Stephen King - Faithful

It needs to be pointed out that, due to Boston’s ferocious late-inning assault, not even those 6 runs were enough to assure the Yankees of the win. Due to the baseball scoring system—and we could argue about whether or not it’s fair to Father Curt in this case; there are points to be made either way—Schilling takes the loss, but the runs which really sank us were the two driven in by Bernie Williams, against Mike Timlin, with two out in the bottom of the eighth.

The good news: by the bottom of the fourth inning, all but the most abysmally drunk Yankee fans—the twenty-year-old naked-to-the-waist males with large blue-black entwined NYs painted on their chests, in other words—had given up on the mocking “Who’s your Daddy?” chant. The bad news: Pedro was behind 1–0 from the first inning (Derek Jeter, the first batter he faced, scored), left trailing 3–0, and eventually took the loss, 3–1.

The fact that we had to open there at all is something I blame on the LEBs—Loathsome El Birdos.

In the only one I can remember, I was trying to work some kind of trade with George Steinbrenner, who was laughing at me and telling me—this is probably the only interesting part, and surely the most significant—that I needed a haircut.

Clark, a Red Sox castoff who specialized in strikeouts and earnest postgame interviews while with Boston—which sounds snottier than Clark, one of the game’s truly nice guys, probably deserves—played first for John Olerud last night. Olerud was struck by a bat during the Saturday Night Massacre and showed up at the park Sunday on crutches.

On second because Roberts flat out stole it off Rivera and Posada, both of whom knew he was going but could do nothing to stop him from getting into scoring position. Without this steal, our season’s over, and Roberts made it look easy. Theo’s very last trade before the deadline—Roberts straight-up for PawSock outfielder Henri Stanley—may have been his best of the year. SO

Thanks a pantload, Baltimore.

Not to mention one cannibalette. That would be Jackie MacMullan of the Boston Globe , who spanked Manny Ramirez for keeping the bat on his shoulder too much after Boston’s twelve-inning 6–4 victory in Game 4. In that game all Manny did was reach base five times in six at-bats, including the walk which preceded Big Papi’s walk-off.

I have an acquaintance from Brooklyn who says that he and his friends call Rodriguez “Show Pony,” because of the seemingly ostentatious way he runs.

And for all of you Hanshin Tigers fans out there, a measure of revenge: Johnny’s granny, like Jefe’s two-run shot, goes over a sign on the wall touting the Yomiuri Corporation. Ganbatte!

And monster props to Terry Francona for engineering this matchup. It’s like Bill Belichick drawing up a play that isolates our hot receiver on their weakest corner. It’s a flat-out mismatch, and at an absolutely crucial time. After Game 3, Francona’s consistently outmanaged Joe Torre, whether it’s using the pen, changing the lineup around, or bringing in pinch runners and defensive replacements. Every move seems to have worked out for Tito, while Joe, with a deeper bench and pen, keeps fucking up. George, are you watching? Are you taking notes?

No word yet on whether or not Menino is considering a ban on pepper-spray-filled plastic balls, which seem to incite Boston police.

All right, I’m no ingrate: he saved our bacon in extras in Game 5, holding the Yanks scoreless for three nervous, passed-ball-filled innings and picking up the win.

In my high school, the phrase “lovers, muggers and thieves” was routinely construed to be either “lovers, junkies and thieves” or “lovers, fuckers and thieves.”

To prolong or deepen this drama, the pitch-speed display above the wall in left-center was tantalizingly blank for this half-inning. Who knew what Schill had? Only Tek and the hitters. SO

Respectively: Tek with a triple to the triangle that’s out if the wind isn’t blowing straight in; Marky Mark with a similar bomb off the wall in dead center; and O-Cab, who was uncharacteristically ahead in the count all night, bonking one off the Monster. SO

It rained heavily in St. Louis right up until game time, and the warning track was a swimming pool. I hate it when teams are forced to play ball under these conditions, but it’s the same old sordid story: when Fox talks, Major League Baseball walks. If this is going to continue, the Players Association ought to consider insisting on pads and helmets (at least for the outfielders) after October 15th.

Followed, in the bottom of the inning, by Manny’s perfect one-hop peg on a short fly to nail Larry Walker at the plate and keep us up 1–0. This moment of redemption after Manny had made errors on consecutive and very ogly plays in Game 1. Cardinals third base coach Jose Oquendo, like so many other baseball people, mistook Manny’s spaciness for lack of ability. Anyone who’s watched Manny throw knows he’s amazingly accurate and that Walker had no chance. SO

Along with Tony La Russa’s 1989 A’s, the ’66 O’s and the ’63 Dodgers. All three, like the Sox, had a pair of aces—Dave Stewart and Bob Welch with the A’s, Jim Palmer and Dave McNally with the O’s, and Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale with the Dodgers.

And the summary is simple enough: once again last night we hit and pitched. The Cardinals did neither. Only one Cardinal starter—Jason Marquis—managed to stay in a Series game for six innings, and the heart of the St. Louis batting order (Pujols, Rolen, Edmonds) got only a single run batted in during the entire four-game contest. It came on a sac fly.

Not so! That one’s real, and solidly documented. SO

So many story lines wrapped last night: Manny, who went unclaimed on waivers, is the World Series MVP (and very possibly the regular-season MVP as well); Lowe totally vindicates himself, making him an incredibly attractive free agent; the same with Pedro; Terry Francona goes from The Coma to a legendary Red Sox manager; Orlando Cabrera, who stepped up big in the number two slot and fielded brilliantly in the postseason, makes us forget Nomar. The year is signed, sealed and delivered. All that’s left now is the Boston Duck Tours parade and the team deciding who gets a World Series share. As always, I hope Dauber’s not forgotten.