Ending torture

Turns out it was time. Not for the Texas Rangers, but for the San Francisco Giants. Ironically enough, theirs was the longer drought. They've been waiting a long time in the Bay Area. Forever, in fact. And I'm sure they'll tell us Monday night was well worth the wait.

From the San Francisco Chronicle:

"The Giants serenaded their thirsty fans with the perfect anthem before the first pitch of the 2010 World Series. The song they piped through AT&T Park was U2's 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.'

"The search lasted more than half a century and seemed so futile at times. Finally, the team and its long-pained fans have found what they were looking for. For the first time since the Giants moved to San Francisco in 1958, they are the champions of baseball."

Tortured no more. And it only took 19,193 days.

San Francisco won 92 games, and the American League West, this summer. But they weren't supposed to do this. They weren't supposed to win it all. Not this year. Sure, they beat the Atlanta Braves in the NLDS. In a short series, with their pitching staff, they should have. Up next, the mighty Philadelphia Phillies. And what did the Giants do? They out-pitched a rotation that boasted Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt, and Cole Hamels. They silenced the powerful Phillies lineup, only Ryan Howard ending the NLCS with a batting average higher than Jimmy Rollins' .261.

Finally, the Texas Rangers. The high-octane Texas Rangers. Claws and antlers. And it was Texas's World Series to lose. Why? Simple: Their bats, vastly superior to the Giants', and the second coming of Sandy Koufax, Cliff Lee.

So much for the script. In games two, four, and five combined, the Rangers scored one run. Five games, that's all it took. Tim Lincecum -- what a performance Monday night -- led the way. And the San Francisco Giants beat Cliff Lee. Twice.

From the incredible Giants blog McCovey Chronicles:

"Every roster move and every transaction was an attempt to lead to this. Every barstool argument about the merits of Mike Aldrete or Eugenio Velez, every guttural cheer in the close wins, and every expletive in the close losses was created with the implicit understanding that the San Francisco Giants could possibly, maybe, if everything broke their way, could conceive of having a chance to potentially one day win the World Series. Maybe. The Giants would win, and they’d hold the trophy up high as idiots ran around and sprayed each other with champagne.

"That’s why we spent so much time trying to figure out if it was a good idea to trade Kirt Manwaring for Rick Wilkins, or hoping that Milt May really was the heir to Willie McCovey’s throne: the stupid, unrealistic promise that the San Francisco Giants could win the World Series.

"Words fail.

"So, so many things had to go right for this. Nine teams had to pass on Tim Lincecum. Twenty-nine had to pass on Aubrey Huff. Edgar Renteria had to play through a torn bicep and a strained old. Some players had to stay healthy, and other players had to get hurt to make room for the players who would lead the Giants to a World Series title.

"The Giants won the World Series. The San Francisco Giants. No foolin’. It’s on Wikipedia and everything."

So, so many things had to go right, and they did. American League East, or National League West, pitching wins championships. Yet, still, it's hard to believe the Giants are today on top of the baseball world. An hour after the game, some of the Giants sat in uniform on the infield grass of The Ballpark in Arlington. They probably couldn't believe it themselves. Because it wasn't supposed to happen. Not with Brian Sabean at the helm. Not with Barry Zito counting his money while left off the playoff roster. Not with that offence. Not with Kung Fu Panda on the bench, and Cody Ross, plucked from the scrap heap, playing left and right field. Not with Pat Burrell batting cleanup, and Juan Uribe manning the hot corner. Not with Nate Schierholtz and Mike Fontenot starting games in the goddamn postseason. Not with 35-year-old Edgar Renteria, his best days clearly behind him, playing shortstop.

And, yet, how fitting. All of it. I mean, we're talking about the San Francisco Giants. A franchise that oozes baseball tradition. A franchise that has sent more players to Cooperstown than any other in baseball history. A franchise synonymous with one of the greatest baseball players I've ever known, Barry Bonds. And with many more legends I never had the privilege to watch: Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marichal, Gaylord Perry, and others. Do yourself a solid and read some of the comments at McCovey Chronicles; this World Series title is as much for the legends above as it is for Will Clark, Matt Williams, Rob Nen and J.T. Snow. For the long, cold, empty and foggy nights at Candlestick Park. For the Croix de Candlestick. And it was the most unlikely group of overachieving Giants who finally put the ghosts of 1962, 1989, and 2002 to rest. Who finally made San Francisco proud.

From the San Jose Mercury:

"It was the Giants' first ever game in November. And it became their favorite month of all. ...
Shout it from atop Coit Tower and let the party begin: Yes, the Giants really are World Series champions."

Congratulations, San Francisco. And thank you. The Giants are why, in spite of it all, we believe.

That's a Getty Image, above, and a damn fine one at that. Via daylife, of course.

Heroes

Joe Carter rightfully deserves the title of "World Series Hero." But there is no bigger home run in the history of the Toronto Blue Jays than Roberto Alomar's two-run shot off of Dennis Eckersley on Sunday, October 11, 1992, in the 9th inning of game four of the ALCS.

It was at that moment when the Blue Jays shed the label of chokers and, finally, became the best team in baseball.

Robbie took home the ALCS MVP trophy, and rightfully so. His numbers from the six-game series were outstanding:

26 at-bats, 4 runs, 11 hits, 1 double, 2 home runs, 4 RsBI, 5 stolen bases, 2 walks, 1 strikeout, a .423 batting average, .464 on-base percentage, .692 slugging percentage, and a 1.157 OPS.

Speaking of heroes, the one, the only, Paul Molitor. Check out his numbers from the six-game 1993 World Series:

24 at-bats, an astounding 10 runs scored, 12 hits, 2 doubles, 2 triples, 2 home runs, 10 RsBI, 1 stolen base, 3 walks, 0 strikeouts, a .500 batting average, .571 on-base percentage, 1.000 slugging percentage, and a mind-blowing 1.571 OPS.

MVP, indeed.

There were others. In his career in the ALCS, spanning three years (1991, 1992, and 1993), Juan Guzman started five games for the Toronto Blue Jays. He won them all, with an ERA of 2.27; 31.2 innings pitched, only 8 earned runs allowed. He walked a ton of guys, 18, but struck out 22.

Who can forget Jimmy Key's performance in 1992? Pitching from the bullpen during the ALCS, he made his final start as a Blue Jay in game four of the World Series, going 7.2 innings, allowing only one run on five hits, while striking out six. Key threw 91 pitches that night, 57 for strikes. Roy Halladay would have been proud.

It wasn't the last we'd see of Key. He came out of pen in game six to throw an inning and a third of one-hit relief; the winning pitcher of the game in which Toronto was crowned World Series champions for the first time ever in life.

There are so many more performances I could single out. Too many.

Tremendous memories. I'll relive them all tonight, in what will be one massive love fest at the SkyDome. I anticipate never hearing the building louder than it will be tonight. Until the Toronto Blue Jays win another World Series ...

Someday it'll all make sense ...

One day, I'll stop bitching about the AL East, and how it is the toughest division in baseball. Not today. But one day.

As my man Dean pointed out in the comments of my last post, with the Tampa Bay DEVIL Rays having won last night, to sweep a mini two-game set with the Boston Red Sox, the AL East is now home to three teams with 60 or more wins. The Yankees check in with 65, the Red Sox 62, and Tampa Bay 60.

Only one other American League team has hit the mark; the Los Angeles Angels (63). In the National League, three teams: the Los Angeles Dodgers (66), Philadelphia Phillies (60), and San Francisco Giants (60).

Three teams in the AL East. Four throughout the rest of Major League Baseball. Life is cruel. And home, the AL East, has been most unkind to Toronto this season, with the Jays having gone 12-24 against divisional opponents. All in all, it's amazing the Jays have won 51 games so far in 2009. (That's my way of saying J.P. Ricciardi has done a stand-up job with a payroll of only $80 million dollars.)

The Ultimate Flashback Friday

For one night, let's forget about this, another, clusterfuck of a season for our Toronto Blue Jays. Tomorrow night at the SkyDome, for no reason at all, because we don't need a reason, let's celebrate the 1992 and 1993 teams that ran the AL East; that did something truly special for the city of Toronto.

I'll be there. In my powder blue. Cheering wildly like I'm 10 and 11 years old again; like I was when Dave Winfield sent the ball down the left field line in 1992; like I was when Joe Carter's ball cleared the fence in 1993. Hell, I think I'm even going to hit up the autograph sessions.

Speaking of memories, I was actually talking to the boys about the '92 World Series, and Ed Sprague's 9th inning pinch-hit home run in game two vs. Atlanta. Looking back, what an absolutely monumental round tripper. The Jays had lost game one of the series, and were down 4-3 in game two, with only three outs to go. Cue the heroics. A walk to Derek Bell, and a bomb to left field by Sprague to silence the deep south. It came off of Braves closer Jeff Reardon who, according to the ever-trustworthy Wikipedia, was then baseball's all-time saves leader; 5-4 Toronto, the World Series tied at one, and heading to Canada for the first time ever in life. Huge.

Unfortunately, I can't embed Sprague's home run here on the blog, but you can watch it here. Take a minute to do so. Trust me, it'll give you goose bumps.

The salad days. Be there tomorrow night to relive them.

Go Jays.

UPDATE: My man Johnny G mentioned the "Trenches" in the comments. I loved that shit. Sprague, Bell, and Turner Ward. Rudeys, all three of them. I did a quick search, and found this gem from the SI vault:

Sprague didn't play much after being called up—he had only 47 at bats—but he and two other Blue Jay reserves, outfielders Turner Ward and Derek Bell, started something called the Trenches, a silly little rally routine that has enlivened the Toronto bench. They lay a towel labeled TRENCHES on the top step of the dugout, near the bat rack. Bell, the loader, pulls out a bat belonging to a Blue Jay teammate who's about to hit. He passes the bat to Sprague, the exchanger. As the batter comes to the plate, the bat is handed to Ward, the shooter, who fires off an imaginary volley at the opposing pitcher. "If we need a big homer, like tonight," Ward said Sunday night, "I turn the bat around and make it a bazooka." The imaginary warfare may seem juvenile, but when one of the soldiers has to come into a game, his place is often taken by Toronto's 41-year-old star, Dave Winfield. "He's our commander in chief," says Sprague. As so often happens in battle, it was the guys in the trenches who won Game 2.

Makes you love Winfield even more, doesn't it?

Trenches!1

I don't want to talk about it ...

And neither does The Ack. But, really, we're left with no choice.

It's not news that J.P. Ricciardi will listen to offers for Roy Halladay; that's his job, fools.

What is news, and worthy of a drink or seven, is the fact that Ricciardi has "spoken with [Doc] and prepared him for the possibility that he will bring trade possibilities to the pitcher in the weeks or months ahead."

Now that, that is fucked up.

I love Doc. With all my Blue Jays fandom being. In all my years, I've never seen anyone do it better. But if he won't sign a contract extension, and I completely understand him potentially not wanting to, Ricciardi's got to trade him. Period.

I found it ironic that on the night Halladay speculation hit the fan, Marc Rzepczynski, fresh from the minors (he's never had an ERA higher than 2.93, at any level), went out and threw a gem against a very tough, all-star riddled lineup. Can we keep him?

Look, all I know is that I can't deal with another superstar - especially Doc, THE superstar - leaving town and the Blue Jays receiving nothing in return, a la Carlos Delgado. I just can't. He's in the middle of the Sports And The City banner, for fuck's sake.

The chances of a trade are slim. But the lure of 2010 may not be enough to get Doc's signature on the dotted line. Basically, we're fucked. The team, the fans, the banner; everyone.

If Doc leaves, I trust in Ricciardi that the package coming north will be formidable. If Doc leaves, he'll also take a part of me with him. His new team will become my new team; team 1A, if you will. (First Mats, now Doc. This is some bullshit.)

There's nothing I want more than for Halladay to win the World Series. Because I know there's nothing Halladay wants more. In a perfect world, it happens in Toronto. But if I've learned anything over the years, it's that dreams of this nature don't come true.

It's not about the money for Doc. Never has been. He's the anti-A.J. Burnett. It's about giving himself the best odds to win, as the window closes, ever so slowly, year after year. And I can't be mad at him for that.

I will always root for Harry Leroy Halladay III. Whether in a Blue Jays uniform, or another.

In grief-stricken times such as these, I'm looking for positives. Any positives. Here's one, I think, from Blair Facts, which should be high atop your Monday morning reading list:

"After watching Roy Halladay's face following Johnny Damon's cheap homerun at the new Yankee Stadium on Saturday, I guess it's safe to scratch the Bronx as a possible future destination for Doc."
- Jeff Blair, GlobeSports

Thank God. Anywhere but New York, or Boston. Please.

Looks like I picked the right year to embark on Mission: Doc, a quest to watch every Halladay start at the Rog Mahal. It might be his last.

(I promised myself I wouldn't cry.)

UPDATE: If Rogers gives the green light, and that's a HUGE if, put a four-year $80 million extension in front of Doc. If he signs, and Rogers allows the payroll to balloon (I'm thinking $120 million) so the Jays can surround Doc with the necessary parts, end of story.

If Rogers doesn't give Ricciardi the green light to show Doc the money, or surround him with adequate talent, well, then he must be traded.

It's really up to Rogers, not Ricciardi.

Way too many ifs.

UPDATE #2: "Ricciardi acted on Doc's orders." The fuck? If that's the case, just keep it in mind, Ricciardi haters.

Oh, Doc.

UPDATE #3: From Joel Sherman, of the New York Post: "This is not a decision initiated by Halladay. In other words, Halladay did not come to Toronto and say, 'get me out of here, my baseball biological clock is ticking and I want to go some place I can win and get paid.'"

Not that I believed Doc was behind this, but it's still a relief.

However, as The Ack pointed out, the money quote, from J.P.:

"We have kept him from free agency twice and I don't think we ahve the resources to keep him from free agency a third time, so I have to investigate what is out there. But my gut feeling is no trade gets done because we value him as one of the five best players in the game, and I don't think people will meet the price tag for that kind of talent."

For now, that's the final word.

On Top Of The World

The City of Brotherly Love has finally exorcised the demons. The Phillies are World Series champions.

Look at Brad Lidge's face. 

Check out the smile on flag-bearer Matt Stairs' face. 

For one priceless moment, when that final out is made, grown men become boys once again. That, my friends, is why I'm a sports fan. 

Enjoy yourselves, Philadelphians. You waited 28 years. And who knows when you will reach the summit again.

You wish you had one, Philadelphia...

I bet Phillies fans don't think that lid on top of the Rogers Centre looks so ridiculous anymore.

That's exactly why we've got it, because apparently baseball can be played even in November.

A mistake by the lake? Hardly. I believe every stadium should be built with a retractable roof. It would save my man Bud Selig a ton of trouble.

Prediction: I'm taking the Phillies (which means the World Series is probably headed back to Tampa Bay). Here's hoping they wrap it up tonight, and all hell breaks loose in the city of brotherly love as Philadelphians celebrate their first pro sports title in a generation. 

Best Fist Pump Ever

Ever since Jason Blake acted like a complete douchebag a week and a half ago against les Habitants, the timeless art of the fist pump has been on the brain over here, and over at Pension Plan Puppets.

Without further adieu, I present the greatest fist pump of all time, courtesy of Los Angeles Dodgers' hero Kirk Gibson:

A walk-off, pinch hit home run in the World Series, followed by the double pump fist pump. Fucking classic. That's about as good as it gets, my friends. Well done, Kirk Gibson, well done.

The Red Sox Did It Again

The great teams, in any sport, have a switch they turn on when their backs are against the wall, when they are facing elimination, when there is no tomorrow. The Boston Red Sox have that switch. Down three games to one to the Cleveland Indians in the ALCS, they turned it on.

The Boston Red Sox are a great team, and they’ve gone and done it again. For the Fenway faithful, it’s another monumental comeback that sends their beloved Red Sox to their second World Series in four years.

Another great op-ed by Will Leitch in the New York Times about how the Red Sox are no longer a tragic baseball team forced to deal with curses and condemned to forever be the loser (that would be the Toronto Maple Leafs). No, the Boston Red Sox are just winners.

Must be nice.

As special and remarkable as the Sox’s comeback was in 2004, this one was right up there with it. Just like 2004, I didn’t see it coming. This year’s version of the Red Sox didn’t look like a team that was going to make it happen. They didn’t look like the loosey-goosey “idiots” from 2004 who staged one of the greatest comebacks in baseball history. They didn’t have the characters like Johnny Damon and Kevin Millar, guys who were going to “cowboy up” and get the job done. Although Big Papi and Manny Ramirez were hitting the lights out of, well, everything, there seemed to be too many questions in regards to everyone else.

After another dominant effort from Josh Beckett in game five to send the series back to beautiful Fenway Park, there seemed to be life in the Red Sox yet.

But the questions, they were still on my mind.

Was Curt Schilling going to paint blood on his sock and win another crucial game six with his team facing elimination? Was he ready to accept that he must change his approach because he doesn’t have the stuff to dominate anymore? Was J.D. Drew ever going to do anything to justify that mammoth contract? Was Coco Crisp finally going to be forced to grab some pine? If they did force game seven, would Dice-K have enough gas in the tank?

Well, all of those questions were answered. With an emphatic yes.

Schilling got the win and improved to 4-0 with a 1.37 ERA in five starts when his team is facing elimination. J.D. Drew hit a grand slam to make sure there was going to be a game seven. Terry Francona finally benched Coco Crisp. And Dice-K, although not dominant by any stretch of the imagination, got the win, and therefore got the job done, with some help from his countryman Hideki Okajima. Okajima’s been so huge for the Red Sox all year. As if getting Dice-K wasn’t enough, geez.

As a Jays fan, seeing the Red Sox advance is tough. If it’s not Evil Empire #1 the New York Yankees, it’s Evil Empire #2 the Boston Red Sox. Other than spending a gazillion dollars, what’s a team got to do to make the playoffs in the American League East? Bud Selig, throw me a freaking bone here.

What made it even more infuriating was seeing that little weasel Royce Clayton, the former and might I add super-pathetic Blue Jay, celebrating in the Red Sox dugout and clubhouse like he’d been with Boston all year and contributed anything at all to their success (or was even on their playoff roster). Clayton's useless. What a tool.

But I digress.

It’s a Boston Red Sox and Colorado Rockies World Series and if you saw that one coming, well, you’re just lying. So stop it.

A lot was made of Manny Ramirez’s comments after the Red Sox went down 3-1, and how he said it “wasn’t the end of the world” if Boston lost the series. I agree, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world, but I wasn’t too pleased with Manny’s comments. He was chastised for not caring enough but you wouldn’t know it when he stepped to the plate with his .400 batting average.

In the aftermath of the comeback, some are saying that it was Ramirez’s comments that loosened up the Red Sox. It was Manny who got them to stop worrying about their situation. It was Manny who got them to go out on to the field and just play baseball.

Give me a break - Manny isn’t that smart. It was, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, just Manny being Manny.

Wow. I feel all cheap and dirty.

A telling stat from games five, six and seven – the Red Sox outscored the Cleveland Indians 30-5, and Big Papi and Ramirez drove in only five of those runs. It was the other guys who stepped up – the Pedroia’s, the Youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuukilis’s, and, unfathomably, the J.D. Drew’s.

What can you say about the Cleveland Indians? They’ve got a heck of a ball club, but their big boys didn’t show up when it mattered most. Grady Sizemore, Casey Blake and Travis Hafner, especially, are going to have a long off-season. Like the CBC Hockey Night in Canada song goes – “for the chance may never come again.”

And how about that poor idiot Ryan Garko? After game five a confident Garko had a severe brain cramp and told the media “the champagne tastes just as good on the road as it does at home.”

That lovely little quote ended up taped on the back of Boston’s clubhouse door at Fenway.

Way to go, Garko! I wonder how the champagne's going to taste in his basement.

It was a fantastic series, and the 11-2 final in game seven does not tell the story of how close the game really was.

I can’t find it in me, however, to say that the Cleveland Indians choked. The Boston Red Sox, like all great teams do when pushed to the brink, simply turned on the switch…

Dream Weaver

The never ending baseball season has, well, come to an end. The St. Louis Cardinals are the World Series champions tonight, and are probably ridiculously drunk right about now.

Three things stood out for me tonight as I watched St. Louis capture the title.

1) The Cards play in the best named stadium ever - Busch Stadium
2) It shouldn't be called the "World Series". Hello, the Japanese won the World Baseball Classic.
3) The Cardinals won 83 games this season, and are the champs. The Jays won 87 games this season, and missed the playoffs by 8 games. That makes me angry, and sad, at the same time. Such is the life of a Blue Jays fan.

The Cards won the least amount of regular season games of any playoff team, but they're goin home with the hardware. It goes to show that a team just has to get hot at the right time. Once the playoffs start, everyone's on the same level and the regular season is deemed meaningless.

One player who can attest to that has gotta be Jeff Weaver. What an incredible ride this season was for him. And what a way to end it. Weaver pitched a tremendous game tonight, and it was good to see a guy who's been torn apart everywhere he's been have some success.

Weaver's story is like a fairytale, and I'm sure he thinks he's dreaming tonight.

He started this season with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (I wonder what genius came up with that name) - his fifth team in the last six years. He started his career in Detroit, then wore Yankee pinstripes, then Dodger blue, then became an Angel. It's how he became a Cardinal that I find so fascinating.

Weaver's got a lifetime record of 94 wins and 115 losses. But he's the type of guy who will always have a job in somebody's rotation, and he takes home a pretty decent paycheque. He's just got so much potential. That's been the story of his whole career. He's got all the tools and the talent, he just can't seem to put it together mentally. Gee, where the hell have I heard that before? Freakin A.J. Burnett. Yes, Blue Jay fans, A.J. Burnett is the second coming of Jeff Weaver!

Anyway, back to this season. Weaver was, well, even worse than usual for the Angels. His younger brother Jered Weaver, also a starting pitcher and also on the Angels, was called up early in the season to fill in for an injured Kelvim Escobar. Jered Weaver was "off the heezy, indeed", like the Schick Quattro commercial. Jeff Weaver, not so much. The older Weaver went 3-10 for the Angels, with a NASTY 6.29 E.R.A. before he was designated for assignment by the ballclub at the end of June.

Designated for assignment because of your younger brother. Out of a job because of baby bro. That's got to be a little tough on the ego.

On July 5th, Jeff Weaver was dealt to the St. Louis Cardinals for some jobber.

Can you say destiny?

Weaver pitched ok for the Cardinals down the stretch - he was his usual "Jeff Weaver makes me want to pull my own hair out" inconsistent self. But he was a different Jeff Weaver in the playoffs. He went 4-2, with an E.R.A. under 3.00, and he pitched 8 superb innings tonight to clinch the title for the Cardinals.

How freakin improbable is that? He loses his job to his baby brother, gets one last chance with St. Louis, and gets torn apart in the media that he's soft and that he'll never get it right.

Well, he got it right. Jeff Weaver is a champion, and he's got one helluva story to tell his grandchildren. I hope the first telephone call Jeff Weaver made after the game was to his brother Jered, to thank him for taking his job, and getting him traded. Nobody could have written a better script.

And I'm not sure why, but I'm happy for the guy. For a man who's taken so much grief in his professional life, I think it's safe to say he deserves this.

Like Jerry Seinfeld said - "it's karma, Kramer."

Goodnight, Toronto...