Seven' is a cliche. Cliches don't justify pitching your best guy on short rest when you only have one game to win." Then I felt stale for being a jerk. Boston, man. Brings out the worst in you.
Hmmm, I see that the Giants won. They're now 3-1 and a Lincecum home win away from the dance.
Hmmm, I see that this is the worst blog post ever. That'll happen when your brain cells are fighting a land war with alcohol. 'We ain't got time for blog thoughts, dude! You brought this on yourself.' And it's now 10am, so I should post. Maybe I'll get my life together and post something better this afternoon since I have the day off. My apologies to you and your family. First ever Pick Six champion announced tomorrow!
Last night in bed, I was already thinking of what I'd write in this blog. That happens from time to time, as you might guess. Otherwise, there would be mornings where I woke up and stared at the computer screen, begging the glowing screen or the pine tree out the window or the hum of the refrigerator for inspiration.
I couldn't sleep for a little while. Earlier, with my girlfriend asleep on the couch behind me, I felt the anger building up. It's the kind of feeling that needs an outlet, otherwise it gets pent up and sours you from the inside. But I couldn't scream or do anything noisy, because I'd wake her up. So I took her scorebook (she made it through about the fifth inning) and threw it against the wall. Writing this now, I have no idea why I thought that wouldn't be very loud. But I did. And I was wrong. "What happened?" she asked, sitting up straight. "Nothing."
My plan was to complain. I've always had a strong instinct for complaining, and after 27 years I'm really, really good at it. Barring injury or an unexpected outburst of positivity (and really, how likely is that? I already have a good life, and I'm still a whiner), I have a long and illustrious career of complaining ahead of me.
But the problem with all my complaints last night is that they emanated from an inner philosophy that the Yankees should win. As in: we lost, but if this, this, and this were different, we wouldn't have. If certain players were better. If we'd been luckier. If the manager had made this move. If things had gone as they were supposed to go. That's being a fan, especially a fan of a successful team. You never want to admit the other guy is better.
II
Before I continue, I want to pause for a moment and just say a great, big, gushy 'thank you' to Robinson Cano.
Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows he's my favorite baseball player. I've loved him since the beginning. I couldn't really tell you why, except that some players speak to you, some players don't, and some players transcend their team and their sport and everything else to become your favorite.
I keep forgetting to mention that Freddy 'Sez' Schuman died this week. He was an old man with a pot and a spoon who was always at Yankee games. He never sat down, just walked around banging the pot and holding up inspirational signs like "Yankee Stadium Gave Birth to Champions!" Before games at the Stadium, they play an audio clip of him saying "Let's Gooooo...Yankees!" His voice is high-pitched in the way that some very old men's voices get when they're excited, and even though you can't see him, you get the sense that he's smiling.
This summer, Freddy got to meet Robbie Cano.
Freddy starts off bragging to Cano that one of his spoons is in Cooperstown, and Robbie says "you're more famous than me! You know how many years I need to get into Cooperstown? 2,000 more hits. You're there already."
Freddy tells Robbie that he's one of his heroes. Then, out of nowhere, he goes into a rap about the Yankees. The whole time, there's not even one hint of Robbie laughing at him. Which would be a pretty easy thing to do. But the way he behaves just affirms everything I like about the guy, from his humility to his niceness to his empathy for other people, and on a morning like this when I'm dead tired and it seems like it's darker out earlier and I just remembered that fuck, we haven't even turned the clocks back yet, it almost makes me want to cry.
But that's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to talk about how he's playing. Robinson Cano is the single bright spot for the Yankees in the playoffs, and it's a marked growth from last season's struggles. He's destroying any pitcher the Twins or Rangers throw at him, and the pressure is spurring him to greater heights. He's already one of the best hitters in the game. Now he's putting it all together. Robinson Cano is becoming the complete package before our eyes, and I always knew it would happen.
Watching him brings me joy, and I don't care how corny that sounds, motherfucker. It's a gift, and I will acknowledge it. Even in the midst of this utter disaster of a series, I still perk up for his at-bats. Guys like Robbie Cano are why I continue to watch the Texas Rangers maul the Yankees. Boiling it down even further, he's the reason I watch sports.
III
But as I was saying before, it's hard to admit when you're beat. You flail around for excuses. You justify and rationalize and construct mental scenarios where specific things that very much happened- a sequence of events most definitely transpired, my friend, past the point of equivocation, and that sequence is now etched permanently in the unchangeable past- did not, thus producing entirely different, and more favorable, outcomes. Why? Because they should not have happened. Not in whatever mystical fucking land you occupy as a fan, where your team never loses in a fair world, where every loss is the equivalent of some undeserving rube picking up the 5 of clubs on the river for a goddamn straight flush when you're holding four aces.
Here's what I'm getting at: as the title indicates, this is a grudging admission of inferiority.
Sometimes the black cap must be tipped. Even if that black cap is emblazoned in white with the glorious interlocking N-Y, a timeless symbol of greatness that fucking echoes, yes it does, deep into the heart of even remote bumblefuck outposts like Arlington, Texas, where now they have baseball that is unfortunately very, very good.
Texas, you are better. You are better at pitching, hitting, and fielding. You are better at winning, too. You are better at that which is required.
IV
I'm still going to complain. You don't spend years building up a wheelhouse just to ignore it.
Nick Swisher and Mark Teixeira: you disappoint me. I can imagine you responding to this sentiment with a response like "go fuck yourself." That's probably how I'd respond. But I'll say it again, for emphasis: you disappoint me. This is two years in a row where the playoffs come around and you disappear. You've cost us so much.
A-Rod, was last season a mirage? Is the pressure eating you up again? What, exactly, did Kate Hudson do before each game to make you successful in 2009? Was it something that can be taught, you know, to other people's girlfriends? Are we off track a little bit here? Hey, I'm just asking.
Everyone else except Jeter and Cano: what's the deal, guys? You tanked all September, came back for a lucky series against a bad team, and started tanking again. Is it just bad timing? Has the wheel of skill and luck and whatever spun us into the down cycle? Why are we hitting .198? Why is the ERA of our starting pitchers above 8? What happened to the bullpen, even? Why can't we hit with runners on base?
V
I guess I had less in the tank for the complaining routine than I thought.
Someone early this morning commented on yesterday's post, and they did so from Ireland. I just want to say on this increasingly emotional morning that I'm grateful that I have readers at all. It makes me feel connected to the world, like I'm literally reaching out through this window and past the pine tree and somewhere out there beyond where I can see, other hands are touching mine.
We're going into uncharted territory here. Look, I'm not comfortable either.
VI
What is it about writing off your team's chances that makes you feel so oddly powerful?
Last night, when it became 7-3, I said "this series is over." It made me miserable, of course. But there was also a weird strength. Like by giving up on the Yankees, I was declaring my sovereignty from them. You've failed me, I said. You've failed me and I'm leaving. I don't have to drown with you. But I can declare your death, and it will be momentous and important.
Some people say things like that very early. I used to. "It's over," I'd say after a 1-run single in the first inning. I had a brief relapse Tuesday night after Josh Hamilton's two-run home run in the first. But that had more to do with Cliff Lee than any kind of beaten-down pessimism, and in any case I turned out to be right.
Do I think this series is over? Yes. Am I taking the usual sort of backward pleasure from declaring it so? No. It's sad for the season to end. It's sad to go out like this. But the right thing to do is to go out believing. Not blindly. Blind faith doesn't make a good fan. But with the idea that anything is possible. In October 2004, people in Boston sat around their homes wondering what the hell it would take to beat the Yankees ever, since it wasn't going to happen for them that fall. They thought of Aaron Boone and Bill Buckner and Bucky Dent. They thought of winter. They stared into the future at a lifetime of failure. People they knew would die without seeing a Red Sox championship. Maybe they would die too. 3-0. The insurmountable lead.
Then, a few days later, against St. Louis...
VII
Today, my brother Thomas celebrates his 18th birthday. I mean, talk about blowing your mind.
My parents were divorced when I was young, so if we're being technical all my siblings are actually half-siblings. We lived apart except on weekends. When I turned 16 and got my car, I would drive the 45 minutes from my mom's house on Fridays to see them.
Thomas would ask my dad what time I left, and he'd be waiting by the window to watch my car roll up the long driveway. By the time I turned off the ignition and stepped out, the front door would open, and he'd come running.
I'd wait at the car. You want to draw these things out, believe me. His face looked like I imagine stars look when they burst. He'd be yelling my name. He was, what? Seven years old. My younger brother Keegan would be chugging along behind him, trying not to stumble.
Let me tell you: it is literally impossible to feel any better than I felt at that exact moment. Happy Birthday.
That was the day the New York Mets played the Atlanta Braves. I went to the game with two friends. It was my first time at Citi Field, and it was a night of good, clean fun. We played pitch-and-putt golf at Flushing Meadows beforehand. We drank beer and told stories. Three guys, having a swell time at a ballgame. It's what America's all about. The Braves ended up winning, and nobody cared. It was great to just hang out, have a few laughs, and enjoy a nice summer night.
(and yet a most ghoulish specter did haunt the eve...)
Oh, and before I left for Queens, I spent the whole day at work following the impending Cliff Lee-to-the-Yankees trade. Starting at about 10am, it constantly seemed on the verge of being a done deal. The Mariners weren't talking with anyone else. The Yanks were offering Jesus Montero, their top prospect. No official word had come down by 5pm, but I walked into the gates at Citi Field feeling great. By the end of the night, Lee would be in pinstripes. In the 7th inning, I bragged to a Braves fan next to me that I was a Yankees fan, and maybe we'd see them in the World Series again, just like '96. But that Braves fan had a smart-phone. He started typing away. I had a knot in my stomach. Just tell me the good news, I thought.
"He went to the Rangers."
"No fucking way."
"Yeah man."
Well summunabitch.
Okay. I calmed down, and told myself we didn't need him. We had the best staff in baseball. We had CC and Andy. Hughes was still great too. We didn't need him.
We fucking needed him.
I can't remember watching a more frustrating game than last night's atrocity. What I wanted most was for Andy to get through the first inning scoreless. After Hamilton's home run, I stalked around the living room swearing and yelling and telling my girlfriend the game was over. Deep down, I hoped I was wrong. Aside from one spectacular inning, this whole series has been a nightmare.
As the game went along, and Andy did an excellent job, I remembered how nervous Neftali Feliz has looked all postseason. Just give us one inning against him, I thought, down two runs. Then came the 8th, and the Yanks looked like clowns again, 1-2-3, capped off by Brett Gardner, who has utterly lost the ability to hit anything but weak grounders. This time, he just watched three fastballs go by. Zip Zip Zip. Basically the same pitch. Lee had the air of a professional who felt insulted that he had to compete against someone of Gardner's caliber.
Still, that made 120 pitches. Even if he came out for the 9th, we could chase him quick. Just one more clean inning from the bullpen, and who knows? Then Boone Logan started Josh Hamilton off with 3 straight balls. Hamilton doubled, reached third, and a seeing-eye grounder made it through. The game was over, but the Rangers tacked on 5 more just to be safe. I kicked a pizza box into a wall. "You got feta cheese everywhere," my girlfriend said.
Nothing, nothing, nothing went our way. And Cliff psyched us out. I'm not saying he isn't a fucking cyclone of a human being and the best postseason pitcher since Koufax. I'm just saying we helped his cause by beating ourselves mentally beforehand. We did not believe in the prospect of topping the mighty Cliff Lee.
Come tonight, the Yanks are facing their first must-win game of the season. AJ Burnett will take the mound. He feels confident. During a simulated game last week, he hit Greg Golson and Austin Kearns with wild pitches. Buster Olney, via twitter, reported that the performance "has convinced the Yankees to do what they can to bypass him altogether."
Perfect. Remind me again why CC Sabathia can't pitch? I know it's 3-days' rest, but he did it last year, and it's not like he pitched deep into the night in Game One. Part of me loves the fact that we're turning to AJ, at least from a comedy angle. He's the absolute wild card, the guy who shows up with black eyes, who doesn't win a game in two months, but who we all know damn well can be one of the best pitchers in baseball. But if the man was a cannon, he'd be beyond loose; he'd be spinning around in circles, going downhill, and firing at will. I loved this quote from the ESPN story about his impending start:
Burnett showed up about 45 minutes late for his news conference without an explanation, but with a cursory apology.
"Sorry, dudes, that midget fuckface Iggy at the pool hall thought he knew the angles. Hundred bucks and ten 8-balls later, he ain't laughing, know what I'm saying? You don't walk away from a mark like that. Dude can barely see over the table. Looks like he's holding a goddamn battering ram with that cue. I said, 'Iggy, you oughta just use a car antenna.' Man, that little fucker can get mad. Ooo-weee. Speaking of cash, though, I'm still a little short this month's alimony. If we're going to do this thing I need about another hundred. Money for quotes, dudes, you know how it works. I'm passing around my hat. Ignore the blood, it's just about dry and most of it ain't mine anyway."
I have to be honest, I'm excited. I have this weird feeling he's going to be great. Nothing supports that instinct, mind you, and if I'm wrong I'll be pissed at AJ and doubly pissed at myself for believing. A disastrous outcome will be no more than I deserve. But sometimes you've got to throw your hands up, submit to fate, and put your blind trust in the dude whose teammates voted him "most likely to show up on the show 'COPS.'"
Topic change: remember the movie "Miller's Crossing"? It's an under-appreciated Coen Brothers joint from 1990, a Prohibition-era gangster film starring Gabriel Byrne. He plays a political advisor named Tom Regan, and at one point he's pretending to side with a rival named Johnny Caspar. As he slowly wins him over, there are some great moments of dialogue. I've always loved this one, when Tom is pulling the wool over his eyes about a murder (won't say more to avoid spoilers):
Johnny Caspar: When you're right,you're right. But you never say "I told you so."
Tom Regan: So what am I right about?
Johnny Caspar: Well, I'll tell you. But first you gotta promise not to say "I told you so."
Tom Regan:(matter-of-fact) I never say that, and I don't like people who do.
Johnny Caspar:(Explains)
Tom Regan: I told you so.
Always cracked me up. So here's my 'I told you so' moment. Remember a couple days ago when I talked about how we should stack the rotation and 'sacrifice' Game 3? Here's the Yankee version of things, followed by mine.
Yankee version:
Game 1: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 2: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 3: Andy Pettitte vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas Game 4: AJ Burnett vs. Tommy Hunter - Slight Advantage Texas Game 5: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 6: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 7: Andy Pettitte vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas
My version:
Game 1: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 2: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 3: AJ Burnett vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas Game 4: Andy Pettitte vs. Tommy Hunter - Advantage Yankees Game 5: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 6: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 7: Andy/CC/AJ vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas
The main difference between the two rotations is that mine gives the Yanks a 5-2 edge in match-ups, while the Yankee version gives only a 4-3 edge. (My pal Brian argued convincingly that the Hughes-Lewis battle is more of a draw, but in terms of this argument it doesn't matter.) Instead of pitching Pettitte in game 3, I pitched AJ. That way you save Andy for game 4, where he'll face their worst starter in Tommy Hunter. Not only does that create more advantages in the first six games, but it takes away the huge risk of Andy pitching a gem in Game 3 and being utterly wasted because Cliff Lee is too good. It also takes away the chance that we get on Tommy Hunter in Game 4, score a bunch of runs, but AJ stinks up the joint and we drop a 10-8 type game.
Well, we're halfway to the nightmare scenario. 8 innings, 2 runs from Andy, and a loss. I told you so.
Believe me, I hope AJ wins and makes the whole thing irrelevant tonight. I'm not the kind of guy who roots for bad outcomes just to be proved right. I just really, really wish someone had thought outside the box here.
There's no more to be said. Last night is over, the rotating wheel of destiny brings us to AJ, and our backs are against the wall. We need the win tonight. Texas might be the better team, but we can still scrounge this one out. If the weaknesses of the season dog us tonight, we'll be dead men walking. Bad starting pitching and poor situational hitting are the bogey men. Gotta triumph. Come on, Yanks. Don't go quietly.
Ladies and gents, we are officially halfway to 1,000 blog posts. At which point, if you believe the prophecies, the world will end in a glorious shower of flame and stone.
. . .
This is actually the 501st post, since I wasted (or sagaciously spent) the real #500 Saturday on one of the greatest photos ever. But like a school kid whose birthday falls on a weekend, we're celebrating on the wrong day.
So in honor of the milestone, I thought I should dig up some Seth Curry News. Luckily, Coach K and Nolan Smith obliged.
First, in Friday's "Countdown to Craziness," Nolan elbowed Seth Curry and gave him 8 stitches.
Second, Coach is pissed that Seth won't get a ring for last year's title team due to NCAA rules about game eligibility.
"One of the tragic things about our NCAA rules is what happened tonight where Seth Curry could not get a ring or watch," Krzyzewski said. "It's just totally, totally wrong that a kid who's on scholarship last year and participated in every practice [couldn't get a ring]."
I'm trying to get fired up about this. I really am. It makes sense for me to be angry. After all, he saved Duke, right? I SHOULD BE FUCKING PISSED!
(Slowly working myself into a lather...)
(Looking at pictures of Judah Friedlander...)
(Remembering how cocky Russians used to be...)
(Taking a break to sing 'The Rose' by Bette Midler...)
(Oh man I should not have taken that Bette Midler break...)
(Feeling seriously happy right now. "Some say love....")
(Trying to bang my elbow on a counter ledge, since that always seems to piss me off...)
Forget it, not happening. I'm not even sure I disagree with the NCAA rule. I love the Sethster, but the dude couldn't take the court. Facts are facts. The ball boys don't get rings. The fans don't get rings. I understand Seth's contributions were significantly more important, but still...he wasn't an eligible player. I get that Coach K has to defend his guy, and I'm sure that being with him all season increased his affection and makes this seem doubly unfair, but them's the breaks.
Anyway, the rings and the banner all went up Friday night at Countdown to Craziness. Early in the week I'd planned to go, but then the Yankees were on and it wasn't going to happen. Instead, I paid 10 bucks for the video at GoDuke.com. So far I've only watched the highlights, but I can already confirm this: Kyrie Irving is fucking amazing.
He is single-handedly going to blow minds this year. Ray Holloman from Fanhouse agrees, leading with this bit:
For a player with better advance billing than a Scorsese film, Kyrie Irving set his expectations for his first few moments as a player inside Cameron Indoor Stadium surprisingly low.
"I was thinking," Irving said, beaming like a kid that woke up in a candy store following the Blue Devils Countdown to Craziness season tipoff, "just don't fall."
Irving didn't disappoint.
How about "The Departed" for a nickname? Cuz every time you look for him...he gone! This year is going to be so great. And there's more:
Just seconds into Duke's intrasquad scrimmage, Irving stole the ball from Seth Curry near midcourt and dashed to the opposite end of the court for a layup.
and...
Coach Mike Krzyzewski seemed pleased with the performance of the first player he's let wear the No. 1 jersey.
and...
"He just told me, before we took the floor in the second half, just have my hands ready," said Hairston, who scored 18 of his team-high 20 while on Irving's squad.
Holy fucking jelly beans is this guy a bad ass. "Just have your hands ready." That's a seriously momentous thing to say to a dude. And he set the tone right away by stealing the ball from Seth Curry, and he had the audacity and the balls to be consecrated with the #1 jersey. Kyrie Irving is going to change the world, my friends. The world.
(By the way, the article I stole that photo from has this quote, from his dad: “He just took a liking to the game at a very, very young age,” Drederick said. “It may sound a little peculiar about the age that he started dibbling, but Kyrie was about 13 months, I have it documented on video....")
Time for the Yanks. After Friday night's miracle comeback, my pal Nick texted to ask if it was one of my top 5 moments as a Yankee fan. The answer: no. I've experienced 5 World Series titles in my lifetime, and those are the top 5 moments. Then there was the Aaron Boone home run, and the Jeter flip in Oakland, and games 4 and 5 in the 2001 World Series, and David Cone's perfect game, and Soriano's blast to beat the unbeatable Mariners, and so I guess it's not top 10 either. But it's definitely top 15.
Watching the glum faces of Nolan Ryan and (especially) Bush when things started to turn around was priceless. The silence in Arlington was great too, considering the highly presumptuous "Yankees suck!" chants emanating from the stands when the Rangers led.
Games like that give me goosebumps. They make me feel like the Yankees are somehow important, like they're destined to win. I'm eventually able to put it in perspective, but not for at least a day. Friday night, I couldn't stop watching post-game coverage and reading Yankee message boards, and even reading a Red Sox message boards to indulge my schadenfreude.
After the game, on the YES Network, Michael Kay said the following:
"After a loss like this for Texas, a totally disheartening loss...I said it after Game 1 against the Twins and I’m saying it again...this series is over."
Keep it mind that when I heard those words, I was already bubbling over with excitement. Even so, my thoughts were sequenced as follows:
1. Could that be true? That would be awesome if it were true. 2. No. Michael Kay is an idiot. 3. I hope that big-headed bastard doesn't jinx us.
It takes a lot for me to make fun of someone's big head, by the way, since that was my childhood curse as well. But the last time the Yanks made that big a comeback in the playoffs, it was in game 1 of the ALDS against Cleveland in 1997. They were up 6-1, and came back to win 8-6. Just like Friday night, it was glorious. And then Cleveland won the next three games, and the series was over, and the fucking Marlins won the title.
Here's the thing: a comeback win doesn't mean jack shit, other than the fact that a team won a game. Beyond that? Zippo. Believing in crushing blows to a team's morality, especially in baseball, is at least 90% a media construct. Texas wasn't going to roll over and die just because the Yanks stole a game. They didn't roll over and die when Tampa evened the series in Arlington, did they? Momentum in baseball, as they say, goes only as far as the next day's pitcher. Sometimes, that pitcher is Cliff Lee.
What the comeback really did was disguise some of this team's weaknesses. Namely:
1. Mediocre starting pitching by playoff standards. Sabathia was terrible. Hughes was terrible. This is exactly what worried me coming into the playoffs, but then Minnesota happened and I was fooled into thinking we might be fine. We're not fine. We're especially not fine if Cliff Lee does what I think he's going to do tonight. We just don't have the kinds of aces, or at least good pitchers peaking at the perfect time, that champions typically have. This is why Texas and Philadelphia make the most sense as World Series teams.
2. Poor situational hitting. There was no reason in Saturday's loss that we couldn't have had seven runs of our own. But we left 12 men on base. (To be fair, Texas left nine...they could have had more runs too.) That lack of production won't cut it in the playoffs. It worried me coming in, and it's worrying me now.
We're up against the wall tonight. I still believe we'll take this series, and if we can scrounge a win against Cliff Lee, then I might drift toward the Michael Kay school of utter certainties. If we lose tonight, we should still win Game 4 against Tommy Hunter (I assume CC will pitch if we're down 2-1), and then we'll have to beat 2 out of these 3 pitchers: Wilson, Lewis, Lee. Wilson was fantastic in Game 1, and I doubt Ron Washington will be serving up any more victories. Lewis was very, very hittable in Game 2, and I think we'll lambaste him next time. Lee? Well, we'll see Lee tonight. We'll see what that sick fuck has in store.
If the Yanks are going to repeat, we have to win games like tonight. Defy the odds, get lucky, take some pressure off. A scoreless first inning would be an excellent start. Anything shy of 3 runs, really, would be appreciated.
The big mystery of Game 3 is exactly what Andy Pettitte has sloshing around in his old rusty tank. As we saw with Hughes and Sabathia, the great Minnesota starts can now be viewed as red herrings and false dawns. There's a lot left to be seen and proved, and as nice as it would be to believe Michael Kay's cocksure proclamations, this one's a long, lonely way from over.
Here we go! A champion is about to be crowned, and it all comes down to this! Before we get going, three quick things:
1) We're all set for new contestants when the next round of Pick Six starts, but get in touch if you want to be included six weeks after that. Spots are filling semi-fast.
2) A few people sent me Joe Posnanski's 32 Greatest Calls piece yesterday. He compiled a list of his favorite announcing moments in sports history, and holy shit is it good. Posnanski is already one of my favorite sportswriters, and he keeps knocking it out of the park. I absolutely loved this, and I bet you will too.
3) Courtesy of Spike, regarding the Cliff Lee-Sandy Koufax comparison:
And now Koufax: 57 innings, 32 hits, 10 runs, 2 home runs, 11 walks, 61 strikeouts
Nothing to see here.
4) Here are the records of each playoff team remaining in games started by their top three starters, also from Spike (premise of this blog: Spike tells me things, I write them down):
YOU'VE READ THE SECOND HAND. YOU'VE READ THE MINUTE HAND. YOU KNOW THE HOUR...
IT'S:
THE FRIDAY PICK SIX
WEEK SIX
The Friday Pick Six is an original SCSD! game where six people make six predictions for six weeks. Along with their picks, they're allowed and encouraged to submit a 'sound-off' on any topic, sports or otherwise. When it's all done, the winner earns great honor among the people, while the two losers are exiled in shame and the three middle finishers go to purgatory, with the chance rescue their good name up to three times. To learn more about the rules, and about the current contestants, read more: Week One Week Two Week Three Week Four Week Five
Carrie nailed both sweeps (Philly and the Yanks) without being tempted by the Rangers or Giants, and her keen foresight propelled her to a Week 5 lead. Tom had a nice showing of his own, while Jill stayed in contention with 4. Shane, Spike, and Nick have some work to do. Luckily, the Week Six docket still gives them a shot at glory. Let's check 'er out.
This week's docket:
1. Arkansas at Auburn, CFB
2. Iowa at Michigan, CFB
3. Ravens at Patriots, NFL
4. Chiefs at Texans, NFL
5. The combined score of the two Yankees-Rangers games, Friday and Saturday. If I believed the Yanks win both games 2-1, I'd say "4-2 Yankees." Closest gets two points, next two closest get 1.
6. THE PICK SIX DESPERATION OPTION! Here's the deal: You can pick any combination of NFL games, including those listed above. All you have to do is pick the outright winner. If you pick 1 game correctly, you get 2 points. Every game you add after that is worth 2 more points. So if you picked 5 games and got them all right, you get 10 points. BUT HERE'S THE DEAL: you have to get them ALL right. The penalty for having even one game wrong is a big, giant -5 to your name. That's an absolute -5, nullifying any points you scored above, even if you just select one game. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO TAKE THIS RISK! But it is available.
We begin with the lady we call "Leader":
Carrie
This week has been a little taxing on my semi-feeble brain, so I had every intention of keeping my picks short and sweet this week. Herewith, the results of that effort:
1. I grew up in a small town in Northern California and the town about 25 miles down the road that we considered a big city (because it had fast food and box stores) is called Auburn. For maybe 15 years (yeah, that age will embarrass my family, but it's pretty close to accurate), I thought that the gigantic town of Auburn, California (population 13,000) also housed Auburn University (student population... 25,000). I was clearly mistaken. But I've always liked Auburn anyway. Both of 'em.
2. On a cross-country trip home from college in 2003, I spent a surprisingly lovely 24 hours in Iowa City and learned that the Pappajohn building at Iowa is named after the same guy that owns Papa John's. That may not actually be true, but I learned it there. And I liked it. Also, his name is John Pappajohn, which is completely ridiculous (parents! you have a choice in what you name your child - think slightly bigger than the name that is already contained in your last name), but since it isn't my name, delights me.
3. Having already atoned to Tom Brady for causing his car crash, I was going to take the Ravens here. But I just kind of feel bad when I don't root for the Patriots. Like, I've not really become much of a New Englander in my time here, but there are sort of some key tenets of the Puritanism at play here and one of them is definitely rooting for the Pats. I just want to belong. (But you can still tell that I don't, because doesn't it sound strange when I say "Pats"? It does to me.)
4. I am inclined to pick the Texans, because I like that their name tells it like it is ("We are Texans. Our mascot is... Texas.") and though I don't dally in it, I do appreciate simplicity. However. I choose to stick to building a mystery (which Kansas City are they IN?!) with the Chiefs.
5. Hmmm. The Rangers (now, there's a Texas team with some imagination. Or like... slightly more nuanced understanding of state history) are not going to win either game, but I think they're going to work Phil Hughes a little harder than they'll be able to ding up ol' CC. Let's say... Yankees 10-5.
6. I think I don't feel desperate enough to puzzle out this category. Abstain.
Tom
Here they are: Arkansas, Iowa, Ravens, Texans, Yanks 10-8, specials picks: Giants, Colts, Steelers.
There is something special about autumn Saturday mornings in my life. It is usually crisp where I live, foliage makes life look a bit more positive, coffee shops are abuzz with young folk from our local college, and the people my age are donning college sweatshirts, sweaters and hats as this is GAMEDAY! I love college football! There is something special about college football Saturday mornings. Anyone of my generation takes notice of how excited younger people get as their college teams ready for GAMEDAY. College towns are alive, especially on football Saturdays. Whether your team is playing home or on the road, the energy is there. If a home game, the vigor to get to the coffee shop increases, conversations involve fans, whether they be young (God bless 'em) or not so young (my stage in life). College football Saturdays are uniquely American. Small towns as well as cities come alive on autumn Saturday mornings. The whole great country becomes Mid America while private parades march downtown to gather with enthusiasm as MY TEAM prepares to compete in an Amercan tradition of COLLEGE FOOTBALL GAMEDAY. There is a lot special about autumn Saturday mornings in our lives.
Jill
Arkansas at Auburn:Auburn. The bottom line is that the Tigers have been clutch this season, particularly late in the game. The Hogs, on the other hand, have been weak in the 4th quarter. They are also nicknamed the Hogs.
Iowa at Michigan:Iowa. Michigan’s offense averages 297 yards on the ground, while Iowa’s rushing defense has only given up an average of 63. I mean, one side has to crumble. But Iowa has allowed only four touchdowns all season. I am impressed.
Ravens at Patriots:Baltimore. It hasn’t been a great week for the Pats. It started with Randy Moss’s temper tantrum-induced trade and ended with Justin Bieber rapping about Tom Brady’s hair. Fun times all around. I expect a close one, but the Ravens will use their stingy defense to stop New England.
Chiefs at Texans:Texans. The run game is imperative to Houston’s success; the Giants stopped it last week, and the Texans imploded. Their defense kind of sucks, but I’ll take Schaub over Cassel, who has been rather disappointing this season.
Combined score of ALCS:10-5. The Yankees need to win this series in six games, because facing the Sandy Koufax of this generation in a decisive Game 7 would be a nightmare. CC will out-pitch CJ and, generally speaking, Andy Pettitte makes the postseason his bitch.
Extra Credit for the Underachievers: This is my thinking: I am down by a sizable margin, in the middle of the pack, with only one week left. If I play it safe, I would have little chance to win. That is not necessarily a bad thing, because here in Shane's internet kingdom, I can continue on in Pick 6 Purgatory (which I would enjoy). Not participating here would also be the equivalent of those assholes who wager $0 in final Jeopardy. Super lame. Nevertheless, I should at least try to catch up with the leader. And if I am going for this, the reward should be higher than the risk. So I feel like I have to make at least three additional picks; the most I would lose is 5, while I can gain at least 6 points. Okay, I have talked myself into this. Go big or go home.
Giants over Lions: The Lions are terrible. Bears over Seahawks: Chicago’s defense is straight-up scary. Jets over Broncos: I picked against them all season. If they screw me now, we are over Rex Ryan. Forever. Steelers over Browns: The Rapist returns and scores another conquest.
Me
Arkansas in a thriller, Michigan in a laugher, Patriots, Texans, 12-4 Yankees, and: Bears, Packers, Giants, Falcons, Steelers, Saints, Jets, Colts.
It's the final week of Pick Six, and guess what? As of 8:17am Friday morning, three people have not submitted! It's time for a public shaming.
1) Spike - I realize you're young and heavily involved in the Seattle theater scene. I realize you have a vibrant social life and a girlfriend. But seriously, man, you have to make Pick Six your #1 priority. You have to. I don't think you understand what a huge opportunity this is for you. I've seen too many bright young minds ignore great chances like this, and go on to die. In Vietnam. Your last thought will be "man, Vietnam is a hot motherfucker. I wish I'd used my time more wisely back home, submitting my Pick Six docket on time, and OH SHIT THAT SHRUB IS ACTUALLY A DUDE, WHAT'S HE HOLDING IS THAT A GU- (EDITOR'S NOTE: Spike submitted his picks at 10:14am.)
2) Tom (stepfather) - YOU ARE RETIRED. You have QUITE LITERALLY nothing else to do all day. You couldn't submit your Pick Six somewhere between your daily routine of staring at the walls and wandering aimlessly into the kitchen before forgetting what you came for? Unbelievable. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Tom submitted his picks at 8:56am.)
3) Nick - Look, let's be honest. Aside from that very awesome poem last week, Nick has given the Pick Six the middle finger. He's in my program here at UNC, and unlike me he's been concentrating on school work and other things that might land him a real job someday. They still won't, because in the latest business report there are actually a negative number of jobs left in journalism (it seems mathematically impossible, I know), but he's trying. I say God bless. Also, I'm docking him all his points, relegating his ass to the nether regions of the internet, and making sure he'll never so much as fucking sniff the Pick Six again. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Nick submitted his picks at 8:36am.)
And who submitted on time, like always? Jill and Carrie. The girls. Which just shows, once again, that girls are so much more reliable than dudes. Tried and fucking true. You know what? From now on, Pick Six is an all-girls institution. Done.
For a long time in my life, I never really had actual female friends. I'd have girlfriends, mind you, but after I was an asshole enough times we would not continue to be friendly. And I never made independent female friends. In the last few years of my life, that has changed, and thank God. Women are a national treasure. A lot of my guy friends, especially the sports inclined ones, say they don't want daughters. Not me. Give me 50 girls. They may be pains for like 5 years while they're teenagers, but I know they'll eventually get their shit together, and I know they'll take care of me when I'm old and doddering.
But sons? I know damn well my sons will find an excuse to abandon me cold. When my own parents are drooling geriatrics, you can bet they'll regret the hell out of my Y chromosome. I'll call them once a month for about five minutes, and it'll be really, really hard even to get myself to do that. Also, I have two brothers, and while I love them dearly, I would have murdered them at several different points during their first 18 years (ongoing) if that kind of thing were allowed. Or at least dropped them off by the riverside in fucking Mississippi, or something. I want my kids to go daughter, son, daughter, son, daughter (Note: I do not really want 5 kids). That way the sons may not be complete assholes. Also, you never want to have a son as the youngest of a family. One of the most amazing statistical truths is that in America, there has never been a guy who was the youngest of all his siblings who wasn't a complete and utter fuck-up. Science proved it.
Last thing, unrelated: St. John's just hired Gene Keady to be their head basketball coach. Perfect. If there's anyone who can relate to inner-city kids and build up a pipeline from the mean streets of NYC, it's this guy. I love St. John's. (EDITOR'S NOTE: I'm an idiot. Gene Keady was hired to be an advisor. Steve Lavin is the head coach.)
Both managers, Girardi and Ron Washington, have released their ALCS rotations. Here's how the teams stack up, with the perceived advantage listed after each match-up:
Game 1: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 2: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 3: Andy Pettitte vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas Game 4: AJ Burnett vs. Tommy Hunter - Slight Advantage Texas Game 5: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 6: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 7: Andy Pettitte vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas
Scattered Thoughts:
1) That gives the Yankees a 4-3 advantage in starting pitching match-ups. Texas decided not to push Cliff Lee on short rest, just like we expected. He'll pitch Game 3 and a theoretical Game 7 that usually does not transpire. Based on Cliff Lee's past, it's unlikely this will change regardless of what happens in the series.
2) The Yanks are going with the 4-man rotation, which is fine. Part of me thinks that if we're down 2-1 or 3-0 going into Game 4, CC will take the mound, but let's proceed as though that's not the case.
3) A headline this morning on ESPN: A.J. Burnett Throws Simulated Game, Hits Two Batters.
4) Andy Pettitte is a great postseason pitcher. As we saw against Minnesota, he's capable of finding another gear even after regular season struggles. He's a guy who can win baseball games under pressure. He's a gamer, he's clever, and he's experienced beyond belief.
5) We're not going to beat Cliff Lee. Maybe these are famous last words, and maybe I'm being too extreme, but I really, really don't believe the evidence supports a potential win. As I said yesterday, his teams are 7-0 when he takes the mound in the playoffs. His ERA is 1.44. He proved last year that the Yankee Stadium environment doesn't faze him a bit. So why, why, why are we throwing Andy Pettitte against him in Game 3? Why are we sacrificing a guy who can earn a win against the unbeatable force, the modern Koufax?
6) Why not, instead, sacrifice AJ Burnett? Girardi has already decided that Andy, Hughes, and CC will all pitch just twice. With that in mind, check out the rotation and advantages if he throws AJ to the wolves and lets him face Lee in Game 3:
Game 1: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 2: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 3: AJ Burnett vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas Game 4: Andy Pettitte vs. Tommy Hunter - Advantage Yankees Game 5: CC Sabathia vs. CJ Wilson - Advantage Yankees Game 6: Phil Hughes vs. Colby Lewis - Slight Advantage Yankees Game 7: Andy/CC/AJ vs. Cliff Lee - Advantage Texas
7) Remember how in the last scenario, the Yank had a 4-3 advantage? In the match-ups above, that advantage goes to 5-2, and one of the two is a Game 7 that probably won't happen. In scenario number one, the first four games are a 2-2 split. In scenario number two, it's now 3-1 for the Yankees.
8) Granted, starting pitching is not the only factor influencing wins and losses, but it is the most important. Look at that Game 4 match-up. Andy Pettitte vs. Tommy Hunter. Is there any way in hell Texas wins that game? With a young, struggling pitcher in the lion's den at Yankee Stadium against the winningest post-season pitcher ever? No chance. No fucking chance.
9) In fact, the only way Tommy Hunter can win a game in Yankee Stadium is he faces a pitcher capable of dropping a true stink bomb. Someone, you see, like AJ Burnett.
10) I'll shut up now, but I want to conclude by saying we're giving away games. For God's sake, let Cliff Lee do his worst. Don't worry about Game 7: if it gets there, we're fucked anyway and will need a lot of luck. Give yourself the match-up advantage early and take this thing in 5 or 6, before Lee can come back. Sacrifice AJ in Game 3; maybe he's stellar and gives Lee a run for his money. Maybe he's terrible, and we get blown out of the water- fine, we were going to lose anyway. Nothing lost, and something very important gained: Andy Pettitte against a scrub in Game 4.
It makes no sense to me why Girardi isn't going this way. Does it leave us in a tough spot for a potential Game 7? Yeah. But we're already in a tough spot with Lee on the mound at home. And Game 7 probably won't happen. It's well worth the risk to give ourselves a stronger edge in the first 6 games.
With all the amazing advancements in how baseball is thought about and perceived over the last two decades, it's crazy to me that managers don't jockey for these types of starting pitching advantages. I mean, look at Girardi: the guy lives and dies by the stat book in the dugout, obsessively poring over past history, crunching the numbers, trying like hell to gain even a slight leg up on the other guy. And I think it's great. But still, nobody's thinking outside the box with starting rotations.
I kinda get it: it's partly an ego thing. If we start AJ in Game 3, we're telling Andy that we don't think he can beat Cliff Lee. And we're telling AJ that we think he stinks, and we don't want to waste him in a game we should win. But why pull any punches? You're telling these players that kind of thing in a million different ways anyway, throughout the season, so why not do what's best for the team?
Anyway, all that aside, I still think we're going to win. And with that in mind, it's time for some...
<<<<<<< PLAYOFF PREDICTIONS >>>>>>>
I went 3-for-4 in the last round, missing the difficult Giants-Braves series. I predicted that Lincecum would take Game On, and the Braves would eke out the next three. Games 2 through 4 were all decided by one run, but the Giants took the last two, including Game 3 on an error. It happens.
I managed to nail Philly in 3 and Rangers in 5, and I picked the Yankees correctly, though I thought it would take one more game. Let's see if I can keep the good times rolling:
NLCS
Giants vs. Phillies
This one is going to be much closer than everyone thinks. The baseball cognoscenti want to anoint the Phils already, but the solid Giants pitching could keep them in this one.
Here's how I see it going, briefly: Halladay and Lincecum will be an absolute pleasure in Game 1, and Halladay will squeak out a 2-1 win at home. The Giants will beat Oswalt with Sanchez in a low-scoring Game 2, but Hamels will take Game 3 with ease. I think both teams will use their fourth starters after that, and the superior Phillies offense will put them a game away from the Series. Then it's Halladay-Lincecum parte deux, and this time The Freak electrifies the home crowd and brings San Fran back to 3-2. But the fairytale ends back in Philly when the defending pennant-winners find their bats against Sanchez and take Game 6 by a 7-5 score with two home runs by Utley. In the end, the pitching match-up is nearly even, but Philly will have more firepower at the plate.
The Pick: Phils in 6.
ALCS
Yankees vs. Rangers
My thoughts on this are basically known. We're going to have a hell of a time keeping guys like Andrus and Hamilton from wreaking havoc on the basepaths, so the starting pitching will have to be stellar. The good news is, I think it can be. After that, we just have to keep hitting. The only guy who hasn't really found his stroke so far is Brett Gardner, but he's still found his way on base at times. As a team, we're batting .314. The CC-Wilson match-up in Game 1 looks a lot like the CC-Liriano duel from the last series. I think we'll get to him eventually, and I think Texas will be surprised to find that the Rays were not a good representation of playoff offense. I'm predicting two wins on the road, a loss to Crazy Cliff at home, a wild chaotic win in Game 4, and a clincher by CC at the Stadium next Wednesday. It should be a blast.
The Pick: Yanks in 5
Tomorrow marks the final week of the first ever Pick Six! Tune in to watch your favorite players take it down to the wire. Carrie's in the lead by 3 points, but no lead is safe in the final week.
Speaking of pick sixes: The call from Vikings announcer Paul Allen after Favre's interception Monday night is an absolute classic. Listen here. His tone for the last two sentences is just pitch-perfect. "Right between the old two and the six." Thanks to Justin for the link.
Also, to any Dukies reading this: please let me know how the hell I can get into tomorrow's Midnight Madness bonanza. Thanks!
Anson Dorrance is the coach of the women's soccer team at UNC. Since 1979, he's won 20 of 28 NCAA national championships, including the last two in a row. His winning percentage is an astounding .963, and he's compiled over 700 career wins. He's arguably the most successful college coach of all time.
Yesterday was "University Day" at UNC. It's a celebration of the founding of the school, and classes are canceled in the morning. My reporting professor gave us an assignment to write a story about the mini-holiday, and my idea was to quiz prominent figures around the campus and town on UNC's history. That meant calling them up and dealing with a lot of media go-betweens. Some were nice, some were rude. My favorite quote came from an officious little man in the Chancellor's office who spoke in a disapproving tone and said "I don't think you appreciate the demands on the Chancellor's time." Probably not, bud.
But most of the folks I called eventually agreed to take the 10-question quiz I devised. The dean of the business school, the dean of the law school, and a librarian all scored perfectly. Undergraduates typically got 4 or 5 correct. The mayor of Chapel Hill got 9.
At some point I decided to get someone from the athletic side of things. The football people were nice, but said that the timing was bad with all the NCAA distractions, and that nobody had time to talk to me. The basketball coaches weren't around. So I went with my next bet: Coach Dorrance. One of the questions on the quiz was 'which UNC sports team has won the most national titles?' It was a bit of a trick, and about half the people fell for it, picking basketball. But I thought Dorrance might appreciate this, and that he'd at least be willing to talk.
So I called up, and he answered the phone himself. Except I didn't realize he answered the phone, since the connection was a little buzzy at first, and I assumed I was talking to another PR person. I made my pitch, confusingly, and the person on the other end said that he could only see potential embarrassment coming from this story. I laughed and told him that it was pretty innocent, and he asked whether any story, or indeed any journalist, could ever be innocent. The tone was lightly mocking, and though it was genuinely funny, a part of me was thinking 'just fucking put the coach on the phone.'
At some point I realized it was Coach Dorrance himself, though, and I almost choked. But he was engaging, so we talked some more and I kept trying to convince him. I had the feeling (dead wrong, it turned out), that he was having some fun but was on the verge of agreeing. I even gave him two of the easier questions, including the one about his team's national titles, in an attempt to lure him in.
But he seemed more interested in my background. "Where did you get your undergrad journalism degree?" he asked. I told him I was an English major at Duke. Predictably, that set him off. He wouldn't speak with a journalist, he said, but definitely not with a Duke journalist. To be fair, I told him, I was a UNC journalist now.
"Yeah," he said. "But the seeds of the evil empire have been sown into your soul."
Needless to say, I loved this. I tried in vain to convince him some more, but it wasn't happening. After ten minutes, I said goodbye. I was surprised he said no, but I liked him so much I called him back a minute later with a new proposal. He could take the quiz off the record, I said, and if he didn't like the results he could keep it off the record. If he was happy, I'd publish it.
"You seem trustworthy," he told me. "That's my guess. But let me tell you my favorite off the record story." When he was the UNC men's coach early in his career, a bad refereeing decision cost his team a 1-0 loss to UConn. He said all the right things to the Hartford Courant reporter after the game, but when the reporter asked him off the record how he felt, Dorrance said that if he'd had a gun at the moment of the call, he would've blown the ref's head off. The next day's headline reflected that sentiment, causing him embarrassment and leading to numerous apologies.
So he wouldn't take the quiz off the record. But he did proceed to talk with me about religion. He told me about a study he'd just read where in a survey sent to a random sampling of Americans, atheists and agnostics actually knew more about all the religions than any other group. I told him this made some sense, since it's typically more of an active choice to be a non-believer, something not typically inherited but that must be learned. "I think they're cerebral people," he said. I tried in vain to think how this new topic related to anything, but I came up empty. Coach Dorrance told me he was a Mormon, and that he was glad to see that among the religious, Mormons were the best informed. I asked why. He thought it was the youth education system.
And with that, my first (but hopefully not last) conversation with the greatest college coach in history came to an end. I asked him if I could use the Duke quote, and he agreed. "I'm a quote machine," he bragged. But I realized afterward that there was no way to fit it into my University Day story, so I'm using it here.
Okay, there's no more avoiding it. Cliff Lee has made me look like a fool.
The guy is basically a modern Sandy Koufax, and here I am talking about how his style may actually hurt his team. Well, I'm done equivocating, and I'm done doubting Cliff Lee. That's a promise. He was unbelievable yesterday, even better than Game One. I still think he should have pitched on Sunday, but it's hard to argue with the results. Spike pointed out to me last night that he now owns two of the four all-time 10 strikeout 0 walk postseason performances. In 7 playoff starts, his team is 7-0. Lee's ERA is 1.44. He's allowed more than 1ER exactly once, in game 5 against the Yanks last year. He has 54 strikeouts in 56 innings. He's a stud.
And Texas is a good, nearly great playoff team. I mentioned it before, but it's worth saying again: we're so, so fortunate the Rays took this one to 5. With Lee pitching Game One on Friday, we'd be in deep doodoo. Not that we couldn't win; we survived the same scenario last year. But the last thing you want is your best starter getting beat by a hot pitcher on a hot team when they have homefield advantage. Instead, it's unlikely we'll see Lee before Game 3. But he could pitch Game 2 on 3 days' rest, a possibility which will likely set off the same debates all over again. Will he take the ball early? Will it depend on the result of Game One? Should Washington have saved precious pitches by bringing Feliz out for the 9th?
We'll see. In the meantime, this story practically made me cry. Josh Hamilton, the AL batting champion, has fought the dual demons of drug and alcohol addiction, and for obvious reasons he can't take part in the team's champagne celebrations. So last night, CJ Wilson and the equipment manager supplied everyone with ginger ale. When Hamilton came in to change, they doused him with soda so he could be part of the celebration.
And I'm supposed to root against CJ Wilson on Friday?
Seriously, how sweet is that? I don't want to get sappy, but this is one of those small moments where your heart just breaks for how kind and thoughtful people can be in the face of another person's weakness. The gesture probably meant more to Hamilton than he could ever describe. I know something like that would bring me right down to my knees.
Man, is Texas a team of destiny? Is that what we're looking at? Are my beloved Yankees just another chapter in the dream season? NO! This cannot be allowed. Wipe the tears away. This is baseball. Baseball is harsh. Baseball is life. Come Friday, the mask of ferocity will cover our faces.
Until then, though, I think there's time for a few more goosebumps.
Game 7 is not a numbered game in a series. Game 7 is a cultural institution. It represents the culmination of an even clash, the very American refusal to suffer a draw. It's the unsplittable odd number, the single head at the top of the symmetrically paired body, the pressure cooker boiling each competitor down to his critical essence. It is beautiful and harsh, thrilling and agonizing. It's like a lightning storm on the prairie- you never know what might burn. Game 7, man. I'm telling you.
Maybe you think tonight's Rays-Rangers rubber match isn't up to snuff. Sure, it's a game 5. Sure, it's played indoors in a city that cares about baseball as much as the Nazis cared about...baseball (you know what I'm saying, guys). But dig: this is Game 7 wearing a Game 5 mask. Winner goes on, loser goes home. Champagne and plastic in both locker rooms. Little kids unable to sleep the night before. Even the most minor fans chatting about line-ups in office kitchens and dog runs. Major fans with normally good taste turning on their annoying sports talk radio guy because they can't think about anything else anyway. Folks in Africa wondering which incorrect sports t-shirt will be shipped next week. Major League Baseball trying to find their worst umpire to stand behind home plate and ruin things by generally ignoring the strike zone that's been established over the past 150 years. Tampa fans going 'you know what, guys? I'm drawing a line in the sand. Tonight the team will have to trail by two runs before I stop cheering. Two.'
It's going to be huge. But it's going to be especially huge because of this:
CLIFF LEE VS. DAVID PRICE
................
You might be wondering why Cliff Lee is wearing a Mariners jersey in the above photo. It is not an accident. Cliff Lee is a mercenary. He's been with all 47 major league teams in the last season alone. His modus operandi is to pitch for one game and then hold an auction, and after that he goes to the highest bidder for the next game and won't even talk to the fans and sleeps with the owner's wife.
But seriously. The guy's been around. Not necessarily his fault, or anything, and his wandering days will likely be over next year when he signs a big contract with some deep-pocketed team (Yankees). But his journeyman style has, I believe, influenced his attitude. Does he want to be in Texas? Did he want to be in Seattle, or Philadelphia? Does he really care about those teams in a deep sense, or does he pretty much just care about how well he pitches? Should we even expect him to care about more than that? Does pitching performance hinge at all on esoteric, unmeasurable factors like esprit de corps?
Maybe, kinda, in oblique and surprising ways. Last season, with Philadelphia, Cliff Lee wouldn't pitch game 4 of the World Series. Charlie Manuel tried to cover for him, but the truth was pretty evident. You can't really say this cost Philadelphia the World Series. The Yanks were just better, and the Philly offense batted an anemic .227 in 6 games. Still, both of their victories came with Cliff Lee on the mound. They went into game 4 trailing the Yankees 2-1. Lose game 4, and the series is basically over. Why wouldn't Cliff Lee step up and throw? CC did. And CC pitched well enough to let the Yanks win. Then Lee came back and won a (basically) meaningless game 5. But if Lee had pitched and won game 4, putting things even at 2-2, we can all agree it would have been a much different World Series.
So what's the story? This year, nothing seems to have changed. The Rangers were up 2-0 on the Rays on the strength of excellent starts from Lee and C.J. Wilson in Tampa. When the Rays stayed alive by winning game 3, Cliff Lee should have been pitching game 4 on 3 days' rest. Not only would it be the team's best chance to win at home, but it would allow C.J. Wilson to pitch on full rest if game 5 became necessary. The alternative, starting Tommy Hunter, was far from desirable. Hunter is not a bad pitcher by any means, but he is a fourth starter, and he's not the guy you want on the mound as a last line of defense between your team and a tough game 5 on the road. You want Cliff Lee shutting things down. No-brainer.
The funny thing is, some local media outlets wrote about that exact scenario before the playoffs began. Here are a couple quotes:
"I think we've got to wait and see how that goes," manager Ron Washington said. "If we have a chance to put this away and we feel good about Cliff going again. We'll do that. If we don't, then we'll do what we have to do."
"There's a lot of ifs and buts," Lee said. "We've got to win a few games before we get to that point. I'm more focused on the first game. I'm not looking two starts away at what might happen."
Well, they had a chance to put this way, so the question becomes: why didn't they feel good about Cliff Lee going again? Based on last year, I don't think there's any good reason to think that the answer goes beyond a simple 'Cliff Lee didn't want to.'
Jeff Passan wrote a great article for Yahoo in the lead-up to game 4 arguing this same point. He points out that Lee has never pitched on 3-days rest in the majors, and actually quotes Lee as saying the following: "I would've done it. No problem." But as Passan points out, that quote is duplicitous.
Actually, big problem.
The Rangers thought about it and decided against it.
The deeper truth: They didn’t trust Lee enough, and they never heard him request the assignment, because, he said, “I’m not going to go in there and demand anything.”
For somebody who wants more than $100 million to lead a pitching staff this offseason, Lee’s passivity is stark. There is an ethos in baseball, fair or not, that top-of-the-line pitchers ask for the ball under all circumstances. Lee refuses to ask for the ball; as such, he gives off the impression he doesn’t want it. Whether that’s the truth – whether he really would, as he said, pitch on three days’ rest, or he’d beg off out of fear that he could incur a nine-figure injury – is a mystery because his teams don’t bother inquiring.
He goes on to point out that Hunter has faded late in the season, and the Rays took him to the wood shed the last time they faced him in the regular season. The best part of the whole article is when David Price overhears reporters talking in the clubhouse, and thinks they're saying that Lee will start Game 4.
“Lee’s throwing tomorrow?” Price asked.
Concern tinged his voice. Even if Lee was going on three days’ rest, the Rays don’t want to face him. Hunter? Respect exists because he is a major league pitcher, and in his first start this season he threw a complete-game five-hitter against the Rays, but they know the truth: Lee on the road and Wilson at home is infinitely more daunting than Hunter on the road and Lee at home.
Amazing. The Rays were actually scared of facing Lee in Game 4 and Wilson in 5, as they should have been. Shouldn't that be an indication to the Rangers? Doesn't that paint a pretty clear picture? Regardless, Passan was dead on the money. Hunter lost, and now everything rests on one game.
There's one other thing I'd like to point out. Cliff Lee has received a lot of attention this season for his absurdly high strikeout-to-walk ratio. At the end of the year, it was 10.28. That's the second highest total in major league history, and number one came from Bret Saberhagen in the strike-shortened season of 1994. It's impressive beyond belief, but it also indicates what kind of pitcher Lee strives to be. As I write this next sentence, I'm picturing my friend Spike (huge stat junkie, big Cliff Lee fan) pounding his head on a desk, but I'm going to write it anyway: considering that Lee's ERA was very good but not great at 3.18, isn't it possible to see the inflated K/BB ratio as somewhat selfish, or at least brazen?
Hear me out. The style of pitching that produces such a number is direct, free of deception, and completely functional. Great pitchers sometimes walk batters as a result of their artistry. Once in a while, that nasty curve won't elicit a swing, or the high fastball will be too high for temptation. Felix Hernandez, for instance, had a 2.52 K/BB ratio, and nobody would argue that Cliff Lee was a better pitcher this season. Just for fun: Felix's strikeout-to-walk margin was +162, while Lee's was +165. Pretty damn close for such divergent ratios, right? And you have to think Felix's more elegant style led to fewer hits and a lower ERA, which more than covers that negligible three-out lead Lee gains from just walks and strikeouts.
I guess what I'm saying is that K/BB is a bit overrated. You at least have to wonder if Lee was capable of adjusting his style to earn more strikeouts- because let's be clear, his great K/BB ratio was not a product of abundant strikeouts (185, 23rd in the league), but rather the peculiar absence of walks (18 total, first by far in the league)- and lower his ERA by virtue of craftier pitching. Conceding only 18 walks is the equivalent of saying 'I don't give a fuck. Hit it if you can.' Lee is good enough to succeed on those terms, but you wonder if he could have been even better.
Here's the point of all this: when I was predicting this series, I said Rangers in 5. It was the smart move. Lee is better than Price, and I believed he'd win game 1. All Texas had to do was win 1 of the next 3, which they accomplished. And that put us back in a Lee vs. Price situation, and again, the smart move was to go with Lee.
But I'm changing my mind. One of the more interesting, least-discussed aspects of Game 1 was how Lee pitched. Yes, he went 7 innings, gave up only 5 hits and 1 run while striking out 10, but I still wouldn't call it a dominant performance. The Rays hit a lot of hard, frozen ropes that made a direct bee-line to the Ranger outfielders. Lee put forth a nice effort, but he was lucky to come away unscathed. 1 earned run was not an accurate reflection of the kind of game he pitched.
Price, meanwhile, struggled. He didn't look like himself, and the Texas line-up had a field day. I don't believe that will happen again. Usually- not always, but usually- the pressure of a deciding game benefits pitchers. Pressure takes its greatest toll on the person trying to react, and in baseball that's the hitter.
I expect a low-scoring game. I expect David Price to be stronger. And I expect Cliff Lee to be his usual unswerving self, obstinately putting balls over the plate when a hint of guile would better serve the cause. This time, with the season on the line, one or two of those pitches will come back to bite him, and for the second year in a row he'll become a walking, talking, nagging what-if; the residue of another lost series.
And here's a Robbie Cano sneak attack from the celebration:
Before we begin in earnest, two stories that will give my legions of female readers* an idea of what it's like to be saddled with me as a boyfriend:
*Hi dad.**
**My dad had a sex change.***
***What am I even talking about?****
****Happy Monday!^
^I'm eating an apple.#
#This is a blog.
A) My Uncle Tommy is in town. He's my mom's brother, and easily one of the five funniest people I know. He's got four daughters, he always seems slightly run ragged, but he's always smiling and, like everyone else on that side of the family, has unlimited energy. He's also incredibly quick with an insult. I attribute this partly to being from a big family. My mom is one of six siblings. When they're all together, watching them in action is a great show. Nobody pulls any punches. That includes the grandparents. I imagine most people have nice, gentle, doting grandpas and grandmas. My grandfather, on the other hand, once convinced me when I was very young that I could make my own wet-naps by dipping a napkin in cat urine.
In the big picture, the family members are very loyal to each other. But face to face, they're like a pack of wolves looking for even the slightest moment of weakness. I'm not sure if it's because growing up with so many kids put them constantly on the defensive, and they learned to be witty as a pre-emptive strike, or what. But you can not slip up in their presence, even a little. They're too smart and fast to let it slide.
Anyway, I spent the entire day with my Uncle and his daughter while they looked at UNC, and his style and mannerisms infected me. When I came home later that night, the girlfriend and I were both on our computers. At one point she called me over, very excited to show me something. She was watching an episode of "Nip Tuck," and she paused it to show me a screen shot. "Look," she said, pointing to a bottle of Clos Du Val wine a character was holding. "That's our wine!"
"Oh my God," I said. "You brought me over here to show me that? It's a common wine. Do you get excited when someone drinks a Pepsi on tv?"
It was vintage Uncle Tommy. I even spoke with his inflection. I thought I was being hilarious. And the thing is, I actually have no idea if Clos Du Val a common wine. I don't know the first thing about wine. The only 'common wine' I could name is Franzia. I was just being a douche. And when I glanced up, my girlfriend had the look of someone who had just been slapped by a stranger. Unlike me, she was apparently reared among kind, supportive people who take less delight in well-placed mockery. This is why I try not to spend too much time with family.
B) Later in the night, after she'd forgiven me, we were watching the end of the Phillies game. "Is that Cole Hamels?" she asked. "He is so sexy."
I told her she wasn't allowed to say that, just like I did when she said the same things about Joe Mauer. This time, however, I had a plan. When the game was over, I turned her attention to the TBS interview. Lucky for me, Hamels has a weirdly high voice. I could tell it put her off. "It sounds like he just inhaled helium," she said. I thought the attraction had been quelled, but then she said "that's okay, he doesn't need to talk." I knew I had to act fast. So I brought out the big guns: I did an imitation of Cole Hamels having a long, extended, high-pitched orgasm.
Easily one of the most shameful moments of my life. But it did the trick: "yup, you killed it for me," she said.
Okey doke. With that out of the way, let's get to some thoughts on the playoffs, starting with the Yanks:
1) What an absolute walkover. I can't tell if the Yankees were really good, or if the Twins were really bad, or both. I mean it; I'm proud of our guys for flipping the playoff switch, but I'm not sure exactly what I can infer about our chances in the next round or the World Series. Minnesota looked lifeless. Can you imagine being a Twins fan right now? It must seem hopeless. Every year, after winning the Central, you meet the brick wall of a Yankee powerhouse. This year was the worst of the bunch. Following two heartbreaking home losses, you have to deal with the fact that your team will almost certainly end their season in the Bronx, in front of a hostile crowd gunning for a gaudy 28th title. And then, before game 3, Twins fans got this news: Gardenhire's contract is about to be extended. Way to kick a man while he's down, Twins management.
I'm not saying the loss was Gardenhire's fault, or even that he's a bad manager. But a lot of Twins fans hate him, and his playoff record is abysmal. I was browsing some Twins message boards this weekend, reveling in the post-victory glow, and the general sentiment there was 'great, we just signed up for a few more years of AL Central titles and first round exits.'
In some ways, it's bad luck. They held a lead in something absurd like 8 of their postseason losses to the Yanks before Saturday's laugher. Along with a superior payroll, a bigger media market, and better pitching, the Yanks also seem to be clutchier, luckier, and heart-ier (all real words). It hardly seems fair.
2) But then again, fuck Twins fans. At least they can still ice skate and exchange tales from Norse mythology. At least they still have Brett Favre and his interesting habit of sending photos of his own penis to every female he meets in passing. At least they still have the North Stars.
3) High marks for this series go to all three starting pitchers, Boone Logan, Mariano, Jeter, Swisher, Teixeira, Granderson, Jorge, and Marcus Thames. In other words, almost everyone. Average marks go to A-Rod, Robbie Cano, and David Robertson. Low marks go to Kerry Wood, who fulfilled my friend Nick's prophecy that he'd choke it up when the pressure was on. Goddamn Cubs fans and their infectious pessimism.
4) The importance of yesterday's Rays victory cannot be overstated. By forcing a game 5, the Rays ensure that David Price and Lee match up on Tuesday. That means they won't be able to pitch on Friday, game 1 against the Yanks, and can only pitch Saturday if they go on short rest. Price, I imagine, would do that. Lee would not. So best case scenario is that Texas wins, and Lee is unavailable until game 3. But either way, we'll have CC ready in game 1 against the other team's #2. That's a huge advantage.
5) Sweet Betsy, the Phillies are good. Shouldn't the Giants and Braves just stop playing? Shouldn't someone tap them on the shoulder and be like "guys, it's cool. You can go home"? 'Cause ain't either of 'em gonna slow down the Philly machine. If Hamels can pitch like he did last night into the World Series, even the AL teams will be in for a nightmare.
6) Joe Posnanski wrote a great article about the incredible pitching performances from Hallady and Lincecum, and how, despite Halladay's no-no, the second effort might have been the best.
7) As if we needed more proof that playoff baseball is all about pitching: The Cincinnati Reds led the National league in runs, average, RBI, slugging, OPS, home runs, and total bases. In three games against the Phillies, they scored 4 runs.
8) I badly need to catch up on school work, but at the same time I'm a little upset that there's no Yankee baseball until Friday. I can't remember enjoying three games as much as I enjoyed the wins over Minnesota this past week. As of now, this season feels a little like a happy bonus from last year. I'm less tense, less pessimistic, and not weighed down with the memory of the dark years (2001-2008). I'm riding high, baby!
9)Hey Duke students: how do I get into midnight madness this Friday? Is it just for students? Can any of you crazy SOBs get me an ID for the night, or something? I really, really want to go. I will pay you generously and mention your name on the blog in a highly positive context. If you're underage, I will buy you alcohol illegally. Please don't respond if you're an undercover cop.
10) Don't you hate when you can think of 9 things to write, but that last one just escapes you? Me too. Here's a picture of Cano looking calmly into the distance:
