Let's Play 163: CO Home Cookin'
Make no mistake. I, along with (I think) everyone else who chimed in on this bidness tonight was rooting for the Rockies, but what a shameful way to win it. I mean, come on. That was atrocious. No. Not the game. The finish. Can Colorado teams ever accomplish something without a little help from "my little friend"? I don't understand why that call was so poorly observed, why the importance of it was overlooked, why the stormage of the field was prevented.
Look: You have two teams that have finished in such an even fashion that they must have a one-game playoff to determine who goes to the playoffs. This is how you let it end?
Catastrophe. Do we need instant replay in baseball? Perhaps in the post-season, even if it's not the post-season? Maybe we do. Maybe this is like the final two minutes of an NFL half; it's important enough that reviews come from upstairs. The play was effed on both sides of the ball, in that Bard didn't even make the effort to put the tag on. Sure. The call had already been made, but Christ. Catchers throw to first base every day of the week on struck-out batters. Make it happen.
These two teams finished so similarly in the standings that a one-game playoff is required to determine who moves on, and this is the deciding moment? You know what? Forget the woe-is-me "that was a homerun" call. The umps are 40 feet from the line of sight in that situation. They're 18 inches in this one. Take the time. Call it right. We go to 19? Awesome. People were jazzed about this game. Let it end the right freaking way.
This is a chance for the big dance, and the game, as long as it went, was blown by an awful, terrible call. Here's my issue: The Rocks had a chance to win it, even if that winds up being a double play. Why not take the time to make the right call, the chance that they could seal the deal in an honorable way before the Pads even get another chance to bat?
Shanahanigans, I tell ya'. That's why.
That city puts Rachel Ray, Bobby Flay, and even old Emeril to shame when it comes to home cookin'. There's your "insert winning team cheated" post for the week that you thought you'd avoid, Seven.
But seriously. Go Rocks. Beat them damn Phils.
5 comments:
How surprising--sour grapes from Kansas City on this glorious morning.
I seem to remember a team called the Kansas City Royals, who won a World Series because of a blown call. A World Series. That's kind of important. It's the most important sporting memory for an entire generation of an entire city, and I don't see much sentiment to send that trophy to St. Louis. But now, apparently, we need instant replay.
It was a blown call--these things happen in baseball. Three weeks ago in Philadelphia, Yorvit Torrealba (still the Greatest Name In Sport) hit a clear home run that was ruled fan interference, and it cost Colorado the game. Now sure, that was simply one of 162 (or 163) regular season games, but in the deadlocked situation you described every game is of vital importance--a blown call is a blown call.
Do I wish Holliday had touched that plate? Of course. You always want things like this to be clean, if only to remove any ammunition from perpetual losers who whine about every good thing that happens and attribute it to a vast conspiracy.
But Mark McGwire and I would not like to talk about the past. Big Mac and I are very excited about these here baseball playoffs, and we're moving forward.
What's really funny is the suggestion that somehow, one of the finest umps in the game was actually working to ensure that a Colorado team won.
It only goes to show the depths of paranoia and self-loathing we find on plains east. They're so jittery with losing that they see phantoms.
Oh, and the catcher was Michael Barrett, not Josh Bard.
Yes, Seven. And I seem to remember one of your very first posts on these here pages actually including a picture of "the call." And the tune of that post was whistled just to be a devious little bastard. The tune of this one was solely to get you and your accusational sour-grapes finger pointing into these here ComMents.
Check.
And allow yourself to stand corrected in this very same box. The Royals won a World Series (a World Series) because they annihilated the team from St. Louise 11-0 in game seven. Your beloved Jorge Orta who would've been out number one of that infamous inning was thrown out moments later at third base.
Ah, and Cecil. Is it a coincidence that they never aired a single episode of the Muppets with only one of the crusty old codgers up in the booth? I think not. Where would we be without your yeah-what-he-saidisms.
Glorious, indeed.
I was wrong. It's not funny so much as it's sad.
Things have gotten so foul on the midwestern sport front that their victory-starved fans find their only available joy in the form of targeted whining.
Ah, whattya gonna do? If it makes you feel like you won, then by all means, have at it. For gahd's sake, something has to, right? Because actual winning is out of El Questione. (that's fake Spanish for "The Question.")
Mm-hmm. Just as the foul home-cookin' on the front range has forced its fans into an automatic defense mode anytime a skeptical situation arises. Coinks? Thinks not.
Post a Comment