Yes, I know the Fourth of July was a week ago, but at the rate I'm going, you should feel lucky that I even got around to it at all. Like last summer, I'm working close to full-time at Starbucks, worrying about whether I will ever get a raise (my last paycheck actually showed some improvement in my generally dire financial straits) and how in the hell I will ever afford Oxford this fall. I can't believe I'll be starting my junior year soon, and that I will be overseas for a year, but these are topics for another post, on my other blog. Click on my name if you're that curious.
In any case, my sister and I again decided to go to the Rockies' July 4th fireworks game since we had so much fun last year. (Click here to have the full report from 2007's fiesta. I see that I was only three days late that year, not seven). We also decided to get the tickets where you can legitimately get on the field, since last year we heard from a helpful friend that sections 148-160 got to go down onto the actual field for the fireworks. Of course, we had tickets in section 146, so we had to pull off a little subterfuge to get it to work, and it did. Well, not so this year. We purchased a pair of heinously overpriced single tickets in the left-field bleachers, sections 151 and 153 respectively, but had little to no intention of actually adhering to these inconvenient arrangements. When we got to the stadium late on a very hot July afternoon, Rockies hats and sunglasses doing their best to keep it out, we just decided that we'd keep moving around in the undoubtedly overcrowded bleachers until we found a pair of seats together. The Rockies were playing the Marlins, instead of the Mets as they were last year, and the pitching matchup was Greg Reynolds vs. the felon, Scott Olsen. As mentioned, we made it to Reynolds' first win, but he does have a tendency to be... mercurial. (That tendency would show up indisputably in a few hours).
I was wearing my Rockies NL Champs shirt, which, for a shirt with such good memories, has managed to serve as a lightning rod of bad luck for the purple-and-black poltroons. (Or maybe that's their own incompetence, not my clothing choices). I had decided to wear it since I didn't want to wear my Hawpe shirt again and my Atkins shirt needed to be washed, and clearly I was going to have to express my allegiances somehow aside from just my Tulo and Francis-autographed hat. (Not my other Rockies hat, which is signed by Atkins, Cook, Hirsh, Carroll, and Iannetta, but another hat, which I took along to the Mets game on June 20. The Rockies lost, but as mentioned, Tulo and Francis signed my hat and it was Tulo's first game back, so everyone gave him a huge cheer and the 'Tulo!' chant when he came up. He hit two weak ground balls, a liner right at David Wright, and got robbed of extra bases by Endy Chavez, who has a knack for doing that. Cook sucked. Jeff Baker hit a two-run homer in the bottom of the first and it went downhill from there -- the final score was 7-2 Mets. That was the second game I got to this season). But the third was the fireworks game, the Fourth, and I knew that I was taking chances by wearing such a jinxed piece of apparel. I decided that if the Rockies lost, I wasn't wearing the Champs shirt again until the offseason, where it would probably cause Dan O'Dowd to trade Holliday for a package of Double-A pitching prospects.
Gillian and I knocked around the stadium, said hello to our sister who works at the Diamond Dry Goods store, briefly reconnoitered with a fellow Purple Row poster and discussed chucking pieces of gum at George Frazier (who was sitting right above us doing the pregame show) then went into Section 151 and laid claim to one of the seats to which we were entitled. We sat there, enjoying the sunshine, until the game started. To which, I have to say, we did not enjoy very much. At least to start with.
Greg Reynolds left a sinkerball over the middle of the plate on his very first pitch of the game, and Marlins leadoff hitter/shortstop Hanley Ramirez hit it approximately 400 feet for a quick 1-0 Fish lead. This, however, did not settle Reynolds down, and by the time the inning ended, the Rockies were already behind 5-0. Pre-emptively, I blamed the unlucky shirt. But what the hell, there were still eight innings to go and it was a nice night. Aside from Reynolds' inability to pitch.
Fortunately, Scott Olsen wasted no time in proving that he wanted a bite of the fail pie, as doubles by Spilborghs and Barmes made it 5-1. Unfortunately, that was all the Rockies got in the bottom of the first, and by the time the top of the second was over, Reynolds had already been pulled with the Marlins' lead stretched to 7-1. But the Rockies weren't done scoring by a long shot. They added two runs in the bottom of the second when Spilly and Barmes struck back with a pair of RBI singles, and once they scored in the bottom of the third on a Baker RBI groundout, the lead had been cut to 7-4 and a comeback was starting to look manageable. Weirdly enough, however, when it was 7-1, I just had a funny feeling that it was someone else's turn to fail, and that maybe, maybe, no matter how improbable it sounded, we might win this one. I figured it would take a miracle. I was right, as it turned out later.
The Marlins, it seemed, had other ideas. Aided by a giant helping of fail from Cedrick Bowers and Luis "Should Pay Carbon Points For Taking Up Space" Vizcaino, they piled on six runs in an agonizing top of the fourth to push the deficit all the way back to 13-4. Gillian and I groaned and wondered how we were ever going to sit through this in time to get to the fireworks at the end. In the meantime, we were still playing seat roulette, moving from place to place in the bleachers as those who originally had claim to the seats came back and booted us. At one point right about now, it is worth noting that the woman sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Do you go to school in New York?" Surprised, I said, "Yes." She said, "Do you remember sitting next to me in Shea Stadium?" Even more surprised, I said, "Oh my God, I do!"
In another of my baseball escapades which naturally failed to get blogged about, I went to four or five Mets games this April while I was finishing up my sophomore year. At one of them, which I think was April 16 against the Nationals, my friend Mary and I ended up sitting in the upper deck next to, I swear, the only other Rockies fan in the place. She said she was out from Denver for the weekend, and since she actually didn't know that much about baseball, I spent the entire game educating her on the finer points of the best sport in the world. It was one of those remarkable coincidences that make you think, "Wow, small world," when, three months and 1600 miles later, she happened to be sitting one row behind me in the left-field bleachers at Coors. At least until Gillian and I moved again.
The Rockies, defying all our gloomy predictions that they were now certain to pack it in and try to speed through the rest of the game as fast as possible to at least get to the fireworks, instead showcased a remarkable resilience that hasn't exactly been their hallmark this season. After they inched to within 13-5 in the bottom of the fourth thanks to a monster concourse shot from Spilly, they exploded for four runs of their own in the bottom of the fifth. Holliday led off with a laser line drive of a homer, Atkins singled, Jeff Baker doubled, and after Hawpe and Tulo both grounded out, it was left up to Iannetta to deliver. Boy, did he ever. He hit one of the most mammoth homers I've ever seen in my life, another concourse shot, a three-run bomb that would have left Coors completely if the Toyota sign hadn't been in the way. This made it 13-9, the Marlins doing a marvelous job of squandering what had looked like a pretty ironclad lead. Gillian and I joked that the Fish were leaving in Olsen since they couldn't imagine the Rockies would actually clamber all the way back from a nine-run hole -- "He's not gonna give up thirteen runs, leave 'im out there!" (Imagine this said in stereotypical Bronx gangster accent with a lot of giggling. Hey, we had to amuse ourselves somehow).
The Marlins were uncomfortable with this turn of events, especially after Spilly hit his second homer of the game in the bottom of the sixth to bring the Rockies just three runs shy. After Barmes hit another double, Atkins had a long at-bat, fouling off a lot of pitches before he unloaded on one into the left-field seats -- coincidentally, just a few rows shy of us after Gillian had asked him to hit it to us. It was now 13-12 (Olsen was by now out of the game, but his replacement, Tankersley, wasn't faring much better) and a comeback was looking very feasible. The Marlins, I imagine, scrambled around the dugout looking for the panic button.
In any case, they decided that the best thing to do about it was to score more runs of their own. Jason "Gas Can" Grilli went badly to hell in the top of the seventh, as an intentional walk predictably backfired when Cody Ross lashed a bases-loaded single to score two and push the Fish advantage back to three again. (For the record, Cody Ross was an absolute monster for the series: 12-20, 15 RBI. Uh, if the Marlins want Yorvit, we'll take that guy. Spilly can start the road games and Ross can start at Coors). But that wasn't the extent of the damage, as although the Rockies managed to get two outs, old foe Luis Gonzalez tormented them again with another two-run single. By the time the top of the seventh was finally over, the Marlins' lead was 17-12 and the Rockies were really going to need to get the comeback mojo going.
They did, astonishingly enough. Quintanilla led off the bottom of the seventh with a double, and Spilly was intentionally-unintentionally walked. (Tulo was pulled in a double switch, and, as we found out later, wasn't too happy about it. In fact, he slammed a bat, lacerated his hand, had to get stitches, and ended up on the DL again... idiot). After Barmes walked as well, the bases were loaded with no outs, Coors was really starting to get into it, and Holliday was at the plate. Gillian and I, along with everyone else, were making a LOT of noise. In fact, I was already starting to lose my voice in the seventh, but I didn't really care.
Holliday went to a full count. I told him to do something good, since Coors was waiting for a chance to really explode, and boy, did he ever. He hit a rocket to center field that had the place going ape, he knew it was gone and punched his fists in the air as soon as he hit it, and he was right. 17-16, and the improbability continued. Atkins hit a single, but three straight strikeouts by Baker, Iannetta, and Hawpe ensured that the deficit stayed at one run. Neither team scored in the eighth (the first time all game that the Rockies hadn't scored at least one run in an inning) and after a nine-pitch inning by Bucky to get to the bottom of the ninth, the Marlins had completely exhausted their pen and had no chance but to put in Kevin Gregg, who had blown it the previous night (Spilly hit a two-run walkoff single in the bottom of the eleventh). All of Coors was on its feet and you had the sense it wasn't so much as if it was going to happen, but rather, how it was going to happen. Everyone was yelling, really keeping the energy level and the pressure up, and when Barmes started off the ninth by shooting a single into LF, you kinda felt it was actually going to happen. It was a pretty amazing feeling.
Holliday hit a flare that dropped, and Atkins hit a rocket into center field to tie the game at 17. Everyone was really losing it, and it felt like I imagine some of the Rocktober games last year must have. (Grr at missing those, but this almost made it up). After Bake hit a ball that looked like it might be two, Ramirez dropped the throw at second and everyone was safe -- bases loaded, still no out, and Iannetta at the plate. He delivered on the second pitch, grounding a bleeder past a diving Ramirez and into left field to bring the winning run home, and Coors really DID go nuts. Gillian and I leapt up and down, screamed ourselves hoarse some more, and high-fived everyone in sight. 18-17 win, Broncos over Dolphins. Go figure.
And that, of course, was even before the fireworks, which at one point looked as if they were going to have to be the main attraction. As it did last year, it took a long-ass time to get down on the field -- the game had gone four hours, and it was 45 minutes after it ended by the time Gillian and I finally stepped out onto the warning track beneath the lights, took off our sandals, and walked along happily on the damp dirt. Then we filed into the same place as last year, left field, not too far away from Holliday's little tornado of sunflower-seed shells, and collected both a few of those and some blades of grass. We did little dances on the grass barefoot, just for the hell of it, then lay down, thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and just like last year, enjoyed it as the lights went out, we lay in the dark stadium, and fireworks exploded overhead. It was a pretty damn good show, if I say so myself.
This will likely be the last blog post until next Saturday, July 19th, which is something else I am very much looking forward to repeating -- Photo Day. (My biggest concern is that since Tulo, Todd, and Spilly are all hurt -- argh -- they won't be there. That would be ruinous. I'll just plan for that not to be the case). In any case, Holliday ended up being the starting right fielder for the NL in the All-Star Game since Soriano got hurt. But since Clint Hurdle is managing and there is little to no hope of ending AL domination, I wonder if I'll even watch the damn thing. The Rockies are in New York right now to close out their first half, and their record currently stands at a thoroughly underwhelming 39-54. But due to the NL West turning back into the NL Worst, and the Diamondbacks being a long, long way from the SuperTeam they were originally pegged as due to their scorching April, the Rox are still only seven games out. Still. When Glendon Rusch, Jorge de la Rosa, and Mark Redman are three-fifths of your rotation (dear god, I wish I was joking.... Cook and Jimenez are the other two, Francis is hurt, Morales got broken by our genius pitching coaches, Hirsh is struggling, and Reynolds got demoted) it's pretty hard to envision this team being taken seriously even in a joke of a division. I guess I'll have to be content with them winning 40 by the break, and since they're on the road, this will always be something of a challenge.
0-0 at the middle of the second. Aaron Cook vs. Oliver Perez. Go Rockies? Well, I've made it this far with them, even if they generally give me coronaries. Also, fire Hurdle and Apodaca. Plzthx.
