Playoffs, Day 8: A Sound as if a Million Sportswriters Cried Out In Terror

....and were suddenly silenced.

Wow. Just wow. I think that the only reason I wasn't crushed about the A's was because the Cardinals were still alive, and making it a respectable series at that. That feeling was vindicated tonight in another amazing Game Five for the Redbirds. Last year at this time, Albert Pujols was launching moonshots off Brad Lidge that probably still have yet to come down, and the series switched back to St. Louis for a sixth game, which the Astros won. Now, the series is switching back to New York for a sixth game, and if the Cards win, they're in. Who would have believed it. No one, absolutely no one, including to some degree myself, gave them a chance in this series. Certain smug Yahoo! sportswriters were publishing snide opinion pieces that the baseball world might as well crown the Mets the champs.

Well, said sportswriters can't be feeling that confident today. Jeff Weaver turned in six outstanding innings - yes, Jeff Weaver. Baby Dunc, also known as Chris Duncan, can't hit lefties and was put in against a lefty that was mowing the Cards down. What does he do? He hits a home run. King Albert retorts immediately after the Mets had scored two early runs with a homer of his own. And Adam... ah, I mean my husband, came in with two on and two out in the top of the eighth and absolutely bedeviled Jose Valentin (who had hurt the Cards earlier) with filthy stuff to end the inning before making similarly quick work of the ninth. I'm so in love with him I don't think it's possible for me to be more. I need to wear my Carpenter shirt tonight because Chris is pitching tomorrow with a chance to punch the Cards' ticket to the 2006 World Series, but DAMN. Adam, my baby.

Wow. To say that I'm thrilled with this turn of events would be a major understatement. And I know that I should write about something besides baseball, but baseball is my life right now. And speaking of writing about baseball, that's actually a job of mine. Yep, I'm now a sportswriter for The Phoenix, SLC's school newspaper, as I was recruited by a friend on the softball team who knows about my mutual passions for a) baseball and b) writing. How enthusiastic am I about this job? I already prepared a piece - 700 words on the World Series. I did two versions of it, one with the Mets as NL champs and one with the Cards as NL champs. I pray I never have a need to send the Mets' one to my editor.

The Mets have to be worried. They admitted they felt tremendous pressure to wrap this up in six games, and now that's not possible, unless of course the Cards wrap up things in six games, which they have a good chance of doing with Carp on the mound tomorrow. They have to win two games started by John Maine and Oliver Perez while the opponent throws the NL Cy Young winner and a guy with a 2.39 ERA after the All-Star break. That has to be in their heads just a little bit. Game Fives are pivotal for series that are tied at 2 - something like 6 of 7 teams that won 5 went on to capture the title.

LET'S GO RED-BIRDS!!!!!

Playoffs, Day 7: Green and Gold Train Derailed

Not that it was ever really on the tracks for the ALCS. The Kats just flat outplayed them. Hitting, pitching, defense, and fire, the Tigers played like world champions and the A's...well...didn't. I'm not as upset as I thought I might be, because after watching the travesty of a Game 1, I was really irritated and thought, "If they win the next game, they have a chance. If they don't, they're done." That proved to be the case and saved me from probably severe emotional trauma. So they're done for the season now, and I have to wait until 2007 for them to play meaningful games again.

The Cards, meanwhile, are deviously going about surprising people. After a pathetic showing Game 1, they rebounded by winning Games 2 and 3, one on a clutch homer by So Taguchi and one on a brilliant effort from Jeff Suppan. They are making an actual series out of what many people predicted would be a Mets sweep. Anthony Reyes goes against Oliver Perez today with a chance to bump the edge to 3-1. Let's hope that Good Reyes shows up - the one that shut out the White Sox for eight innings after the Pale Hose had scored an ungodly amount of runs against the Cards (33) in the past two games, and not the Reyes that allowed 7 runs in 2 innings against the Diamondbacks. Reyes is talented, but totally unpredictable.

As for Perez... that may be interesting. I actually like him, and have for a while, despite his mercurial nature and propensity to suck after a brilliant 2004 season, but I hope the Cardinals pummel him. I really want at least one of my teams to do the deed. Although, if it's a Cardinals/Tigers World Series... cats eat birds, you know. Erp.

Might post some other stuff later.

The Game Is Only A Game

...and anyone who loves it cannot truly count themselves unmoved by the events of today, or else they are an exceptionally heartless person. As wonderful and euphoric and occasionally heartbreaking as baseball may be, it is still just a game, and the tragic events of today drove that home.

Yankees pitcher Cory Lidle, a licensed pilot, today crashed his plane into a downtown Manhattan high-rise apartment building, evoking memories of 9/11, Thurman Munson, the talented and iconic Yankees catcher who died untimely in 1979 after crashing his private plane, and of Darryl Kile, the Cardinals pitcher who died at age 33 in 2002, stunning the baseball world. Today, it was treated to a nightmarish repeat and lost another of its own.

I'm not a Yankees fan, but this is more important than just team loyalty. This goes to the heart of what it means to love the game and to respect those who play it, regardless of the colors they may wear. I heard the news, was stunned to the core, and then I began to cry. If anyone calls themselves a baseball fan, they should feel the same.

You can read more on ESPN.

The outcomes of tonight's ALCS/NLCS games - both of which, of course, I want the Cards and A's to win - suddenly don't seem that important. Lidle was absolutely otherworldly for the A's in the summer of 2002 and their magical 20-game win streak, turning it on after an unremarkable start of the season. It was something that may never be repeated in baseball and I'm glad that he got to be a part of it.

God go with you, Cory. Rest in peace.

Cory Fulton Lidle - 1972 - 2006

I Condemn The A-Roddian Heresy

[crosses self, crosses self, crosses self]

What's going on? I'm getting there in a minute, once I put my blog muscles back into use after I've spent an evening of alternately doing my homework and telling myself that I should. I've exhausted my profundity quota for the night with my dismantling of A-Rod over on Viva El Birdos, not as if that requires you to be profound, only stubborn and with a hide of steel. Reading back over it, I realize that I was way too nice to the little bitch. Especially since some other poster there was tossing around a sacrilegious idea. In his defense, it came from the spawning fount of stupidity, which is sports talk radio, and not from him.

The Crank Yankers, evidently realizing that their "buy up superstars" plan to win the World Series has been backfiring for the past few years, have decided that they're going to go in a rebuilding direction, starting with (reportedly) firing Joe Torre. No official word on it yet. I personally believe that this is incredibly stupid. Joe manages all those gargantuan egos as best as he can, and he can only work with whatever Georgie's cash supplies for him.

Okay. I'm getting to the blasphemous part. I don't know if the Yankees actually brought up the name or if some bored sports commentator had a spreadsheet in front of him and picked out a name at random. Whatever it was, it was heresy. They suggested a possible Yankees/Cardinals trade. To the Cards: A-Rod. To the Yanks: Adam, and/or Anthony Reyes and presumably, lots of cash.

I'm sorry. I need to continue this post in a moment. I just had an aneurysm.

If you're interested, this is what I said in relation to that idea. Like I said, I let A-Rod off the hook way too easily, but I'm tired of butting heads with people who think he's a superstar. You know how I feel about Adam. This is like, the worst of all possible trade scenarios. Fortunately, it's total hot air. There's no way the Cards are stupid enough to take on the Yanks' problem player. Right? And even if they do (God, let me die quickly) there's no way they'd cough up Adam to do it.

Grr. You stupid Yankers can never have my husband.

-----

Ahem. Anyway. I thought I'd try out some bloggery that doesn't have expressly to do with baseball, which I have not done much, and which is what I'll be doing once the season is over. (SOB! SOB!) So I thought I'd best dust off my life-bloggery skills, if you all really find that fascinating. (And yes, I'm aware that "you all" is limited to a goofy sixteen-year-old in Colorado. Hi, Gillian. If you're still reading, you little cretin).

Life here is well...different. I can definitely say that for sure. And at the same time, it's not too radically out of line. I still sleep and stay up late, and do homework, and my idea of a fun Saturday night is to hang out in my dorm, write, listen to music, and occasionally purloin a peanut butter sandwich. I am not a party person, and that is just fine with me. I've already made over 20 friends without having to make a spectacle of myself and doing an impression of the Cardinals after they clinched. (To see what I mean, please reference the post beneath this one).

I have activities. I have classwork and conferences and my usual trip to Bronxville, and I also have softball, which is going to be a lot of fun. However, I'm already foreseeing one little problem with that. Nothing major, and certainly nothing big enough to derail me from my desired position, first base, where I've been playing at pretty much every practice and where I dearly hope to stick.

It was just that we were playing a scrimmage game tonight (with eight girls, four on each team) and I realized that I don't quite fit the typical Sarah Lawrence athletic participant model. Let's face it, this is not a school for jocks. It is a school for intellectuals, nerdy intellectuals, slacker intellectuals, and nerdy slackers. Therefore, you can probably understand why we're practically going door-to-door and begging for participants.

Also, the SLC mantra is "go out, play, have fun, don't care about winning." There is just a little problem with this, as admirable as it may be. I DO care about winning. The other team was beating my four-girl team badly at the scrimmage (I think the score was something like 6-0 after three innings) and I was like, "This sucks. Even if it is a freakin' scrimmage game with not even a whole team to scrimmage with."

(In case you're wondering, I went 3-for-4, all singles, and picked a few out of the dirt at first base. Being flexible helps when you are corralling frequently wild throws from your third baseman/shortstop).

This being SLC, all the devoted athletes and competitors are on the team already, and everyone else is just out doing it for a lark...which is perfectly fine, but dammit, I hate losing. Part of the reason that the other half of the team was scoring 4 runs in one inning against our team was because we could not play defense to save our lives. Muffed grounders, bad throws, total misjudgments - you name it, we did it. In their defense, I suppose that's why we have all winter to sharpen up before we start playing actual games against other colleges.

Also, however, I'm having a moment of revelation in that I'm actually starting to understand one of the major, major baseball cliches: "Get a pitch you can hit and try not to do too much with it." If you're up there, have a good stance, not doing anything funny with your feet or hands, and have a mechanically sound grip, etc., then you have a pretty good chance of doing something. Gaah, I'm going to end up in that scene from Bull Durham, I just know it, which I am going to have to actually watch now that I am at college and can get R-rated movies whenever I want.

Speaking of movies, I rented several from the library. The Bronxville Public Library is very nice, with a decent collection, and the free-movie situation makes it ideal for a college student such as myself. But since Sarah Lawrence is apparently in Yonkers despite having a Bronxville address, it'll take a little while longer to get my card. Whatever, Westchester municipality planners.

On that note, I love Bronxville. It's a cute and comfortable little town with shops and trees and it's my personal weekend retreat from campus. It is, in fact, equipped with coffee shops - two of them, in fact, which was something that my dad was concerned about when we first came out here last year. There's Starbucks, which is always good, and then Slave to the Grind, which has the whole Seattle/Pacific Northwest vibe going for it and makes the world's best muffins. Cappuccino chip. Cinnamon streusel. Mmmmmmm.

I love my freedom. I like not having parents to nag me, and I like doing what I want (well, to some degree) when I want to. I can eat dinner, go to bed, wake up, go where I want, etc., and not have to answer for it. However, there is one really weird thing that I'm missing, aside from the usual home/family thing, and that is: driving. I'm serious. I really miss the days when I could hop behind the wheel and drive somewhere. Especially since my family apparently got rid of our two stick-shifts and got a freakin' automatic instead. Feh. Americans are evidently too lazy to drive manual-transmission, so they stopped making them. :( Yet another reason I can't wait to go to Oxford. ;)

There are also some aspects to college life that are quite interesting and probably shouldn't be written about here in case they were accidentally read by the person that is the subject of it. Let's just say that yeah, I want a boyfriend, and it'd be nice, and yeah, one of my hobbies is being uselessly horny, and yes, I have all sorts of X-rated imaginings that definitely cannot be written about, but I cannot imagine ever doing some of the stuff that people talk about. I mean.... eeeew.

What should I be doing? Finishing my piece for tomorrow's writing class. At least I got the reading done, although I probably should have written up my customary blurb about each story. Tomorrow, I need to re-read Spinoza, again, finish up Freud, read a few chapters in The Anglo-Saxons for history, and give my story to Joan at conference. And I should probably write up the blurbs before I fall behind. I live in mortal fear of doing that. I am also disgusting myself with my apparent habit of slacking off on the weekends, so I cram on Monday before my first class, which is at 3:30. It is nice not to have to wake up right away. I am opposed to morning people on principle.

Okay. It's 1:00 AM. I either need to do a little more homework, or go to bed. Butterfly kisses and rainbow wishes to you all. Or whatever.

For Your Viewing Pleasure

...a few extra pics from today's Cards celebration.


Well, they must like him, and small wonder, after that man put the team on his broad back and hauled them into the postseason with a little help from Carp. What does victory taste like, Albert? An overload of alcohol?



Wow, I didn't know he could do this. Albert's really cuttin' loose...



Good christ, Albert. What is this, the Pujols Multi-Pronged Dozen-Beer Backloading Assault on Dave Duncan? (Chris Duncan's Papi). Man, is Albert ever lubricated by now. Reminds me of Adam, bless his heart. They had him on for an interview, and he was gibbering wildly, too hyper to answer coherently, and drinking beer in between questions.

Adam, please call me.


Tyler Johnson and Jeff Weaver cut loose. Wow, check out the tattoos on Ty. He seems like a sweet and quiet type, but he does need to get rid of the hunk of chew in his jaw. And Weaver's mullet is a monstrosity. You're not in California anymore, punk. But pitch well in Game 1 and it won't bother me that much.

(For the record, here is what Ty looks like when whatever remaining brain cells he has are not soused in alcohol. Cute kid, huh?)



And here's Ty's pal, catcher Yadi Molina, getting drenched by John Rodriguez, who has a blog. Evidently, he shaved his head, AND remembered his goggles, something which Adam did not. You need to plan these celebrations better, darling, if you're going to be in more. (Hint hint).



I'm out for now. Enjoy!

Playoffs, Day 6: I Lied. There Is No Other Man For Me

....besides him.



Yeah, yeah, you say. Why am I singling in on somebody who only closed out the ninth inning, instead of the true hero - a certain Christopher John Carpenter - who after looking pretty damn shaky in the first inning, locked in and locked down and went seven of them, only allowing two runs, in a brilliant ace-like outing to show all the Redbird doubters that the Cards are never dead?

Dunno. Why am I centering on him? Because I love him? Awww, I suppose I can give Carp some love as well.



I love you too, Chris Carpenter. You and Adam have the most adorable smiles on this entire team.

As you may have guessed by now, the Cardinals secured their playoff berth today with a 6-2 win over the Padres. Carpenter had a bad first inning, as mentioned, but he's Chris mothafuckin’ Carpenter, and he doesn't give up easily to a bunch of ballplayers named after an order of tonsured nincompoops. He instead, brought the pain. 96-mile-an-hour fastballs paired with a devastating, disorienting big-hook curveball, a filthy slider, and just plain unfair breaking stuff. The Padres didn’t have a chance.

By the top of the eighth, however, Carp was gassed, since the Cardinals did not allow him to sit down for more than thirty seconds at a time, seeing an average of 1.6 pitches per at-bat, which all added up to scant rest for him. Therefore, it was probably understandable that a pair of dink singles to open the eighth finally chased him. However, what threatened to make the game too close for comfort was put out by the firemen corps now known as the Cards bullpen, instead of the fire-starters. It is a nice change. Ty Johnson and Josh Kinney did their thing again and the ball was handed off to Adam to inaugurate the ninth.

Of course, he does his thing... kid is too nasty and amazing for words. Not before he let his nerves get the best of him a bit, and allowed a pair of base hits, but neither of them scored, and he got a little sweet revenge by getting major pest Dave Roberts to ground out to Albert for the final out, setting off a wild celebration in Redbird Land.

So, we'll see if they can pull off the scrappy underdog mojo as effectively as they did in the NLDS, in which all the so-called experts at ESPN gave them zero chance of getting out of the first round. In case you've noticed, almost all of ESPN's picks are wrong to date, and I love it.

Also, I'm planning to see if I can actually bring myself to pony up $250 for NLCS Game 2 tickets at Shea Stadium. I'm going to have to see if I can rope a few of my guy friends, Steve and Nick, into coming with me. However awesome it would be, I'm scared of going alone, since I'd be an eighteen-year-old girl in the colors of the enemy riding back and forth on the subway at night. Not a good idea. If not, I may get together with some other of the NYC-area Viva El Birdos posters to invade a bar in the Big Apple and watch the game. I'll be the one with a ponytail, a Cards hat, and a Wainwright #50 shirt.

Wow, this post is way more coherent than some of my other celebratory posts. Probably because I cheated, and cut-and-pasted some of it from a bit I already wrote for my sister. But before I sign off, I must leave you with this photo and its caption (major hat tip to Deadspin).


The Happy Italian Vegetarian Lawyer Genius Elf

Playoffs, Day 5: C'est Petit Mal

The Cardinals failed to go for the jugular as effectively as the A's did today. Instead, Jeff Suppan suddenly decided to be terrified of an underwhelming Padres lineup that had scored a grand total of one run in 18 innings, and was gone early after coughing up a total of three. However, the Cards' bullpen continued their stellar work - now unscored-on in 11.1 innings or something close to that - and managed to hold them there. Unfortunately, the offense apparently counted on the Padres' bats not showing up either, and went MIA, with the only run coming on a So Taguchi eighth-inning home run. The Cards will throw Chris Carpenter tomorrow in Game 4. Should they clinch, he'd then be unavailable until at least Game 2 or 3 of the NLCS. Hopefully, the second-stringers (everyone in the rotation aside from him) can hold the fort until then, so he doesn't have to return to a do-or-die situation.

I got my daily dose of Adam by watching his video interview. That hair...those eyes... yeah, yeah, I know, moving on.

Well, my roommate and her boyfriend just came back to the dorm, which messed up my concentration. Feh. Hate it when that happens - I seem to do my best writing when I'm alone, naturally, so now I have to contend with the extra inhabitants. It's probably Bad Person of me to say, but I sort of dislike the sometimes constant stream of visitors. This IS my room, after all, my little sanctum in the crazy world of college, and I like it when we have peace and quiet.

Yes, well, returning to the topic at hand. Baseball. The Tigers confounded the world, and the talking heads at ESPN, by upending perennial media darling New York and their entire group (I am loathe to call them a "team") of overpaid, self-interested, aging superstars. I just don't get the sense of fire and urgency from them at all that I got from, say, the A's. The Yankees are four and out once more in the ALDS, and the Motor City Kitties are on their way to an ALCS face-off with the A's. Should be interesting.

Gah. Invaded again. I sense this is a doomed effort. More later, and probably a bubbly and incoherent post from me tomorrow if Carp seals the deal.

Playoffs, Day 4: Screw Adam (Yes Please!) I Want To Marry Marco!

Amazing. Simply amazing. The Miracle A's hopped on the "If The Fucking Red Sox Can Win The World Series, I Want To As Well!" wagon! And while they haven't made it to the WS yet, they have a chance if they make it through their next destination - the American League Championship Series.

It feel SO GOOD to write that.

Either my mortal fear of the Twinks was unwarranted, or this Athletics ballclub is scenting victory and wants it desperately. They steamrolled the Twins today, 8-3, in a game that was much closer than it looked - until the bottom of the seventh.

Quick digression. I swore that I couldn't watch the game at all. Around the bottom of the fourth inning (as it turned out) I snuck over to AN (Athletics Nation) to see if the general consensus was good, bad, what have you. It was good, so I opened Gameday and watched the A's bat. It was too stressful to watch the Twins bat, so I turned it off. Came back a little later, watched the A's bat, turned it off again, rocked back and forth neurotically.

Top of the seventh, 4-2 A's, I couldn't take it. I walked up and down my hallway, too nervous to breathe, shaking wildly and scared to death. Then I said to myself, "Hilary. You love this team. Get your ass to the computer and find out what's going on."

Then, in the bottom of the inning, with two outs, none on, and the A's frantically nursing their lead and putting their hopes in the hands of elite setup man Justin Duchscherer (who is truly amazing) the Twinks made the bad decision to intentionally walk Frank Thomas. That brought up Eric Chavez, who'd been having a great game, and he walked.

Pitching change. Jay Payton swings at the first pitch, as usual, but Justin Morneau, A's Killer, can't come up with it and the break comes in our direction instead. Nick Swisher takes a walk, but not before fouling a ball off his foot in a scene scarily reminiscent of Jermaine Dye breaking his leg in one of the A's previous failed ALDS attempts. He's all right, takes ball 4, and forces in a run to make it 5-2.

This brings up Oakland's magical little man, Marco Scutaro, who had already been having a great series. The electricity in the Coliseum is amazing. The entire place is chanting "MARCO! SCUTARO!" at the top of their lungs, but after the fourth pitch, they can't go on. They're screaming too hard. Marco lines a double into the rightfield corner and everybody scores.

I was watching it on Gameday. I was absolutely stunned. I teared up and then I started to cry, sitting at my computer, completely overcome with shock and euphoria. I sobbed, blew my nose, wiped my eyes, delirious and disbelieving.

When Morneau cranked a home run in the top of the eighth, it was just like, "Whatever, Justin, if it makes you feel better." The ninth came along, Huston got a runner on, then a DP, then another runner, then a pop-out, and the deal was done.

The Oakland Athletics are going to the American League Championship Series.

HALLELUJAH!

I can't decide if I want them to face the Tiggers or the Crank Yankers. If it was the Tiggers, the A's would have homefield, since the Kitties were the wild card and therefore don't get homefield advantage. If it was the Yanks... a) I could walk around NY in my A's gear and annoy all the rapper-hat-wearing faux-NY fans, and that would be fun, and b) an A's/Yanks series would be classic. However, I may need to pull for the Kitties. Just to make sure that A-Rod doesn't accidentally get a ring.

Monsieur Rodriguez's line for the postseason: AB: 10. BA: .100. HR: 0. RBI: o. OPS: .200.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! And he's batting cleanup!

I'm too happy to care about anything else.

Playoffs, Day 3: "Mrs. Hilary Wainwright" Has A Nice Ring To It

I swear, I'm not even joking. Adam, if you're reading, call me, okay? ;)

The Birdies totally defied all expectations today, starting with Jeff Weaver's good game against a lefty-heavy lineup that most amateur pundits, myself included, were predicting would lay down the ass-whooping stick on him. Weaver didn't allow a run in 5 innings before handing off to Randy Flores, Josh Kinney, Tyler Johnson, and my future husband, none of whom allowed a runner past first base. It was pretty clever of the Cards, to play such putrid baseball, make everyone think that they were going to slide 3 and out, and then pop up and take everyone by surprise. The bullpen has yet to allow a run in this series. The starters have only allowed 1, and that came off Carp.

The Cards now head back to Busch with a 2-0 lead and Jeff Suppan on the mound in an attempt to seal their berth in the NLCS. I guess you can't underestimate the Redbirds, and mighty Prince Albert, when it comes to the postseason. Sir Pujols is now batting .625 in the postseason. Wow.

Scott Rolen, however, who is supposed to be backing him up, is not doing his job. He's batting .143 and went without a hit today. His D is still irreplaceable, but the other Scott (Spiezio) would be contributing more offensively right now. Hell, the bat boy would be contributing more offensively right now.

I don't want to jinx anything, but the AL/NLDS's are going better than I ever dreamed right now. The Tigers beat the Yanks today, 4-3, thanks in large part to A-Rod going 0-4 with three K's, one to leave the bases loaded, one to end the fifth, and one to end the eighth. If you compare him, Mr. "MVP," to Albert, there is absolutely no way he matches up. Not at all. Not a bit. I love it.

Total randomness: Whenever I type in www.blogger.com to get to here, I always end up typing www.blooger.com. How embarrassing.

I got whatever cold/snuffle/cough bug was going around the dorms, so I'm sort of under the weather. Woke up, stumbled out of bed at 10:50 for an 11:15 meeting with my professor (who then didn't show until 11:30) and coughed and sniffled through the entire thing, leading him to kindly suggest that the next time I was sick, I could call and reschedule.

I got my conference project hammered into more or less order, though. "The King's Isle: A Study of the Religious, Cultural, and Royal Aspects of Iona" is what I'll be banging my head on for the next few months in an attempt to corral it into 20 pages or so. As I said, length isn't an issue, but I'm always scared that my profs won't like it.

I went into Bronxville, my adopted hometown, and just chilled for a while. I bought two packs of gum and a new ring/some nail polish - I love rings and nail polish, and I can seriously chew two 15-stick packs of gum in less than a week. I also got a very large Frappuccino and a maple streusel muffin and just sat out in a gloriously beautiful October day and watched the trains in Bronxville station.

I need to workshop two stories and write my philosophy definitions soon, especially since there's a mini party for a hallmate's birthday and I'll be eating pizza and cake. I also need to go to bed at 12:30 or so since I have to be up by 8:45 tomorrow. Get your lazy arse into gear, Hilary...

Playoffs, Day 2: All Systems Go

2-0 still doesn't mean anything. Nothing will mean anything until the A's exorcise the big, fat, brimstone-blowing demon known as their record in potential ALDS-clinching games since 2000 - 0-9. That is one ugly number. Nine times, the A's have had their chance to book their ticket to the next round - and nine times, they've fallen on their face, jumping out to a 2-0 lead against New York in 2001 before losing the next three, losing the DS to Minnesota in 2002, and taking a 2-0 lead against the Red Sox in 2003 before blowing the next three straight to hell. So, it's understandable that as an A's fan, I'm excited, but this deal sure as shit is not yet sealed.

Mark Kotsay provided the heroics today with a two-out, two-run, inside-the-park homer after Torii Hunter tried an ill-advised dive and the ball went past him all the way to the wall. Esteban Loaiza showed why he's a #2 starter on a playoff team after being a nightmare for the first few months of the season, keeping the Twinks off the board until A's murderers Michael Cuddyer and Justin Morneau took him deep for back-to-back HR in the sixth inning. Can't fault the A's bullpen work after that - the three-headed monster of Kiko Calero, Justin Duchscherer, and Huston Street closed it out.

I am, however, worried about Street, as most A's fans are. He got the job done yesterday and today, but not without a little too much drama, and I believe that his 11 blown saves in the regular season were the most in MLB. Just think of that - we could have won 113 games if he'd converted them all. This team is young, and good, and hungry, and it's not the Chokeland teams of 2000-03. I think they can do it, but I'm not breaking out the green and gold streamers just yet.

Danny Haren takes on Brad Radke at 4 PM ET on Friday. Haren's been up and down - after a rocky start to the season, he was as solid a number-two guy as can be found on any staff, but scuffled badly down the stretch. However, his last start was serviceable, if not stellar - 3 runs in 6 innings - and his last brilliant start came against these very same Twinks - 8 innings, no runs. He matched up amazingly with Johan Santana last season, pitching a complete game and allowing 1 run, but losing anyway since the bats couldn't back him up.

We want to win tomorrow. We really need to. Otherwise, a short-rested Santana may be back out for Game 4 against Rich Harden, and if the Twins take that, it's back to the Terrordome for Game 5. We do not want to go back to the Big Baggy, Santana or not. We got unbelievably lucky the first time; I want to seal the deal before we ever have to see him again.

However, all was not sunshine and unicorns for the A's today. (If you read Athletics Nation, you'll get the reference). Mark Ellis broke his finger after an abortive swing at a high and inside pitch, and will be out for the rest of the series and the ALCS as well...assuming we get there...knock on wood). This isn't bad news for the A's offensively, but it's bad defensively. Ellis is one of the superior second basemen in the game and made only 2 errors all season long. D'Angelo Jimenez, while serviceable, isn't close to his standard. Hopefully, though, this will have a negligible, if at all, effect on the remainder of the ALDS. Get well, Ellie!

(I have his signature on my hat... I actually got it at a time when he was out with a broken thumb. As a matter of fact, I have the signatures of Ellis, Barry Zito, Nick Swisher, Eric Chavez, Huston Street, Brad Halsey, Kirk Saarloos, Jay Witasick, Scott Sauerbeck (ugghh....) and Chad Gaudin on that hat. I'm very proud of it).

Speaking of which, I'm still wearing A's gear - it's the A's ALDS hat's turn tomorrow. If the slipper fits... and if we go to the ALCS, I'll spend more money on yet more A's gear. They're the only team that I will do that for. I recently bought $50 worth of baseball posters - $35 of that went to one A's poster. I love them, what can I say?

The Cards had an off-day today, probably so that their slot on ESPN could be filled instead by the Mets/Dodgers game, which the Mets won 6-5. Jeff Weaver (!) vs. David Wells tomorrow, 4 PM ET. No, that's not a misprint: he of the 3-10 record and 6+ ERA for the LAAAAAA has turned into the Cards' #2 guy, probably attesting to their rotation's utter lack of depth after Cy Young Carp. It's a bit puzzling how Jeff Suppan, who had a 2.27 ERA after the break, didn't get the call, but apparently he's slotted to open Game 3 in New Busch Stadium.

As long as they don't pitch Jason Marquis, whose place on a playoff roster is utterly confounding.

Things don't look that great for the Birdies tomorrow. Lefties hit a whopping .340 off Weaver, who's worse on the road anyway. 7 of 9 Padres hitters will be lefties, including the starting pitcher, and the Cards have trouble hitting lefties. But as long as they have Prince Albert, and Scott Rolen, Jimmy Edmonds, Chris Duncan, Ronnie Belliard, and everyone else (cough cough) contribute, things could go either way. Hopefully, if the Cards get down, they can get Carp another start in Busch, where he was unbeatable this year. (Aside from the late-season debacle against these very same Padres, but he atoned very nicely for that yesterday).

Ah, October baseball...

The start of the Tigers/Yanks game is apparently delayed by rain. I'm 30 minutes outside of the city and it's not raining here, but it was definitely looking gloomy the last time I checked. It's 9 PM now, so they'll be playing late if they do get the game in. Whatever. My dearest hope for this series is that A-Rod fails utterly to get a meaningful hit in any late-game situation, the end.

LET'S GO OAKLAND!!!!

LET'S GO ST. LOUIS!!!!

Playoffs, Day 1: Everything Be Peachy

It's too soon to put on the Nostradamus hat or do any serious prognosticating at all, but you have to like how the pertinent (for me) ALDS and NLDS games turned out today. The A's, the overwhelming underdog (at least according to all the so-called "experts") against the Cinderella Twinkies, pulled off the improbable and stunned the Snack Cakes in the HostessDome. Frank Thomas... man, without him, the A's would have been sitting on their hands and meekly watching the LAAAA trot off with the division again. He's the man who's doing all the heavy lifting that Eric Chavez was supposed to, and Chavy, while I love him, has never demonstrated a propensity for "clutch" heroics.

The Big Hurt brought the pain yet again, jacking 2 HR - one off Johan Santana and one off Jesse Crain - and Marco Scutaro added an RBI double off his fellow Venezuelan. Huston Street survived a Baggy-induced triple to open the ninth, as Milton Bradley lost Michael Cuddyer's routine fly in the cursed Metrodome roof, and flashed his balls of steel by not melting down, as he's had an unfortunate tendency to do against worse teams than the Cinderella Twinkies. End result, 3-2 A's win, 1-0 series lead.

Barry Zito, aside from blogging about the entire post-season experience, also got in on the whole Balls of Steel thing with eight gritty innings to match Santana's. 1-0 isn't anything to pop the champagne corks about, and 2-0 wasn't safe for the A's 3 years ago, but beating Santana is huge. HUGE. Esteban Loaiza goes tomorrow in an attempt to put the A's firmly in the driver's seat before they go home to McAfee, which will be undoubtedly as loud as (or louder, once you factor in the drummers) the Baggydome.

Now, confession time: I didn't watch the game. Not a pitch. Not an inning. I can't handle pressure, and I felt that if we lost here, we were doomed from the outset. I'm still trying not to hope too much - we still have to win two more, and God only knows what can happen in baseball.

My inner optimist is coming out and hopefully snuffling at the air, all the while waiting for the big bad pessimist to return. I don't know what's going to happen, but.... GO ATHLETICS!!! If you see a girl walking around campus at SLC wearing a) an A's jersey, b) an autographed A's home hat, c) an A's AL West Champs shirt, d) an A's ALDS hat, or e) any combination of these, it's definitely me.

-------

As for the Cards, their game today was all that a very, very nervous Redbird fan such as myself could hope to see. Chris Carpenter turned in a high-quality outing to open the set with the Friars of San Diego, lasting 6.1 innings and allowing 1 run on five hits, with one walk and seven strikeouts. Tyler Johnson finally got command of his finicky slider and worked an inning and a third in relief before handing it off to Adam Wainwright (no words needed. Please pardon this post for a moment):

I SWOON FOR ADAM WAINWRIGHT

But you knew that, right? ;)

Anyway, Adam's stuff was filthy, he came out as pumped as ever, and dispatched of the Padres with a mixture of an absolutely sick curveball and some high-90s heat. We have a closer, and he is GOOD. It's awesome to see. I will wear my Adam shirt to bed tonight with even more pride than usual. :D

As for the offense and defense, they also showed up. Albert Pujols, El Hombre, Yo Daddy, or simply GOD, whichever is easiest to remember, got new life after Mike Piazza (one of the worst defensive catchers in the game, and absolutely hopeless at catching base-stealers) dropped a harmless foul pop. Albert retaliated by taking a fat Jake Peavy offering downtown for a 2-0 Birdie lead, which Carp ensured was never lost. A couple other Cards made contributions as well, most notably Jimmy Edmonds, who had two base hits after returning from post-concussion syndrome. Great to see... I love Jimmy and I'm thrilled that he's back for the postseason.

But the defense was exceptional and may have saved the Redbirds' behind in a major way. Ronnie Belliard made a spectacular sprawling catch and throw from his back to stab a sure-ticket 2-RBI single and end the inning, after Johnson was cleaning up Carp's slight mess in the bottom of the seventh. And Albert flashed the leather (he can field, hit, and use the Force... don't mess with this man) to end the inning after Adam came in and to take an RBI single away from Piazza.

Of course, this is baseball, so everything could change tomorrow. But for a fan nervous that her teams were both going to get steamrolled in the first round, it's good to see. It's also interesting to see all the pundits who predicted a 3-game sweep by the Padres stumble over themselves to mention how good the Cards still are and how they shouldn't be discounted so easily. Try this on for size, talking heads: The Cards are 7-0 in postseason play against the Padres going back to 1996, I believe, and have owned the NL West this season.

Side note: I have a terrible baseball addiction. I was trying to read Part I of Spinoza's Ethics for philosophy class (tomorrow, so I really needed to get it done) and at the same time, I watched the entire Yankees/Tigers game. I don't like either team and would be happy to see them both out of it (although I hope the Tiggers make it to the ALCS, since they'd be easier for the A's). However, that is unlikely. Getting swept by the Royals at home to end the season and cough up the AL Central crown does not bode well for postseason glory.

With slightly more optimism than yesterday, * I close this post with:

LET'S GO OAKLAND!!!!!!
LET'S GO ST. LOUIS!!!!!!


* until Esteban Loaiza and Jeff Weaver probably get shelled tomorrow and send me plunging back to ground zero

Oh Shit

The Detroit Tigers are lucky they got that playoff spot sewn up before they played the terrifying Kansas City Royals (62-100 final record). Today, the Tigers, despite holding a 10-game lead on average throughout the entire season, coughed up the AL Central division title to the ferocious upstarts, the Twins.

This is bad. This means that the A's will now face the Twins in the first round of the playoffs. This also means that if the series goes 5 games, they draw Johan Santana twice, both times in the Metrodome, where he is absolutely unbeatable (hasn't lost a start there since August 2005). Plus, the Twins are storming into the postseason aboard a wave of serious momentum and already have perpetual A's-killers Michael Cuddyer and Justin Morneau, plus AL Batting Champion Joe Mauer. Basically, the Twins are very, very scary in a 5-game series. Ulp.

I'd be lying if I said that my hopes just took a dip. There is, of course, a silver lining: the Twins hit .204 off Game 1 (and 5, if necessary) starter, Barry Zito. (Of course, the A's hit .186 off Santana, with the exception of Frank Thomas, who carries a .375 clip). And the Twins scored 4 runs in 4 games in Oakland, so if we can somehow steal one in the Metrodome and then seal the deal on our home turf...

I'm scared.

Screw the Tigers. I hope the Yankees take them out.... no wait, I don't. I hate the Yankees even more, and if Alex Rodriguez gets a World Series ring, I'm committing hara-kiri.

The Cards will face either the Padres or the Dodgers in the NLDS. They handled the Padres pretty easily last year, and they swept the Dodgers in the season series, 7-0, which could be good or bad. Good: They can handle them. Bad: The Dodgers would likely have a chip on their shoulder because of this.

I just am not good with pressure. But bring on Tuesday, nonetheless...

The '06 Cardinals - The New '64 Phillies? Hell No

The 1964 Philadelphia Phillies are somewhat ignominious in baseball lore for holding a 6-game lead with 7 more to play, and then promptly losing all 7 of those games to cough up the division title and seal one of the most embarrassing collapses in sports history (aside from the Yankees in the 2004 ALCS vs. the Red Sox). Recently, there were rumblings in Redbird Land that the Phillies may have found a new companion in loserdom.

The Cards were on the verge of choking in dramatic fashion, losing seven games off their once-comfortable 8.5-game lead in seven days, while the Astros staged a furious last-minute roar and closed to within .5 games of the Central lead while the Reds lurked hopefully but were never that much of a threat. It seems as if the Astros are dead and buried every year - for the past two they were under .500 before the All-Star Break and then came roaring out into the playoffs in both '04 and '05. This year, they pulled off another cockroach imitation, refusing to be squished and making Cardinals fans everywhere very, very nervous.

Let's face it - this year's edition of the Redbirds is nothing like the overwhelming '04 squad, which amassed 105 wins and rolled into the postseason, dispatched of the Astros in seven thrilling, classic games, and then apparently decided that they'd had too much excitement and promptly got swept by the Red Sox in the World Series. This team is pretty flawed - too much So Taguchi, Jose Vizcaino, even Jason Isringhausen-type players. They still have Chris Carpenter, and of course God Himself, Pujols, but their dominance definitely hasn't been there this year. I'm not sure that many Cards fans, myself included, are expecting a serious postseason run, but we can deal with the exit - we're sort of prepared for it. We can't deal with the collapse and sportswriters everywhere chortling like a flock of buzzards.

Well, those fears were laid to rest today, as the Atlanta Braves kindly dispatched of the Astros, 3-1, to bump St. Louis' magic number down to zero and put them in possession of a third consecutive division title. Now, the playoffs are a total crapshoot - the White Sox backed into the postseason last year, having also almost been caught and overtaken (by the Indians) and then won the World Series, sweeping those same Astros. It's hard to say what ramifications the regular season can have on the postseason.

My God, the regular season is over. The playoffs start on Tuesday. I must admit that I'm not good with pressure - I swear to myself that I'm not going to look in on the game because I put way too much emotional investment in them, and then I usually do look anyway. I'm addicted... but scared as hell. I really, really want my Athletics and Cardinals to kick some behind. My dearest dream is of a World Series with those two, but I would be absolutely torn as to who to root for.

My next post will probably be "Requiem for a Season," since I'm going to relive the thrilling ride that was 2006. Holy crap, where does the time go? I nearly died last off-season and I don't want the playoffs to be over... because after that is a long, cold, dark, depressing winter with no baseball. It sucks.

In the meantime, REDBIRD POWER and GO ELEPHANTS!

THEY DID IT

At 1:00 AM ET, my Oakland Athletics officially became your 2006 American League West Division Champions with a 12-3 win over the Seattle Mariners while the LAAAAAAAAA lost to the Texas Rangers, 5-2.

YESSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Possible matchups: A's/Tigers, Twins/Yankees. And that's fine with me. Just fine. Let the Yanks handle the HorrorDome.

As for the Cardinals.... ugh, the Cardinals. Seven games lost off their lead in seven days. Don't even talk to me about the Cardinals....

Well, Feh.

Despite all my yelling and shrieking, the A's did not, in fact, clinch their division today with a win over the hated LAAAAAAAAAA at home. However, I do still think that it will happen, as they are still 6 games up with a magic number of two and will next play the Seattle Mariners for three games before heading to Wahnaheim for a four-game closing set. Holy crap... this is the last week of the regular season. Where does time go?!

The A's own the Mariners, so the deed will get done soon. However, I'd appreciate it if they'd stitch things up so they can go into Anaheim and play four totally meaningless games. They can rest their regulars, organize their rotation for the playoffs, and not care if they lose all four, while the LAAAAAAAA have nothing to look forward to except a really nice golf course.

However, I am still going to buy my A's 2006 AL West Champions shirt as soon as it comes out. So, if they'd oblige me and seal the deal so that shop.mlb.com can offer up the necessities, I'd be much indebted.

I should probably go and work on Section Two of Feuerbach's Essence of Christianity now. It's conference work for my philosophy class. At Sarah Lawrence, instead of finals, you do a "conference" or end-of-term project (usually a research paper) that takes some topic you've studied throughout the semester and develops it at length. Serious length - usually about 20 pages. So, for philosophy, I am studying Descartes' proof of God's existence and Feuerbach's rebuttal of it. Not sure yet how that's going to develop into a full-fledged paper, but I've got time.

My next post will not be until the Oakland Athletics are your 2006 American League West Division Champions. So, take that under advisement.

OH FUCK YEAH YESSSSSSS!!!!!

Nothing coherent to see here, folks. Really. Or maybe in bursts, but you'll have to deal with the fangirl raving in between.

MARCO FUCKING SCUTARO MARRY ME I WANT TO HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!!!!!

4-4 A's/LAAAAAAAA. Bottom of the twelfth inning. An overused Huston Street coughs up the tying run in the ninth. Kiko Calero gives us two valiant shutout innings. Then Gas Can Halsey bestrides himself to the mound, causing the A's faithful to quake in fear. He pours the gas, but Juan Rivera helpfully snuffs

AHAHAHAHHAhAHAHAHA YES FUCKING YES EAT IT BITCHES EAT IT

it out with a double play to end the inning. To start off the bottom of the twelfth, Bobby Kielty doubles, a Jay Payton grounder moves him to third, and they intentionally walk Swisher to get to Marco Scutaro, Oakland's valiant little man in the clutch.

YESSSSSSSYESOAKLANDALWESTCHAMPSTOMORROW!!!!!

And he gets up there and does his thing. Single, McAfee Coliseum goes fucking nuts. The A's win it, 5-4, putting them in position to clinch the AL West with a win tomorrow.

I WANT MY MOTHERFUCKING 2006 AL WEST CHAMPS SHIRT RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!

Gaah. I was shaking and freaking out in my dorm room, and barely restrained myself from screaming at 1:45 in the morning. Baseball. You break my heart and put it back together in the same evening. The A's give me a baseballgasm and they'll call back tomorrow. You, my babies, are all the real man I need.

For Christ's Sake, Somebody Change The Mother Effing Tape

Some baseball-related deity up there really, really hates me.

Situation: Cards 5, Astros 2. Adam Wainwright has just blown through a perfect and spotless 7th inning in which he has struck out 2 of the 3 batters he faced. So he goes back for the eighth. Gets into trouble straightaway. Gives up two runs - although the ump did screw him like a drill on one call to Biggio, which should have ended the AB before he had the chance to get that RBI single. They pull Adam for Tyler Johnson, who executes a Houdini-like bit of wriggling to get out of it. God, the nightmares I have about the bottom of the eighth inning at the fucking Juice Box in Houston.

Then Braden Looper is put in to hold a slim 5-4 advantage in the bottom of the ninth. Fat Elvis Berkman isn't involved this time, but the outcome is the same. Looper, abruptly realizing that he's supposed to suck, lives up to his billing and blows it. 6-5 'Stros is your final.

I don't have anything else to say. St. Louis Cardinals: Your 2006 NL Central Winners. By default.

An Addendum to Agony

Posted after a little time to chill out, talk to my sister, and get myself psyched up about playing softball for the SLC Gryphons. Which is going to be awesome.

I own two Cardinals T-shirts, one Wainwright and one Carpenter. I usually wear my Wainwright T-shirt to bed, but tonight I'm going to wear Carp. Just because I still love him, even after a really tough outing. The precise reason that this was so gut-wrenching to watch is because you know it didn't have to be that way, because it usually isn't. Chris Carpenter is a stud and he and Albert Pujols make me proud to be a Cardinals fanatic.

I've had some time to mellow, and while this loss is still awful, it'll be okay. It really will. We're still going to clinch the Central, and if that's are far as we go... well, that's okay. No one's really expecting us to do anything else, and if we do go farther, I'll be ecstatic. But I can't help but love them, and that's why baseball rocks my little world.

I'm going to peace out and get some sleep, because I have class early tomorrow and it's philosophy, I want my mind to be fresh. So to bed I go, and I love my Redbirds, because I can't do anything but.

My Heart Has Been Torn Out Of My Chest, Stomped On, And Eaten Raw By Cannibals Before My Eyes

Sports fanaticism is not a good thing for a person. I mean it. The emotional turmoil it puts you through is just too much.

Earlier today, I was riding pretty high. Rich Harden came back to make his triumphant return for the A's after eight zillion years on the DL, and pitched 3 innings, allowing 2 hits, 1 run, and racking up 7 strikeouts. That's right - 7 of his 9 outs were of the K variety, and his only mistake was grooving a straight fastball to Grady Sizemore, who's a good player and doesn't miss it when you put it right in his wheelhouse. Other than that, everything was sunshine and warm fuzzies in Oakland today, as the A's took 3 of 4 from the Chief Wahoo Crew and cut that ever-important magic number down to 4, sporting a 7-game lead as the LAAAAAAA roll into town for a three-game weekend set. If the A's win two of three, they'll get to clinch on their home turf in front of their biggest rivals. Ahhhh, that would be so wonderful.

So why the nihilistic title? Mainly because tonight's recent events have me feeling as if exactly that has happened to me, maybe even adding a sledgehammer into the equation somewhere.

Situation: Cardinals have a 5-game lead in the NL Central, with the same magic number. They're not playing that well, but it's all right; there's nobody playing well enough to challenge them and they're going to take home the hardware eventually. So why the pain?

Let's start by setting the scene. 5-4 Cardinals, bottom of the eighth, two out, man on second. Chris Carpenter is trying to gut out one more out after a (for him) subpar outing. He's given up 4 runs already, two of them coming on a home run by Lance "Fat Elvis" Berkman, who has always hit Carp well and who was the author of the blast that put the 'Stros ahead in NLCS Game 5 last year before Prince Albert worked his three-run walkoff magic against Brad Lidge, who's never been the same since. (See: Jose Alberto Pujols is God. Amen).

And for some reason, Tony La Russa had a total brainlock and didn't walk Berkman. First base was already open. Carpenter sets him up with a steady diet of cutters, runs a two-seamer in, and gets to 3-2. I'm dying. Carp throws the cutter again, which Berkman was either sitting on or has hit Carp well enough to guess his pitch selection. Takes it downtown. 6-5 Astros, just like that, and the Cards go quietly against Dan Wheeler in the ninth, Phil Garner not being a brave enough man to risk Lidge against his personal pack of nemeses.

So why the pain? A) I want more than anything to see Carpenter take home his second straight Cy award. His numbers are outstanding by any yardstick you use, and he's top of the heap in pretty much any category. After that loss, he's even still 15-7 with a 2.93 ERA. But as the NL Cy race is a two-horse contest between him and Brandon Webb of the D-backs, he needs absolutely everything he can get.

Secondly: Home-field advantage is incredibly important for the Cards in any playoff series, and they need to keep winning (and have the Dodgers and Padres lose) in order to secure it. Carpenter is a manbeast at home, registering a 1.46 ERA, but he's more human on the road, even mediocre, posting a 4.52 mark (that's undoubtedly gone up after tonight's debacle). Having him start the opening game of any series at New Busch is something that the Cards desperately need, especially as their rotation after Carp is pick-and-choose junk. Suppan has been very good, with a 2.27 ERA since the break, but after that, you descend into the wilderness of Reyes (wild, tendency to get pounded) Weaver (spotty and totally unpredictable) and Marquis (total worthlessness). They need to jump out to that early lead to hang on with whatever they throw out there.

And for purely selfish reasons, this loss feels like a kick in the gut. I'll admit it, I fucking love Chris Carpenter. I must have a thing for tall, gray-eyed, unbearably adorable Cardinals power pitchers, who possess ERAs of 2.93 and 2.92, respectively, and are the aces of a) the rotation and b) the bullpen.

If you guessed Carp and Adam Wainwright, you are, naturally, right on the mark. The two Cards shirts I own are #29 Carpenter and #50 Wainwright. Carpenter became a desperate favorite of mine this season, for whatever reason, even after his Cy campaign last year. Maybe it's his sensational smile and nice-guy demeanor, the fact that I love to watch him baffle hitters, or simply that I'm blindly biased in a pro-Cards direction, but I freakin' adore that man. He's a stud. Even tonight. Watching that happen - especially since the whole of Cardinals Nation was screaming for an IBB of Berkman and Tony completely missed the memo. It didn't have to happen. Luke Scott, the hitter right after Berkman, popped out on the second pitch he saw.

Complete game from Carp, giving up 2 runs to people not named Lance Berkman. He's the only hitter on the Astros, and he knows Carp well - as demonstrated. Absolutely no reason to pitch to him in that situation, and despite all La Russa's assurances that he's not trying to pad Carp's case for a repeat Cy, I have to wonder if there was a little of that going on tonight.

I know that Carp's the ace, but Berkman has his number. Ackn0wledge that fact. Since Adam was anointed the new closer after Isringhausen's departure, if you absolutely must pitch to Berkman, then put Adam in to do it.

This one hurt. This one really, really hurt. The Cards will clinch eventually, but it would be bittersweet if it came at the expense of home-field advantage and they went out quietly in the first round.

Crawling-off-and-crying time now.

Let The Salivation Begin

So the Colorado Rockies, apparently heeding to my very whim, have decided to put out a preliminary PDF of ther 2007 home schedule. I, being the maniac that I am, scanned it eagerly, to plan what games I'm going to go to next summer once I get home from college.

I came up with a list including the 4-game St. Louis series at the end of May (oh thank you, Scheduling Gods, for putting it there and not sooner, as my last day of class is May 11 and I'll fly home later that day). I have to wear my new Adam Wainwright T-shirt somewhere, right? And where better to do so than to a season-inauguring set between the Rockies and Redbirds?

(Disclaimer: Although I love the Rockies, who won me over this season, I adore the Cards, and I can't possibly root against them. All other games you may see me at, however, I'll be rooting for the Rox).

If I can make it to one of the Yankees games, I will (read: Wednesday night, as on Wednesdays, Coors Field gives away a voucher for a free ticket to every female through the gates) solely for the purpose of booing A-Rod. But those would be a madhouse and I'd probably be lucky to get tickets even if I booked them now. And I'd go and root like hell for the Rockies, because despite my four-year transplantation to New York, I still don't like their baseball teams any better.

After that, I'd like to catch the Reds, the Astros, and any others that I can manage, winding down to August 8, 7:05 PM against the Brewers. Why the Brewers, you ask? Well, because my sister and I went on August 2 of last year, Rockies vs. Brewers, for the last game of the season (well, our season, since both of us had commitments afterwards). It was one of the best nights of my life and just the thought of doing it over again in '07 gives me the shivers.

What I really need: a Rockies hat.

Speaking of Colorado, I miss it. A bit more than I expected, actually. I'm not that homesick, and I love my school, my classes, my profs, and basically everything else, but it rains too damn much in New York. I miss Colorado blue sky, mountains, and crisp days and nights (the humidity here is quite something new). I also miss the Rockies. My summer spent in their company was one for the truly awesome annals. Even though they're out of the race and spent most of the past two weeks shitting the bed, I am desperately eager to get back into their company starting May 28, 1:05 PM against the Cardinals.

On another baseball-related note, ESPN Page 2's "Hometown Bums" feature, mimicking MLB's "Hometown Heroes," is just about the funniest thing I have read in my life.

The Hometown Bums. "How come Jose Mesa is listed for only three teams?"

BWAHAHAHAA. As a Rockies fan, however, that stings a little too close to home. God, if I could count the years off my life that I've wasted watching that man quote unquote pitch... I also think it is vastly amusing that Dan O'Dowd is listed as a Rockies nominee. Seeing as he, along with Republicans, is also a running punchline in my house, it's got to be him. He was the, cough cough, "genius" behind the assorted fiascos that have characterized the Colorado franchise since they hired him.

The Hometown Bums ballot. I love it that A-Rod is present under both Rangers and Yankees. To be fair, he was less of a bum in Texas than he was in New York. Either way you slice it, can't stand the guy.

From an A's fan perspective, got to be Jeremy Giambi. "SLIDE, JEREMY, SLIDE!" Ahh... if you don't know what that means, you have not suffered enough to be an A's fan. I doth decree that you shall be exiled into the deserts of Red Sox/Yanks fandom for forty years.

From a Cards fan perspective: Mark Mulder. I loved the guy to death when he was with Oakland, and was heartbroken when he was traded. However, he has done some major pooch-screwing in St. Louie, isn't getting any better, is hurt and doesn't appear to know why, and generally appeared to fall off the face of the earth once Billy Beane gave him the boot. Besides, Danny Haren is one of my favorites now, and Kiko Calero is a member of the unstoppable bullpen troika (the other two being Justin Duchscherer and Huston Street). This trade was a major winner for the A's.

I've done my homework for the evening, so I'm generally wasting time on the Internet. Maybe I'll go see if someone emailed me. I don't think that my family emails me enough. They apparently disagree.

Confessions of a Music Freak

I have to admit. I am freaking addicted to music. My iPod is my life, filled only with my 700-odd handpicked songs, the ones that I love and can play over and over, and often do. Whenever you'll see me, it's often with a pair of little white buds plugged into my ears, and my head bopping wildly as I respond innately to the chords floating through them. Therefore, this leads me to a confession:

I have got to stop buying new music on iTunes. My debit card account is not infinite. But there's so much great music out there, and I've already bought other things or two, not to mention I really want to save money for whatever infrequent jaunts to NYC that I can scrounge up on an extremely limited budget, aside from having little to no knowledge of the train system and how to get around. But what can I say?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go download the Kingdom of Heaven soundtrack.

Brokeback Mountain

So I finally watched it. This has been one episode that I have been planning with Machiavellian precision ever since before I'd left home. I wanted to see it but I didn't think there was any way I could sneak an R-rated "gay cowboy" movie past my parents, who are cool on some things but a bit more tetchy on others. So, I decided to wait until I was at school, which, obviously, is where I am now. I bought the DVD for less than $10 off Amazon, got it today, and stuck it into my handy-dandy laptop, which plays movies in addition to being, well, a computer.

I was blown away. I came into the film with high expectations - everyone and his brother talking it up and it sweeping practically every awards show that it encountered. But... well... wow. I finished it about 15 minutes ago and I think the real weight of it is just hitting me now.

Confession. Guys think that girl-on-girl is pretty fuckin' hot; well, it's the reverse for me. I happily admit that I find guy-on-guy incredibly sexy. But that is entirely not what BBM is about. There's only one sex scene between the protagonists, and then tastefully shot with no nudity at all, mostly in the dark. BBM, as just about anybody with an Internet connection to IMDB knows, is not about that. It's about love - real love, the kind that we only get (or give) once in our lives, and how there was tremendous pressure on the cowboy main characters to "conform," to live normally, to marry and have kids, when what they really wanted (but could never admit to) was a life with each other.

[SPOILERS]










At the end of the film, when Ennis calls Lureen to find out what happened, and then later goes through Jack's closet and finds the bloodstained shirt that he kept all those years, my heart was just breaking. Heath Ledger did a marvelous job at portraying the emotions of a character who thought that he wasn't allowed to feel them, and my entire thoughts through this five-minute-plus scene consisted of, Oh, Ennis. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That and sobbing my eyes out. It was a good thing that I was alone in my dorm, or I'm pretty sure that anxious questions would have been levied. Fortunately, one roomie's off with her boyfriend, and the other went to a volleyball game.

So, yeah. Nothing else to say in this post but, holy crow. I'm watching it with my sister when she comes to visit me in November, and I think she's going to like it almost as much as I did.

Articles of Interest

Let us put a face to the shadowy Internet presence with Ethernet connection and Inspiron laptop. Let us plumb the darkness of ignorance and this black template thing that I've got going on. Let us strip aside the flesh and excavate the bone, let us dig into the cadaver and --

Let us get off this particularly undelightful metaphor and do the introduction, shall we?

About Me. I am eighteen years old and a woman, although on occasion I have been mistaken for being a) in my mid-to-late twenties and b) a boy. In my defense, I am not boyish-looking at all, but I am five-foot-ten and broad-shouldered, and at the time of the sad misidentification incident(s), I was usually wearing some piece of disguising clothing such as a ski helmet and goggles, and/or a bike helmet and sunglasses. Must be something about the protective gear.

I like music - in fact I can't live without it. I like chocolate, as most everyone with two X chromosomes does. I write because it is my life and the words would never leave me alone if I did not. I architect and manipulate and sculpt and battle. I love the English language, with the way you can piece it together into poetry like turning a kaleidoscope, and I believe there is a special place in hell for people who write "alway's fresh" on grocery-store signs or "As it looked around, it's eyes flared" in schlocky fantasy novels. I am an apostrophe defender, a grammarian warrior, and have adopted Lynn Truss' zero-tolerance policy toward punctuation. Do it right, the end.

I am deeply in love with baseball for reason having nothing to do with a) an interest in other women, or b) a fervent desire to get the players drunk and then sleep with them. Don't get me wrong, I definitely appreciate the aesthetic aspects, and there are some players that I would go for - but only if they talked to me first. ;) I am not a slut. I don't drink, do drugs, or smoke. However, when I fell for baseball, I was seven years old, far too young to notice such things as the fact that Brad Hawpe has a fine, fine ass. The love of baseball, just baseball as the sport, stayed with me as I grew up. No need to reiterate my teams - you know them already.

What else do I like? I like cold winter days and attractive men. I like inventing wildly when given a modicum of truth to start with. I like staying up until 3:00 AM and waking up at noon. I like my sleep in general. I am deeply sympathetic to the liberal side of things in America, and have relatively little patience for Republicans, who are the running punch line in my family's house.

I have been kissed by someone that I didn't like but I have kissed someone that I did. I am cynical, cheerful, easy-going, funny, sarcastic, and occasionally reclusive. I am perfectly content to spend hours with only the creatures of my imagination for company. I would rather go home and work on my writing than go out to a party and get wasted. I like having the freedom to do what I want. I am a very responsible person in general but I like to drive fast. I miss the sunshine of Colorado and my younger sister, my best friend. But I am excited beyond measure to be where I am and now I really must work on philosophy.

Mea Culpa

Freddy Garcia of the White Sox loses a perfect game against the LAAAAAAA with two out in the eighth. Ooooh.... damn you Adam Kennedy...

Freddy Garcia Is Doing The Unmentionable

All I can say is, it couldn't happen to a better team.

A Note on My Baseblogging

I have never laid claim to being the most objective of sports bloggers. While Sparks of Dementia will delve into any and all topics that I might find interesting at any particular moment, one of the recurring themes, as you may already have noticed, will be my obsession with baseball. Therefore, let me take this moment to post a small disclaimer in relation to my sports coverage, which admittedly will be somewhat patchwork and deeply biased in pro green-and-gold and red-and-white directions. (Translation: Oakland A's and St. Louis Cardinals, both of whom I care about far more than is healthy for anyone's mental health).

Baseblogging Notes on Sparks of Dementia:

1) I know every stat. Sometimes, however, I prefer not to cite them, or I post out of emotion or outrage at somebody's current piss-poor performance and/or possible screwing the pooch of said team's playoff chances. As noted in my header, I make no guarantees of rationality (see: "I Hate Joe Kennedy.") This is my blog, after all, and I want to feel free to vent and blow off steam instead of having to put together an objective, analytical argument. Check out my sidebar - any of the SportsBlogs cited (AN, VEB, PR) will fill that role for you. There will be plenty of analysis, believe me, but as a side note. This blog is about my reactions as a fan, not my machinations as a sabermetric nerd. (And yes, I do know what VORP, OPS, and all other "nerdy" stats are. I even know how to calculate most of them).

2) I will also make no secret of my blatant favoritism - I'm a sports fan writing from a sports fan's perspective, not a journalistic standpoint, and if I call a Red Sox pitcher (say, Curt Schilling) an asshat, you can rest assured that at least you will never see me writing for a major newspaper and getting away with that. By the way, Curt Schilling is, in fact, an asshat. See my groups listing on Facebook.

3) If you come on here after a big A's/Cards win, you may expect to find me gloating freely. If a loss, expect to find me in a corner sobbing. Seeing as I am a devout agnostic, this is the closest thing that I get to a religion, and believe me, this is serious stuff.

4) If you don't know who Adam Wainwright is, you'd better brush up. I love him. Love him.

5) Let's establish this from the get-go so there is no confusion later.

People I Dislike (And Will Insult Freely)
The New York Yankees, esp. Alex Rodriguez
The Boston Red Sox, esp. Curt Schilling
The Los Angeles Angels of Orange County California USA, esp. everyone
The Texas Rangers, esp. George W. Bush

List subject to revision. If you have a problem with any of it, skip it.

That's about all I can think of right now. If warranted, further Notes on Baseblogging will appear later.

Jose Alberto Pujols is God. Amen.

Sorry for the ridiculous third post in a row within a matter of hours - I must seem like one of those stream-of-consciousness people, which I'm not. And I've never been accused of loquacity either, so this probably comes as a surprise and won't happen again once I get over the first transcendent high of new bloggerdom. But I couldn't let this pass unremarked, and especially not after the gut-wrenching loss that the A's just suffered at the hands of the Twinkies. I happened to look up at the St. Louis game, which I was following only marginally after Jeff Weaver screwed the pooch, and noticed that the final score was Cards 6, Astros 5. It had been 5-4 Astros going into the bottom of the ninth, and I had just braced myself for that devastating double-loss day when neither of my teams can get their heads out of their collective asses and instead meekly hand the game to the other team. Nes pas, when Albert Pujols is in the building.

In case you are not aware, Brad Lidge (Astros closer) is Albert's bitch. I will never forget watching NLCS Game 5 on a television purloined from my grandmother (in our defense, she was out of town and would have had no objection even if she did know) and watching Albert launch that colossal moonshot in the top of the ninth to win the game for the Cards. My sister and I jumped out of our seats and danced around ecstatically. Seriously. Then Mark Mulder, who's fast slipping in my good graces after his terrible season this year, gave it up in Game 6, but you know. Can't have everything and all that.

So, El Hombre worked his magic once again tonight. Two runners on, two out, Cards trying not to follow up Chris Carpenter's gem with a Weaver-piloted clunker. Albert yanks one to left field, Busch Stadium goes berserk, happy feelings abound. Except, not if you're Brad Lidge, and have been presented with resounding proof that you are, in fact, still Albert Pujols' bitch.

That's gotta be in his head for a loooong time now.

Roy Oswalt vs. Jason Marquis tomorrow. My usual expectation of Marquis is that he will suck, and I'm usually not disappointed in this regard. Right now, please join me in this heartfelt and entirely unsarcastic plea:

LET'S GO CHICAGO WHITE SOX!!!!!!

(why, you might ask? They are playing the LaAAAaAAA, only one of the most evil teams on earth).

I Hate Joe Kennedy

(Or, you learn where my loyalties lie. This is a preview of what is to come: long posts re: the Oakland A's and St. Louis Cardinals, with the Colorado Rockies thrown in for variety. I told you that a lot of this blog would deal with baseball).

Situation: Oakland A's 5, Minnesota 3, bottom of the eighth at the House of Horrors in Minneapolis better known as the Twinkie Dome, better known as the Metrodome. A's doing their best to hang on to a 5.5 game lead in the AL West and slice their magic number down in a desperate attempt to fend off their usual September slide and another humiliating choke to the Los Angeles Angels of Orange County California USA. I think they may do it this year, but sure as hell not if what just happened happens again.

Joe Kennedy is somebody who I've never understood Athletics' management's fixation with. Great ERA, because he lets everyone else's runners score instead of his own, sort of like the Jose Mesa of the AL. Terrible WHIP of 1.71, last time I checked. (In case you don't speak Baseballese, this number is an estimation of the number of walks and hits a pitcher permits per inning. In this example, it means Kennedy allows nearly two baserunners per inning). And it just bit him in the ass... I knew we weren't going to get through the meat of the Twins' lineup unscathed, and sure enough, JFK coughs up 3 runs to give the Twins a 6-5 edge.

(Note: I exaggerated. According to Yahoo! Sports, JFK's WHIP is 1.25. Still not stellar).

Now, it's not over yet, and Twinks closer Joe Nathan threw 30+ pitches last night, so there's still hope, but the A's absolutely must end this jackassery of bullpen management. Justin Duchscherer and Kiko Calero are the go-to guys in late, tight, close games that you really need to win late in the season, and Calero was kept in long enough to get a double play in the seventh, then pulled. Duchscherer was brought in to close the barn door after Kennedy had kindly let all the cows out.

Agh... I just can't stand this. September is going to turn my hair gray. Memo to Ken Macha: Use Kennedy if you must. Certainly not in situations like this. I just don't trust him, and I never have.

Update: 7-5 Twins win. Ugh..... wow, there hasn't been a loss that felt so much like a punch to the gut in a long time. I guess I know that I am unhealthily invested in the outcome of baseball games, and I've been trying to lessen my addiction, but apparently it hasn't worked. I feel like crying. The LAAAA can't keep losing on every night that we do.

I guess painting my fingernails green and gold didn't help much. Excuse me, I'm going to go crawl off into my corner now.

Classical Update

So, I got into the history class, which I am thoroughly jazzed about. The only problem is that "The Anglo-Saxons," which is the book that I'm currently slogging through in preparation for class each day, is so irredeemably dense that I constantly find myself reading a paragraph, understanding each word individually, but having to reread again to make sure I know what it means as a whole. And, geek that I am, I already have a rough idea of what I want to do for a conference (end-of-semester) project: "The Kings on the Island: The Royal Scots of Iona and their Culture." Yeah, so I'm a nerd. Lay it on me.

That reminds me... I haven't read the Ecclesiastical History yet, and I've got another class tomorrow. Er... I'll get to it in a second. It's only seven PM.I didn't get into the politics class, which is unfortunate but not heartbreaking. Besides, there were an assload of books that probably would have overloaded my already strained bag, and I got into my first second choice, a philosophy course about rationalism and empiricism. If you want dense, talk about dense... I have a feeling I'll be going through those texts with a microscope in one hand and a dictionary in the other.

Still, I'm excited. I like thinking. I like learning, and I think that my brain has had enough of a summer to wallow in, no matter how perfectly delightful that summer was. So, yeah.My third class, and one which I am sinfully excited about, is my First-Year Studies course, which for me is fiction. Writing is my passion, and it says something about that if you consider that I just had my first class - today - and I'm already madly in love with the course.

I love to write. I think about words and I lie awake at night exploring the inner intuition of my characters. I just wrote my first piece, "Memories of a Dream," and if you know anything about my proclivities, you may be able to guess who the main character is based on.Otherwise... I'm settling really well into life at SLC. Truth is, I love it here - it just feels so much like my kind of place, and I've already got a core group of friends. Emily and Markel, my roommates, to start with, and then Steve (who is himself an entire entry, lol) Katie O and Kate, Chet, Amie, and many others. It's just so nice to have a group to march down to Bates at dinnertime and hog an entire table, as authoritatively as if you were upperclassmen and knew everyone, dammit.

I'll definitely be happy to see my family at Christmas, though. My little sister and I have a vast and complicated network of our own stories that are updated daily through email, but it's not the same as telling them. And it'll be fun to see my parents - my guess is that after four months, everybody's willing to forget your irritating little foibles and just be happy to socialize, but after a month, the honeymoon's over and they're ready to pack you back off. ;)

Actually, though, my parents are pretty cool. And I must have mentioned that I love shared iTunes - I desperately need to find a music card now, since I've discovered so many new songs that my little heart desires.

SLC lost power on Saturday afternoon, and it didn't come back on until yesterday (Monday). Yeesh. So, on Saturday night, I went into New York City for the first time ever, with Jasmin, Christina, Lily, Sara, and some other kids that I didn't know at first. It was raining the whole time, we rode the subway to Union Square for dinner and walked to the Village for milkshakes, and it was incredibly cool. I'd never done anything like that before. It was definitely an awesome way to experience the City for the first time, although I have to see what it looks like a) in daytime and b) sans the ever-present rain.

We rode the train back to Bronxville at 12:30 and sloshed back to a depressingly wet and still dark campus, and sleepwalked through the next couple of days, suffering ravenous tech-addict withdrawal symptoms. It was like mother-effin' Christmas when the power (and Internet) came back on, and we all tore onto our respective computers to get our fix. Scary... I swear that the book Feed, by M.T. Anderson, is entirely too eerily accurate.

Other than that... the little things that people complain about, like the food (which isn't bad at all) and the somewhat unorthodox registration procedures (which are cool and unique) don't bother me at all. I guess it's just because I'm so happy to be here and I feel like my life is really beginning. Talk later...

Transformation into an Adult (Possibly)

So I actually did find the post office, got everything retrieved, and only had a minor heart attack when my third box wasn't originally in. I probably harassed the post office people too much, but at least I know where it is, and I figured out how to open my mailbox. This is a big achievement. Yeah, yeah, you can stop clapping, thankya, thankya verra much.

I also got my first piece of collegiately themed gear, or two if you count the planner, but I'm sure they won't be the last. A T-shirt and a daybook, the first time in my life that I've kept one, but I'll need it to keep track of reading assignments, papers, conference projects, time priority and on and on.

Today, I met my don (Joan Silber) and the rest of my First-Year Studies class. Looks like fun. It was also really cool - it just felt more like actual college rather than a 400-person frosh party. I even got my first assignment, due next Tuesday, when we have our first actual college class. I'm also going to start signing up for interviews tomorrow. SLC registration is a bit different - you get to interview your professors before you sign up for their courses, asking about expectations, conference work, etc., etc.

So I'm interviewing five professors for two course spots.The two courses I really REALLY want to take:

The Medieval Foundations of English Art & History: An Interdisciplinary Workshop.
- Why? I love England and Scotland, probably because I'm mostly Scots/English (clan MacAllister... yay) and I want to do my junior year in Oxford, so this would be a great prerequisite.

Elections, Campaigns, and Political Parties in the United States: Democracy and Disenchantment
- Why? Because I'm pretty liberal, hold the opinion that Bush stole the 2000 election, and am curious to see why this might be and the rationale behind the giant "screw the government" mentality. Not that I disagree, but it would be a really interesting exploration.

Now, if I could just find those signup sheets...

Trivialities:
- I got some great new headphones that have awesome sound.
- I love my bike.
- I am NOT the only baseball freak who brought her mitt and ball to SLC! Kate, who lives down the hall, did the same thing, and we're totally going to play catch.
- I'm going to play for the SLC Gryphons (softball).
- Facebook is totally addicting.
- Hopstop.com is really useful for people like me, who have to rely on the NYC train/buses to get to LaGuardia Airport so I can fly home for Christmas.

More later....

Relocation of an A's Fan: Or, The Hunt For Baseball In Your Dorm

As you may or may not know, I recently departed home (Colorado) for college in New York, just outside the city. Well, here I am now (and entirely too excited) and preparing to start registering for classes. 1600 miles appears to be a non-issue, as I love it here and I am seriously ready for classes to actually start. But as happy as I am to be at my first-choice school, several nagging questions remained. Such as: Is there anyone else in this entire school with whom I can talk baseball?

So, I began my hunt. As soon as I got my laptop set up and connected to the campus network, I opened MLB.com to check on the prognosis of my beloved A's and Cards. My RA came in, took one look, and said, "Baseball fan?" I said, "Yeah!" She laughed and said, "The homepage was a giveaway."

But I still had not found that elusive someone. My roommate liked baseball, but didn't really follow it or have a team to support. So, although it would be nice to have a baseball fan in residence, it was not to be. Onwards rolled the mighty search.

While walking to an orientation meeting, I spotted someone in a Giants shirt. I pounced, figuring that a Giants fan was better than no fan at all. Turns out, the guy wasn't even a Giants fan; he just wore the shirt since he was from San Francisco. Crap... denied.

So, it happened by accident. I was asking someone in a Cubs shirt if they were a baseball person (they weren't, but they had lived in Chicago and liked the Cubs) when someone overheard me and said, "BASEBALL! Yeah, I'm a total baseball person!"

She's from Oregon, so she supports the Mariners and the Giants, but she lives two doors down the hall in my dorm and we are already plotting to hijack someone's TV when the postseason rolls around. Having baseball on my laptop makes me feel quite comfortable, at home, and now I've posted all my pictures from a summer of attending games over my bunk.

There's me and Gillian, me and Swish, Coors Field, the Cardinals bullpen... on and on and on. My autographed A's hat is dangling from my bunk post, my jersey is in the closet, and you can bet that when the A's make the postseason, I will be strutting around campus like a lunatic, proudly sporting the green and gold, and pissing off all the New Yorkers who wear their logo-emblazoned hats with a flat brim, rapper-style. (I personally think that style is entirely stupid. ;)

I'm really happy to be where I am. I signed up for a theatre group, will be taking a full courseload (writing, and hopefully history and politics as well) and the best part - I am planning to play softball for the Gryphons, my college's team. I know how to hit and I know how to throw (that's why I'm in right field just watching the dandelions grow) and whenever I play a game, I will ALWAYS wear the high socks. :D

Let's go OAKLAND!!!! :D :D :D

Indoctrination of an Ingenue

It's definitely interesting. Everyone's still in the upheaval period, still figuring out how to do the rudimentary stuff like feeding and clothing oneself before moving onto the heavier stuff like academics and - gasp - laundry. There have been a shitload of events to date, with seemingly every minute of time ruthlessly monopolized while we, the helpless frosh, are inundated with everything we'll need to know in four years at SLC. It feels like a lot to absorb, but as everyone's adjusting to life on their own, it's getting better.

Personally, I'm looking forward to things settling down into smaller niches. Big group events are all well and good, but they're not why I came to SLC - if I wanted that, plus a raging party scene, I could have gone to hometown CU Boulder for considerably less money. I came to SLC because I wanted the privacy and the personalized educational experience, and although the various parties and seminars are fun (and it's wonderful to finally have a social life!) what I really like right now are the quiet moments when I can just chill out in my dorm and kabitz about the Internet. I still need some time to get acclimated and adjusted, which will come. This is going to be pretty awesome.

Things I Need To Do:

1) Find the damn post office and pick up my printer and books before they get mailed back home again, as the cost of postage to send them back would undoubtedly irritate my parents.

2) Finish reading the course catalog.

3) Stop stressing so much.

I'll just work on it, shall I....

A Special Summer with the Rockies

Something funny happened this summer. It wasn't just my rabid anticipation to quit the modest foothills of Evergreen, Colorado, and jet cross-country to New York, where I'm starting my freshman year in college this fall. It was something a little different, something which made this summer one of the best in recent memory.

I discovered the Rockies.

Well, it wasn't as if I'd been unaware of them before. Born in Denver, and having lived in Colorado for the greater part of my formative years with the exception of a four-year detour out East, I did at least have a working knowledge of the boys in purple and silver. However, my family moved back in 1997, and by then, the Rockies' brief flirtation with success - the 1995 Wild Card and the Blake Street Bombers - had already evanesced into distant memory. Larry Walker, Todd Helton, Vinny Castilla - they were all still around - or in Helton's case, just starting on the way up - but the Rockies began their fade right around then, vanishing into ignominy permanently in the NL West cellar.

I'm a girl who honestly, truly, and completely loves baseball. During the aforementioned detour to the East, my family lived in Columbus, Ohio, and we got to 10-15 games a year (all with dugout seats) for the Columbus Clippers, the Triple-A affiliate of the New York Yankees. My two sisters and I would play "baseball" with our dad in the backyard, using the balls that the players would roll to us over the dugout, taking our gloves along wherever we went, telling stories about the players, and more. Ah, the glory days of youth.

Naturally, we were Yankees fans for quite a while, but eventually started to drift off them, and the acquisition of A-Rod just killed the franchise for us. My younger sister, who's also my best friend, and I had already moved onto our current #1 - the Oakland Athletics - and eventually, the St. Louis Cardinals joined the ranks as well. But not the Rockies. Not yet.

There is something of a tradition in our house of following the Rockies, if only to groan at all the bad decisions made by Dan O'Dowd, Clint Hurdle, and Co. We didn't pay much attention to them in the grand scheme of things, and generally expected them to inhabit the cellar. They never disappointed us in this regard.

That changed this summer. It started when my dad bought tickets to all three of the Rockies/Athletics games for my high school graduation gift. And, well, the A's are my favorite, so I couldn't exactly root against them, and I wasn't yet a Rockies believer. So I was there for all three games - the first two were a disappointment, the third was awesome - and managed to snag a Ladies Night voucher on Wednesday.

This introduced my sister and I to the lovely concept of free tickets, which we took full advantage of. All three of us - my two sisters and I - went to the July 5th game against the Giants and freely rooted for the Rockies, partly because we dislike the Giants and Barroids Bonds intensely. But something happened. We didn't root for the Rockies just because we had to. The Rockies were fun. They played hard. They actually ran out ground balls, unlike the old, slow, lazy farts with San Francisco across their chests. There was a spark among the fans. Even in Denver, notoriously known as Broncos country, people cared about their baseball.

My other favorite team, the Cardinals, hit town for a July 25th and 26th pair of games, both of which a combination of sisters and I attended (myself and younger for the first, myself and both for the second) and, well, I can't root against the Cards either. But this time, even though I (admittedly) cheered the Cards on to victory in both games, I felt a little bad for having to root against the Rockies to do so.

Somewhere along the line, the conversion, or addition, had taken place. We were Rockies fans (and when I say "we," I mean my younger sister and myself -- my older sister likes baseball, but isn't particularly passionate about any team). Coors Field is a beautiful ballpark, the Wednesday night free tickets are a blast, and the Rockies are a young, passionate team that is just a lot of fun to watch. (Management incompetence aside, but that's a topic for another diary). Also, I have a sneaking suspicion that Brad Hawpe may just be the reason that we got so interested in the first place. He's a good player, fun to watch, and it does not hurt that the view of him from behind is, er, extremely aesthetically pleasing. :D

The last game that my younger sister and I could get to was August 2, against the Brewers - she had two weeks of the Aerial Dance Festival up in Boulder and I was leaving for college after that. Oddly enough, this turned out to be quite possibly the best game of the lot. More free tickets landed us in the first row of the second deck - perfect seats - and we sat there throughout batting practice, making jokes about how little we knew about the Brewers and refusing to budge even when a brief and intense pregame rainstorm swept through and splattered us.

The game started, and we rooted for the Rockies. We rooted our hearts out. We wore purple, black, and white to the game, and we took every opportunity to cheer for the hometown nine.
The game started - the outcome was never really in doubt, as the Rockies plated four in the first and four thereafter, to end up with a final score of 8-1. But the game itself was just a thing of beauty. We weren't really stressing over how things were going to turn out, it was a beautiful night, and it was our last game together for the summer. We were almost wishing that that the Brewers would mount a big rally just so it didn't have to end.

At one point, I said, "Rockies, hit a home run. I want an excuse to stand up and scream." Perhaps an inning later, Todd Helton took a Brewers reliever downtown, and I did just that. It was transcendent.

During the seventh inning, we got ice cream, then stood by the outfield boxes, gazing out over the field and just drinking in how beautiful it was. We were already planning to buy tickets there next year when I got home from college - we'd go on Wednesdays and free-ticket our way through the season. During the eighth inning, as the game was drawing to a close, we both got a little choked up because of how supremely special it had been to spend the summer with the Rockies. We weren't always rooting for them, but in the end, we had become believers in purple and silver.

The Rockies weren't just the Rockies, the rather useless and overlooked hometown team that occasionally cropped up in local sports pages and snide commentaries. They were ours. We had grown to care for them, to honestly cheer for them and want them to win on their own merits. We wanted them to do well, to keep on trucking, and to, hopefully, shock the world by pulling out the NL West title.

As far as they go, I'll be cheering for them, even though I'll be in New York instead of Colorado and won't be able to be there in person for them. So do it, Rockies. You can. And thanks for an absolutely terrific, unbelievably awesome summer that we got to spend with you guys over at 20th and Blake.