it would be, it would be so nice

October 9, 2009

Seriously I hope the music person at Dodger Stadium was on the ball (ahem) last night. Or at least played “Loretta” by the Nervous Eaters. Or, in honor of the game-winning hit, “Fist City” by Loretta Lynn. And I know I broke up with the Dodgers a decade ago, but this was just an amazing end to a game I wasn’t paying attention to at all until I saw the score in the eighth inning at the gym.

Ho hum series tied WAIT WHAAAAAAAATholliday

Since about June or so I’ve forgotten how wonderful baseball can be. Amazing how that realization is easy to come by when you’re watching two good teams battling it out.

Despite my defection (you can’t spell it without “defect”) to the Mets, as a native Los Angeleno I am hoping for a Freeway Series. In which case I’ll be rooting for the Angels, because I haven’t forgiven the Dodgers that much.

Otherwise, let’s go Twins and Rockies.

ETA: I didn’t hear this, but apparently Vin Scully said, “Matt Holliday is the loneliest man in all of Los Angeles as 51000 echo to the sky.” I miss that man.

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oh please

October 30, 2008

Congratulations to the Philadelphia Phillies for riding a remarkably passable starting rotation and streaky offense and incredible douchitude all through the year and winning the World Series despite Monday’s Act of God and the Cinderella Rays who reached midnight and turned into a pumpkin. Hopefully this means you can FINALLY stop using Jose Reyes’s extended finger baserunning for motivation since, you know, YOU WON THE WORLD SERIES AND EVERYTHING.

So long as John McCain loses the election I’ll be able to almost kinda swallow this horrible horrible outcome.


an open letter to the los angeles dodgers

October 16, 2008

Dear Los Angeles Dodgers,

I write to you in a state of disrepair (much like your bullpen in Game 4 of the NLCS! Lolz!). Throughout this postseason I have vacillated from disappointment to envy, disillusionment to schadenfraude, dismissal to–finally–vague interest.

Last year this was not the case. Last year, after I coaxed myself out of numbness following the Mets Collapseā„¢, I managed to be brought along for the October fun by the Jesus Rockies and Eye Candy Sizemore and all those goddam Red Sox fans I know. This year has seemed futile except for Tampa Bay (and I await AndyMarkyMikeyJohnnySully’s FAAACKKKK YOOO. GO SAHX!) and, lo(l) the ever-underwhelming Cubs. But I wasn’t that invested with their fates.

The one common thread between this October and last: searing hatred of the Phillies.

Now Dodgers, you know how I feel about you. You know that I was in love you, prepared to give you my life, but you went and betrayed me during a period that should have solidified our coupling. You gave me Kirk Gibson hobbling around the bases. You gave me Hideo Nomo (the thing eventually broke down and nearly set the house on fire but it was lovely for a while). You gave me Mike Piazza, and then you took it away. This to me, as a hormonally unbalanced teenager, seemed like the ultimate betrayal. So I left you for the Mets. And though they may treat me badly, like I’m Meredith Baxter Birney in a Lifetime movie, I don’t feel betrayed by them. Beaten, abused, unsatisfied, unfulfilled, sure. But never betrayed.

You had the opportunity to do something good for me just this once, to–if not win back my love–earn my respect. And you let those clowns from Philadelphia just walk all over you. You were never a stand-up guy, Dodgers. It’s funny to think about it ten years later, but I knew that walking out on you was the best decision I could’ve made. I knew that the feverish passion I had for you was a product of my youth, of timing. I knew it would dissipate. Because I knew in the end you wouldn’t give a damn anyway.

Perhaps I should thank you for ten years ago. For instigating my shifting of loyalties. Because man, I may be disappointed, but at last I’m not the one who has to look at you right now: sitting there on the couch, belly hanging over your belt, dozing off with a beer in one hand as cheesesteaks rain on your fat head.

Thanks for nothing,

-Your Crazy Ex-Girlfriend


from joy to misery

September 25, 2008

3B
K
IBB
IBB
4-2
K


it could’ve been worse?

September 22, 2008

Yes, it could have. The Mets could’ve been swept in Atlanta. In fact, they really should have been, if not for the heroics of one Daniel “Jesus” Murphy on Friday, atoning for the sins of his teammates’ lousy (some would say “faggy,” oh how clever, sometimes I love other Mets fans) defense in the previous half-inning by doubling in the go ahead runs, leading to the inevitable FIRST! (and only!) Mets win in Atlanta this season. Because they then shit the bed in the following two games, in the most excruciating, dull, predictable of ways.

Why they should’ve been swept, reason #1: mediocre starting pitching. Oliver Perez danced in and out of trouble all night on Friday, furthering our love/hate relationship. There are very few who are as electric as Ollie is when he’s on, and as frustrating when he’s not. He’s got all the talent in the world, except between the ears (somehow this reminds me of a critique my music teacher gave me, saying I was really gifted but entirely lazy). On Saturday, Pedro Martinez had his requisite first inning troubles (three first-inning runs this time!) before settling in, and Mike Pelfrey did a pretty good Pedro impersonation by looking wild and uncomfortable for much of Sunday, until resembling the dominating pitcher he was in August (almost a matter of too little, too late).

Why they should’ve been swept, reason #2: the bullpen. But that’s almost a given at this point. Rather, the bullpen was great on Friday (even Heilman had a big strikeout!) and Saturday, so of course on Sunday (with a lead!) something had to give, and boy did they give. This group is a regular collective Santy Claus. But it’s easy to pick on retarded kittens, when a lot of the weekend’s blame should go to the supposed big cats.

Why they should’ve been swept, reason #3: the offense. Sure, the offense came through on Friday, thanks to Daniel Murphy, who was downright awful in the following two games, but it’s okay; just about everyone was awful in the following two games. When your only two runs on Saturday are driven in by YOUR PITCHER, something’s wrong. When you’re nursing a slim 4-2 lead knowing that Aaron Heilman and Scott Schoeneweis are in your bullpen, you need to score more runs. Especially with the opportunities given in the sixth and seventh innings. When the first two batters in an inning walk, then you have to lay down the bunt, Pelfrey! And not swing at the first pitches, Reyes and Murphy! And the next inning, Wright and Delgado single only to see Beltran pop up and Church ground out into a double play. Wee. That right there was the game, forget about the bullpen. Because now you just expect the bullpen to give up a few runs (two-run lead? NOT ENOUGH!). But especially seeing Delgado hit that two-run homer in the ninth, you would’ve liked to have seen at least one of those runners on base with no out in the sixth and seventh actually score. Yes. That would’ve been nice.

***

Congratulations to the Chicago Cubs for clinching the NL Central Division title. I texted my friend Michael to congratulate him, and he responded that he was “pretty much drunk right now.” Then this followed:

“I just realized i love the post season because you finally get shirtless heroes.”

Which, I mean, obviously. But, um…are there hot Cubs?! Oh, right:


it’s nice that they’re so supportive of each other

August 11, 2008

L-R: Mets bullpen members Duaner Sanchez, Joe Smith, Pedro Feliciano, Aaron Heilman, and Scott Schoeneweis embrace after giving up a 5-1 lead in an eventual loss to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Awww, how cute.


amateur improv night at shea!

July 23, 2008

There was a whole lot of impersonation going on last night. First, Carlos Delgado continuing to imitate his old form. Then, Johan Santana begins to look like the dominant pitcher we hoped for and expected when we traded the farm for him. Ramon Castro impersonating an honest-to-God starter, rendering Brian Schneider completely irrelevant (he seems like a nice guy?). Those three had this guy laughing in the aisles.

Not as funny, though, was everything else. Making up for Send ‘Em Sandy’s lack of windmilling as third base coach was Luis Aguayo, sending Endy Chavez home TWICE where he would record the first out of the inning. TWICE. Two times. Those two non-runs, we’d find out, would prove to be important. And considering Billy Wagner’s lack of availability, Duaner Sanchez and Pedro Feliciano (I’ll give Joe Smith a pass, since he got a needed ground ball with which Jose Reyes did absolutely nothing) decided to pretend to be the All Star closer, except they based their impressions on Wagner completely blowing it against the Phillies as opposed to dominating teams like the Reds. And then of course there were the Phillies, resembling the Mets team that scored five runs in the top of the ninth to beat Cincinnati on Friday, or maybe we should more accurately say that that Mets team resembled the Phillies.

That stuff? Not as funny. But more true, somehow.

I don’t recall the last easy game against the Phillies. I don’t remember the last no-doubter; that last game in Philly where they lead 10-1 seemed like one, only then it reverted to form and the Mets held on for a 10-9 win. It always seems like every game is a knock-down drag-out fight, which is fun in its way, but I like crisp wins. Last night seemed like a crisp win. Almost too crisp. Because from the time Johan gave up back-to-back-to-back two-out singles in the first inning through Shane Victorino’s home run, Santana looked dominant, getting quick outs and pop-ups and boring old lazy grounders to third, ho hum. Truly spectacular. And Delgado and Castro’s joint two-run blasts looked like the sufficient offensive production they’d need. But through that whole duration of glorious easy middle innings, a current of dread began to sink me further into my couch.

It seems like the Phillies are always coming back. It always seems like the Mets have a lead, or are tied, and the Phillies somehow are able to wake up late (in the game or season), their backs to the wall, and break out for the win. Usually it’s Wagner who blows it. This time we can look at Sanchez and Feliciano. I know everyone today is going to jump on Wagner for being unavailable, which is fairly understandable considering this fanbase’s love of expletives and hyperbole, but deal with the fact that his shoulder wasn’t up to snuff and he needed a day (and again, he always blows it against the Phillies anyway…see what I did there?!). Deal with what you’ve got. Funnily, I felt queasy with the decision to pitch Sanchez. I know it makes sense, considering he’s your set-up man, but as Howie Rose said last night, there’s a difference between pitching the eighth inning and pitching in a save situation. I would have rather seen Smith, who’d thrown two and a third scoreless against this very team two weeks ago, gone out for the ninth, matchups be damned. Because not only did he get some lefties out last time, but part of closer is not just stuff, but gumption. That kid has ice water in his veins. Sanchez, considering how soon he’s been thrust into these situations after being away for so long, maybe doesn’t have it yet. And let’s not talk about Feliciano. I’ve gone on record as saying he’s been shaky all season, and last night was just another example.

It wouldn’t be a Mets-Phillies game without trauma and drama. Last night’s impersonations attempted a bit of comedy, but I didn’t feel too much like laughing at the end of it.