Philadelphia will get you. Just when you’re not looking, out of nowhere, like it’s very own Rocky Balboa, it’ll hit you with a jab, and you’ll be wounded.
The only nuisance for the Phillies in their otherwise trouble-free run to perfection and a world title was a man, in Manny Ramirez, amongst boys. He was brilliant.
So how would Philadelphia retaliate? Oh, you thought winning the big one was the end of this battle? Think again.
Just about 67 miles northwest of Broad and Pattison (address of the world champions) is a town called Reading, Pennsylvania. Reading is the home of the Reading Phillies, the AA affiliate of the big-league squad. Reading also just happens to be the hometown of Los Angeles Dodgers’ starting pitcher Chad Billingsley.
Billingsley is a 24 year-old ace-in-the-making. As the number-two starter on their staff, he had a 3.14 ERA this year, and although he folded in the National League Championship Series, his 16 wins will need to anchor this pitching staff (having recently lost Derek Lowe) again in 2009. Or, will it?
On Thursday, parts of Pennsylvania got a wintery mix of snow and freezing rain, all too familiar to residents of that area. Vanessa Ciccarella from Upper Dublin said, “Yeeaa it wuz comin down real hard, and hittin’ the roof and stuff, but like it wasn’t wutter, it was like frowzen.”
The next morning, Chad Billingsley, while home in Reading during his winter hiatus, lost his footing while walking on his frozen driveway, and suffered a spiral fracture of the fibula in his left leg. Oops.
Gotcha…just when you weren’t looking.
Doctors put a plate in Billingsley’s leg and said he should be, “…able to throw by spring training.” Able to throw? If I’m Joe Torre, and I’ve been through the pitching nightmares that he went through in New York, I’m not buying it. I’m not confident with a recovering Billingsley, a Hiroki Kuroda who went 9-10, and a decent pick-up.
I’m buying something big.
C.C. Sabathia is big. He is far and away the best pitcher in this year's free agent class.
I know Sabathia will probably go to New York. I know the Yankees just offered him enough money to make Henry Paulson blink. I know Sabathia is ready to win, and the Yankees win (or, they would, and they did when they had good pitching). I know Hal Steinbrenner (the owner of the Yankees) wants to make his mark on this new team, in this new ballpark. I know a rounder man of Sabathia’s size and stature looks much better in vertical patterns, and thus, is well suited for the Yankee pinstripes.
But, the Dodgers have money to spend.
The Dodgers are sick of Scott Boras. They’ve taken their money off the table with Manny, and their number-two pitcher just broke his leg.
They might not be able to match the Yankees $137 million, but they have a core of young, talented players, who just got a whole lot of playoff experience. They could make a few moves, make an offer, and let Sabathia’s desire to return to his native sunny California (after what must have been a miserably cold stretch in Cleveland and Milwaukee) do the rest.
In that case, Manny’s out.
And just when Manny wasn’t looking, Philadelphia’s icy mix took out the Dodger’s number-two pitcher. And that might make Manny a certain number-two priority to finding a new ace.
Hey, Manny, see you in Anaheim.
Los Angeles has plenty to talk about.
Ned Colletti, The Dodgers’ GM, and Scott Boras, Satan’s personal assistant and Manny Ramirez’s agent, are locked up in an old fashioned game of “Remember when you screwed us on the J.D Drew deal?” And it’s just oozing with testosterone.
This morning, on ESPN Radio, Colletti said, “I haven’t talked to Scott this morning…but I’m sure I’ll hear from him on Christmas day.”
This afternoon The Dodgers pulled their offer off the table. Don’t look for this one to end anytime soon.
But, Manny or not, The Dodgers are looking to spend money, and that’s exciting.
The Lakers are good. Great, even. Some say 70-wins-great. That is yet to be seen.
What is plain to see however is that the addition of Andrew Bynum is taking the defensive pressure off of Pau Gasol (averaging 15.5 ppg). And, the combination of Odom, Radmonovich, Farmar, Walton and Vujacic (the Lakers’ bench) could probably win half of their games as a starting 5.
The Angels are making big moves.
UCLA basketball, despite an early season scare from Miami (OH) is ranked 4th in the coaches poll, and is loaded with talent.
The northwest winter swell is rolling into Malibu, and Southern California’s coastal waters are packed with the world’s best surfers.
Gossip Girl is hot.
Warren Sapp doing the Tango is way hotter.
So, why on earth? Why, is it? WHY, I ask you? Why must Los Angeles spend every waking minute pining over every last minute detail of USC Trojans Football?!?!
As I sat there watching this team get out-thought, out-coached, out-manned, out-hustled, and flat out out-played by Stanford for three quarters of their game today, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “This is a mediocre USC team.”
This isn’t a mediocre team. This is a mediocre USC team.
The defense is the best in the country. No question. Before the game today, they were giving up an average of 6 points per game. They had only given up 7 touchdowns. The next best team in that category had given up 13 – almost twice as many.
But this is a team searching for an offensive identity.
This is a team ranked 21st and 24th respectively in rushing offense and passing offense. They’re ranked 15th amongst scoring offenses in the country.
This is a team that is without the Lendale White/Reggie Bush backfield combo of 2004. When the 2004 team defined itself as a running machine, the White/Bush tandem ran for 2011 yards. The best the 2008 squad can muster is a combined 943 yards from C.J. Gable and Stafon Johnson.
This team is without a go-to receiver like Dwayne Jarret, Steve Smith or Mike Williams. When this was an offense with an aeronautics nametag in 2003, Williams caught for over 1300 yards. Another Williams, Damian, leads the 2008 team with 518 receiving yards.
This is a team that lost to Oregon State, had trouble with Arizona, crawled past Cal, and barely outlasted Stanford (the 22 point margin is an aberration).
This isn’t some great story about an underdog, or a phoenix rising from the ashes. This is a story about the perennial favorite; the 6-time national champion; and the schoolyard bully. But this year the bully didn’t get picked to play and so he has to sit on the side and watch.
For USC to make it to the BCS National Championship, at least 4 of the following 5 teams must fall.
1. Alabama…must lose to Auburn next week, or to Florida in the SEC Championship. And, even if they lose a close game to Florida, there is no guarantee that they’ll fall below USC at the 6 spot.
2. Texas Tech…must lose to Oklahoma next week, or to Mizzou in the Big 12 Championship. Despite their enormously exciting offense, and the best college football player in the country, in Michael Crabtree, Texas Tech seems to be the most likely of these teams to fall.
3. Texas…must lose to Arkansas or to Texas A&M. Texas will not play in the BIG 12 Championship because of their head-to-head loss to Texas Tech, and this could be their saving grace. Colt McCoy is still the Heisman leader, and every coach with a ranking sheet knows that.
4. Oklahoma…must lose to Texas Tech next week, or Oklahoma State the week after, or to Mizzou in the Big 12 Championship. If Bob Stoops can coach them to three wins through that stretch, this team will play in the BCS National Championship game.
5. Florida…must stop being the best team in the country. Florida tackles The Citadel, and a Florida State team (that just lost to Boston College), before going at it with #1 ranked Alabama in the SEC Championship. If they win those three games (and they will), The Gators would even leap frog a one-loss Texas team and play for the National Championship.
So, if you’re a USC football fan, you can do one of two things.
Your first option is to sit here and pray that everyone else chokes. You can hinge your every breath on the demise of everything that has been good in college football this year. You can hold on for dear life and hope that this mediocre Trojan team can falsely recreate the excellence of 2003, 2004 and four other terrific seasons.
Or, you can stop being ridiculous, enjoy what the SEC and BIG 12 have to offer, and buy a ticket or two if the NFL ever gives you another shot at a professional football team.
There are things to comment on.
For me, there are many things to comment on.
And then there are those events, those plays, those comments, those actions, those moments, that one moment, that leaves us speechless. It isn't a loss of words. Its a fear that this moment is bigger than who we are, more powerful than anything we're capable of, too perfect to be tarnished by our words. And so we say nothing.
What transpired in the hours between 8:37pm EST on Monday, October 27, 2008, and whatever time you finally got to sleep in the wee (morning) hours of Thursday, October 30th left me speechless.
I will not mar this moment with my words.
The Phillies are World Series Champions, and I am celebrating.
-----------------------
The Cheese will be back soon with ...
1. The BCS debacle part 47
2. Questions for Joe Dumars and this brilliant trade he just made
3. 1,049,392 reasons the NFL has got it going right, in every way.
Sunday night my lady friend and I paid twelve dollars each to see ‘W,’ Oliver Stone’s latest stab at mediocrity. For two hours, the film careened through obvious scenes, and worn-out Presidential blunders that you couldn’t have missed were you living under a rock, or better yet – for my loyal Taliban readers – in a rock, for the last eight years. The only redemption came in the form of Josh Brolin’s masterful performance (as ‘W’ himself) that carries Stone’s work in much the same way that Manny Ramirez did Joe Torre’s, after July.
But, despite the predictable jokes, the seeming lack of purpose, and Thandie Newton’s whiny caricature of Condoleezza Rice, there was a surprising sound that filled the theater: laughter.
In this time of fear and uncertainty in America, you can feel people starving for entertainment, longing for an escape, holding on for a hero, till the end of the night. Art has become secondary to simple amusement. Demand for tales of fortitude, unlikely heroes, and utter hopefulness has skyrocketed. Three of the top five films of 2008 were superhero movies; stories that turned hope on the heels of desperation and despair. According to Nielsen, six of the top ten most watched television shows of the past year were new episodes of either American Idol (a show in which nobodies become stars) or Dancing With The Stars (a show in which ‘has-beens’ resurrect their careers).
If we, as Americans need an escape, then all we really need is our Great American Pastime.
Baseball has consoled this great nation in many troubled times.
On January 14, 1942, just a month after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, the commissioner of Major League Baseball, wrote a letter to President Roosevelt, asking for advice. He asked FDR if baseball should continue being played with our country wrapped up in a world war. Roosevelt responded with what is now known as ‘The Green Light Letter,’ insisting that baseball should continue being played, and that it would only serve as a morale booster for American citizens and those fighting abroad.
In 1987, the entire world was shaken by the devastating stock market crash of Black Monday. The United States attacked an Iranian oil platform in the Persian Gulf as world markets collapsed. The Dow Jones Industrial Average dropped 23% in the days following October 19th. But, on October 20th the Minnesota Twins and the St. Louis Cardinals played Game 3 of the World Series, thus resuming their heated battle. That World Series went seven exciting games (only 6 of the last 22 World Series’ have gone seven games), and the Twins won game seven in an unlikely come-from-behind fashion sparked by Kirby Pucket’s game-tying double.
In 2001, the New York Yankees helped their beloved city rise from the ashes. Though the Yanks couldn’t win it all, with the help of the Arizona Diamondbacks, they treated baseball fans and New Yorkers across the country to a seven-game gem of a series, just a month after the tragedy of September 11th.
This year, while Fox will apologize profusely for failing to bring you the over-hyped Red Sox – Dodgers match-up that it primed so incessantly, Major League Baseball will not.
Major League Baseball wants you to know that it is alive and well.
Major League Baseball wants you to forget about your mortgage, Iraq, healthcare, and elections. It wants to console you, and it will.
Major League Baseball wants to give you a story of hope. From a town where our nation was founded, it wants to show you how the most losing franchise in sports history (The Phillies) can quench the thirst of a city yearning for a championship.
Major League Baseball wants to give you a story of rebirth. From a town where baseball has only existed for ten years, it wants to show you how a team that finished dead last in its division (The Rays), in eight of its first nine seasons, can nullify the New York Yankees, eliminate the Boston Red Sox, and turn its first winning season into a world championship.
But more importantly, Major League Baseball wants to introduce you to some people. It wants you to forget about Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire and BALCO. It wants you to forget about steroids altogether. It wants you to empty your memories and stop concerning yourself with the tarnished past of sluggers bound for Cooperstown. It wants you to meet the future of baseball.
This week, in Tampa Bay and Philadelphia, baseball’s youth will shine on a national stage. Next week, those youths will be household names.
As far as the Phillies go, you’re probably familiar with some of their young talent. You probably know Ryan Howard and Jimmy Rollins, the 2006 and 2007 National League MVPs, both 29 years of age. You probably even know Chase Utley (29), the Phillies 2008 catalyst and starting second basemen.
But what about Jason Werth (29), who took over the starting job in right field, hit 24 home runs, and had 67 RBI in just 137 starts? What about Shane Victorino (27), ‘The Flyin’ Hawaiian,’ who leads the starting line-up with a .293 batting average, and 36 stolen bases? What about Cole Hamels (24) who won 14 regular season starts, and has a 3-0 record this post season with a 1.23 ERA?
Do you know those guys?
Well, even if you do, you probably don’t know these Rays…
How about B.J. Upton? At age 24, he already has 7 homeruns this postseason. How about Evan Longoria? (No, not Eva) The Rays first round pick in 2006, Longoria lead the team in SLG and OPS, and will most likely receive the National League Rookie of the Year Award. How about David Price? This left-handed pitcher was drafted #1 overall last year by the Rays, and didn’t make his debut until September 14, 2008. He could be the deciding factor against a powerful line-up of Philadelphia lefties.
The Ray’s starting line-up has an average age of 27.4, and before this season, only 8 players on their 40-man roster had playoff experience.
Major League Baseball has a lot of introducing to do.
But, if you can’t sleep because a loved one is in Iraq, you can’t eat because you’re sick and can’t pay for healthcare, or you’re anxious because you can’t pay your mortgage, tune into Fox this week. There are a bunch of young men ready and willing to take your mind off of things for a little while. There are a bunch of young men eager to write you a new story of hope - a story of rebirth.
When the Rays eliminated the Red Sox on Sunday, FOX traded the 7th ranked television audience for the 14th ranked television audience. So, if anyone loses this week, it’s FOX. But then again, if you wear the Red colors of the FOX team, you are probably preparing for an even bigger loss on November 4th.
Here’s to baseball.
Frankly, all week I was sick and tired of hearing the following...
"Anything less than a Dodgers-Red Sox World Series would be an utter let down for baseball." -Abe Knownothing
So, now that the Dodgers are out of it, I'm wondering, "Hey Fox, now that you can't have it YOUR way, is it o.k. if the TWO BEST TEAMS play in the World Series? Gee, THANKS!"
But before you Philly fans go praying that the hottest team in baseball (The Phillies) gets to play the team that played the best all year (The Rays), beware of Florida...as in, the State.
5 REASONS PHILADELPHIA DREAMS DIE IN FLORIDA:
1. The FLORIDA Marlins have kept the Phillies out of the playoffs, by beating them in late season series, at least twice in the last 6 years. That includes 2003 when the Marlins won the World Series.
2. In January of 2003 The TAMPA BAY Bucs won the last football game at Veterans Stadium. They beat the Eagles 27-10 in The NFC Championship Game, before advancing to win the Super Bowl.
3. In 2004, The TAMPA BAY Lightening beat the Flyers in the 7th game of The Eastern Conference Finals, before beating the Calgary Flames and winning the Cup of Lord Stanley for the first time in franchise history.
4. In 2005, The Eagles lost Super Bowl XXXIX, in JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA to the New England Patriots, 24-21.
5. The disastrous performance by FLORIDA MARLIN'S second baseman Dan Uggla, in the 2008 MLB All Star Game is the primary reason that no matter who the Phillies play, they will NOT have home-field advantage.
Ummm...Go Red Sox.
Two weeks ago I started looking at the schedule. Being the Phillies’ fan that I am, currently living in Los Angeles, I started to do the math. If the Dodgers could get past the Cubs, and the Phillies could eliminate the bruised and fading Milwaukee Brewers, the Phillies would hold home field advantage and therefore play Games 3-5 of the NLCS right here in LA.
It all fell into place. My buddy Larry and I cleared our long list of Hollywood engagements, booked out with our agents and managers, got dog sitters, cancelled our yoga classes, moved our weekly colonics to Tuesday, and called our publicists who got us tickets to sit right alongside Babs, Penny and Gary Marshall, Lamar Odom and Paaaaat SAJAK! (Ok, so I lied about the dog sitters)
As I opened my eyes on Monday morning, I realized two things. One, after a demoralizing Game 3 loss – during which Jamie Moyer did, in fact look like the 100-year-old softball pitcher he was locally coined to be – I realized that I hadn’t slept much at all. Two, and more importantly, the persistent October heat that had me dripping in sweat just three days earlier was gone. The everlasting Southern California summer had disappeared in the dark of the night, and the morning sun brought with it a cool breeze that swept me home to the crisp autumn air of so many Octobers past.
I had a healthy breakfast with a couple of old friends, put on my Schmidt jersey (1980’s light blue – visitors), opened a beer, and took my seat on the couch by noon. No, I’m not an alcoholic; I just needed to soothe my nerves. I had two hours to kill before heading out. Better yet, the waiting game had two hours during which to kill me.
I talked to my roommate a bit. Nervous. I wrote some emails. Nervous. I called my Dad. Nervous. I called my Grandmother. Nervous and hysterical. I called some buddies from home. Nervous, angry, scared, nervous.
You see, whether you like it or not, playoff memories don’t leave your brain. They brand themselves into untouchable corners of your memory. And for Philadelphia fans, they are the most sensitive and delicate mental reminders of how long and hard the fall can be. My mother was 3 months into her pregnancy with me when Tug McGraw struck out Willie Wilson to clinch the Phillies last, and only, World Series title.
Larry had the parking hook-up. We drove through Silver Lake and cut across Echo Park, eventually finding our way to the Scott Avenue preferred parking area (AKA Street parking one-half mile down the hill from Chavez Ravine). Parking here would one, ensure I burned off at least one-tenth of the calories I ate and drank in beer and Dodger Dogs (which, btw pale in comparison to Phillie Franks), two, assure us an easy escape route, and three, guarantee at least four attempts by Dodgers’ fans to run us off the road as we walked – clad in Phillies garb – gingerly into enemy territory.
Having watched for 25 years how opposing fans can be treated in a hostile playoff environment, I will admit I thought twice about wearing both hat and jersey into the heart of the beast. But it only took me about ten minutes to realize that the idiots in Mets attire, Giants hats, and Cowboys gear, had me looking like Tony Blair sitting next to Osama Bin Laden, Sadam Hussein and Satan. Ultimately, Dodgers fans are all bark.
I felt the tension in my body vanish the second I took my seat. I don’t know if it was emotional exhaustion setting in, the sight of my home team finishing batting practice on the most beautiful natural turf in the National League, the rising moon – a night from full – over the right field fence, the calm demeanor of my friend Larry, or the 20,000 empty seats at game time, but something just felt right. It was as if the baseball gods had come to me, asked for my permission to take me on a ride, promised I would enjoy the experience regardless of the outcome, put the bar down over my shoulders and wished me good luck. There was no turning back now.
I kept thinking about 1993. I remembered Game 4 of that World Series so vividly; so many lead changes; so many key moments; so many big plays; so many chances to jump up and down, tug on my dad’s mustard color J. Crew Barn Jacket and scream at the top of my lungs. It was the highest scoring game in any World Series, ever. There were more lead changes than any game in playoff history. And yet I walked out of the Vet with tears streaming down my face because the Phillies had lost 15-14. My dad looked at me, smiled and asked, “Are you crying? What are you crying about? You just saw the most exciting baseball game in World Series history. How could you be crying?”
Monday, I finally understood what he meant.
I couldn’t ask for a win. I could only ask for a night I would never forget. And that’s exactly what I got.
I’ll never forget JIMMY ROLLINS leading off the game with a base hit; the look on DEREK LOWE’s face after giving up three straight hits; the two-run first inning that allowed JOE BLANTON to get settled on the mound; ANDRE ETHIER’s diving catch to stop the bleeding; the ‘boos’ as MANNY got his free passes to first base, and the eruption when he tied the game with one sweet swing of his scalding bat; not one, not two, but THREE defensive double-plays that kept the Phillies in the game; the wild pitch that let in RYAN HOWARD and tied it once again; the CASEY BLAKE homerun that had me wishing I was alone on my couch, where I could kick something; the Ryan Howard fielding error that had me wishing I could kick RYAN HOWARD; the CHASE UTLEY unassisted double play; the dominance of HONG CHIH-KUO in the top of the 7th; the long, long, long, and questionable (even at the time) walk that JOE TORRE took to the mound in the 8th to pull KUO, after keeping him in to bunt – with two runners on – a half inning before.
I’ll remember all of those things, but you will too. Here’s what Joe Buck couldn’t give you…
From our seats on the third-base line, any ball hit left of center field was easily judged from our angle. Although Blake’s sixth-inning homerun to left-center only cleared the fence by five feet, it was obvious from our perpendicular perspective that it was gone as soon as it left the bat.
With Ryan Howard standing on second base, one out and a 5-3 Dodger lead on the board, I turned to Larry and said, “If they can just get Howard home, they can cut this lead in half.” With that, Cory Wade threw a hanging curveball on the inside half of the plate and Shane Victorino turned on it.
It sounded good. From the crack of the bat, you could tell he hit it hard. As it sailed over the infield, it never got more than fifty feet off the ground. As Andre Ethier sprinted for it in right, I started to talk to it.
“Get over his head,” I urged it.
Larry chimed in, “Fall in, fall in!”
For a second, it looked as if the ball might have enough juice to hit the wall in the air, give the speedy Victorino a double, and plate Howard from second.
As the twelve-year-old inside of me reached for my dad’s sturdy arm, my hopeful, though weathered adult hand instead came up with the light threads of Larry’s grey hoodie. I glanced to Howard at second base, and by the time I looked back to right field the ball was gone. It hadn’t been caught. It hadn’t fallen in. It hadn’t ricocheted off the wall. It was in the Phillies bullpen, over the right-field fence, and the game was tied, 5-5.
We were speechless.
In an instant, a brand new memory had been seared into a new corner of my brain. The homerun brought groans, and ‘boos,’ along with an eruption from the Phillies’ dugout. But it was nothing compared to what was about to happen.
After Pedro Feliz was retired for the second out of the eighth inning, Carlos Ruiz singled to keep the rally alive. Charlie Manuel pinch-hit Matt Stairs for reliever Ryan Madson. Joe Torre countered, by bringing in the flame throwing Jonathan Broxton.
After picking up Stairs off of waivers in August – meaning no one else wanted him – all we really know is that he sure can hit a fastball.
It was prediction time. Stairs waited out a 3-1 count, and I turned to Larry. “Broxton can’t put the go-ahead run in scoring position here, so look for Stairs to get a fastball for a strike.”
Larry nodded hopefully, yet skeptically.
Broxton threw Stairs a 96 MPH fastball right down the center of the plate, and there was no doubt about this one.
Stairs’ homerun was such a bomb that Larry and I were standing, jumping, screaming, and punching each other out of excitement long before the ball left the infield atmosphere. It was such a bomb that Andre Ethier didn’t move from his place in right field. It was such a bomb that Cole Hamels almost jumped the dugout fence onto the playing field. It was such a bomb that I forgot all about 1993. It was such a bomb that Iran has reportedly begun a cloning experiment of Stairs’ DNA.
You’ve heard it said a million times; “And this crowd is silent…”
But, you’ve never heard this.
As pods of Phillies’ fans leapt from their seats amongst a sea of fifty-five thousand in Dodger Blue, I heard a brand new sound. It was the sound of my own screams, traveling across the field, bouncing off the concrete walls, and traveling back for me to hear with my own ears. It was the sound of silence. It was the sound of victory, in a foreign land.
Game 4 provided something for everyone; small ball and big ball; leads and deficits; pitching and hitting; base running and defense; strategy in every inning. It provided the Phillies and their fans a huge, Game 4 win. But if I never remember who won Monday’s game, I’ll always remember the sound of silence created by that homerun.
The hazing wasn’t quite as bad on the walk back to the car.
When I got there, I called my dad.
I saw it, and I don’t mind the crush.
She’s right. Defense and pitching win championships.
I think she’s a keeper.
On Wednesday, the L.A. Times ran an article by sports columnist T.J. Simers (pictured left for head-hunting purposes) entitled, “Phillies fans: 10,000 reasons to be bitter.” He led off referring to Philadelphia as, “Angryville…a dingy city…crumbling, and in ruin.” He called Philly fans, “Wild Pit Bulls,” and, “Obstinate pugs.” He proclaimed a Game 1 Dodgers victory a forgone conclusion for the mere fact that Derek Lowe would be primed and ready, eager to up his value in the free agent market. He called Jamie Moyer a 100-year-old softball pitcher, and Joe Blanton, “just another guy.” He finished his masterpiece insisting that as long as the Dodgers can return to Philly needing to win just one of Games 6 and 7, they will win the series, because, well, uh, Joe Torre said so.
With two Phils’ victories in the books, and the series moving to L.A., a rebuttal is due…
OBLIVION, CA – You spend enough time in this city, and you start to ask yourself if anyone here cares about anything or anyone but themselves.
Sure, L.A. has the beach and the hills, the stars and their houses, the parties and the babes, the best basketball player in the world, and the, “IN-N-OUT Double-Double.” But, what is L.A.?
Los Angeles is a town without character. It is a Mecca for the transient, aspiring youth of America; a science lab for Mother Nature to test her devastating sorcery; a Petri dish for smog and pollution. It is a town full of wannabes lured by the smoke and mirrors of entertainment. It is a crowd that shows up in the top of the third inning, unable to name more than a starter or two from the opposing team. Everyone here could give you a Kim Kardashian bio (Seriously, why is she famous?). But no one here could tell you which Phillies’ starter is batting over .300 (Greg Dobbs, btw).
The few L.A. natives who actually care about the Dodgers’ organization – mostly hard-working Hispanics from every corner of L.A., who ultimately make this town run – are longing for the “Crumbling Ruins,” of a town full of character. They envy our collective pain and heartache, our tears and depression, and the agony of our past defeats. But they won’t find agony in L.A., since, for there to be agony, L.A. would actually have to care. This is a town that let not one, but two, football franchises go. Better yet, this is a town that let O.J. go.
Call Philadelphians, “Wild Pitt Bulls.” Inevitably, if you let that many Eagles fans have that much beer, with that much fresh snow, at a Cowboys game, snowballs will fly (especially with a target like Jimmy Johnson’s grey perm). But, “Obstinate pugs?” Obstinate implies stubbornness. Stubborn fans can’t ‘Boo,’ their MVP leadoff hitter one week, and forgive his uncanny remarks on account of his hard-nosed, gutsy play the next week. Philadelphia is a town where questioning and rethinking, rewriting and amending were founded. Remember 1776? The simple truth is…..without Philadelphia, there wouldn’t be a Los Angeles anyway.
If the contest were over sports knowledge, fan participation, regional character, loyalty, and general support, the Dodgers would lose by the ten-run-rule, in a four game sweep.
Between the lines, there is a different story.
The Dodgers are hot. Without question, The Dodgers beat the best team in the National League with ease in the first round of the playoffs, and playoff baseball is all about getting hot at the right time (see The 2007 Colorado Rockies). However, calling it a victory for the Dodgers might not be as accurate as calling it a loss for the Cubs. Whenever your opponent has more errors than hits, you really shouldn’t be cocky over your own performance.
If the Dodgers are hot, Manny Ramirez is blistering. The Dread Head is 3-for-8 with 4 RBI in Games 1 and 2 and he takes pressure off of the young hitters around him.
Matt Kemp, Andre Ethier, and James Loney (each under the age of 26) have shined with Manny in the line-up. After batting .195, .281, and .292 in June, July and August respectively, Ethier batted .462 with Manny as a permanent fixture ahead of him, in September. Loney’s avg. jumped from .270 in July to .330 in August. Kemp seems to be the only youngster feeling the late season pressure.
But what happens if Manny goes cold? If the Phillies can pitch to Manny, (he batted just .240 against the Phillies in 8 regular season games) they’ll put loads of pressure on an otherwise inexperienced line-up.
Hot pitching beats hot hitting.
On Thursday night, Cole Hamels proved, once again, that he is the best pitcher in this series, and possibly the best starting pitcher in the National League. Don’t let his underwhelming total of 14 wins fool you. Hamels gave up 3 runs or less in 10 starts this season when he didn’t record a win.
On the other hand, in Game 1, Derek Lowe didn’t do much to elevate his value in the free agent market. He dropped to a 1-2 record in five League Championship Series starts. In 37 career LCS innings, he has given up 33 hits. In his defense, his defeat was aided an abetted by Rafael Furcal’s blunder at shortstop.
And the Dodgers will blunder.
In three ‘mistake categories,’ (base running, fielding, and hitting with runners on base) the Phillies are simply better. In the regular season, the Phillies stole 136 bases, getting thrown out only 15% of the time, 10% less than the Dodgers. The Phillies ranked 9th out of 30 teams in all of baseball in fielding errors, making 10% fewer errors than the Dodgers. In all of baseball, only the Chicago White Sox (157) grounded into more double plays than the Los Angeles Dodgers (154). The Phillies ranked 5th in that category, hitting into only 108 inning killers.
The Dodgers must win Game 3. And if they have a shot with any of their starting pitchers, it may be in Hiroki Kuroda. Kuroda is holding opposing hitters to a .241 batting average at Chavez Ravine, and only allowed one earned run in his last start against Philadelphia.
But, after winning both games in Angryville, the Phillies and their 100-year-old softball pitcher Jamie Moyer have these young Dodgers hitters right where they want them. Moyer struggled in his last start in Milwaukee, but hasn’t given up back-to-back losses to National League teams yet this year. The Dodgers will be anxious to turn this thing around quickly come Sunday, but Moyer’s change of speeds has been devastating to young, anxious hitters. Just ask the Florida Marlins, (who have only two starters over the age of 30,) who have lost 8 of their last 11 when Moyer faces them.
If the Dodgers had any advantage coming in, it was in the category of “post-season experience” possessed by Ramirez, Jeff Kent and Nomar Garciaparra. Manny is doing everything he can. But Kent and Garciaparra are a combined 1-for-6 off the bench, including a less than elegant fan session by Nomar to end game two. Although it is polite, perhaps, to say that Garciaparra is “experienced,” Phillies’ closer Brad Lidge made Nomar look, well… old.
Speaking of Lidge…
The Phillies’ bullpen is in overdrive right now. Lidge is an incredible 42 of 42 in saves, Ryan Madsen’s change-up gets near the plate and then falls off of the table, and J.C. Romero has only given up 10 hits to left-handed hitters all season.
The Dodgers have come too far to pack it in now, but the road is uphill from here.
On Wednesday night, as a precursor to the League Championship Series, ESPN aired a ‘Top Ten Playoff Moments,’ montage. Number 3 on the countdown was Kirk Gibson’s walk-off home run in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, against Dennis Eckersley; a film clip notoriously familiar to sports fans, played and replayed now for twenty years. But while most viewers probably focus on Gibson’s memorable ‘air-lawn-mower-start-trot-around-the-bases,’ a different element of the clip seems more interesting, and more telling about the L.A. fans. As Gibson’s drive soars over the right field fence, the Dodger stadium parking lots com into view, complete with taillights of cars lined up to exit. There were ‘fans’ leaving in the ninth inning, in Game 1 of the World Series, before a momentous, history making home run. Each time I’ve seen that clip in the past couple of days, I can’t help but wonder how many ‘Dodger Fans,’ will be left in the stadium when Brad Lidge throws the last pitch of the series here this week.
Sorry you didn’t like Angryville. We won’t make you go back.
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In the original version of this story, there was a remark which was misconstrued by some as an over-generalized slander towards Mexicans in East Los Angeles. My original comment was only an attempt to praise those L.A. natives who consistently show support for the Dodgers' organization. I apologize to anyone who may have been offended by my comments. - The Cheese
Yes, I’m a sports junkie. Yes, I was born and raised in Philadelphia. Yes, I was at The Vet for the 15-14 World Series game (Phillies loss, thanks in large part to Paul Molitor’s t-ball-like stats), and the 2002 NFC Championship (Eagles loss, thanks in large part to Joe Jeruvicius’s open field wind-sprints). I cried when Michael Jack hit 500 at Three Rivers in ‘87, and when Joe Carter hit 1 at the Skydome in ’93. I can’t help but feel at home when Harry The K’s voice over enhances a Campbell’s Soup spot, or when Jaws breaks down a ‘Cover 2 Zone,’ on Monday Night Countdown.
But, while I’ll always stand by my home teams, I’ll always be honest…
The Cheese Whizard promises to agree with the simple fact that Andy Reid is a big game choke artist; that 10,000 losses is a disgrace; that trading Bowa and Ryne Sandberg to the Cubs for Ivan DeJesus was a minor catastrophe in a long-line of misjudged talent; that Lindros was a concussed idiot, and Brind’Amour was a hero; that Iverson should have learned to ‘practice;’ that Westbrook will never be enough; and that Dalessandro’s makes a better steak than Jim’s, Pat’s or Geno’s; that so many things that so many people say are just flat out wrong...
But if you want to, “Keep it Real,” then let’s go ahead and, “Keep it Real…”