I Do Not Know What Day It Is

This week needs to end. The sooner the better, for my mental health. The most depressing part? It's early Monday afternoon and I am already frazzled. For example, my first class on Monday is at 3:30, but my first class on Tuesday and Wednesday is at 11 AM. So my neurons got scrambled, I woke up at 10:58, and panicked. "Oh shit oh SHIT I didn't set my alarm I didn't read the stories oh shit oh shit..." and got halfway dressed before realizing that it was, in fact, Monday, and I had no need to get up if I didn't want to. Feeling quite foolish, I sallied back to bed and had weird dreams for an hour or two before getting up again.

Sold my books, which cost me close to $200, for a piddling $15. Whoo, what overwhelming money. Did buy some new headphones, though, as my regular ones broke and my backups have tinny sound. Then I forgot to send a graphics file to my employer (College Events, so you can bet that I'm supposed to) and when I DID try, my computer refused to attach the file. So I may have to run down there with a flash drive before giving my end-of-term report in history class about my conference work. At this rate, I'm going to get up there and stare vacantly at my classmates while gesticulating wildly and mumbling to unheard voices, before somebody kindly takes over the blackboard as an act of charity. I think it's a good thing that I have no more reading left for that class, although I actually must attempt to read two stories tonight and write one...bloody... more assignment...

Naturally, I have cuts on my legs and unexplained bruises on my arms, but I swear to God I'm not hurting myself on purpose. Maybe my body is just...reacting...

I've finished my history and writing projects, and I think my editing is done on the philosophy project. I wrote my history worksheet and need to edit my writing one, but I am almost frickin' done with my work. God, I want to go home and just sleep for about a week, and definitely not think about anything. I love my college, but damn, I am drained as hell right now.

Four...more...days....

Andy Pettitte Appreciation Post

(a.k.a. APAP)

Let's clarify a few things here.

a) I used to love the Yankees, and I really do mean love them.

b) I stopped doing so. I can pinpoint this on two things:

c) the acquisition of Me-Rod

d) the 2004 ALCS collapse

Also, I broke down and sobbed like a frickin' baby when my sister, looking very grim, said, "Hilary." [long pause] "Andy signed with the Astros."

And while I am not a Yankees fan any more - in fact, I believe they personify a lot of baseball's current problems - I have a soft spot for a few of them. Jorge Posada, since I watched him play from dugout seats in the minor leagues, where my love affair with baseball began. Mike Mussina, because, well, he's never been a douche in my estimation. Mo Rivera, because he's Mo, and how can you argue with that?

But I have to give a shout-out to the man who has been my favorite (or close to it) for eleven years. That's right, eleven frickin' years. That's the longest I have ever been in love with a human being, folks, so let's give it up for Andrew Eugene Pettitte.

This is one Yankee that I will never hate.



And yes, those have been saved on my computer since Andy was last a Yankee.

Hey hey, Andy, you're awesome. I won't hear anything else. Cheers, man!

EDIT: Almost forgot what may be the most beautiful picture of a baseball player. Ever. I tried to draw this picture once, and it turned out... all right.

[SWOON]

Evidence of My Non-Deadness

Evidently, I am not the world's most fastidious blogger when the baseball season is not in session and therefore I see no need to bore my extremely limited audience with the mundane details of my life. But in case anybody... at all... was wondering, as a matter of fact, I am still alive and kicking. But I have been swamped with end-of-term work, including a 27-page philosophy paper, a 30-page history paper, a 140-page writing project, and compilation worksheets for two of those classes, all of which we do in lieu of ordinary final exams at SLC. I prefer it this way, being a wordophile, but it does leave quite a bit less time for doing things like sleeping, free time, and staring blankly into space. If anyone is interested, I'll post the final .pdfs of the projects later.

Let's see... I went to the Cloisters branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art with my history class today, which was very interesting, and most importantly: I go home in a week. I have found myself absolutely salivating, counting the hours, totally ready to go home and do nothing, although my passion for this does not equal my passion to get out in the first place. At this time next week (4:30 MT, 6:30 ET) I'll be on board a Boeing about an hour outside of Denver, and I am so ready to just let my frazzled brain unwind without constantly mentally charting my assignments, due dates, and needed edits...

My family is waiting to put up the tree until I get home, which is nice, but if they really wanted to, I don't care if they do it without me. I'm done with my Christmas shopping, mostly, and I think that I got some fairly nice gifts. What I seem to be spending the most money on is iTunes... suffice it to say that my music library has greatly expanded since I first arrived. But since I haven't been home since August, I am ready to go. One more week. Meergh... I won't survive. And then I'll have to get someone to post "Evidence of my Deadness."

On the baseball front, the Cardinals (thank God!) shot down any rumors of their interest in Bighead Bonds, who then re-signed with the Giants, to nobody's surprise. That's one worrisome rumor out of the way - I've heard scary (but probably unsubstantiated) rumors of my favorites, like Brad Hawpe and Danny Haren, possibly changing teams. This would most likely not kill me, but it would make me very upset.

The Cardinals need some rotational upgrades - they signed Carp to a five-year extension that will keep him sporting the Birds on the Bat through 2011 at an extra $50 million (or thereabouts; they already had some money invested in him for next season) which is a bargain for a pitcher of Carp's caliber. However, the rest of the starters are not similarly arranged. After Carp comes Anthony Reyes, talented but unpredictable, followed by Kip Wells, a suspect Pirates reclamation project, followed by.... ? There are two gaping holes in the rotation, and the Cards missed out on Jason Schmidt to the Dodgers.

Two theories have been put about - one is that the Cards try to fill the spaces with people within the organization - which would likely portend a move to the rotation for postseason hero and my dearly beloved Adam Wainwright. (Dear God, do not let LaRussa have been serious when he mentioned Braden Looper, the definition of mediocrity edging into frightening badness, making a move to the starting five. The man has one pitch, possibly two, hasn't started since making 10 appearances in A ball in 1997, and has an unfortunate tendency to turn into a pinata if he lets runners on, which he does frequently.).

The other is that the Cards try to sign Miguel Batista, who isn't that great, but he's about the only option left on the market that is not named Barry Zito. None of these scenarios have me that enthused. Then again, the Cards' rotation won the World Series last year with Carpenter, Suppan, a lot of smoke and mirrors, and occasional guest appearances by Jeff Weaver in the postseason, so what do I know? Still, the fact remains that my darling Redbirds won exactly 83 games in the regular season last year, an underwhelming total, and, let's face it, put together a magical run at exactly the right moment to carry them to the trophy. Now just imagine if they'd played like that all season... but their two previous years, 'o4 and '05, in which they hit the centennial-win mark both times, didn't deliver the hardware. I'll take the trophy any day, and I'm wearing my World Champs shirt right now. I wear it a lot. I discovered the other day that the majority of my shirts happen to be Cardinal-themed.

As for the other piece of news, my first and long-term favorite, Andy Pettitte, went back to the Yankees after playing out a three-year contract with the Astros. I'll admit it, I used to be a Yankees fan, but I have a good reason - I lived for four years in Columbus, Ohio, when I was young and watched their minor league team, the Columbus Clippers, including current catcher Jorge Posada. And I also discovered that the Clippers are no longer the AAA affiliate for the Yanks - they're for the Nationals. I feel betrayed.

But anyway, I have loved Andy for as long as I've known about baseball, no joke. If I was seven when I first discovered baseball - that would be 1995, we missed seeing Andy and Derek Jeter in the minors by one year - then I discovered him as soon as I looked into the MLB club that the Clippers, my first baseball loves, were affiliated with. (I can still sing your their rally jingle. Heavily paraphrased, it ran something like, "Guess which team is number one? They're the Columbus Clippers and they'll keep on playing till they've won -we’ll stand up and we’ll tell, Columbus Clippers, ring your bell.”) At which point everybody would clang the Clipper-themed cowbells which they gave away. This happened a lot. I have a lot of fond memories of my minor league baseball days. Ask me sometimes.

But, well, yeah. Andy. Since I have loved the man for 11 years, cried like a baby when he left the Yankees for the Astros, have a picture and a street sign (“46 Andy Pettitte Avenue") above my bed, and an Andy bobblehead… let’s just say I can’t root against him. For Christ's sake, when I was still playing Barbies with my sister, Andy was one of the recurring characters in our invented town. It would be amazing to get tickets for his first start back at the Stadium – the Bronx faithful still love him, and then I could happily boo A-Rod for the rest of the game.

As a final note, does anybody think the amount of money being thrown at mediocrity is out of control? Gil Freakin' Meche, who has a career record of 55-44, got $55 million over five years from the Kansas City Freakin' Royals. Match made in heaven, and you can definitely tell that that was a deal made all about the money, as the Royals have less chance of competing for a pennant than I do of turning their signature blue color. Ted Lilly got $40 million over 4 years from the Cubs, and of course, the new albatross contract was also doled out by the North Siders - $136 m. over 8 years for Alfonso Soriano. Just because the market is thin doesn't mean that GMs need to go absolutely berserk over the uninspiring talent. Must be nice to be rich (said the college student bitterly).

I think I need to a) take out the trash, b) use the bathroom, and c) edit my writing project now, so it’s time to wrap this up. Naturally, it ended up being longer than I expected, but at least no, I am not dead. Check back at the end of this week, as it may be a different story then.

(After fourth or fifth attempt to publish this: Blogger, what the fuck characters aren't allowed?)

Am I Pissed? Yeah, I'm Pissed

.... Nice going, Billy Beane. After letting fan favorite and unanimous choice-for-manager, third base coach Ron Washington, slip to a division rival, he either puts up the world's most lackluster pursuit of Frank Thomas or had already decided to let him walk. Either that or the Big Hurt, despite all his words about loving Oakland and wanting to come back however possible, is just like the rest of the greedy money-sniffers that constitute the participants in professional sports. Either way, the result is the same. He signed a two-year contract with the Toronto Blue Jays and booked out of Oakland after only one season. Adios, cleanup hitter, 39 HR/114 RBI. Adios, ace (Zito; 16 wins, 3.83 ERA).

Beane does this every offseason before pulling some crazy scheme out of his ass to save the ship, so as an A's fan I should be used to this, but it never ceases to feel like a gut punch. I was devastated when Hudson and Mulder went, and that worked out, but at the time, man, was I upset. The A's lost a popular coach, an ace, a cleanup hitter, a home, and a manager, and what have they gained? Bench coach Bob Geren, to nobody's surprise, is the latest dull white guy to be named skipper. Also, they get to have a name as ridiculous as that belonging to their SoCal rival, the LAAAAA, which I will continue to call them until I'd be a hypocrite if I did. If we're the Oakland A's of Fremont (''of Fremont" has to be included, but I'll kill myself if it's the Silicon Valley A's of Fremont) the acronym is the OAFs. Wheeeee. What exemplary civic planning.

The idea behind the stadium is that the A's will finally make enough money to retain their high-profile players, instead of letting the rest of MLB pick and choose as they like. It had better work out... oh yeah, and to put the bitter cherry on a really, really frustrating offseason sundae, they're seriously considering signing Barry "Steroid Head" Bonds to fill the vacancy left by Thomas.

I'll take all this moving/renaming/losing crap, but I can't root for Bonds in the green and gold. I just can't. He's a liar and a cheater and a despicable human being, unlike A-Rod, whose only crimes are excessive egomanism and lack of good sense and/or "clutch" hitting. Bonds really is a grade-A asshole. And it's one of the cases when the name on the front of the uniform would not take precedence over the one on the back.

We've already made ourselves laughingstocks for the LAAAA fans, who you can bet will be giving back every drop of grief they received from A's Nation over their name; why not make ourselves universally unpopular and sign the most hated player in MLB? Go for the full monty. Get booed relentlessly on the road and be sniggered at as the team dumb enough to take on Bonds' traveling circus and chemically enhanced skills. You go right ahead and do that, A's management, but remember, you exist in a different stratosphere from the fans, who pay for merchandise and ticketing and keep fattening your pockets, which are still apparently too small to shell out enough to keep Frank Thomas in Oakland.

As a totally unrelated note, Danny Haren is getting married today. Congrats, boy. Let's see if it'll work out for you. Long-distance relationships can be hard.

One very bitter A's fan signing out.

Sometimes I Dislike Baseball

... I know, hard to believe. But bear with me. I have a bitching session to execute.

As much as I adore the sport itself, and will always do so come hell and high water, the business/managerial/capitalist aspects sometimes leave me cold. (Wow, don't I sound like your typical SLC liberal raver here. I suppose I am, to some extent, but only because I voted for the first time in my life yesterday and punched a straight Democratic ticket, with lovely results. Adios, GOP. I think it's awesome that a woman is Speaker of the House. But yes, we're getting distracted).

I know that baseball is a business, but all this wheeling and dealing and glossy commercialism is like a pill coated in sugar - tastes and looks sweet, but leaves a bad taste in your mouth afterwards. The A's are the latest team to give into the lure of a new stadium (although the Coliseum is admittedly a granite bowl in a lousy section of Oakland that the Raiders chop to pieces every fall, it does have its history) and have reached a deal with managing partners to move the team 20 miles down the road to Fremont.

The move probably won't take effect for 3 or 4 years while they build a new ballpark (reportedly "Cisco Field," heeurgh) and they haven't decided whether or not to change the team's name. "Fremont A's of Oakland" or any such permutation is craziness; there's no way they should give them the same cumbrous moniker as is bestowed upon the LAAAAAA. "Fremont A's" is okay, if they absolutely must, but I want them to keep "Oakland" and "Silicon Valley A's" makes me want to blow chunks. :( I swear, I am not buying a single scrap of A's merchandise if it has either of those two names on it. I'm an Oakland girl, thank you very much.

I'm a little depressed with the A's management this offseason - letting popular third-base coach Ron Washington sign with the Rangers as their new manager, when I thought (and certainly hoped) that he was ticketed for the same vacancy in the A's organization. Now this... must see how this will play out, and not even a token effort to keep Barry Zito... his agent is Scott Boras, so there's no way they could actually have re-signed him, but maybe something besides a meek "Bye, Barry, go get a nice paycheck?"

Just, dear God, don't let them hire another boring, insipid white guy. I really wish that they'd hired Wash, who was after all within their own organization, before letting him slide. I don't know what Wolff has on the table, but I must hope that it is good for the OAKLAND A's and their signature green and gold colors, along with Stomper, their mascot. There's no way I can ever stop loving them, honestly, but I have to admit that I'm a little disillusioned with the uppity-ups now. Probably happens to every baseball fan, and at least I haven't been screwed over as badly as fans of some other organizations have been.

Hopefully Beane, Wolff, et al do something really good to make up for all this. :) Go A's! (wherever they may play) and Cards (your World Champions, baby!)

As The Dust Settles

... my life returns to daily, normal, college-kid routine; i.e. not waking up before noon if not strictly necessary for a class. But I'm not bitching too much, because I just had a truly awesome weekend with my family, who flew all the way out from Colorado to take advantage of SLC Family Weekend, coincidentally enough. We met up on Friday afternoon, moved my little sister into the dorms, hung out, ate dinner, explored Bronxville, got coffee, went to the library and all my other haunts, and on Sunday, took the train into the BIG APPLE. It was the second time I'd been to the city, and the first time I was there while it was actually a) light out, and b) not raining.

We had a fantastic time. From Grand Central Station we walked to the NYC Public Library, went up between the lions, then walked down Fifth Avenue with the eventual destination of the Museum of Modern Art halfway in mind. We stopped and looked at all the extremely pricey shops, and my frugal Scottish sensibilities were bombarded and overloaded in Saks Fifth Avenue. People pay $1500 for a handbag? As in, half of my bank account? As in, it wasn't even that great a handbag? Welcome to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. For a girl who's grown up on thrift-store clothes - not because she has to, but because her mom is also cheap - it was quite a shock. I think it speaks volumes about me that I was short-circuiting, and not in a good way, in Saks, and then I saw a guy with an MLB Official Clubhouse Shop bag and went, "OOOH, where did he get that?!"

We also saw St. Patrick's Cathedral, more Fifth Avenue, made a brief stop at MoMA, fortified ourselves with a Starbucks, and then went to Central Park, which was very pretty, just as the last remnants of the NY Marathon were hauling ass through. We walked down by the Zoo, then back up onto Fifth Avenue, made a stop at American Girl Place on the way back, and then eventually got back to Grand Central and were surprised to learn that there was a train leaving for Bronxville in three minutes, so we eschewed the planned bathroom stop and rode back home (well, at least home for me). We ate at a Mexican place called Blue Moon Cafe, and then my sister and I got to spend one last night talking.

We told three straight nights of great stories without having to write them, and now that's my task. We've gotten so used to writing our stories down, and archiving them in a file on my computer, that we can't have a gap in the chronology now. And they're so good that I definitely want them preserved so I can re-read them. I'm doing my best to recreate them, but we tell a lot - I'm only 3/4 of the way through the first day, and have two more long editions to go. I should do some homework, but I don't have that much and can take care of the pertinent business this evening before class tomorrow.

I saw them off this morning, got a little teary, but I'm okay now. I'll next see them at Christmas, which will be nice for a number of reasons, namingly that I won't have to sweat over homework. I've started my writing conference project, but need to get cracking on the actual papers for philosophy and history. I have a detailed outline for phil. and a sketchy one for hist., so I need to flesh those out and get my rear in gear.

That's all for now.

The Content Must Change

So I was thinking about starting a second blog, so I could keep the baseball and ordinary stuff separate, but then I realized that I am a loser and do not have much of a life aside from my constant obsessions over baseball. So, I guess it has to stay the same, or otherwise I'd fall into that typical diary trap: "This morning I woke up before my alarm and did not want to get up, as usual," lose interest, and eventually drift out of the blogosphere, which may not be a great loss seeing as it has no idea that I exist. To some part and purpose, this is all right with me, because I'm one of those sensitive types that worry about what people are thinking of them and if they're secretly thinking, "Good grief that person is so DULL!" So, yeah. If you've found your way here, feel free to stick around. If you haven't, then I want your powers, so I can also read random content out on the 'Net without actually having it on my screen. Rapid informational osmosis and overload.

Well. Now that baseball season is over (SOB! SOB!) the only thing I can post about in regards to it is periodic updates on hot stove wheeling and dealing and which free agents end up with which new teams. There's a good class this year, including some of my favorites, and it'll be interesting to see which ones end up with a change of address.

Otherwise I may (horrors!) have to start writing about my ordinary life, which is far from fascinating. Or I could use the time that I spend online (which is an ungodly amount) to actually do some conference work. I have three big-time papers due at the end of semester, and although that isn't here yet, I definitely need to up the ante. I started working on my fiction project, because that's something that I can do for fun and doesn't feel like homework. Speaking of homework, I should be reading a chapter now before class at 3:30, but I've got time. I'm such a lazy ass.

When I get all my conference projects finished, glory be the day, I'll post .PDFs of them here, if you're really interested in learning about what I was studying all semester. They'll be a history paper about the island of Iona, a philosophy paper about the ontological proof and its dissenters, and a fiction work consisting of four novellas. Read if thou desirest.

My sister and parents are going to be here on Friday through Sunday for SLC's Family Weekend. We're going to rendezvous and go out to dinner on Friday, I'll take them to my new hometown Bronxville on Saturday, and we're going to take the train into the city and go to the Museum of Modern Art and the NYC Public Library on Sunday. To say that I am excited would be to understate it massively.

My sister is going to be sleeping in my dorm and I haven't seen her for 10 weeks, which is 8 weeks longer than we've ever been apart before. I know that she's chomping at the bit to see me and my parents just want to know where I am and how I've situated myself in my new life away from home. Wow. Feels weird to think that, but after all, I am at college and no longer living with them except for a month at winter break and three months over the summer.

Speaking of which, next summer is going to rock so much. Harry Potter book #7, movie #5, Pirates of the Caribbean #3, and baseball, baseball, baseball. Gaah. Must keep focus. Surprisingly enough, I am actually eager to get home and work, if only because money is a highly desired commodity for a college student with a coffee addiction and susceptible to purchasing assorted celebratory T-shirts for her beloved Cardinals online, not to mention a new iPod for the one that broke, and an iPod for her sister's that broke, and assorted other things... yeah. I didn't exactly think that my boss at the coffee shop where I used to and probably will work again was wonderful - he kinda pissed me off on certain occasions - but I will gladly put up with him over break for $8 an hour.

Nothing else to say for the moment. <3 days until I see my sister/mom/dad. EEEEE...!

Playoffs, Day 14: Incredible, Unbelievable, Indescribable

I just... wow. Wow. It's been two hours since the game ended and it's only now that I can finally put my thoughts into any sort of semantic cohesion. It's only now I've finally settled down enough to write about what may be the best moment of my baseball life. Screw all the ESPN pricks who think that a team from New York is a vital ingredient for a good Series and that the Tigers were going to take out the Cardinals in "three." Screw 'em. Screw anybody who doesn't believe that any Fall Classic, ever, isn't well, a Classic. And above all, o ye of Redbird loving persuasion, be thou glad.

As you may have guessed by now, the St. Louis Cardinals are the World Champions. It's just starting to sink it. Did I think they were going to do it? Not really, no. I wanted them to. I thought they'd put up a fight. And then....it's like Christmas.

So I lied. I didn't watch the game. I was dying. Rocking back and forth and hyperventilating and feeling like I was about to expire. Then my phone rang. I'd left it on for this very necessity. My hands started to shake and I couldn't fumble it out of its case.

It was my sister. She said, "Your St. Louis Cardinals are the 2006 World Champions."

I screamed. Loudly. Then I began to shake even more and laugh and say, "OH MY GOD," in this wild, giddy voice over and over. I rocked back and forth and then I cried and talked to her and called my family, who were a) lucky and b) brave enough to watch the proceedings as they unfolded. They nearly died during the ninth, as I might have (my baby put two men on before ending it with a strikeout... my God, Busch III went berserk).

It gives me chills just thinking about it. Now... the offseason. Wow. No baseball. Ouch. I must fill the void with a constant succession of baseball movies recommended by a friend of mine, and I'm going to start tomorrow night (well, technically, tonight, as it's 1:47 AM) with Bull Durham. Should be fun. "He's having trouble breathing out of his left eyelid."

One week until my family comes. That's going to be awesome. But.... wow. WOW. If you'd told me this as I was suffering through their third losing streak of seven games or more, I would have swatted you aside and told you mournfully not to tease me like that.

I can't wait to see the World Champion Cardinals on May 28-31 at Coors Field in lovely Denver, Colorado. You can bet that I will be there, in any assortment of:

a) an Adam Wainwright T-shirt
b) a Chris Carpenter T-shirt
c) a Cardinals National League Champs shirt (should they ever ship it)
d) a Cardinals World Series Champs shirt (ditto)

I love the Cardinals so much that it hurts. My heart is raw and overflowing. And the Church of Baseball is the only one I worship. Because this is more than a game to me. It's everything. And tonight was the pinnacle of ecstasy. I've been down to the dumps before. I've cried in pain instead of happiness. But tonight reminded me why I'm in this mofo for the long haul.

St. Louis Cardinals, all my love to you and you can bet there was at least one fan in Bronxville, New York, screaming her heart out with pure, true, delirious happiness. You guys are the champs. Drink that champagne. Savor it. You earned every inch.

I love you guys. Goodbye and good night for 2006, and when you pull up the curtain for 2007, I'll be there to adore you every step of the way.

Game 5 Pregame Good Luck Vibes Post

Okay, so it's approximately three hours before Game 5 starts and I'm as nervous as hell. I know that I promised to watch, and if the boys in red take their tenth World Championship, HELL YES I want to be there to watch it if even only electronically, but my nerves are shot and frazzled. I know that we have a good chance - the Tigers are demoralized and Jim Leyland is inexplicably NOT pitching Kenny!Cheater!Rogers, but rather Justin Verlander, who the Cardinals beat like the proverbial red-headed stepchild in Game 1.

Opposing him is the mercurial Jeff Weaver. Dunno how I feel about this. I'd feel more comfortable with Reyes, but Reyes is also capable of turning in a total turd after he's authored a gem. Weaver didn't do badly in Game 2, but seemed to be living on the edge a bit much. Of course, any pitcher can become someone transcendent with the might of 46,000 screaming red-clad Redbird red-blooded red-hot fans behind him. Busch III is going to be rocking. Dammit. One of those games that it would be absolutely MAGICAL to be at. Why, oh why didn't I go to, say, Washington and Lee?! ;)

I'm re-writing an article for my school newspaper that assumes the Cards win it. I feel sort of weird. They really need to win it, or I'm going to have to annoy my editor and stall for time to see if the Cardinals can pull it off in six. I'd rather not. I want the Cardinals to do this bitch at home. And I also don't want to piss off the Sports Editor, who happens to be my friend and probably would be moderately cool with it, but as I'm still a rookie journalist, best not to irritate authority.

Gah. Although I'm going to go into deep mourning when the season ends, as I hope it does tonight, my nerves just need a break. By December or January, I'll be slobbering and cross-eyed and whimpering and desperate for baseball, but it's a bit of a relief from the grind of caring so much and feeling either so ecstatic or so utterly miserable. Well, baseball is my love and my religion, heh, so that's what it does to me.

Okay, everyone, say it with me....

GO ST. LOUIS CARDINALS!!!!!

P.S. Yes, the color change is temporary. It'll go back to normal after you-know-what.

Playoffs, Day 13: An Ode to Adam

Having been bombarded by bad bloggery and putrid photoshoppping, prepare yourself for the advent of VILE VERSE!

(And yes, you've figured out that my date headers are in no way relative to the actual days of the playoffs, just when I remember to blog about them).

Curveball buckling at the knees
Go ahead and swing, but hit it? Please!
You are gone, bitch, gone wit'out a fight
You don't know who it is; it's ADAM WAINWRIGHT

Man stands six-foot-seven, he's as skinny as a pole
Stop talkin' about hittin' him; yeah, shut your damn hole
He's going to wind up and put that Yellow Hammer in there
Stand up there if you want, even swing the bat if you dare.

We got him from Atlanta and we snagged him for a song
(Remember J.D. Drew? We're glad that he's gone)
It's just a beautiful sight when the man in number fifty
Comes out there and does his thing; he's really kinda nifty.

You may have noticed that I have a total Adam obsession
I can't go without mentioning him each blogging session
That's because the man is amazing, and also hot as hell
If he'd just wear his socks like Anthony Reyes, all would be well.

The World Series has come down to this mind-bending fact:
The Cardinals have easily fended off the Tigers' "attack"
And after the heroics of Runt Eckstein and Adam my man
The "scrappy underdog Cardinals" are the "Cardinals who can."

If tomorrow comes and Jeff Weaver does not do very badly
Every Redbird fan will explode from their chair and shout very gladly
For we would have nailed down championship twice-five
The last time they did it, I wasn't even alive.

So all I can do at this point is to cheer and to cheer
And hold my breath tightly as the moment draws near
I'd say that I'm turning blue, but that isn't quite true
As a matter of fact instead I'm turning a lovely shade of RED!

GO CARDINALS!!!!!

In Which My Rudimentary Blogging Is Surpassed

...only by my amateurish photo-retouching skills.



He looks great. Seriously, he does. Isn't that one of the most amazing things you've ever seen in your life?

a) ADAM, enough said
b) celebrating a Cardinals trip to the World Series, enough said
c) high socks, enough said
d) ADAM IN HIGH SOCKS, [thud]

Okay, so you have to put up with my suspect skills to see it, but seriously. Adam, baby. Do it for me. Right? [nudge nudge wink wink]

Also, Adam is trying to fiercen up his adorable face with a playoff beard. He is far from the only one. Jeff Suppan, Baby Duncan, Carp, and other notables are doing so as well. I think that Adam is trying to look more bad-ass. Well, he has a prerequisite. Those curveballs he fed to Beltran were pretty fucking bad-ass.

I think that all this post proves is that I need to quit while I'm ahead. Seriously, it's 1:54 and I don't think I should have access to a computer right now, much less the Internet.

Playoffs, Day 10/11/12: Much Yayness/Doodoogate/CHRISGASM

Okay, so it's a lump update since I'm lazy. Either that or I was trying to write two essays, one for history and one for philosophy, and having to resort to yanking the Ethernet cable so I wasn't tempted to get on the 'Net and procrastinate. I did finish the philosophy essay, mostly there on history. They seem to be good at first glance, but I can't shake the feeling that I am just refining myself as a bullshit artist. Thus far, however, in my experience at community college at any rate, how much I like the papers seems to be inversely proportional to how much my professors do. Therefore, I guess that if I think the current batch is crap, my professors will eat them up. Eew. That sounded so wrong.

It is a little over a week until I get to see my family. I really cannot wait.

Now. Onto the mass update. It covers, as you can probably tell, the first three games of the Fall Classic. The Cardinals won the first one 7-2 on the back of eight dominant innings by Flat-Hat, High-Sock Anthony Reyes, who I wish would make the other Cards copy his look because I love the high socks and Adam would look even more dreamy in them then he does already. The rest of it... I could do without. Reyes is as fugly as hell, but seeing as he is my team's Game 5 starter, I will refrain from talking too much smack about him. Hell, if Suppan does well in 4 and Reyes locks it down in 5... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The Tigers won Game 2, behind what is rapidly turning into a controversy the size of the George Brett pine tar incident, except that wasn't in the World Series. Doodoogate, as I like to call it, involved a certain suspicious-looking smudge on the hand of one aging pitcher that, until now, had been a postseason washout...

Take a look for yourself, if you can bear the pain of having Kenny Rogers' hideous mug foisted electronically onto yours. Then compare the two shots that follow.

Kenny Rogers' mug. Note hand.


On the left: Rogers' hand from ALCS Game 3 against the A's. (I'll shed a tear for my boys, who I wish were at the big dance, but the Cards have taken so much of the pain away, it isn't even funny). On the right: Rogers' hand in World Series Game 2. And I'm sure, Kenny, that the same smudge of "dirt" got there twice, in the same spot, without you knowing. Uh---huhhhh.

Of course, after the umpires (rightly) made him wash it off, he kept the Cardinals off balance all night. But if LaRussa pressed the issue - which he didn't, for whatever reason - he could have had Rogers ejected immediately and the Kitties' starting rotation massively fucked in the event of extra games to seal the deal. I'm curious as to why he didn't.

Either way, Kenny Rogers is still a douchebag.

As for Game 3, well, the only reason that people came sprinting out to the mound to examine Chris Carpenter's hand was in the seventh inning of a dominant performance from the Redbird ace, after he complained of having a cramp. There was no scuff or smear on that masterly palm, assure you me, and it did not stop Carp from finishing out eight innings of blemish-free work, permitting only three hits. He also allowed no walks and didn't even get to a three-ball count on a batter. On his first appearance on the World Series stage, Carp was his usual brilliant self. (He missed the '04 postseason with a bicep injury, which is just as well since the Cards disappeared in the World Series anyway). What a way to debut in baseball's biggest spotlight. Braden Looper, a pitcher who causes all of the Cardinals faithful to pop a handful of antacids, finished it off with a relatively uneventful ninth, and the boys in red took a 2-1 edge.

I came into the Series with the conviction that the Tigers were probably going to win it, but it may not be easy. I'm slowly starting to shift. I want desperately to believe that my beloved Cardinals can do it, but I'm trying to stay realistic. Well, reality is that if NLCS MVP Jeff Suppan follows up Carp's masterpiece tomorrow night, the team that everyone expected to "lose in three" according to certain smug self-confident sportswriters, will in fact have a 3-1 lead and possibly, possibly be in position to capture a tenth World Championship at home.

But that's really getting ahead of myself. There's a world of difference between 3-1 and 2-2, and the latter is still entirely probable if Suppan gets on his knees and blows the game tomorrow, which he may or may not do. (Obviously, I hope not). But if it is....

The thing is, these Cardinals are playing like a championship team. They're getting outstanding pitching (even in the game that they lost, they only surrendered three runs) they're getting contributions up and down the order, and they're not the one making the stupid mistakes. Such as tonight, when Albert Pujols hit an easy, dinking grounder back to Joel Zumaya, and instead of going for the double play at second, he opted instead to throw it to third - despite the fact that a 1-5-3 DP in the World Series hasn't been turned since 1923. Zumaya possibly showed why, as his throw went into foul ground and the Cardinals added two runs to their lead.

The Cards have completely muffled the heart of the Detroit order, and, well, the Tigers just look rusty. Thus, while I'm still cautious, I'm getting warmed up to the idea that this Hunt for Red October might end in fruition.

But that's just my take after tonight. It will be appropriately more optimistic or dispirited after the results of tomorrow night. If they win, then you can bet your ass that I am watching Game 5 to see my boys clinch. If they lose, it's back to the religious avoidance of anything baseball-related while online. I'm really bad with pressure, and cannot take the pain of actually watching the game... so I'm a wimp. But I will watch Game 5. But only if the Cardinals win.

I feel like I have schizophrenia. My "optimistic" and "there's no way they can actually do this" sides are warring. I should probably go to bed anyway, as classes (depressingly) resume tomorrow after I had the first two days of the week off, which was a good thing because of those freaking aforementioned essays. Guh... wish me luck, I'm gonna need it...


GO CARDINALS!!!!

Playoffs, Day 9: OH. MY. GOD.

[swoon]

[faint]

[thud]

Okay. So. I love my Cardinals dearly, but my heart just can't take the pressure of watching a Game 7 after Chris Carpenter did his damndest but Braden Looper blew it last night in an agonizing Game 6, forcing the series to the limit. Game 7s are good for baseball. NOT for my nerves.

So I didn't look at a single baseball-related site all day long. Not one. Except for the Rockies blog, which is lightly trafficked and where I might be less likely to see if they were losing. That was it. I stayed utterly away until 11:30. Then my cell phone rang. I saw it was my sister. I thought, "OH MY GOD WHY IS SHE CALLING I THINK I KNOW..."

I picked up. She said, "Do you want to know?" I said, "YES." She said, "They won."

I went apeshit. I screamed and began to shake and began to babble and laugh in incoherent happiness. I felt like a million dollars. I was pure light and happiness and joy. I was trembling all over and ecstatic. It was an amazing feeling.

And yes. HELL. YES. Jeff Suppan and Oliver Perez duel, keeping it tied at one all the way until the ninth. Scott Rolen is robbed of a two-run homer in the sixth. (As you can see, I came up to speed very quickly). And then in the top of the ninth, Yadier Freakin' Molina pumps a two-run homer to shut Shea Stadium up very quickly. It starts coming back to life in the bottom of the ninth. My husband gets two outs, but also permits two baserunners. Then he walks Paul LoDuca to bring up Cardinals murderer, Carlos Beltran.

What does my husband do? He strikes him out. HE STRIKES OUT CARLOS MOTHERFUCKING BELTRAN. On three straight pitches. LOOKING. And the Cardinals are on their way to the 2006 World Series. I bought an NL champs shirt pronto. I spend too much money on my teams, but you'd better believe that I love them to death.

Everybody. EVERYBODY thought that the Mets were going to wipe their shoes on the Cardinals. What do the Cardinals do but WIN IN SEVEN GAMES. And now they're on their way to face the other team that no one thought would make it out of the first round, for an All-Underdog World Series.

If you see a girl walking around SLC tomorrow, wearing an Adam Wainwright T-shirt and a giant smile, that's me. *

* Of course I'll be wearing something else as well. You people and your perverted minds.

Presenting Your 2006 National League Champions:

THE SAINT LOUIS CARDINALS.

I'm so happy right now... I can't even tell you how it feels.

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.