Photo Day Redux

As with last year, we went to Photo Day again this year, and while it was again very fun, the presence of all the bandwagoners who hopped on after 21 Days meant that there were a lot more people there and we had a lot less time for actual conversations -- just chitchat. Also unlike last year, there was a definite sense of urgency for the players to get through all the crowds, instead of ambling along and taking their time like they were on June 2, 2007. But July 19, 2008 wasn't at all bad. We got photos of one or more of us with 15 of the guys, hitting up everyone we wanted and then some. Unfortunately, Greg Reynolds got demoted to AAA and Tulo was off on his most recent rehab assignment (enough with the injuries, bucko....) otherwise we would have gotten them too. But we DID get Atkins, Baker, Barmes, Buchholz, Cook, Corpas, Hawpe, Helton, Holliday, Iannetta, Jimenez, Smith, Spilborghs, Stewart, and Quintanilla, which I think you'll agree is not a bad haul. Also, as they did last year, the Rockies won the actual game 7-1, thanks to two RBIs each from Atkins and Quintanilla, along with sundry contributions from Torrealba (!) Hawpe, and Stewart. Not to be forgotten was Scott Podsednik's 4-for-5, 3-double night, which of course failed to win him another start today. It didn't matter, as the Rockies shockingly won 11-3 to finish off the four-game sweep of the Pirates. Winning at home has never been a problem for them, as they improved to 29-21 at Coors, but the road is still their Achilles heel. I'll believe that they can contend in the mild, mild West (still a possibility due to it turning back into the Worst) once they win more than one game on the road.

Anyway, about the pics. Various amusing commentary encapsulated beneath.

Me and Atkins. We didn't have much time to chat with Atkins, since he had to move along and is generally not the world's most talkative guy as is. But he did say, "No problem," when I told him thanks. Also, something that strikes me every year is that Atkins is a very large fellow. No seriously, he is.

That is technically my sister Gillian, Bake, and me, but thanks to my older sister's camera-challenged ways, Gillian got her head cut off. She is absolutely clucking about this, since she loves Bake and really wanted this picture to turn out well. I am starting to see her point. He is the world's nicest guy. He ambled up to us, went, "Hey guys, what's up?" and promptly put his arms around both of us. I put my arm around him too. Hey, he liked it. He gave us a big grin afterwards. Too bad we didn't get to chat with him the way we did last year, but at least he didn't ground into three double plays the way he did last year.

My sister Darcy and I with Barmes. You can't exactly see his face, thanks to the shadows, but it's actually him, not Yorvit in a mask. (Yorvit was kinda tagging along on Iannetta's coattails, doing the double-catcher picture thing. We only got Chris, not Yorvit).

Gillian, Bucky, and me. Bucky is so cute. I told him, "You're doing very well this year," (1.79 ERA, I think so) and Bucky, looking genuinely surprised and pleased, answered, "Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much!" as if it hadn't ever occurred to him. We were doing the typical sister-banter thing in front of him, which was making him laugh, and Gillian said, "Can you tell we're sisters?" Bucky just grinned and shrugged. Cute little lemur that he is.

Gillian, Cookie, and me. Cookie's mouth is open because he was probably in the middle of making smart remarks about our shoes. It was crowded all day, so getting near the guys required a lot of finesse maneuvering, and as we squeezed in for our turn to take a pic with Cook, he looked at our flip-flop-shod feet and remarked, "You know, if you wore real shoes, you wouldn't have to worry about people stepping on your feet." I shrugged. "Oh well, it's hot." (Must have been at least 100 in the sun). "I know," Cookie responded with a grin. Another very friendly and nice guy, although we again didn't have time to talk with him the way I did last year.

Gillian, Brad, Darcy, and me. I think this is a cute picture, and Brad himself is of course as adorable as ever. The lady behind me with the water bottle was prowling around looking for people who might be stepping on the grass.

This year's Todd shot! I love Todd. I brought this picture from last year to show him, and he looked at it and said, "Oh, awesome!" Then, of course, we needed this year's version of the Toddhug, which we got.

Me, Matt, Darcy, and Gillian. Notice two things: 1) That Matt is resting his Gatorade bottle on my shoulder, and 2) The baby just beyond Gillian's shoulder. Once we had gotten our Matt pic, her dad handed her to Matt for a shot, and Matt held her gingerly in both enormous hands, making a funny face as if afraid he would drop her or she would start crying. It was amusing. Since there was such a big bottleneck around Matt, I don't think he moved the entire time.

Darcy, Iannetta, and I. Iannetta is, as always, very quiet and serious, methodically going along the line and applying his superior brain to the difficult task of Photo Day.

Someone scanned this picture crookedly. Gillian, U-ball, and me. No, Uball is not as scared of us as he looks. And no, my head is not on his shoulder.

Another very crookedly scanned photo, this one of me and last year's stretch-run hero Seth Smith. Who is looking kinda hot in that scruff.

Spilly! And us. Gillian was wearing her fringed/specially modified Everyday is a Holliday shirt, which she has cut up in strips, and Spilly took one look at it and said, "Hey, that's a cool shirt!" Since most people think this modification is odd, Gillian has taken it as one more indication that she and Ryan are soul mates. (I kid). I also got to tell him that I liked his tattoo. Spilly is the man and he needs to come back soon. I'm just happy that he was there.

Me and a camera-locating-challenged Stewie, who is looking the wrong way. Although he did kind of stare at me beforehand and then caress my neck during the photo (although not in a creepy way). So that was nice. He's not bad looking in person. Actually kind of cute. That is the case with most of them.

That does it for my pics. There are others with my sisters in them, but above is a fairly nice sample of what we got. It was a fun game, we got to semi-hang out with them, and screw the crowds. Damn bandwagoners. We were there last year before it was cool to be a Rockies fan. Mwah. Also, I’m glad that the Rockies are still enough of a small-market team to be able to do cool things like this (although it was a little zooey). Can you imagine the Red Sox, Yankees, Cubs, or Mets (all of whom I hate virulently with the exception of the Mets) trying to do something like that? Eh, yeah. Pandemonium.

Kip Wells vs. Eric Stults tomorrow. This is probably not going to end well.

Update: Still Shitty

For once, my lack of blogging has nothing to do with my own questionable diligence, but rather at a failed attempt at un-hexing the deeply hexed, otherwise known as my beloved and currently very inept Colorado Rockies. They have been stop and go (mainly stop) this far, and are sitting at a not-so-pretty 5-8 mark coming out of the first few weeks of the season. (I think the Giants may have won more games than them, but I am afraid to look). Since they went on that losing streak right after I wrote the recap of their first game, I tried some preventive superstitious measures, such as not wearing Rockies gear and not writing about them, which worked in the course of a three-game sweep of the Braves in which they looked more like themselves. It failed again once they dropped 2 of 3 to the Diamondbacks (at least they didn't get swept again....?) and since they managed to stage their one win in convincing fashion at the end of the series (13-5) I had hope going into San Diego. Nope, they got two hits and got shut out by Randy Wolf while losing 6-0. Oy. Holliday did not touch the plate last night, whether disputed or otherwise, and nor did anyone else. Shit.

Clearly (hopefully) the offense won't be this bad forever, but they need some time to play every day and get into a rhythm. The bad part being, while they suck, it's pretty hard to endure this on a day-by-day basis. Not as if that has ever stopped me before, and likely won't be any detriment this time, but sheeez. Would a fast start kill you guys? Every time I think they really must have just played their worst game possible and therefore have to start their (ponderous) recovery, they outdo themselves, then I remind myself that a) it's early and we have time to come out of it, and b) we are the Rockies and failure is unfortunately a little more common than we'd like. Blah.

Fortunately, I missed the game last night, and will do so again tonight. I was off attending my first live games of the year, the deeply fascinating Mets/Nationals clash (note to self: be thankful we are not the Nationals). Odalis Perez vs. Mike Pelfrey isn't exactly the stuff of legend, but it was a lot of fun to take in my first game of the year, as I was with my wonderful friends Mary and Steve, who are really amazing people and always fun to go to a game with -- they pay for tickets, midnight diner runs afterwards, whatever, and seem to enjoy watching me have fun as much as I have fun. Something that's always struck me is how casually a game always starts, the quiet moment as the defense runs out and the pitcher throws a few warmups, and then suddenly all the pomp is over and the first guy is stepping in just like that, ready to go. It seems such a small thing. (Baseball philosophy 101. Sounds like a course I need to take. Do they have it here? Of course not). Since it was Jackie Robinson Day, they had his widow, Rachel, there to speak, which was pretty cool, and a gospel choir performed before the game began. (Although it was kind of frigid on an April night at Shea, so I spent the last half of the game bundled in an extra-large Mets jacket belonging to Steve. This does not mean I was one of them… I kept kind of silently rooting for the Mets to screw up, since it was amusing to watch the reactions. This did not happen, however).

Also:

Annoying Red Sox fan: “Rockies suck! Who do they have? The Sox have Ortiz and Ramirez!”

Me: “Ortiz? He’s batting .091 this year or something. Ramirez? Sure, I’ll give you that one. But what do you mean, who do we have? Ever heard of a guy named Matt Holliday?"

Sox fan: “Holliday can’t hit.”

Me: “Are you crazy? Have you even watched a game recently? Holliday’s OBP is close to .400, his SLG was up at .600, he hit .340 last year, he’ll hit over 30 homers and drive in well north of 100, he’s got the best hitting mechanics and work ethic imaginable, and he’s even improved on his fielding. He’s amazing.”

While this sounds as if it could easily have happened, it actually didn’t. That was a dream I had last night. I fear, I fear, I fear for my subconscious.

I am going to the Mets/Nationals game again with Mary tonight (although I think Steve has work). Matt Chico vs. John Maine, and it should be fun. I will remember to bring more Rockies-themed regalia to keep me warm, since Steve won't be around to let me borrow his jacket, and in so doing, I will be spared watching my team actually play. (Odd, I know). Since it is Mark Redman, I expect I will be excused in this sentiment.

WIN SOME DAMN GAMES, ROCKIES!

Holliday Signed, Tulo in Talks

Finally, some Rockies news, and naturally I'm a few days off on it, but that's better than I've been recently. Matt Holliday signed a 2-year, $23-million contract that buys out his last two years of arbitration eligibility -- I'm sure Scott Boras wouldn't let him sign anything that covers any of his free-agent years. Said Dan O'Dowd, "We hope the deal is a bridge to a longer-term agreement." Perhaps there's hope yet, since Holliday will be just 30 when this contract expires after the 2009 season, but if he continues to perform at this level, the Rockies will be hard-pressed to cough up the kind of mongo-bucks that Holliday will want (and deserve). Still, I'm satisfied with this deal if only so we don't have to go through the whole process next winter with him, and I'm trying not to imagine how much it'll hurt if we don't re-sign him. The contract is for $9.5 million this year, upgrading to $13.5 mil next year. Hopefully Holliday's mammoth offensive performance will duplicate itself; if it does, $23 million for the close runner-up (and in my mind, the actual) NL MVP isn't much to pay.

There is one other long-term contract in the works right now, and that's the pact being discussed with rookie sensation Troy Tulowitzki. Tulo, who has proven himself so well that the front office is bandying the idea of a six-year contract with an option about a player entering his second season, was the chief reason for the Rockies' newfound winning mentality and is a natural talent; I love watching him play. Whether turning slick double plays or ripping the timely hit, Tulo's natural skills are prodigious enough that the proposed contract would lock him up for the six years of club control, plus an option to cover his first year of free agency. Basically, the Rockies would be insane to ever let him go at all, since he can only go further up from here, but that's the way the management goes.

Tulo doesn't yet know who his double-play partner will be, however. The Rockies have a whole flock of candidates in the mix -- Jayson Nix, Marcus Giles, Clint Barmes (oy) Omar Quintanilla, Jeff Baker, and Ian Stewart, with Nix appearing to be the front-runner. Giles hit only .229 for the Padres last year, but a mammoth .526 at Coors Field. A solid performance for Team USA helped raise his stock after an average minor-league career, and Barmes and Q are solid glove-men but their hitting can charitably be rated as very bad to nonexistent. Ian Stewart is a third-base prospect who could be converted. Baker is a corner infielder and utility outfielder who hit .368 in September 2006, leading everyone to hope that he could duplicate this performance in '07; he did not. My personal preferences would be Stewart or Nix, maybe Giles if he can keep hitting the way he did earlier, and don't really think Baker, Barmes, or Quintanilla can cut it full-time. They may be AAAA players (too good for the minors, not good enough for the majors). Nix has been inconsistent aside from one good performance, so his hitting skills are also in question. If Stewart can make the transition, we'd have a power-hitting second baseman, which would be nice.

Still not spring, but I've been writing a lot of football at Gang Gridiron. If that's your bag, check it out; otherwise, the Around the Horn position-by-position previews will come just as soon as the Super Bowl is over and spring training starts. In other words, not just yet, sadly.

This Is Where I Wish I Was Last Night

to see this:



I wish I could teleport.

Colorado Rockies: 2007 National League Champions

It's downright crazy. I don't know that I believe it. My reaction was rather subdued; I must be dreaming. Matt Holliday getting hit by a pitch and turning into the Incredible Hulk the next at-bat, as he did tonight, crushing a monster three-run blast to make it 6-1 after Seth Smith had a pinch-hit, two-run double and Kaz had an RBI single. Of course, if I thought it was going to be easy from there, I was wrong. The shakes and the hyperventilating from when Bad Brian Fuentes reared his ugly head to allow a three-run homer to Chris Snyder in the eighth -- making it 6-4 -- are barely subsiding. Especially after that, Fuentes allows a triple, Manny Corpas comes in, strikes out Tony Clark, and for the top of the ninth -- groundout, double, popout (on 3-0) and groundout, from local goat Eric Byrnes, to punch the Rockies' ticket to their first World Series ever.

I need to not go broke on NL Champs gear. I love them all. I want to read everything about this magical night. I want four more wins and a parade through Denver. And no, I don't think this is too much. We just may be that team of destiny, and I've waited for this. And nothing will ever stop me from wishing passionately I was in Colorado, screw school and everything else. I yearn to be on 20th and Blake with all the other fans who love this team the way I do.

COLORADO ROCKIES.

2007 NATIONAL LEAGUE CHAMPIONS

Let that one settle in for a while. I sure need to.

Purple Fever Believer

Jesus Fucking Tapdancing Christ on a Toaster.

It's 3 am and thank God I have no class tomorrow, because I doubt I can sleep. The adrenaline is kind of wearing off. Kind of. After waking up on the heels of 4 hours of sleep for morning class, feeling too apprehensive to eat anything except from a croissant in the morning and some chicken fingers and an apple in the evening. I went to class in the morning. I didn't eat lunch because I felt too sick with nerves. I almost passed out with exhaustion in my afternoon class, and my focus wandered badly as we finished up the last leg of 2 hours of psychology. Knowing I was going to need all the fortitude I could muster for the night's forthcoming tilt, I went home and slept for three hours or so, from 3:45 until 6:45. I woke up at dusk, feeling so nervous I could barely breathe, and added the Rockies jersey and hat to my shirt, necklace, and jacket. Then, scared but hopeful, I sallied forth to find my friend Nick and the TV he had promised to purloin for us. We chased off, or briefly assimilated, certain annoying Red Sox fans who wanted to hijack it to watch Monday Night Football (the Pats won again, of course, and who the fuck cares about them? This is my team fighting for October, people).

Game started. I was whooping, rooting, cheering, and cursing like a sailor. I was pleased as hell to see the two runs off Peavy in the first inning on a deep sac fly by Mr. Rockie Todd Helton and and an RBI single by Garrett, was stunned (but in a good way) when Yorvit actually hit a homer, and then felt like axe-chopping something when Dragon Slayer Josh Fogg lost his sword and gave up a grand slam to Adrian Gonzalez. Another run on a forceout made it 5-3, and with Peavy on the mound, you might think this was a problem.

It was not. Peavy was mortal. He yielded a solo shot to Helton in the fourth, and then a combination of ROY double/MVP single tied the game in the fifth. In the bottom of the sixth, pinch-hitter Seth Smith blasted a triple and scored on Kaz's sac fly; thanks to another defensive miscue by replacement Pods center fielder Brady Clark, Tulo hit the second triple of the inning, but failed to score when Holliday struck out. Every time he was up, however, the whole stadium was chanting, "M-V-P." It was amazing, chill-inducing, and insane.

In the bottom of the seventh, the umps blatantly missed a call on Atkins, ruling that his ball that went over the wall, hit a chair and bounced back, was a double instead of a homer. Poor Garrett has been fucked out of two homers this year, and yet again, the Rockies couldn't go for the jugular, sitting on a 6-5 advantage into the eighth. Brian Fuentes came in, admittedly got into a little trouble, and should have gotten out of the inning intact, but Holliday completely misplayed a Brian Giles fly ball and let it go over his head for a double. I slapped my hand to my face and moaned, as all the while the morons broadcasting the game on TBS salivated and continued to ride Padre jock hard enough to leave carpet burns. The Rockies couldn't come through in the eighth and Manny Corpas blew through a six-pitch ninth inning; that should have closed the game out in regulation, but since the umps had, of course, fucked poor Garrett out of his homer, it dragged on, and on, and on, close to five hours of a grueling emotional marathon. Matt Herges wriggled out of jams, the Rockies couldn't touch a ridiculous Padres 'pen, and when Jorge Julio came on for the thirteenth, I groaned aloud.

Sure enough, Julio bore out my bad feeling, walking the first hitter he faced before allowing a two-run homer to Scott Hairston, for the love of Christ. It made me sick to see the Padres whooping it up in the dugout, and I admit it, I could not bear to see the season ended on a such a bitter note, losing a winnable game in front of our raucous and screaming home crowd, silenced forever and left to wonder what could have been. I left the TV room and began the long walk back to my dorm, feeling brutally upset and bitter, broken, hollow, and empty. Basically like shit, in other words, cursing the umps for missing Atkins' homer, Matty for missing the flyball, and Jorge Julio for existing. I flung down my stuff on my bed and naturally turned on Gameday, just to see how it would end. Ramon Ortiz, of all people, came in and snuffed the rally in the top of the thirteenth, and then Trevor Hoffman, he of the all-time saves record, came in to try to put the finishing touches on a monstrously aggravating and heartbreaking loss.

He didn't. Kaz Matsui fought off tough pitches and ripped a double deep into the left-center field gap. Coors began to make some noise again, after being deadened by the Hairston homer. Then the Rookie of the Year came up and set the torch to them again with a matching blast, scoring Matsui as he rolled into second with a double. And then...

Matty had been somewhat of a scapegoat earlier in the night for blowing the flyball and striking out twice with runners in scoring position. With one swing, he sent Coors off the edge. I'm not kidding. I was watching this on Gameday, but I saw the video and... the noise the crowd makes when he lights into that ball is unbelievable. It and Brian Giles bang off the right-field scoreboard, the place is in pandemonium, Tulo scores to tie it, and Matty is safe at third with a triple. As you can imagine, my phone began ringing right now, and the first call I fielded was from Nick. He made no bones about it, "GET BACK HERE! NOW!"

Another friend called as I tore down the stairs, fumbling for my keys. I sprinted across campus back to the TV room, and I went belting up the stairs in time to see a mosh pit on the TV -- Jamey Carroll, placed in to pinch-run for Atkins after it was a "double," came through with a shallow liner to right field, Holliday charged home, dived face-first, swiped the plate with his hand as Barrett dropped the ball (dodgy call, but hey, it was karmic justice, the game should have been over in regulation) and came up bloodied and dirtied, probably feeling the best he had in his life, as his team, his city, and his mates went absofuckinglutely berserk. I screamed and threw myself on Nick. I shook. I launched myself across the room to hug his friend, who I don't even know that well. I shrieked at the top of my lungs. My legs would not support me, I fell down. A few people came up the stairs to ask if I was all right, since I was screaming bloody murder. Nick was like, "The Rockies made the playoffs, it's cool."

I screamed. I threw myself in Nick's arms again. I held on. I fell to my knees. I had earlier promised to freak out on an epic level if the Rockies won, and they did. The Holliday call was justice for screwing Atkins out of the game-winning HR, and holy shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I have no classes tomorrow, won't be in bed before 4 and may sleep all day, have homework to do that's not getting done as I live and die with my team, and I don't care. This is amazing. The Colorado Rockies are one of four NL entrants still standing with a run that defies explanation. We didn't even lead the NL wild card. We weren't tied until yesterday. And we beat the best pitcher in baseball and the all-time saves leader. I swear, you can't script this. Even Hollywood would reject it as too corny.

I don't care if Holliday supposedly didn't touch the plate. We won. He lay there dazed, Tulo flung himself over Matty, then jumped into the mosh pit. Fireworks went off. A town believed. A team fulfilled a destiny. 90-73 and a wild-card spot into the postseason and a first-round matchup with Philly. Two strong offenses, two suspect pitching staffs, the first stop on the way to immortality.

Jeff Francis vs. Cole Hamels. 3 ET Wednesday.

See you in October.

GO ROCKIES!!!!!!!!!!!

In Which Some Goes Wrong and More Goes Right

The Rockies confound me. Not that I think they'll really make the playoffs, that coffin was pretty much nailed shut by the disastrous umpiring and Jeff Francis's horrible start in Philadelphia, and their playoff odds currently stand at an oh-so-overwhelming 2.5%. After struggling to a split in the City of (Not-So) Brotherly Love, they went home and promptly lost two of three to the Marlins, who entered the series 20 games south of .500 to pretty much put the kibosh on any talk of pulling out a last-minute wild card. Then they faced their direct combatants in the standings, the Dodgers, who entered a four-game series at Coors (making up for a July rainout, the teams played a doubleheader last night) with a 13% chance of making the playoffs. So if the Rockies couldn't make the playoffs themselves, at least they could spoil it for the Dodgers, who have confounded them all season and have been responsible for their fair share of purple-and-black woe.

The Rox won the first game of the doubleheader in traditional fashion -- a strong performance from ace Francis (winning his 16th game of the season to tie for the franchise record, and setting a personal best of 10 strikeouts -- one-upping his 9-K performance from June 20 against the Yankees). They got RBIs from big man Matt Holliday and Todd Helton, and Brian Fuentes the much-maligned and the amazing Manny Corpas finished off the game by retiring the final six Dodgers batters in order. (Manny is 15-for-15 in save chances since taking over for Fuentes, who is fine as a setup guy but completely lacks the bulldog mentality needed to finish off save chances, especially in tough situations). This is a very patchwork bullpen showing signs of fatigue and overuse -- Matt Herges lost his rabbit foot and pixie dust, probably in unison, to explain his sudden nose-dive, and Affeldt has an ERA over 6.00 since the All-Star Break. Julio was serviceable earlier, even good, but the grind of the season caught up with him as well and he's now giving up runs like a sieve every time he's out there. Four or five months' worth of rest will be good for everyone, my mental state included. Boy, it's hard rooting for (and watching the hijinks of) this team day in and day out, but hey, it's not like I'm going to stop now.

Game 2, the nightcap, was far more dramatic, a thrilling, agonizing, and ultimately glorious see-saw of a battle. Fill-in starter Mark Redman naturally permitted three first-inning runs before the Rockies roared out of the gate against David Wells and got them right back to tie it at 3. Redman wasn't content in that state and had to turn it into a deficit again; the Rox went down 4-3 and stayed that way until the bottom of the fifth, in which Mad Matt Holliday struck again. After being rewarded for his insane play (six homers in seven days, 11 RBI) by being named the NL Player of the Week for the second time this season (at least he now has an extra luxury watch to give as a present) he went out and did it again, bashing a no-doubt moonshot of a two-run homer to edge the Rockies ahead to 5-4.

The lead didn't last long. Herges, now notably lacking his lucky charms and/or lucky underwear, immediately permitted a game-tying homer to James Loney in the top of the sixth. After he allowed the next two batters to reach via walk and single, Affeldt came in and managed to get two outs, falsely raising hopes that he would get out of it unscathed. Not so; the man is a former Kansas City Royal, after all. He coughed up a two-run triple to Tony Abreu, yanking the Dodgers up 7-5, and while the damage was minimized (for that inning, at least) it wasn't a good sign. Every game, as mentioned, is now must-win territory for the Rockies, and they've made it very hard on themselves by consistently losing to teams they should beat, while confoundingly beating teams they should lose to. In fact, they seem to play to the level of their competition -- they can look insipid, lifeless, and flat while dropping 3 of 4 to the Nationals (getting shut out in each of their losses) only to turn around and score 34 runs in the course of a three-game sweep of the Mets. It happens all the time. Some teams' fans look forward to the cupcake portion of their schedule, yet we as Rockies fans actually want them to be facing the stronger teams since they seem to play better when they do.

But never mind the digression. Jorge Julio came in for one inning, miraculously escaped, and then for some bewildering reason (he's already overworked and ineffective) was left out for a second one. He promptly yielded a solo shot to All-Star catcher Russell Martin to stretch the deficit to 8-5 going to the bottom of the eighth, and the Rockies had a tough task ahead of them in trying to crack Jonathan Broxton and Takashi Saito. Broxton has been solid as a setup man for the Bastards in Blue, and closer Saito's numbers are unworldly -- before last night, 39 for 42 in save chances, a 1.21 ERA, four homers permitted all year, and five games, and five saves, against the Rockies, who were 0-for-14 against him. You shall soon see the point of this numerology, but in the meantime...

The Rockies started the bottom of the eighth on a high note when Garrett Atkins fought off seven pitches and cracked a clean single to center. Then Ryan Spilborghs the super-sub stepped up and followed with his third hit of the night -- this one just happened to leave the yard and push the Rockies to within 8-7. Unfortunately, they couldn't get more that inning, as pinch-hitters Brad Hawpe and Yorvit Torrealba struck out, and after a quick and clean top of the ninth from a suddenly rejuvenated Ryan Speier, they headed to the bottom of the frame down one run against an elite closer who'd owned them all year.

Omar Quintanilla hit a hard shot, but unfortunately right at Saito, who snagged it for the first out. Troy Tulowitzki was called out on a questionable strike for the second out, leaving the bases empty and the Rockies down to their last gasp. But they had the big men coming up -- there was still a hope, even faint and flickering, and Holliday's fourth hit of the game, a sharp single to right, brought up Todd Helton, who's playing meaningful games in September for the first time in his long and illustrious career. Despite hitting well through the stretch, he had been 0-4 that night with a rally-killing double play, and his power numbers have taken a swan dive in general -- he only had 14 HR coming up to that at-bat.

Saito started with a ball; Helton fouled off pitches twice before lighting into one of Saito's nasty sliders and sending it over the scoreboard in right field, keeling Coors into delirium and Todd sprinting around the bases like a kid in little league. As he rounded third and headed for the plate, he ripped off his helmet, let out a roar of jubilation, and stage-dived into a mob of ecstatic teammates who hopped up and down, hugged, and thumped madly -- I have never seen Helton, the reserved veteran, so absolutely psyched. He'd just hit 300 career homers earlier, but No. 301 had to top them all -- it was a moment that Holliday, who jumped in the air and pumped both fists as the ball left the yard, said he'd never forget. It was an amazing finish, almost as great as their comeback on my birthday, an amazing moment for a veteran who's ground through so many disappointing and empty Septembers, to hit one that meant so much.

My sister was at this game with our friend Betsy (I have never been so jealous) and she said the atmosphere was amazing. Everyone was screaming, leapt to their feet when the ball left the yard, and she said she hugged Betsy, high-fived a complete stranger, and did a little dance as she was leaving -- the crowd roared and treated Helton to his second career curtain call, the other coming earlier this week. Outside the stadium, people were yelling, screaming, high-fiving as well -- if nothing else, even if this year closes like all the other ones, it is not the same. The Rockies have proven what this nucleus has the capability to do, and they have gotten the city of Denver to fall in love with them again. It has been (and still is) Broncos country for so very long that the Rockies, once they stopped being the new thing in town, failed to draw 60,000+ a night, and started all the abysmal seasons, were an afterthought, occasionally parodied or despaired by an ever-dwindling fanbase. But the city is genuinely excited about and in love with its baseball team again, and that just makes me so happy -- the thought of all this gives me the chills. Ah, September. Fall baseball. It's a beautiful thing.

On another Rockies note, as we thank the guys for this great season and eagerly anticipate 2008, the team has announced their intention to try super-prospect Ian Stewart at second base. I, for one, am fully behind this idea. The one (well, actually, two) problems being a) Stewart hasn't played second base since Little League, and b) at 6-3 and 215 lbs, is a big guy and only getting bigger. If he actually did make the conversion, he'd be the biggest 2B in the league, beating out Jeff Kent (6-2, 210) by an inch and five pounds. Although this probably isn't going to work, I find myself rooting very hard for it to somehow come through. First, it would give us an in-house solution to the second base vacancy, as Kaz Matsui may or may not be re-signed, and secondly, it would allow us to keep Garrett Atkins' bat. Atkins' defense at third is an iffy proposition, and since he's a natural first baseman, you'd have two defenders out of position in the infield -- Atkins at third and Stewart at second. However, the infield would have absolutely astronomic offensive totals (Helton-Stewart-Tulowitzki-Atkins is a serious helping of firepower) and would find a way to accommodate Helton, Stewart, and Atkins at once, which otherwise isn't possible; Atkins or Helton would have to be traded this off-season.

I regularly defend Atkins (or at least his offense, as his defense makes me roll my eyes too) and it's important to note that .290/23/103 is not chump change. Stewart replicating that in his rookie season would be a feat for the ages (not everyone is Tulowitzki here, people ;) ) and for next year at least, there would be a significant offensive drop-off with a still-aging Helton and a newbie Stewart. While Ian is certainly capable of this production, it may not come for a few years, and by that time, Holliday will have hit free agency and the Devil will have garnered him some insane contract with a high-profile East Coast team. If the Rockies really want to compete, 2008 and 2009 may be their best shots to do so if they keep the talented nucleus intact. They still need all that offensive cannonade as long as they keep playing in Denver and their pitchers hiccup accordingly, humidor or not, and there is no doubt Atkins knows how to hit. Damn, this Stewart-at-second is such a pipe dream... but please work. Please?

The other drum I must beat regards the candidacy of Matt Holliday and Troy Tulowitzki for Most Valuable Player and Rookie of the Year awards. If they don't win, or at least finish in the top three, then it's a blatant act of highway robbery that yet again focuses on the popular markets instead of actual talent. The field of potential winners is deep, there is an elite crop of talent to deal with this year, but the numbers stack up every which way (and Tulo should get a Gold Glove as well, leading his position in fielding metrics).

Matt Holliday (season to date)
AB: 597
H: 202
BA: .338
HR: 33
R: 109
RBI: 126
OBP: .400
SLG: .601
OPS: 1.001
2B: 48
3B: 5

That is a monster season. Those numbers you see are good for first in the NL for batting average and RBI, third for slugging percentage, fourth for homers, OPS, runs, and eighth in on-base percentage. Not to mention that he's drastically improved his defense in left field. He leads the NL with 281 putouts, ranks third with a .990 fielding percentage (three errors in 291 chances) and second with a .912 zone rating, which measures how many balls a fielder is able to get to. If you don't believe me, just check out all the defensive video highlights he has this year -- it used to be all homers and they skated over the iffy fielding stats. He is a complete player, not at all a product of Coors (and that drives me nuts. How about bandboxes like Cincinnati, Arlington, and Philadelphia -- where Holliday hit four homers? Do those somehow count less?) You'd think, and yet people discount Rockies players out of hand because they play in Denver. Take a look at the numbers, people. Holliday received the most votes by his fellow players to the All-Star Game. They know what a wrecking ball he is, even if the fans at large haven't caught on yet.

And as for Tulo, his chief competition appears to be Ryan Braun, who has him beat in precisely two categories, home runs (30 to 21) and batting average (.323 to .295). Everywhere else, the numbers point to Tulo in a walk. He has more doubles (27 to 22) more runs scored (89 to 78) more RBIs (89 to 83) and half as many errors. Tulo has been a catalyst for the team after starting sub-Mendoza, set the NL record for homers by a rookie shortstop, and plays Gold Glove-worthy defense. His howitzer of an arm leads to regular swollen thumbs for first baseman Helton, and he can hit 90 with regularity on blistering throws from deep in the hole; it's just a joy to watch him play. Braun's defense, by comparison, can charitably be rated as poor. He has 22 errors, a sub-.900 fielding percentage, and achieves the difficult task of making Atkins (13 errors) look like Brooks Robinson. BBWAA writers, and ROY voters, love the surface offensive numbers, and it's true that Braun can mash like nobody's business and came up on May 25, instead of starting the season like Tulo has. However, if you want to rate the complete player, the true sparkplug and young star of a contending team, it's Tulo. And I'm not even saying this because of my permanent purple-colored glasses (or maybe I am). Troy puts in tremendous work each and every day, will go above and beyond the pale to get a win, and refuses to settle for losing or mediocrity. Simply put, he's the fire and inspiration the Rockies have been lacking for so long, and deserves to be rewarded for it.

I know this has been a long post already, but I would like to close by noting that since I am unable to attend Rockies games (clearly) I have made up (sort of) for the lack by attending two games, one Mets and one Yankees, since my return to school. (I will also be going to either one or two Mets games next week). Both times I went with a guy friend, and I tell you... I've been generally indifferent about the Mets, but the Yankees are seriously enough to make me almost actively like them. I can root for the Mets without feeling unclean (and I had to, since the one game I was at, they were playing Philly, and lost anyway.... the Mets are following the 2006 Cardinals script for the postseason by choking and threatening to squander it all before backing into the playoffs). The Yankees and their fans, however, are all such douchebags. They have an astounding arrogance and ignorance, strut around like they own the place (yeah, yeah, we've already heard about your 26 fucking championships, want to talk about the years since you've won your last one? 2004, for example? God, I hope there's a Curse of A-Rod or something that will prevent them from winning for another 79 years... such poetic justice, they could suffer through every inch of the agony that the Red Sox did).

I went to the Yankees/Orioles games with my friend Nick, and while we admittedly asked for it by sitting in the bleachers, the fans sang "Why Are You Gay?" to him to the tune of "YMCA," and incessantly chanted, "Ug-ly shirt!" pointing at his Jeremy Guthrie T-shirt. (I was wearing my Rox stuff -- Atkins shirt, Rockies jacket and hat, and was hoping so very much that they'd heckle me about rooting for a bad team, but they probably don't even remember that the Rockies exist, and maybe had enough sense to realize that I could, you know, point out that we swept them). Don't get me wrong, both of us found the heckling very amusing, but only in the way you find an irretrievably stupid person funny; because they just think they know so much and know actually nothing at all. Perhaps it's a rite of passage, but they are stupid, aggressively stupid, and strut around like they're still the kings of the world. The late-90's Yankees dynasty has passed, people, and besides, you root for the Evil Empire/Chevy/GMC of baseball, headed by an asshole owner and fronted by a calvacade of "twenty-five guys/twenty-five cabs" overpaid primadonnas. Oooh. Don't get me onto the topic of the Yankees, clearly; there is so much hatred here. Don't try to justify liking the Yankees to me. I understand that you're from New York so they're your hometown team, and they win a lot and it's fun to root for a winner, but that's it. And what about all the Yankees "fans" that have never even been to NY? They don't have an excuse at all. They are shameless front-runners, and should be ritually crucified as a warning to all others. (Same goes for non-resident Red Sox and Cubs fans as well. Besides, I don't even get why you'd want to root for the Cubs if you were from Chicago, much less anywhere else. See my diatribe against Cubs fans below).

In contrast, the Mets seem like more fun, have a few players that I could even like, and even though planes roar overhead every half-hour, their much-maligned Shea is less of a dump than the historic but shitty Stadium. Not that I'm going to suddenly start rooting for them, but if you had to make me pick a sports team from my adopted home state with a gun to my head, I'd take the Mets in a (New York) minute. I'm looking forward to going with Mary and possibly Steve (remember them?) next week, and will probably clap for the Mets since a) I'll be in Shea anyway, and b) who the hell wants to cheer for the Nationals? Even those from D.C.? Seriously.

Okay. Long post over. I feel a little better now. Or maybe I don't. I hate the Yankees. Oh well. I fiercely adore my Rockies, even though they shave years off my life, inflate my blood pressure, and ruin my emotional state, and so that shall do. Josh Fogg vs. Brad Penny tonight (Fogg always seems to draw the toughest assignment from the opposing team) as the Rockies try to find their oft-missing killer instinct and put the finishing smackdown on the Dodgers.

Go Rox!

You Know Who I Don't Like? The Cubs

No really, I don't. I've never seen the allure of being a Cubs fan to start with -- is it fashionable to be a loser and wear blue, sit in the stands at opposing parks, and annoy the hell out of everyone else with your completely unwarranted arrogance while cheering for your pack of toerags -- not to mention splashing beer on people, standing up and doing frat-boy fist pumps every time a spawn of your hapless brood happens to make it as far as first base? True-blue Chicagoites who have seen their team through a lifetime of misery are not included in this diatribe, but I must say, there seems to be an awful lot of Cubs fans who have never even been to the city and just decided to root for the Lil' Bears because... why, exactly? "America's Team?" Because Haley's Comet has passed the earth twice since they were hoisting a championship trophy on the North Side? Because it sounds chic to say that you're a Cubs fan, as if you really "know" baseball and truly "support" a comically inept team? Because one day you hope that your bunch of assclowns accidentally stumbles into respectability and causes the world to end? Do you want that on your consciousness? Then again, you are a Cubs fan, so you have nothing better to do. So, really, is all you can do to sit at Coors Field one seat away from me and posture and preen like you really had something to celebrate? Billy Goat. Steve Bartman. Kerry Wood. Ron Santo, Ryne Sandberg, and no championship rings. Sit down, you porky son of a bitch.

As you may be able to tell, I certainly wasn't addressing that above venting session to anybody in particular. Not at all. I didn't even slip his friend a Rockies sticker to slap onto the back of his Cubs jersey or anything insidious like that. In fact, if I happened to encounter a particulary annoying Cubs fan of any stripe, it was purely coincidence, as they were popping up like poisonous fungi all over my beloved ballpark. They certainly weren't driving me berserk with their beer-fueled bellows and their endless chants of "Let's Go Cubbies!" as if they had forgotten that their ignorant rears had been removed several hundred miles from Chicago and were now unfortunately located in Colorado instead; their stunted intellect could most likely not process this development, so they carried on turning it into Wrigley Field West anyway. The cheers whenever the Cubs happened to get as far as first were absolutely insane. If I was not smarter than your average Cubs fan, I would think that I was the one in Chicago instead.

Now, look. I'm not an entirely unreasonable person. If these people would like to purchase tickets, swell the Rockies' coffers with a hope that this money will be put to a reasonable purpose (Monforts, a Holliday contract extension, for example?) and come out to root on their team, they are perfectly welcome to do so, even if said rooting happens to drive me out of my tree with their consistent and moronic yelling. What I cannot get is why the Cubs have so many fans in the first place. However much I loathe the Yankees, I understand why people root for them; it's easy to support a winner. On the other hand, the Cubs have done nothing but lose, have done so with truly remarkable incompetence, and yet everyone seems to love them anyway. I know, I know, I'm a Rockies fan, I can't talk, but.... hey, at least the Rockies have only been bad for 14 years, with flashes of promise here and there. I also happen to be from Colorado, have been to many many games at my home ballpark, have an encyclopedic knowledge of my team, and don't go to other parks purely to annoy the opposition. The Cubs have been terrible for 99 years and counting (may the curse never end) and they specialize in promising false hope and yanking it away. Lucy and the football. Buy your kids a Bears or a Bulls hat and get done with it. The Bears made it to the Super Bowl, even if they lost to Manning and the Colts and still have Rex Grossman. The White Sox have returned to their customary climes of outrageous suckitude this year, so I guess there's just not a lot of choice if you're born in the Windy City. And let me emphasize, if you're actually from there, then go ahead and root, try not to be such douchebags in our house, and try shutting up for once in your life. If you are not, then don't even show your mug.

There is another reason I hate the Cubs at this point: They appear to either be actively trying to kill the Rockies or just have a bunch of shitty pitchers who can't keep the ball in the zone. Jeff Baker was drilled in the head on Friday night by Jason Marquis, which knocked his helmet off and left him stunned in the dirt for several minutes; he had a concussion and facial bruising and was released from the hospital today. I was at that game (the same one where I didn't meet any particularly annoying Cubs fans) and it was sick; the entire stadium gasped when he went down. He had no time to duck at all and it was as violent and scary as it gets. A few innings earlier, I'd been soundly ragging Baker for throwing an easy double-play ball into center field and wishing that Helton was back for defensive purposes; then he went down and I was just wishing he'd get up or start moving or something. Fortunately, Baker was all right, just a bit worse for wear, but the plunking didn't stop there. Rookie Ian Stewart, called up to play third while Atkins slid to first in the event of Helton not being able to go, took a pitch off the helmet, but payback was sweet when JAMEY CARROLL of all people launched a pinch-hit grand slam. Today, Holliday took a sharp low curve off the foot, and after the Cubs' intentional walk of Matsui predictably backfired when Tulo blasted a two-run double, they threw behind him. Not to mention, there have been near misses on Spilborghs, Taveras, and Helton, just for a start. There has been a lot of ducking to avoid getting drilled, and maddeningly, none of the Cubs have taken it in the ribs yet. Only one inning left. I'll bide my time.

Also, due to extenuating circumstances, the Rockies had Tim Harikkala starting today. Yes, Tim Hur-ick-uh-luh, aka Tim Hara-Kiri, who predictably failed to be good when making his second major league start ever (the last one came 11 years ago when he was with Seattle. Uh, yeah, we're low on options). Now, it's not as if Jason Hirsh (15-day DL, fractured fibula) and Rodrigo Lopez (out for the rest of the season, torn elbow tendon) are world-beaters, but at least you could count on them to go out there every fifth day and give you a decent five or six innings, sometimes even seven if you asked nicely. Now, since they're gone, the Rockies' rotation consists of Jeff Francis, Aaron Cook, Josh Fogg (somehow weaseling his way into being the third starter when calls for his departure, usually from myself, are made often) and a lot of spit, smoke, mirrors, and glue. Rookie Ubaldo Jimenez has allowed fifteen earned runs over six innings (yes, hair-raising) in his last two starts, and if he's hit a wall, we're in trouble. Taylor Buchholz pitched five one-run innings out of the bullpen during Jimenez's most recent debacle, but has looked bad as a starter since he uses only a fastball and curve with any effectiveness; his changeup is, to put it charitably, a work in progress and he doesn't seem to have a decent feel for his slider. Young lefty phenom Franklin Morales, a combined 19-5/3.24 in the minor leagues this year, may attempt to follow Jimenez up if the Rockies can't get the rotation sorted out. So, they're playing Tim Harikkala, who might as well have come from the AARP as from AAA, and who -- shockingly! -- sucked, going 3.1 IP/3 earned runs. This heralds a very worrisome return to the Denny Stark/Scott Elarton/Shawn Chacon days, which I am not happy about. Hopefully they find the right buttons to push, Jimenez re-transforms from a pumpkin into a coach, and perhaps Morales can be given his shot. Tim Harikkala. Cold shudders.

On the bright side, the Rockies did win today. In one of the more befuddling managerial moves in history, Lou Piniella intentionally walked Kaz Matsui to load the bases and face ice-in-his-veins Tulowitzki, who loves clutch situations and already had a solo homer in the game. Tulo did not disappoint, missing a grand slam by about two inches and settling for a two-run double to break a three-all tie. Matt Holliday added an RBI groundout (after they threw behind him, grr, aargh) to make the score 6-3, which ended up being the final tally. The bullpen did not allow a runner from the top of the fourth until Manny Corpas permitted a one-out walk to Jason Kendall in the top of the ninth. All in all, a good day for the Blake Street Bombers v. 2.0 as they improved to 61-56, stayed two games arrears of the Pads in the Wild Card, and now head out west to take on an absolutely crucial set of games versus San Diego and Los Angeles, which could make or break their fledgling postseason ambitions.

Go Rockies!

Exhausting Updates

Sorry for the interminable hiatus, and in case you're wondering, I didn't suddenly become exempt from the earth's gravitational pull and take a spectacular plunge into space. However, I have been working full-time, and my time in the evening has been used to write my baseball novel, Elysian Fields, or talk to my friends on Instant Messaging, both pursuits which leave little time for bloggery. But since the novel is finished (and I do like it, if I say so myself) I now have time to issue periodic updates upon the state of affairs in Baseball-land. Not that I always want to, as the Rockies repay all my love and devotion by doing things like losing 3 of 4 to the Nationals and getting shut out for 20 innings by one of the worst pitching staffs in the game. At the time of this writing, they have miraculously managed to score a grand total of two runs, but are still trailing 5-2 to the Padres in the opening game of --

Okay, scratch that. Matty Effin' Holliday just cracked his 17th homer of the year to tie the game in the bottom of the eighth, a three-run blast off Scott Linebrink to bring it even at 5-5. This is more runs than the Rockies have scored in three games (cough cough) and it is good to see that they are not meekly trotting off and letting San Diego --

Hahaha, wow. Brandon (Brad Hawpe) with his 18th homer of the year, bumping Colorado ahead 7-5. He couldn't bear to let Holliday have the team homer lead, even for a few minutes. Manny Corpas gets a strikeout, gives up a single, then a forceout, goes 3-0 on Brian Giles, and then makes him look at three straight to end the game. The Rockies pull out a highly improbable win against the Pads in the opening game of the series, a seven-game homestand against chief competitors San Diego and Los Angeles -- a homestand that will prove once and for all if they should harbor playoff ambitions this year, or just be content with finishing over .500. It would be nice not to suck for once, so I think for now I'll be content with that, but if they should put together a Hollywood-schmaltz run and somehow manage to, you know, contend, I won't complain.

Perhaps it is a symbiotic link -- I revive the temporarily defunct blogging, the Rockies score as many runs in one game as they did in ALL of the Washington series (grrr). For the sake of my beloveds, I shall attempt to do so more often, at least until I start a new novel and the sticky m key stops driving me crazy. Ah well.

ANYWAY. As I have said, I have been very busy, and hope to make more time in the future. That said, I have several exciting things to report from the front lines of reality, a puzzling phenomenon that still soaks up far more of my time than I would otherwise appreciate. I'm still working at Starbucks, which is not a bad job but is not, well, baseball -- ah well, I just have to keep myself busy by thinking about it, which is something I do most of the time anyway. Aside from spending too much money and looking forward to getting back to school in September, I am also planning to rendezvous this Saturday, July 28, with a crowd of friends at the Rockies/Dodgers game. It's going to be fun -- me, my sister, and my friends Betsy and A.J. are going to meet up with three other posters from Purple Row, and we have seats seven rows back of the right-field wall, close to Hawpe and definitely not out of the realm of homer-catching possibility. It will have been exactly three weeks since I've been to a game (my last was July 7 against Philly) and it feels like forever. I have a problem. I also (finally!) got a digital camera, so I shall record the insanity that is sure to become contagious when seven die-hard Rox fans get together (seven fans, seven rows back, yeah, yeah, it's a coincidence) and cheer for their team against the Bastards in Blue, more properly euphemized as the Los Angeles Dodgers. No more waiting to develop film and save photos off a CD; it's nice to have and with a memory card I ended up getting for free, it's good for 200 photos.

Also, I am planning two exciting baseball trips for next year. Betsy and I are scheming for her to drive out to New York to pick me up when school ends in May, then have the two of us hit up Yankee Stadium, Shea Stadium, and Cooperstown, probably in something of that order, depending on how the 2008 schedule works out. (We need that now to plan this all, grr). We would then drive back to Colorado from New York, possibly stopping in St. Louis and/or assorted other baseball cities on the way home. If things align accordingly, my friend Justin may fly out from San Diego to join us, which would also be awesome -- three hardcore baseball fans road-tripping it across the country, me fresh off my sophomore year in college and preparing to go abroad to Oxford in the fall. If all the stars line up, 2008 could be the best year of my life to date, which isn't saying much when you're only 19, but hey, it's good to be excited and to have plans.

When I get back home to Colorado, my sister will have graduated from high school, and we're planning a road-trip to California to celebrate. We'll drive to either San Diego or Los Angeles and then up the Pacific Coast Highway to San Francisco, obviously catching a game at every locale possible. If we get REALLY lucky, the Rockies will be making a West Coast swing (why isn't that
'08 schedule out yet??) and we can cheer them on in enemy turf. (Hey, if I can laugh off Shea bleacher creatures, I can take whatever venom the Blue Crew and Laptop Yuppies can dish).

I'm happy. I'm in a good place in my life right now. I have a decent job that's making money to fuel all my planned baseball/educational exploits, I'm enjoying a summer with a baseball team that I love, I have a lot of friends (for the first time in my life) and yet I'm really looking forward to getting back to school this fall. I have a single room (hurray!) which means that I can bedeck it out with tokens of my fanaticism and not have to deal with roommates. I'm looking forward to resuming my studies, want to get back to my happy places in Bronxville, and have planned out which classes I want to take. Some friends and I are planning to hit up Yankees and Mets games in September to make up for the lack of Rockies games, and I really feel as if I'm moving forward with my life at a good speed and I'm where I should be. I am a healthy, well-adjusted person (I really am, despite the conversations that Betsy and I have occasionally, all of which involving me laughing my ass off while squirming and wishing I had never seen some of it. No, I won't tell you the details).

So, if I fail to update regularly (and I'll do my best, given the magic mojo it brought my boys) it's not because I'm dead. It's just because I'm busy.

P.S. Chris Carpenter's one-start season officially came to an end a few days ago when it was announced he'll need Tommy John (not a great surprise, sadly) and will miss the rest of 2007 and part of 2008 as well. That five-year, $65-million contract is looking like less of a bargain and more of an albatross, but you can't plan for injuries and stuff like this is just part of the game. In conclusion, I suck at predicting things.

Photo Day!

Yes, I finally got my lazy rear in gear and uploaded the pics from our splendiferous wonderful time at Photo Day. I know the blog hasn't been very fastidiously updated these days, but I still try to get a post at least every other day. This has something to do with starting my new job and the fact that I'm working 36 hours a week (I asked for Wednesdays off/early so we can go to Ladies' Night games at Coors, heh). In the meantime, enjoy. (Some of these pics aren't from Photo Day, so I'll label those. Also, please ignore my hair; it's not usually that frizzy and although I bear a striking resemblance to a psychotic witch, that is not really the case. I blame the hat).


This is Gillian and I at our first game of the year together -- May 16 vs. the Diamondbacks. Seeing as I got home on May 11, you can tell that I could NOT wait to get back to Coors. Also, despite appearing pregnant in this picture for some aggravating reason, I am not. I'm not even fat. Oy, I'm such a pick about how I appear in pictures, so I apologize for the running commentary.

This is Gillian and Chris Iannetta from that same day. Check out those blue eyes; they actually look like they're related.

Me and my new boyf -- I mean, Jason Hirsh, also from the May 16 game. This was right after he flung his arm around my waist, began grinning like a cheese, and temporarily put my brain circuits out of commission. Love the boy.

OKAY! Here's Photo Day.

Here's a shot to show you where we were -- i.e. right on the field. Ignore the fat woman, she's no one I know. If that is you, I apologize.

Me and my boy, Brad! Yay! Again, please ignore how psychotic I look, and trust me, Brad did put his arm around me by choice. He actually didn't run away screaming.

Gillian and Brad. Yet again, they look alike, this time by dint of matching sunglasses.

Gillian, Spilly, Garrett, and Darcy. I accidentally cut Darcy's head a bit out of this picture, but yeah, Spilly decided to mug for the camera right as I took the shot. What a ham.

Gillian can die happy now. This is her and Matt Holliday, and yes, she's deeply in love with him.

I'm not, but I do like him, and I got a picture too.

This is Darcy and Iannetta again. You have no idea how much convincing it took to get her to do a picture alone.

Me and Tulo, the Thrice-Introduced.

Gillian and Tulo.

Gillian and my boyf -- Jason. Check out the shit-eating grins on both of them.

Me, Bucky (Taylor Buchholz) and Gillian. I think this is a cute pic, actually.

Okay, the best for last. I LOVE THIS PICTURE. Me, Darcy, Gillian, and Todd giving us a big ol' bear hug. Warm fuzzy memories forever.

That's it for the photos. I'm going to go write now. I wrote a baseball-themed short story called Elysian Fields for my second-semester writing project, and now I'm redoing it as a novel. I swear, the other day, I realized that I think about baseball pretty much 24/7, and I woke up early and spent a while contemplating the philosophy of the game and why it has so much effect on me. God, do I ever need a real life.

The Best Day of 2007

.... is Saturday, June 2. I'm not even kidding. If there's going to be another contender for the best night of this year, they're going to have to put up a damn impressive show to come close to touching the awesomeness that unfolded tonight. I'm sitting up at 12:43 AM, pretty tired and completely happy, writing this down since I want to get down every detail before I forget anything. My two sisters and I went to Photo Day/the Rockies game today, and what can I say, it was absolutely marvelous. I could have asked for absolutely nothing more, and it's left me with that kind of happiness that sinks into your bones and rests like a glowing marble in your chest and makes you happy when you even start thinking about it. If I ever am at a loss for happy thoughts during my continuing job training next week, I know what will do the trick. So here's the blow-by-blow, and I am determined to spare no detail, since I want to remember them all for myself. Very long, but what hey, I want it all down for posterity.

The Photos/The Guys

My older sister just got home from college yesterday, and as an early birthday present, we gave her an Atkins shirt and a ticket to accompany us (me and my younger sister) to Photo Day. So my older sister, Darcy, and I left home around 2:20 in the afternoon, decked out in Rockies gear (Atkins shirt and Rockies hat for her; Hawpe shirt, purple and black jersey, logo necklace, and signed hat for me. Yes, I take my baseball seriously). Then we drove down to pick up my younger sister, Gillian, from work, and headed down to Coors Field from there. The traffic on the normally congested I-25 connector was actually moving, which was only the first herald of all the greatness to come. We got down to the field so early that the signs for parking weren't even up, so we parked in our usual spot and saved five or ten bucks on it. (Gillian was worried that we were going to get ticketed or towed or something, but of course not. The day was destined to be perfect, so it didn't happen). We wandered up toward the stadium, picked up our tickets from Will Call, and went to Gate C, where they were just starting to let people in. Gillian and I were anxious to get going, so we dragged Darcy down and stepped onto an actual major league field. Yes, for Photo Day, they actually let you head onto the field and walk around the warning track. If I had a religious experience when I walked into Shea, then standing on the dirt of Coors Field itself damn near blew my circuits. I just walked around, looking up at the wall, as Gillian steered us to one of the numbered stations for photos. (As it turned out, this didn't matter, as the guys just made their way down the line). But we stood there in the sun, excited, three girls in Rockies gear who love their team, waiting for their boys to come out, and in due time, they did.

It was just cool to see the guys in white come out of the dugout and start spreading across the field toward the line of fans on the warning track. I was so busy tracking who was going where (Gillian wanted Holliday, Darcy wanted Atkins, they debuted a little to our right) that I almost didn't see who was walking straight toward us. Right: Carroll, well we know that guy, but not high on our list for pics. Center: Baker, oh cool, we remember him, maybe he remembers us. And on the left: OH. My God. Brad Hawpe is walking toward me. Do not do something stupid. Have to admit, I got a little weak-kneed there for a second. But I recovered.

Brad took a picture with the girl next to us, before he reached us and smiled. "Hey guys, how are you?" he said, and naturally, since Hawpe is my boy and I was wearing his shirt (albeit underneath my jersey) I got to go first. There was only one moment all day in which I was not thinking, and that was when Brad Hawpe and I had our arms around each other, grinning into the sunlight of a perfect day as Gillian snapped the picture. Then she got to go with him, and our brilliant time was officially begun. Jeff Baker, who was there as well, remembered us from Thursday, where we talked to him and got his autograph. "Hey!" he said enthusiastically. So we introduced ourselves to him, and he introduced himself as well, as if we didn't know. "You guys live in Denver?" he said. "No, Evergreen," we said. "About how far?" he asked. "Forty minutes or so," we said. He was terrifically nice, hung out for a little bit and chatted before moving on, and generally made us very happy that he'd remembered us, but the good times were coming fast and we had to keep up with 'em.

Right at that moment, Garrett Atkins (who is really a big guy... I think I knew that) came up to us, and I said, "Hey, Garrett, I don't know if you remember me, but I was the one Rockies fan in Shea Stadium." He grinned a little bit and went, "Yeah, I remember." Since I already have a picture with him, I got Darcy (who has a fairly sizeable crush on him and refused to go with him alone) and Gillian (who agreed to do it with her to ameliorate her nervousness) to pose with him. Just as I was taking the picture, Ryan Spilborghs grabbed Garrett by the shoulder and popped his head up in the frame, grinning like a cheese, so we got two for the price of one. I smiled at him (I think he remembered us too) and said, "You starting tonight, Spilly?" "Naw, I'm sitting," he answered. "You three are all Rockied out!" This was a reference to our gear, which had garnered a number of comments. (Later, someone remarked, "I'll take your pic... I think you guys really like the Rockies." My answer: "Yeah, just a bit.")

The two of them meandered on and just then, Gillian's absolute favorite ballplayer, Matt Holliday himself, arrived on the scene. She was having conniptions that he wouldn't be there because of his flukey little self-inflicted injury. (For the record, there are conflicting reports about how he did it. The Rocky Mountain News says that while trying to bang himself on the head with his helmet, he accidentally sliced himself with the brim of it. Matt takes umbrage with this, says it portrays him as a selfish player, and insists that it was an accident of braining himself on a ceiling when jumping off a step. Who knows what actually happened). But Matt was smiling and happy and Gillian just about overloaded when she got a picture with him. (I got one with him too).

Jeremy Affeldt and Tom Martin wandered by around this point, and since neither of them are a) starters or b) good, we didn't get a photo with them. (For the record, I think Jeremy was disappointed). But we shook hands with both of them and introduced ourselves, and they asked how we were doing and we said that we were really happy to be there. We also talked to Brian Fuentes briefly. Then we peeled off and headed further down the left field line to where Troy Tulowitzki and Chris Iannetta were making their way along. (We saw Hurdle around here, but intentionally skipped him). We got to Iannetta first, where Gillian said to him, "I'm the girl who asked you about The Elegant Universe." (In case I forgot to tell you, on Thursday, she asked him if he'd read it and he smiled and went, "Yeah.") "Yeah, I remember," says Chris with a smile, and then Darcy was actually persuaded to take a picture alone with a player, which is kind of a milestone for her. But she did it all on her own, and since Gillian and I already have pictures with him and have talked to him before, we just introduced ourselves and shook. On a random note, Iannetta has the world's largest hands. I mean, my hands aren't that small, but they were just swallowed up in his grip. Then we got to Tulo, who we were really hoping to track down because he is awesome. So he got to us, and gave us a big grin and went, "Hi!" He's very hyper, energetic, brash, and outgoing, and the funny thing was, we all introduced ourselves and he did the same thing each time. "Hi, I'm Gillian." "Troy!" (Handshake, smile). "I'm Hilary. "Troy!" (Handshake, smile). "And what's your name?" "I'm Darcy." "Troy!" (Handshake, smile). Both Gillian and I got a picture with Tulo, then we decided to head back to right field to get those who were trying to escape from us.

We got there and I got a chance to track down Aaron Cook, which I've been hoping to do since I got back to Denver. "Hey, Aaron, I don't know if you remember, but I was the one Rockies fan in Shea," I said. "Hey, yeah, I remember!" he said. "By the tarp, right?" "Yep," I said. "Did I give you a ball?" he asked. "No, you just signed my hat," I said, and showed it to him. "Right on!" he answered. "Who was with you? They were in Mets gear, right?" I was surprised that he remembered that as well, but told him that it was my friend (Mary) and her boyfriend (Steve). "Back in Colorado now, awesome," said Cookie. "Yep," I said. "Well, thanks for coming out and supporting us!" he said. "Oh, no problem," I said, and he meandered on. It was a beautiful day and everyone just seemed completely laid-back and happy, friendly and engaging and easy to talk to. It made me love the Rockies even more than I already do, and while I get frustrated with them so often for not playing up to their potential, they're now my friends as well and that's a terrific element to have. Honestly, I think we talked to almost everyone, even if we didn't get a picture with them, and introduced ourselves and whatnot. But the photos weren't quite done.

Taylor Buchholz came by and Gillian and I got a picture together with him. Then Jason Hirsh came along and remembered Gillian right away when she said she was the sign girl. "And the calendar too!" he added. "So I'm told," said Gillian. "What, you don't have one?" said Hirsh, stunned. "No," she said. "Call the front office!" he suggested. "You tell them you're on the front, they'll probably give you lots." The whole time they were talking, he had his arm up ready to put around her, and then he did. I stepped back to get all of him in the picture -- he's a humongous guy, I tell you, and yes, I am still a bit in love with him. Around this time Holliday came back and said, "Didn't I see y'all over there?" with a laugh. "Yeah, we moved," Gillian said. "How's your head?" He laughed and said, "Great." "You playing tonight?" I asked. "Sure am," he said with another smile. (Baker was also back, and waved at us and grinned. "You starting at third, Bake?" I asked. "Yep!" he said).

We had exactly one shot remaining on our camera, so we decided to spend it by getting all three of us together with Todd Helton. He was laughing and very friendly, just like everyone else, and when he got to us, we told him what we wanted. Todd promptly obliged. "C'mere, guys!" he said, and draped his arms over Gillian and I with Darcy in the middle. We all grinned as a helpful fellow fan snapped our last pic, and then we carefully tucked the camera in our backpack to await development. (We're probably going to have to get double or triple prints, since we'll all want one to take to school). Jamey Carroll showed up a bit later, and when we told him we'd run out of film, he said, "Darn!" We stayed there as long as we wanted, about 45 minutes in all, enjoying some pure baseball heaven -- talking with our boys, standing on the field, in a glorious summer-like afternoon -- until we at last decided that without film and the fact that the guys were heading in, we might as well amuse ourselves in the hour and a half remaining until gametime. So we headed up, got a drink, and headed for the Diamond Dry Goods store, which in itself was another section.

The Store/The Interim

Naturally, when you walk into the place, there's all sorts of Rockies goodness that scream at you, and your pocketbook, to be taken off the shelf and purchased. We ambled around, bickering good-naturedly, comparing prices, and trying to talk each other into buying things. I got a Rockies magazine and two very cool necklaces (the necklaces are silver and black with a little hurricane on them, and they look a bit like Rich Harden's if you've ever seen it. We promptly dubbed them the sweet-ass necklaces since they were so cool -- one was for me and one for Gillian). We argued about whether or not we would buy a new baseball (I actually spent an hour the other day hand-sewing our one remaining ball, which had its stitches coming to pieces, so we could play catch) and/or a pack of baseball cards. (We eventually ended up nixing both of them, as I insisted that I would pay for $20 worth of merchandise and no more. "I have to put my foot down somewhere.") Darcy bought herself a hoody (I need one of those, they're awesome) as a birthday present for herself and we'd barely gotten out of the store before she decided that she needed a sweet-ass necklace to match ours. So we went back in, still arguing about who owed who money, and she found one more hurricane necklace and bought it. Now with matching sweet-ass necklaces, we finally decided to go find our seats.

We'd used our Ladies' Night vouchers to get two free tickets, so we'd only paid for one, Darcy's. We were very pissed that we couldn't sit in our accustomed spot in the right field mezzanine, but we got to Section 332 and stopped complaining, as the seats were third deck, right behind home plate and were just fine; we could see the whole field and there was nothing to bitch about. We dropped our stuff and then climbed up to the very top of Coors, to the very last row, and looked out through the mesh at Denver beyond. I snapped a few pictures on my cell phone of us, the field, and we just stood up there and admired how beautiful it was and how unbelievably happy we all were. We took one picture that I declared I would send to the "Fans of the Game" promotion they always do. I said with certainty that there was no way they couldn't feature it, and for the record, here it is:

Left: Gillian. Center: Me. Right: Darcy.

I took one look at it and said, "We're finally gonna get on the scoreboard." We took some more pictures and then headed off to get dinner -- pretzels, hot dogs, sodas, you know, ballpark food. We hung out on the sunny upper concourse for a little, then wandered back to our seats, too goofily and incredibly happy to care about anything very much. Coors Field is my happy place and I want to be there so much that it feels as if I can never get back soon enough when I leave. We got back to our seats in time to cheer for the Rockies when they announced the starting lineups. I know that I grind the start-Iannetta axe all the time, but in the three games I've attended this year, he's started each of them, so maybe it's something about me? Dunno.

The Game

The game started, Jeff Francis came out of the gate dealing (four perfect innings) and Helton blasted a bomb to dead-center in the bottom of the first to ensure that he was never working from behind. Francis lost the perfect game in the top of the fifth, and had to deal with traffic in the sixth and seventh as well, but he ended up with yet another strong seven-inning showing and only one run allowed. He's really been the "Jeffrey Franchise" that the Rockies expected and needed, and it was fun to watch him pitch tonight. Ken Griffey Jr. and Adam Dunn, the Reds' top homer threats, both looked absolutely silly against him (he had an insane number of swing-throughs tonight; they just couldn't get a bead on that changeup or slider). Manny Corpas' punchout of Griffey in the eighth gave Junior the golden sombrero, and while striking out Dunn isn't that difficult, Francis did it twice for a total of six Ks on the night. The Rockies got their other two runs on a single and stolen base by Kaz Matsui followed by a perfectly placed bloop single from Holliday, and in the bottom of the eighth, Spilborghs (pinch-hitting for Francis; thank God it was him and not Finley) laced a double and scored when Willy Taveras bunted and the Reds reliever threw the ball away. Corpas had a perfect eighth in which he buzzsawed easily through three up, three down, and Fuentes came in for the ninth. Aside from a walk, he was great, and the Rockies ended up winning 4-1.

We were really into the game the whole time, rocking out to the music, cheering for the guys, shouting assorted encouragements or reproaches at them according to what they did, and threatening Baker that he could no longer be our friend after he grounded into three double plays. Each time, Brad Hawpe came up, got to first (two singles and a walk) and got erased. It was just a little frustrating; maybe somebody hexed the third base spot on the Rockies and it isn't Atkins' fault after all. At least when he plays, he only gets himself out.... Love ya, Garrett, but try to pick it up so we don't have to watch Baker do that again, no matter how much we appreciate him for talking to us. We got a little nervous in the sixth after seeing three straight Rockies starters turning into the Hindenburg, but Francis flashed some balls of steel and escaped. And by the way, about our picture? I was right. During the seventh inning stretch, they flashed the Verizon "Fans of the Game" on the scoreboard, and there we were, featured second. We cheered and whooped and high-fived each other.

We danced in our seats and enjoyed the hell out of the game and Gillian and I were happy to see what a great time Darcy had. She's very young for her age (21 next Sunday) and she's very transparent emotionally, so you know if she's happy or not, and she was. We all were. It was a ridiculously good night. The stars were aligned for everything, even moving traffic and free parking, as mentioned. Fuentes ended the game with a groundball to second, and everyone got up and cheered and headed out. It might have been just me, but it seemed as if there was a lot more fans who were actually wearing their Rox gear, so there was plenty of shirts, caps, jackets, etc., on display. It was nice to hear Coors make a lot of noise and get behind their guys, who may or may not always deserve it in terms of their play, but at least they're all terrifically friendly and polite and just great human beings. It made me love them more, and remember why I put up with all their shenanigans.

The only slightly worrisome thing was that Tulo came out of the game in the fifth with tightness in his groin and Carroll took his place. Tulo is an integral component of the team both offensively and defensively, so I really, really hope that it's nothing serious and he'll be back in there tomorrow or the next day. The lineup can't go long without the spark that their rookie shortstop provides, so happy thoughts in Troy's direction. Still giggling about the way he introduced himself three times in a row, as if we might not know.

In conclusion, and as you can see since I've taken so much time to write this all out in excruciating detail, I had a friggin' FANTASTIC time tonight, and if it's not one of the best nights of my life, then it's at least by far the best of 2007 to date. We three deserved a night out to have fun and celebrate the end of the year after all working so hard in school, and oh man, we had a wonderful time. It'll make me happy to think about tonight for a long, long time, and that's not something that happens every day. And our fun-filled weekend isn't even over quite yet -- me and my sisters are going out for a night downtown tomorrow again, attending a 7:30 performance of Wicked. That in itself is going to be great -- I've heard the show's awesome and I'm looking forward to it.

Okay, it's 2:38 in the morning and it's time for me to hit the hay. I've been up so late writing this down because I hope I never forget it. Awesomeness to the tenth power or so, and hey Rockies, you just made my day, month, and possibly year as well. Win tomorrow, bastards. (Some things never change).