Tag: MLB (Page 8 of 9)

Freaking Yankees

October 7, 2004 / DB

You know, I’m getting sick of hearing about Yankee mystique. There’s nothing magical going on when you have $210 million at your disposal. It was maddening watching last night’s game knowing that each time the Twins worked their asses off to push a run across, the Yankees would immediately respond. Making things worse was Joe Morgan jumping all over the Yankees bandwagon in order to push his anti-Moneyball rant. Was I the only one who noticed how he all but said it was impossible for the Twins to win both games in Minnesota? “Tonight’s game is more important for the Twins than the Yankees because then when you go home and split, you have to come back to New York for game five.” What total horseshit. The Yankees have little idea of how their rotation is going to look and what quality of pitching they’ll get out of it, yet he’s convinced they can go into Minneapolis and be certain to win a game.
Joe’s act was tired years ago, and now that he lives in fear of the Moneyball aligned forces, he’s gotten even worse. I bet he still hasn’t read the book, still thinks that Billy Beane rather than Michael Lewis wrote it, and still thinks it’s a way of replacing the traditional structure of baseball rather than a framework for small market teams to attempt to compete in a sport that has gone fiscally insane. Scared old men are never easy to watch.

Baseball Playoff Predictions

October 4, 2004 / DB

The first game has already started, but I need to slide in my predictions for the baseball playoffs. I went on record a couple weeks back with a St. Louis – Boston World Series, and a seven game Cardinal triumph. I hate to be lazy, but despite the challenges facing the Cardinals pitching staff, I’m not going to deviate from that end result.

NLDS:
St. Louis over Los Angeles
Houston over Atlanta

ALDS:
Boston over Anaheim
Minnesota over New York

NLCS:
St. Louis over Houston

ALCS:
Boston over Minnesota

World Series:
St. Louis over Boston

Unscientific and totally based on gut feelings from a month ago. Bookmark this post so you can make fun of me in four weeks.

The Big Debate

September 30, 2004 / DB

I know you’re all dying to hear what I think about the debate that’s been dominating discussion in this great land of ours. I shall not disappoint you: I think it was scandalous how Major League Baseball has treated the city and fans of Montreal over the past ten years. Make no mistake, Montreal in all honesty does not deserve to have an MLB team. However, the governing body of the game has done little over the years to make it easier for a team to succeed in the game’s oddest market (Different economy, different culture, different language). Beginning with the 1994 strike that kept one of the most talented teams in recent memory from getting an opportunity to play in the post-season, nothing good has happened to the Montreal Expos. The owner that kept them afloat moved on when the game couldn’t solve its labor problems. A new owner quite literally ran the team into the ground only to be given a primo deal to buy the Florida Marlins (which he may soon move to New Jersey if he has his way). Meanwhile, the league has run the team for the last three years in the biggest conflict on interest in the history of professional sports. A franchise that had cranked out as much talent as anyone for ten years was suddenly left with only a few decent players and little chance of retaining them. All the while, they were held out like raw meat to cities hungry to snatch up a team of their own. Finally, Washington, DC gained the honor this week of giving baseball yet another chance.
Why does any of this matter? Didn’t I just say Montreal probably doesn’t deserve a team regardless of what MLB has done to them in recent years? It matters because the league basically killed a franchise and no one objected. They couldn’t get a big money owner in Montreal. However, someone in DC, Virginia, Portland, Las Vegas, or some other city would probably be willing to shell out the money for ownership all while getting tax dollars better spent on schools, road, or law enforcement from local governments for a fancy new stadium. What happens when there is no longer Wal-Mart money behind the Royals, the team continues to play poorly, and Kaufman Stadium only gets 12,000 fans a night? Who’s to say the league won’t step in, make things worse than they are, all the make sure Mark Cuban or some other billionaire buys the team and moves them to New Orleans? What if ownership in Oakland gets sick of playing at the Coliseum and the Giants’ claim on the San Jose market? Will MLB make sure the A’s franchise withers up and nearly dies so that the baseball hotbed of Charlotte gets a team? Cities need to lose their franchises fair and square, not with the assistance of the sport’s governing body.
It’s time for regime change. Bud Selig, probably the worst commissioner in the history of professional sports, needs to go.

All-Star Game

July 14, 2004 / DB

A quick confession. Despite moving to the Mac, I’m still using Microsoft Word to type up my posts. Apple Works just isn’t fun to use, plus this way I can shoot files back and forth between my laptop and the eMac. Just so you know. I feel better now.

I watched very little of the All-Star game last night. By the time we got home from our belated anniversary dinner, it was already 3-0 AL and we were focused on getting our infant car seat bases installed in both of our vehicles. But the All-Star game really doesn’t mean to me what it used to. A year ago, we watched a few innings from St. Lucia before the sun fatigue and wine from dinner knocked us out. I watched much of the tie two years ago from a hotel in Colorado Springs. Other than that, the games of the past ten years are kind of a blur.

That’s quite sad, since like most young baseball fans, the All-Star game was always a highlight of the summer when I was growing up. My first gambling experience was the nickel I put on the AL against my uncle in 1979. While everyone else was in awe of Dave Parker’s epic throw from the right field wall to save the game, I sat in a corner and pouted about dropping five valuable cents. Back then, not only were the Royals good, but they routinely sent 3-4 players to the game. George Brett and Frank White were givens. Willie Wilson often went along with a pitcher or two. I still generally want the American League to win, but it’s out of tradition rather than any real preference for the players on that side. Another fun thing about the All-Star game was seeing what players would sport white shoes for the occasion. For some reason, when I was playing ball, I insisted that white shoes were the way to go. I always thought it was super cool when Frank White would take the field in his baby blue Royals uniform and some bright, white spikes. I noticed at least Alex Rodriguez was rocking white shoes last night as well. Of course, he probably did it more out of marketing than as a celebration of the freedom of the venue.

Probably 70% of the changes in my feelings towards the game can be attributed to changes in my life. I’m older and have less time to spend anticipating a single sporting event, fewer free hours to sit and watch what is supposed to be an exhibition for three plus hours. Basketball long ago became my favorite sport, although there’s still a primal draw back to baseball. My boycott of the game after the 1994 strike put a two-year hole in my baseball knowledge base, and in many ways I’ve never recovered from that. I can’t read box scores or follow the standings the way I could just ten years ago. The stupidity of the game’s management structure that I’ve documented elsewhere is more fuel to the fire. Most of all, summer is no longer a time period that’s unique in my day-to-day life. The All-Star game served as a midway milestone when you had three months to do whatever you wanted between academic years. The event was a chance to catch your breath from the first six weeks of summer, and evaluate what still needed to be done before the back to school rush. “Let’s see, I need to reorganize my baseball cards by standings, go to the pool four times a week instead of three, make sure my bike is nice and shiny, and continue to try to memorize the Pac-Man patterns.” Today, I work the day before the game, the day of the game, and the day after the game. It’s just another summer night, albeit one on which you can avoid bad reruns (sadly, we still watched Law & Order for awhile).

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the meaning of sports in my life and how that will pass onto my kids. I hope my kids share my love for sports in general, and would be thrilled if they spend hours with daddy in the basement all winter watching basketball. But I keep coming back to the idea that there’s something special about a dad and his kids at a baseball game. The relaxed nature of being at the ballpark. The gentle rhythm of the game. The ability to explain what just happened to young ones struggling to grasp new concepts. It bums me out that I won’t have anything approaching the passion I had for the sport when I was a kid when it’s time to start that education process with my kids.

By the way, I’ve not read the paper, ESPN, etc yet. Is anyone wondering aloud if Roger Clemons served up all that slop so A) his old buddies in New York get the home field in the World Series or B) if he’s traded back to the Yankees, Boston, or some other AL contender and he’s actually playing in October, his team can have games six and seven at home instead of Houston’s rivals the Cardinals and Cubs? Can I go ahead and start that rumor if it’s not already out there?

Opening Day

April 5, 2004 / DB

Big day. Huge day. Important day. Opening Day in baseball. As should always be the case, the NCAA championship game is tonight as well. You may recall my suggested sports calendar last fall required baseball beginning the day college basketball ended. And just for the cultural reference freaks out there, it’s the 10th anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death. I’ve got a lot to work through here, without even touching what I’ve compiled over the last two weeks. Here goes.

Opening Day just ain’t what it used to be. Games in Japan, Sunday night ESPN openers. Maybe it’s living in a non-MLB city, but I didn’t wake up thinking, “Wow, it’s opening day!” this morning. Still, even if your favorite sport isn’t baseball, there’s something special about MLB opening day that’s unlike any other sport. It’s the symbolic beginning of spring, the gateway to summer nights sitting in front of a radio listening to the scores coming in from the West Coast. In the sport that is the least generous with postseason opportunities, Opening Day is the single time when fans of every team can hope for October glory. Now that I’m into my 30s, Opening Day is the slightest bit bittersweet. Instead of appreciating the amazing level of play, unequaled quality of ballparks, or unrivaled access to games for the casual fan, I look back longingly on the glory days of my youth in the late 70s and early 80s when I knew almost every player on every roster. My summers were spent carefully allotting time to reading the box scores, sorting my baseball cards, playing Coleco Head-to-Head baseball, playing any number of backyard versions of baseball, then watching/listening to games that night. The game seemed simpler, more pure, more romantic then. It’s always easy to forget that in addition to all the changes in the game, it’s really the massive changes in my life since I was 10 that make the game different.

Two suggestions to baseball: A) With the exception of teams that play in completely closed domes or the states of Florida, Georgia, Texas, Arizona, and Southern California, all games the first two weeks of April should be played during the day. No one goes to the games after opening day anyway, why not give the players and the 2,000 people who come out a break and play in the daylight hours to avoid wind chills in the teens? Just a thought. B) The alternate jersey thing is completely out of control. I demand a rule that only one team should wear their alternate jersey in a given game. Last week, the Orioles and Mets played a preseason game and each squad wore orange jerseys. Isn’t the whole point of jerseys so you can quickly tell which team is in the field and which team is batting? I had no idea who was doing what when I saw highlights of the game. Home team should have first call on jerseys, and if they wear something dark, the visiting team should have to wear their light tops.

I’m really concerned that so many of the Royals’ hopes rely on Juan Gonzalez’s health and happiness. In the last year of the Carlos Beltran era, this could be the last opportunity for the Royals to play in October for a few years. I hope Juan doesn’t start pouting in July or strain some muscle none of us have ever heard of in August and derail the Royals’ pennant run.

I like UConn tonight, not because I harbor any ill will towards Georgia Tech for beating KU, but because I don’t think Tech will be able to control Emeka Okufor. And yes, I puked when I read the article last week saying Okufor’s father had called the KU coaching staff two times to request they scout young Emeka when he was in high school and Roy Williams never responded. I know you can’t just plug Emeka in and keep everything else that happened the last three years exactly the same, but imagine for a minute him in the same rotation as Drew Gooden, Nick Collison, and Wayne Simien over those seasons. All that desire to win the national championship that Roy has in his little finger might have been quenched.

Cobain killed himself ten years ago today, but it wasn’t until April 8 that his body was found. I remember getting home from work on April 8, 1994, laying on my bed reading a book about the ills of college basketball recruiting, and noticing my radio, which I could barely hear, seemed to have an endless stream of talk and very little music. I leaned over, turned it up, and heard the news. I can’t say I was devastated or even shocked. In fact, initially, I’m embarrassed that I was excited because now our generation had our musical martyr. I wasn’t a huge fan of Nirvana at the time, leaning more towards the more accessible songs of Pearl Jam from the beginning. I wasn’t some angst ridden kid who never felt comfortable outside my insulated group of friends who experienced similar pains. I had a pretty good life. Cobain’s pain always seemed first person, which was uncomfortable to someone who hadn’t endured anything worse than a couple bad breakups in 23 years of living. Eddie Vedder’s pain always seemed third person and fictional, something I could listen to and understand from afar. It wasn’t until much later that I appreciated what Cobain was singing about, not because of any personal experiences, but more from the maturity that allowed me to take in the perspectives of others. As I grew to appreciate Cobain’s influences, his music made more and more sense to me. Now, I think he was a genius, at least with a guitar and a notebook. The 90s alternative rock revolution was a truly great time for music, and no one reached the heights that Cobain and Nirvana reached. I don’t think things would have been different if he had lived. Perhaps Nirvana would have released another great album or two, but nothing that would have altered the musical landscape. They did it once, the movement had been unleashed, and regardless of their future success, it was destined to die out right around the time it did fade away in 1996-7.

How to handle a time change properly: We drove to St. Louis Saturday for a wedding and gained an hour. We drove home Sunday and made no changes to our watches. Not bad. I will complain, though, about having to revamp my life again. I’m back to starting work at the same time as my compatriots in Kansas City. That extra hour in the morning was kind of nice. The sun is hitting our windows at 6:20 AM or so. All my meetings that are scheduled weekly are suddenly an hour earlier. Sigh.

The little girlfriend has been going nuts. Saturday night, S. described the movements as “flips” and when I put my hand on her stomach, there was some serious activity going on. Last night, we decided to follow the guide books and listen to some classical music to stimulate the math part of her little brain. Immediately, her level of activity increased greatly. So she’s either going to be very good at math, or she really wanted me to switch back to the Old School Rap channel I had been parked on earlier.

D’s Notes

February 16, 2004 / DB

I’ve got a week in the office to get caught up before I head west for my first business trip of the year. That means cleaning out the in-box, and getting a few things posted to the blog.

I’m writing this while watching the NBA All-Star game on Sunday night. Bill Simmons had a great point a couple weeks back. He talked about how great mid-February was if you were a boy growing up in the 1980s. The SI swimsuit edition showed up right about the same time as NBA All-Star weekend. If you didn’t have older brothers, like me, SI was about as close as you could get to regular access to porn. Why do I like brunettes? I’m pretty sure Carol Alt had something to do with it. Then the All-Star weekend was actually an event back then. The Slam Dunk contest was full of things we had never seen before. I can still hear Rick Barry breaking down Michael Jordan’s amazing dunks in the 1987 contest. “He’s actually turned his body so it’s almost parallel to the ground!” People actually got fired up about the 1988 finals between Dominique Wilkens and Jordan like it was a real game. We’d rush to the nearest eight foot goal to try to recreate the insanity that had gone down on TNT. Plus, the All-Star game itself was actually interesting to watch back then. Those were very good times.

Things I liked during this year’s All-Star game: the court and uniforms were nicely understated in an old-school way. Watching some old All-Star games on ESPN Classic earlier in the day, I was horrified at some of the atrocious uniforms and court designs used in past years. Many resembled what I imagine my shirts will look like once the baby comes and I’m getting puked on 20 times a day.
Things I didn’t like: I’m all for relaxing the officiating during an exhibition game. I don’t need to see Shaq fouling out. But I also don’t need to see players literally walking with the ball for ten feet, then suddenly remembering they’re in a game and making half-assed attempts to dribble and nothing is called. Give players an extra step so they can throw down spectacular dunks, that’s fine. But when Steve Francis gets a rebound, puts the ball under his arm, and takes three steps towards the perimeter, then dribbles, you’re pretty much telling me the whole thing is a farce. Also, it was sad seeing how poorly most of the team shoots compared to say the 1981 All-Stars. That game was full of spectacular plays, yet still looked like a basketball game. Players screened, moved without the ball, and knocked down every open shot.

I’m officially addicted to Sam Adams’ Winter Lager. A terrific, terrific beer. I may start hoarding massive amounts of it before it disappears. Then again, the utterly brilliant Guinness commercials for St. Patrick’s Day have me craving tasty, thick stouts as well.

I’m thoroughly disgusted on two levels by Alex Rodriquez’s move to the New York Yankees. First, that it was so easy for the Yankees to make the deal and in the process assemble a payroll that’s seven times as big as the payroll of several other major league clubs. Second, on a personal level, because I was so into the A-Rod to Boston saga of November and December, to the point where I ran out and watched ESPN News every 30 minutes for updates on deadline day. For some reason, anyone but the Yankees spending absolutely ridiculous amounts of money to stockpile players is ok, because it’s a way to keep the Yankees from winning. If the Red Sox had picked up A-Rod and Maglio Ordonez, realistically they would be big favorites to win the AL East over the Yankees for the next 3-4 years. The ends justify the means when you’re trying to beat the evil empire. Baseball is stupid.

Oh yeah, A-Rod is a money grubbing whore.

While we’re on the topic of things that disgust me, I was disgusted by the number of books I threw away before we moved. Boxes and boxes of books that I couldn’t sell or donate got thrown into dumpsters. I was disgusted not only by the numbers, but the amount of money I had spent on them. So I vowed to buy fewer books and start going to the library more and with that in mind, I went out and got a library card Saturday. It’s my first public library card since high school. Oh I’ll still buy books; I think that’s some genetic thing I can’t avoid. But I’m going to make an effort to always have a couple around from the library to avoid the urge to go on $80 sprees at Barnes & Noble. For those of you who follow my list of Zen on the right side of the page, you’ll be amused this time next week when my first pregnancy-related book hits the list. I’m about 200 pages into The Expectant Father.

Speaking of the pregnancy, all is well with that. We’re in the midst of week 16. S. continues to feel good the majority of the time. She’s in that high energy phase that I’m sure we’ll both look back fondly on when she feels miserable in a couple more months. Every so often she gets a strange pain and winces, and I ask what hurts. “Fetus decided to poke me, I think.”

We were out and about the other night, and when we pulled back into our neighborhood, there was a large lump in the road. “What’s that?” asked S. “Looks like a possum. Maybe it’s ours.” “That would be awesome!” she exclaimed. I looked at her in mock horror. “Well, I mean I’m not glad if it is ours that got killed, but at least we wouldn’t have to deal with it then.” For the past couple weeks, there’s been a fair-sized melted spot in the snow on our deck that is no doubt from the body heat of our possum which is slumbering below.

We rented our first movie in a month Friday, Seabiscuit. I loved it. I haven’t gone back to reread reviews to see how far, if at all, the movie strayed from the real story, but I really enjoyed the pace, the acting, and of course the story. “Have a nice race, Red.” Not quite as good as The Return of the King, though.

Who knows what’s going on with this band The Darkness? They’re clearly insane, and completely geniuses. But I can’t figure out if they’re kind of a British Tenacious D, or if they’re serious. The video for I Believe in a Thing Called Love is one of the most amazing things every, and proof that videos can still matter.

My rather brief trip to KC last week was not as impressive in culinary terms as my epic return in October. I was only, only, able to drop in on Gates and Waldo Pizza. My trip to Gates was noteworthy, though. The hostess, or whatever you want to call her, was quite enamored with my hair (and with Mike A’s bald pate as well). If I knew my hair had this kind of affect on ethnic women, I would have grown it out in college.

Good, Bad, and Ugly

October 27, 2003 / DB

Good: Marlins win in six. Josh Beckett is a freaking stud. His arm may fall off, he may succumb to all the temptations that will be available to him, or he just may have pitched the best he’ll ever pitch. But I love the fact his first postseason experience was much better that Roger Clemens’ first experience. I’m not sure why I’ve become obsessive about hating Clemens, but I have. Jeff Loria may be one of the worst owners in baseball, and a personification of all that’s wrong with the game, but he ain’t George Steinbrenner. Then again, King George may be good for baseball. If he spends $200 million next year to try to win again, the rest of the game may finally shape up and put some kind of measures in place to help give better opportunities to sign and keep players to the smaller clubs. More on this subject later. Why was George wearing thick, dark sunglasses for night games this week? Trying to hide his wildly dilated pupils from everyone?

Bad: Dallas loses to Tampa Bay convincingly. After the Bucs’ loss last week, this one was easy to call. Hopefully the Tuna gets the ‘Boys back in gear.

Ugly: I was at a friend’s house watching Purdue-Michigan Saturday. Clearly in an effort just to piss me off, ABC didn’t show the KU-K-State score until late in the Purdue game. As soon as I saw 42-6, I thought, “I hope Whittemore didn’t get hurt.” Sure enough… Now we’ll really see how good of a coach Mangino is. Texas A&M and Nebraska were legitimate reaches for wins if our defense showed up in those games. Now he has to keep the team’s attitude up through a tough three game stretch and hope they’re still in a position to play well when Iowa State comes to town. 6-6 still gets you to a bowl game in the Big 12, and even if it’s done with a fifth string QB, it’s a huge lift for the program.

It’s 35 in Indianapolis this morning. No snow, though. Hopefully you all remembered to change your clocks this weekend. That extra hour I have before football starts is brutal. It just begs you to get off your ass and do something, and you end up missing the first half of the early games. As the local NPR announcer said this morning, while the rest of the nation went back to Standard Time, we stayed on Twilight Zone Time.

Curses

October 17, 2003 / DB

Well, every bit of last night’s Red Sox – Yankees game seven could have been predicted. The Red Sox get to Roger Clemens early while Pedro Martinez is just good enough to avoid jams. The Sox give themselves an insurance run late. Then, as soon as the “X outs to the World Series” threshold hits, things fall apart. Just like the Cubs Tuesday, the Sox were up three runs with five defensive outs standing between them and the World Series. However, in this case, it was extremely curious managerial decisions that let the Yankees back in rather than an expertly placed foul ball. Let’s not kid ourselves, though, no matter what Grady Little did, the Yankees were coming back. And Aaron Boone fit the profile perfectly for ending the game in the bottom of the 11th inning. Another long, cold winter for Sox fans. More banners for Yankee Stadium.

Instead of rubbing the head of Babe Ruth’s monument before every start, why doesn’t Roger Clemens just wear a jersey that says “DICK” across the front? It will prove the same point and save him a lot of walking.

It was nice of Fox to stick with the game in the middle of the first until Pedro made his entrance. Of course, that meant we missed three first pitches in other innings here in Indy while the local affiliate was busy getting their promos in.

Speaking of the local Fox station, they’re pretty much like every other Fox station in the country: more fluff than substance. A little too tabloid, a little too much caffeine. Unfortunately, though, they’re not loaded up with eye candy. What’s the point of having a Fox station if it’s not staffed with former models attempting to break into the TV awards presentation field?

As enthralling as the game was, I was disappointed there was no World Poker Tour action on ESPN to watch during commercials.

There are expectant mothers throughout New England that are secretly glad Boston lost. They were not looking forward to the name Trot hastily being added to the list of possibilities by their husbands.

Joe Torre moves his slumping slugger to the seven hole. Grady Little keeps his pitcher, who’s clearly been struggling recently and despite his performance starting to lose his best stuff that night, in the game when he’s got a left-hander ready in the bullpen to face the three straight left handed Yankees about to come to the plate. Jason Giambi hits two home runs. Pedro Martinez lets the Yankees back in the game. Maybe it’s not just George Steinbrenner’s money that makes the Yanks good.

Mike Mussina did a nice job in his three innings. I loved his quote, though, from earlier in the series, “All I can control is sixty feet, six inches.” Very Elvis Grbac. Fortunately for him, the Yankees are far too professional to worry about that.

Doesn’t Kevin Millar look like he should have played for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the mid-70s? He makes Dennis Leonard look cleanly shaved.

Think people’s haaaaaaahts were beating haaaaahder in Boston after David Ortiz’s home run? “Six outs away! We’re wicked close! How about them aaaaaaapples?!?!”

Best sign at Yankees Stadium, “Mystique Don’t Fail Me Now”. Perfect timing.
Derek Jeter, 0-2, double. Bernie Williams, single. Hideki Matsui, 0-2, double. Jorge Posada, double. And like that Boston’s suicide hotlines light up.

Boston goes to extra innings in New York in a game they can clinch. Haven’t we done this before?

We all know what happened. You may ask, “How can you like the Red Sox and not like the cute little Cubbies?” Let me count the ways:
1 – The Red Sox, like every other team in the AL East, are not the Yankees. If you grew up in Kansas City in the late 70s, early 80s, at some point you’ve been a fan of every team other than the Yankees in the East because you hate the Yankees so much.
2 – Jim Rice. He was part of my holy trinity of baseball players growing up (George Brett and Eddie Murray being the other two). I would practice dropping the bat like Rice after I hit the ball. Plus, he wore my favorite number, 14.
3 – The Red Sox lose one heart-wrenching game every decade that keeps them cursed. Outside those games, they’re actually pretty good most of the time. The Cubbies are loveable losers. Their entire organization is built around the celebration of losing. The Red Sox actually want to win. There’s just this cottage industry of people outside the organization who have made money off of perpetuating the idea of a curse.
4 – I may not be a Cardinals fan, but I know enough to have had the hatred of the Cubs rub off on me over the years.
5 – Finally, some of my best baseball memories revolve around the Red Sox. The great teams of the late 70s through mid 80s that were loaded with talent, but always had some huge flaw (generally just having to play in the same division as the Yankees). Fenway’s distorted genius trumps the softball qualities of Wrigley any day. The Cubs were the horrible team that provided the only baseball I could watch when I was a kid in southeast Missouri. Piss off a kid, you never really get a chance to change it.

I want the Marlins to win, but why would I ever pick against the Yankees? They’ve got the money, the mystique, and the media. Yankees in five.

Sox Win, Cubs Lose

October 16, 2003 / DB

Another great day of baseball. The Red Sox and Yankees continued their heavyweight battle in the late afternoon and early evening, each team taking and losing leads, trading punches like Ali and Frazier. A couple wind-blown balls by the Red Sox and one massive, George Brett-like homerun from Trot Nixon, and we’ve got game seven: Pedro Martinez vs. Roger Clemens. Exactly what everyone was hoping for. I didn’t think the Sox had a shot yesterday. Dare I think they can actually win this thing?

I should feel bad about the Cubs losing, especially after Fox showed shot after shot of old women crying after the game (there’s no crying in baseball!). Yet I don’t. I would imagine cardiac hospitals throughout the Chicago-land area are extra full today. Kerry Wood’s tying home run in the second inning had to have affected performance of pacemakers implanted in Cubs fans. I don’t care about the foul ball Tuesday. The Marlins were clearly the better team. They beat Mark Prior and Kerry Wood in back-to-back games. They deserve to be playing next week. Wait ‘till next year, Cubbies. (Biggest game in 58 years at Wrigley, and Billy Corgan is who you get for the Seventh Inning Stretch? No wonder the Cubs never win.)

Beyond Bizarre

October 15, 2003 / DB

Utterly incredible. That’s the only way to sum up what happened at Wrigley Field in the eighth inning last night. If you missed it, the Cubs were up 3-0, five outs from their first World Series since 1945, and ace Mark Prior was destroying the Marlins. A pop-up down the left field line is grabbed by a Cubs fan just before Moises Alou could catch it, Alex Gonzalez commits his first error in months, and next thing you know, the Fish have scored eight runs in the inning. How very Cubs!

Given our proximity to Chi-town, there is an especially high number of Cubs bandwagoners here. So it’s even more satisfying to watch them flame out than normal. It’s hard for me to imagine the Cubs coming back from this tonight, but Kerry Wood is on the mound.

In the ALCS, to fit the plan, John Burkett will find a way to beat Andy Pettite this afternoon so that Pedro Martinez can blow game seven. It’s just the way the Red Sox operate.