Show #125: No Longer Atop the NL East

The re-emergence of Nate McLouth.  The decline of the starting pitching.  And following the team day to day. var LEO_HIGHLIGHTS_INFINITE_LOOP_COUNT = 300; var LEO_HIGHLIGHTS_MAX_HIGHLIGHTS = 50; var[...]

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Rockies Review: Field of Dreams

More photos » Jack Dempsey - AP

Yeah, so this doesn't have a whole lot to do with the article,but come on. Tulo's getting sunflower seeds dumped on his face. It's awesome. And the mullet is still hideous.

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Good evening, Rowbots. It has come to my attention that a little thing called a Thongbino walkoff homer took place today, giving a team of irredeemable CHEATERZ their tenth win in a row. While this all may be voided once BUD comes along to drop the banhammer on us, in the meantime there's still plenty to celebrate. With the down-on-their-luck Padres limping into town after coughing up a timeshare of first place to the Gints, now is the perfect time to live up to our name as the Colorado Zombies and promptly eat their BRAINZ. (Why didn't we do this to the Giants the last time we played them, you say? Well, for us to eat BRAINZ, there must be BRAINZ. QED.)

I have to say, I have no idea how the team can possibly do this September after September. I don't know if the pixie dust is in a time-lock safe or what. But it's pretty crazy, and absent all the terrible things they do like losing to the Pirates and being groan-worthy in general on the road, they are definitely one of the most unpredictable and exciting teams in baseball. Search me why they can't play like this all year, but whatever it is about the leaves falling, the Rockies go nuts. I can't think of a team that has consistently been this magical down the stretch run, and if it does end with a postseason berth, they will have made it there in three of four years. Not too bad for a bunch of LOSERZ.

As you may or may not have noticed, I have been absent virtually all summer. This is because I have had time to follow the team only on a cursory level -- checking box scores, maybe an inning or two on Gameday -- and because of that, I felt that it was rather counterproductive to offer my low-rent insight when you lot would already have it diagrammed six ways from Sunday (literally). For example, I wasn't even aware that CarGo was a contender for the Triple Crown until just this past Reds series. While my purple passion is undimmed, real life is harshing my buzz in a major way right now, bro.

Nonetheless, as you may also recall from my last Rockies Review (posted on July 4) there have been plenty of awesome things about this summer as well. If you'd like to come back to Asheville with me and look at the tales and travails of a Single-A club, then join me after the jump.

About halfway through the month of August, the glamorous, high-exposure battle for Southern Division Champions of the South Atlantic League became a two-horse race. On one side, the manly, valorous, well-mannered, and nicely groomed heroes, YOURRRRR Asheville Tourists, and on the other, the hunchbacked, evil, and bad-breathed villains, the Greenville Drive. (It is no coincidence that the Drive are the Single-A affiliates of the Boston Red Sox.) Hanging around in the dust were the Augusta GreenJackets, but they, like their parent club in San Francisco, eventually choked and fell flat on their faces.

Playoff baseball is the one time in the minor leagues when you don't remember that your success could lead to one of your friends being outsourced to flip burgers at McDonald's. That's the thing about life in the trenches: the bond with your teammates is what keeps you sane, but this is an environment with even less job security than, say, AIG. As Dirk Hayhurst, Blue Jays reliever and author of the terrific Bullpen Gospels, says, "Otherwise they'll find a younger guy to do your job better, and there's always a younger guy." Or words more or less to that effect.

On the Asheville Tourists, where the average year of birth is 1989, the fear isn't quite as present. On a Single-A team, it's still kids who are likely to be moving up next year, who haven't played out the string and aren't the Crash Davis types clinging to one last hope at stardom. But by now, they've been in a farm system long enough to know what they're getting into. The horrible pay (it works out to the equivalent of $6.07 an hour) the endless bus rides, and the, shall we say, conspicuous lack of glamor when you're renting a house with six of your teammates and all sleeping on air mattresses. Being all young, athletic guys, they're a bit more resilient to this mistreatment than your average Joe, but it still takes a thick hide.

This is why a sense of humor is an essential defense in the bush leagues. More properly, a sense of kooky, often rather black humor. The playoff race between the Drive and the Tourists produced one such example. After the Drive announced that they were selling "Asheville Tourists playoff tickets" in what was clearly a transparent attempt to jinx their northern rivals, the Tourists wasted no time in firing back:

For Drive fans looking to watch playoff baseball on a budget, the Tourists also have created a special 99-cent Greenville ticket package. By presenting their South Carolina driver's license, for less than one George Washington, Drive fans can enjoy the view of the September 8 contest from the Memorial Stadium bleachers above McCormick Field. Included in the package is a bag of soggy boiled peanuts to make Greenville fans feel at home. The Tourists have also arranged for an English professor from UNC Asheville to be on hand to address the group on the usage of "drive" as a noun and a verb.

Believe me, I wish I could take credit for this.

***

Everyone says that it's been an unseasonably hot summer in Asheville. For a while in the middle of July and August, it was like walking through a washcloth: heavy, damp, horribly enervating heat that reliably had every single person that entered the gift shop informing me of how lucky I was to be working in the air conditioning. It would still be hot when I was biking home at night, the crickets shirring madly and the haze of summer stars just beginning to show through the streaks of fading cloud. The stadium lights show in the distance until I am halfway up the Biltmore Avenue hill. The fireworks send off concussive blasts which echo well into the historic Montford neighborhood, where I live in a second-story apartment in a rambling old Victorian. By the time I got home, it is 10:00 at night and I had worked for approximately fourteen hours. I was usually drenched in sweat, and had time only to scarf a sandwich and take a shower before falling into bed and setting my alarm for 6:30 the next morning. I understand the lack of glamor perfectly.

***

I am not that fond of my day job, and am currently attempting to find another one. But I do like my regulars. One of them is an old lady who has become very fond of me, and I of her. We chat about lots of things, especially our shared love of reading and English history. But one day she asks me why I've come to Asheville, and I explain as best I can. I mention the Tourists. Her eyes light up. She's lived here all her life. She says that back when her husband was alive, she used to go to plenty of games with him, and keep score. Among others, they saw Willie Stargell play here.

"That was back when we were still fairly segregated,'' she says. "I was terrified that someone in the bleachers was going to yell something at him. But it wasn't. It was a respected businessman, who was sitting in the box seats one row ahead of us. He was the only one. I never forgot that."

It turns out that she's only been to one major league game in her life. "We were in New York, and we went out. And that was the game that Larson -- Don Larson -- was pitching."

"Oh, wow," I say. "1956 World Series?"

"I don't remember," she says. "But it was definitely a long time ago."

"Oh, man," I say. "The perfect game?"

"Yes, that was the one."

She is extremely flattered by the fact that I am so impressed. After this, although I can't imagine never being able to go to another major league game, I understand. How in the hell do you top that? Answer: You can't.

***

Within the course of a few months, I have already acquired a reputation as a baseball encyclopedia: aka if I don't know it, it's probably not there to be known. I am not entirely sure how this came about, but I have said nothing to dissuade them. I floored one of my customers by guessing (correctly) that he was wearing a Lehigh Valley IronPigs hat, Triple-A affiliate of the Philadelphia Phillies. Apparently, I was one of only two people ever to guess this. I think what it shows is that either I need a life, or I really need one. Or that I already have one, and that it's baseball.

I somehow got through an entire season working for the Tourists without ever seeing Tyler Matzek pitch (although I did meet his entire family and get to talk to his dad for three days during a late-July home series). CURSES.

The Tourists have enjoyed robust attendance, innovative promotions, and plenty of can-do spirit this year, which is what makes them fun to watch. They never quit even when down by six or seven runs, and are also similar to their parent club in the fact that "When in doubt, swing" appears to be their offensive motto. When I'm on my breaks, I like to stand along the first-base line and soak in the atmosphere, as I mentioned in my last piece. There isn't really a bad seat in the house, and it's always amusing to listen to the Single-A diehards who can usually be found down by the dugout, yelling, "Come on baby, come on!" to every hitter. You'd miss things like little old grannies dancing to the YMCA and the wide-eyed wonder of the kids who don't give a crap that this isn't the pros. Or the scouts sitting in the stands, one of whom befriended my sister; they keep in touch by email. McCormick Field plays small, in more ways than one. The current stadium opened in 1992, replacing the original from 1924, but the dimensions are still wacky. You need to give it a legit ride to get it over the monstrous right-field wall, and a homer hit to left, at 370, or center, at 373, is more or less a real one. But it still regularly shortens doubles to Jason Giambi singles as a matter of principle, and taking third on a hit-and-run is done at your own risk. Nonetheless, it happens a lot. There are a lot of dirty uniforms. There is a lot of playing hard. The guys with radar guns are right behind home plate. They're not going to miss it if you screw up.

***

My boss comes into the store and takes a red wooden mini-bat off the shelf. "I always get on the kids for doing this," he says. He loads up and takes a giant swing. My boss is strange, but I love him anyway. Except for the fact that he's a Braves fan. That's a mark against him.

"I'll make you a deal," he says, a few nights hence. "Sell four backpacks before the end of the season, and I'll give you... a martini glass."

"Nice try," I say. "I don't drink."

He looks around. "Okay. Sell four backpacks before the end of the season, and I'll give you... a baby bucket hat."

"And who's gonna wear it?" I say. "I don't have kids."

He grins. He thinks. Inspiration strikes. "Sell four backpacks before the end of the season -- that's seven more games, with the doubleheader on Tuesday --  and I'll get you a bat signed by the whole team."

"Oh yeah," say I. "You're on."

***

"IT'S THE FROZEN T-SHIRT CONTEST! That's right, ladies and gentlemen, we have Jesse, Daniel, and Josh as tonight's contestants! Each of them has been given a frozen T-shirt! The first of them to unthaw the T-shirt and get it over their heads will be the winner! On your mark... get set... GOOOO!

And we're off! They're taking the hitting the dugout approach... and now they're taking the hitting each other approach! Jesse's in the lead! Whack that T-shirt, Jesse! And here comes Daniel making a late charge... uh-oh, the sleeve is still stuck, and God knows what Josh is doing... Jesse's really rolling now! He's beating that T-shirt! Here we go! Here we go! Josh mounting a challenge, Daniel's coming on strong, can Jesse hold them off! Down the stretch -- one more whack -- and JESSE'S THE WINNER! He's got it mostly over his head, we'll ignore the right sleeve! Thanks for playing guys!"

And later:

"Our special detectives have just finished scouring the parking lot for the dirtiest car. That's right, we are looking for the FILTHIEST car out there, and we have a winner. If you own a royal blue Chevy pickup truck with North Carolina tag VCL-231, congratulations! Your negligence has just won you a $10 gift certificate to Firehouse Car Wash!"

It is just another ordinary night in the minor leagues.

***

Minor league baseball is the story of America. After a summer spent in close company of it, I am more convinced of this than ever. The long hours, the low return, and the power of dreams to keep you moving forward.

One of the most common criticisms leveled at baseball is that it doesn't take a "special skill" to play. That anyone can do it. Well, you try hitting a Ubaldo Jimenez fastball, and then you get back to me on that. But I think that those who denigrate it as an everyman's game are completely missing the point. For those of us who aren't physical freaks who can run a forty-yard dash in 4.5 seconds, or are seven feet tall with a killer jump shot, there's still baseball. Baseball's beauty is that it represents us in a way that football and basketball can never do. I have discovered that I am innately morally suspicious of people who find it boring. As fans, we often jokingly say that baseball is life, but it really is. It's a game for the thinking man. It's not about how many people you can pummel, and how quickly.

Don't get me wrong. I like football plenty. I am one of those people who will happily settle down to watch two college teams I have never heard of play in the MTV.com Eighties Hair Metal Marathon Bowl. But at the same time, I grow increasingly convinced that football's emphasis is on the freakish. Baseball holds a better mirror up to us. There is no one sport that is as innately American as it is. It tells the story of failure and loss and trying so hard but just not making it. It tells as well the story of unexpected windfall and the way your life can change overnight. It has an upper class and a very, very underclass. It's had its fair share of difficulties. It went out of business at times. It had Barry Bonds and Jose Canseco and the Yankees (the mammoth corporation eating up the mom-and-pop businesses, how's that for a parallel?) But for better or worse, we keep on believing in it.

There's plenty to say about why Americans find football so appealing. About how it speaks to our deep visceral fascination for sex and glitz and violence and scandal. But it's baseball that saves our souls.

On August 23, the night before my birthday, I was tired and overworked and worrying about my sister's departure in two days. How was I ever going to manage this by myself? Keep afloat in real life, when I'm already working sixty or seventy hours and barely making it even with her to share the expenses? Find out where I'm supposed to go and who I'm supposed to be?

I arrived for work as usual and had a break in about the fifth inning. I went up. The night was a perfect, balmy temperature and the sky was candy-colored purple. On the field, under the lights, the Tourists were doing battle with the Savannah Sand Gnats (author of my favorite minor league promotion ever: Guaranteed Win Night. If they lost, all the fans got in free the next night). And just for then, it was as simple as catch, and throw, and pitch.

I have rarely been so happy in my life.

***

Several days later, Muzia's in town on the Asheville swing of his North Carolina trip. I get to have a night off and watch a whole game for the first time since June 7, when I went with Squeaky. Nick Schnaitmann started that night, and got blown up. Nick Schnaitmann starts tonight, and gets blown up.

I have a blast.

Before the game starts, my boss spots me at the ATM and pretends to be shocked that I am not working. We give each other good-natured grief.

"Hey," I say. "How many more backpacks do I have to sell?" Damn, but I want that bat. If necessary, I have Muzia in reserve, who has chivalrously volunteered to buy the extra.

My boss grins. "Don't worry about it," he says. "We're getting you a bat signed anyway. For being a hard worker. I've had it down there for two days, though, and Massey and Arenado haven't signed it. I'm going to get on them." He sounds genuinely indignant that the Tourists are not cooperating in this regard. I do not doubt that he will.

***

This isn't a Kevin Costner movie. The Tourists do not get a perfect game from a has-been or a magical visit from Shoeless Joe. After pulling to within one of Greenville and eventually taking over first place, they slip back and lose their last three games on the road -- to Savannah, ironically. They miss the playoffs by a hair.

The team disbands. McCormick Field is done for the year, and next year will look different. There will be an influx of new faces. None of the game-worn jerseys sold in the gift shop have names on them. Tourists fans have to change their allegiances, favorite players. Watch them move up. Modesto, Tulsa. And if all goes well, Denver.

About a week later, we hold the end-of-the-year employee picnic. It's a gray, warmish, rain-spitting afternoon when I get there, but it melds into a transcendent, sunlit evening. We eat burgers and chicken and peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream. Everyone looks different in street clothes. The general manager is employed to ferry new trays of burgers back and forth, and one of the front office is pulling beers for everyone. Soon a game of beanbags gets underway, with two teams of two guys apiece attempting to put said beanbags through a hole in the board. Trash talk is employed. Cheers and groans. It's a diverting spectacle.

Somebody airmails a beanbag.

"Damn, dude, focus!" groans his counterpart. "You look like Arenado out there!"

I grin. I turn away. Behind me a door is open into a squat cinderblock room. Looking for a restroom, I head through. And just like that, find myself in the deserted visitor's clubhouse of McCormick Field.

To say it's a dive would be putting it nicely. The floors are concrete, the crammed lockers are balsa-wood, and the showers look like Auschwitz. The sinks are dirty and the pipes are exposed. The coach's room is equipped with a rickety folding table and one chair, and the trainer's room is even smaller. A code of conduct is posted on the wall in English and Spanish, warning players to pay their bills on time, not to bet on or throw the game, and under no circumstances attempt to bribe umpires. Just to make sure the point is felt, the largest words on the notice are printed on the bottom, in inch-high letters:

DO NOT ASSAULT UMPIRES.
Respect yourself, your teammates, and the game.

Respect, man.

Respect.

And if you're here, paying your dues, you have to think that when they get to the big leagues, they earn it.

As Dirk Hayhurst also says, if you have a jersey on your back, you have a chance.

***

I head back out. I avoid the increasingly heated beanbag tournament, take off my shoes, and set off at a jog, barefoot, across the outfield grass. I come to a halt in center field, looking at the setting sun splintering through the trees. I take up a position as if waiting for a fly ball. I look at my watch.

It's 7:05 pm.

It's when the game starts.

And I'm here, waiting.

The magic never goes. It's part of me, it's part of them. The hopes and dreams and despairs. The gapper, the bottom of the-ninth blooper that dropped, the pirouette throw from the hole. The caught-looking final out, the blown save, the hanging curve that landed on Jupiter. The exhilarating possibility that The Show is one step closer. And the fatigue of a year closer to that "real job" we so desperately never wanted.

The story, in short, of life.

I don't just make this stuff up, you know.

***

I go back. I find my boss, who's talking with someone else about college football. I wait. The topic of their conversation shifts to baseball, and they, diehard Braves fans both, cavil about the fact that their chances aren't looking quite so bombproof as before.

"And of course," says my boss, biffing me in the arm, "we got this punk over here pulling for the Rockies."

I tolerantly biff him back.

"I may work for 'em," he says. "But the Braves come first."

Eventually, we overcome our differences and head across the field, to his office, so he can retrieve my signed bat for me. He attempts to convince me that there is only one signature on it. Then he says that it was down there for the whole time, and not all of them were good about signing it, so what's on there is on there. This is fine with me.

He gets it for me. "Let's see, who's on here... Paul Bargas, Dan Perkins, Sheng-An Kuo... Delta Cleary, Eliezer Mesa, Arenado... is that Matzek? Either him or Massey. No, that's Massey, so that's got to be Matzek there. And... did Delta sign this twice? He did, haha... Helder Velasquez, Leuris Gomez... who's your favorite player?"

"Avery Barnes," I say. Which is true. I have become rather fond of Mr. Barnes. He's like David Eckstein, but less annoying.

"He should have signed it, he's a nice guy. Hmm... wait, I don't think he's on here. But it's okay. If he's here next year, I'll get it. Or go down to Spring Training and accost him."

I have to say, I am flattered by my boss's willingness to pester the Tourists so much on my behalf.

***

I walk back through the deserted stadium. I bid farewell to my supervisor and the general manager, both of whom I have to interrupt from the beanbag tournament. They both thank me and tell me that they're looking forward to having me back next year. Although I am not a man, my supervisor and I execute a perfect man-hug.

I bike home, once more for old time's sake up the Biltmore hill with the bat sticking out of my backpack. I am confident that no one will attempt to mug me. The year's over. Despite the 14-hour days, I miss it already.

There's no expiration date on dreams.

Hey, Dad. You -- you want to have a catch?

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The KID, The CATCH and The STORY!

10 year old Jake Shuster snags a homer

at his 1st Major League Baseball game

By John Witt

        After I read AlanSchuster's post on www.mygameballs.comfrom Monday Sept. 6^th I felt, like Alan, that this youngsterdeserved the applause and accolades that go with catching a home run ballespecially when you are in a sea of adults. We set out to find out who thislittle guy was. I posted Alan's column from Monday on my MLBlog and my websiteand later that morning I had a note from his uncle. A couple days later and Ihad talked to his mom and aunt as well and this is the Story of Jake Shusterand the Brad Hawpe 9^th inning home run on Saturday September 4^th,2010 at Camden Yards.

            Jake Shuster and his family were headed on a trip to seehis Aunt. Jakes 10^th birthday was less than a week away and theweekend before it he was headed to Baltimore. Jake's mom, Stacie Shuster hadnot seen her sister in a while. Her sister Sami was excited that she was goingto get to see her niece and nephew the weekend of September 3^rd -5th. The family knew that part of the trip was going to be a trip to CamdenYard's to see the Orioles play the Tampa Ray's on Saturday September 4^th. This would be Jake's 1^stMajor League Baseball game ever!

As the family left their Freehold, New Jersey home someoneimmediately realized that something was wrong. Oh no, Jake had forgotten hisbaseball glove. Why did this matter? Jake knew he was going to go the game andhe wanted to catch a baseball. "I told him it was a one in a million chance forhim to get a ball" said his mom Stacie. "He had his mind set on getting a balland I just hoped he wouldn't be to hurt when he didn't get one." Luckily forJake his grandpa's baseball glove was in the trunk of the car so he would notbe gloveless at the game.

Saturday night the Shuster family, with relatives in tow, headedout to Camden Yards. They did not get there for batting practice and walked inthe park just as the National Anthem was being sung. Jake's mom Stacie recallsthat Jake was constantly asking "Do you think I can get a ball". Her answer wasthe same "It's a one in a million chance."

They went to their seats which were in the 2^nd row ofthe centerfield bleachers. There was a chance that they could get a ball but itwould have to be hit right at them. As the game went on the Orioles built up alead and as the game headed into the 9^th inning the score was 8-2Baltimore. Stacie Shuster wanted Jake to go home with a ball so she headed overto the bullpen area just a few feet away from their seats and asked a coach fora ball. The coach tossed one to her and she dropped it, he threw it again, shedropped it again. "This is the last chance you get lady!" the coach said. Hethrew it the 3^rd time and she caught it. Jake would have a baseballafter all.

Just then Jakes sister ran over to her mom and said "Dad justgot a ball from BJ Upton for Jake!" As Jakes sister said that Stacie held upthe ball that she had gotten Jake as well. Now the little guy had 2 baseballsthat his parents had snagged for him. With the goal of the night seeminglyaccomplished the family was thinking about leaving. Just then a couple of seatsopened up in front of them in the first row. Jake immediately hopped over theseats and sat down with his dad. At that point Matt Joyce was up and the countwas 3-2 and there were 2 outs. Joyce launched a ball for a home run about asection and a half to their left.

With that I am guessing that there was no way Jake was going tolet anyone leave the game before the last out. Brad Hawpe now stepped in andthe count went to 2-2 on him. What happened next is something that most fansand Ballhawks dream about. Brad Hawpe launches a ball to centerfield, right atJake and his dad. Jake's dad starts leaning in towards Jake and the ball andthen all of a sudden puts his hands up. Jake is now leaning over the wall inthe direction of the baseball and he still has the ball that his dad got fromBJ Upton in his non glove hand. Jake leans out over the wall, the ball hits hisglove, he squeezes it as tight as he can and pulls it in.

Immediately Jake is a celebrity, a man with a video camera fromeither the Orioles or MLB just happened to be standing taking video and got itall on camera. Jakes mom comes running over and grabs him and gives him a bighug as you see in the photo. Fans were taking pictures and giving him HI 5's.Jake remembers seeing Orioles outfielder Corey Patterson looking up at him andJake asked his mom, "Is he mad at me?" She quickly assured him that he was notmad and was likely just as amazed by Jakes grab as everyone else. In fact ifyou look at the video replay of it Patterson seems to take a double take afterseeing that such a little guy made a great grab!

Jake's mom and aunt both mentioned the fact that he signed several autographs after he caught the ball. "It was truly amazing" both Stacie and her sister Sami said. Sami also added that she is the proudest Aunt ever. "Maybe I am making a big deal of it but to me it was pretty impressive."

The story doesn't end there though, Stacie's sister wanted them to go check out her work, a nearby hospital. 

As they walked into the hospital someone in the lobby looked at Jake and said "Hey you're the kid that caught that home run ball!" Then Jake let go of the comment of the night "Mom, I am almost, like, famous aren't I?" All she could do is smile and tell him that yes indeed he was now famous! 

The entire family could only think one thing "If you set your mind to do something and you want it bad enough anything can happen" and for Jake it did!

Jake caught that ball a couple days before school started this past week and he could not wait to get home and show all of his friends the video clip and the ball, A true Ballhawk indeed!

Congratulations Jake! An awesome catch! We just hope that now his parents understand what they are in for. It has been 34 years since my first catch and I am still at it, I am sure Jake will want to go to a lot more games now that he knows now that he can get a baseball on his own without mom and dad's help!

MyGameBalls.com is all about giving Ballhawks their 15 minutes and in this case it is a well deserved 15 minutes. Jake truly deserves to be on Leno or Letterman in our opinions and don't think we won't give them a call this week!

We hope that this is not the end of Jake's story so stay tuned ..... We might just have something else up our sleeves on this one! 

Jake and his family only live an hour from Yankee stadium and guess what team plays the Yankees in a little over a week?? 

Can anyone help us out?? If anyone from the Rays front office, Yankees front office or even Brad Hawpe reads this story please contact me at jwitt@mlballhawk.com 

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2010 Postseason Ticket Opportunity. Don't forget
to register!

2010 Postseason Ticket Opportunity. Don't forget to register!

Just a reminder that the 14th is the last day to register for NLDS tickets. You can register for all postseason opps at the same time. You know we're gonna be there!

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Astros tie series beat Dodgers in finale 7-4

More photos » Steve Campbell - AP

Might want to watch those high fives guys, those hands are HOT!

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It's opening weekend for football so I don't many actually watched the game.

The Astros struck early Hunter Pence whacked one to left field. An error and a Brett Wallace single put the Astros up by 4 after the first.

The Dodgers would tie it in the top of the 4th with Nelson Figueroa in.

In the bottom of the 5th Jason Castro would double in Wallace who had doubled himself. That would be all the Astros would need as six pitchers came in to finish off 4.1 inning.

Geoff Blum and Carlos Lee would each tack on runs with a double and homerun respectively.

- Pence continued his hot hitting.

- Wallace continued to look good at the plate.

- Michael Bourn continued his stellar defense and oh stole two bags.

But who cares the Texans beat the Colts! THE COLTS!

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Giants take 3-of-4 from Padres; now in first
place

Read The Full Article:
http://www.22gigantes.com/2010/09/giants-take-3-of-4-from-padres-now-in.html

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Evidence of Rockies cheating found as Colorado
wins tenth in a row on Giambi walk-off

More photos » Jack Dempsey - AP

about 1 hour ago: Colorado Rockies' Jason Giambi watches the flight of a game winning walk off two-run home run against the Arizona Diamondbacks during the ninth inning of a baseball game in Denver, Sunday, Sept. 12, 2010. The Rockies beat the Diamondbacks 4-2. (AP Photo/Jack Dempsey)

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Good news and bad news folks: The good news is that this was another great win for the Rockies, the big woot this time around goes to Jason Giambi for the decisive two run blast, with a slightly smaller woot to Ryan Spilborghs for his game tying double. Oh, and another big woot to Esmil Rogers and other relievers for shutting the door on the Diamondbacks after Jhoulys Chacin lacked effectiveness early. The roll this team is on has taken them to the steps of Rocktoberdom. The bad news is that I don't know if the commissioner's office can let this stand once he reviews the evidence I've come up with that the Rockies might be winning these late inning contests by nefarious means. 

Honestly, I just kind of stumbled on it after first looking at the Rockies WPA chart page from FanGraphs for this afternoon's game, and comparing it with past games. I hope we don't have to vacate this win, because that would be a bummer, but tell me what you think after you review the evidence after the bump.

79 - 64

Games Back: 1.5

Streak: Won 10

Games Left: 19

an 

via www.fangraphs.com

The following is a Purple Row exclusive, but I'd like to present to you clear evidence that Colorado did in fact come by their win this afternoon via some pretty shady means. The following is a chart from the sixth inning, when Colorado still trailed the game two to nothing:

Ian Kennedy pitching for Arizona
E Young Jr. struck out swinging. 
D Fowler grounded out to first. 
C Gonzalez doubled to deep right. 
T Tulowitzki popped out to second. 

and here is the same chart from the seventh inning:

Blaine Boyer pitching for Arizona 
Arizona's M Reynolds ejected by G Davis in the 7th. 
B Boyer relieved I Kennedy. 
T Abreu at third base. 
T Helton walked. 
B Boyer relieved I Kennedy. 
T Abreu at third base. 
Arizona's M Reynolds ejected by G Davis in the 7th. 
T Helton walked. 
B Boyer relieved I Kennedy. 
T Abreu at third base. 
Arizona's M Reynolds ejected by G Davis in the 7th. 
T Helton walked. 
M Mora struck out swinging. 
S Smith popped out to shortstop. 
M Olivo walked, T Helton to second. 
R Spilborghs hit for M Belisle. 
R Spilborghs doubled to center, T Helton and M Olivo scored. 
E Young Jr. reached on infield single to second, R Spilborghs to third. 
A Heilman relieved B Boyer.
D Fowler struck out swinging. 

Did you see that? It's easy to miss because it's kind of subtle.

B Boyer relieved I Kennedy. 

That's right, the Rockies somehow used the powers of mesmerism to get Arizona to switch out from an effective and decent starting pitcher to one of their many terrible relievers. What's more, you see a similar switch take place in the ninth, in advance of Giambi's game winner:

S Demel relieved A Heilman.
M Olivo grounded out to shortstop.
J Herrera safe at first on error by second baseman K Johnson.
C Barmes struck out swinging.
J Giambi hit for D Fowler.
J Giambi homered to center, J Herrera scored.

Tell me you saw it that time and I'm not just making this stuff up. It was another ineffective reliever that Arizona just put in a tie game situation against one of the NL's best teams. I call cheating. Clearly the Rockies have a guy in the right field scoreboard with a mirror he can aim into the opposing manager's eyes to trigger a hypnotic state, and can thereafter use that mind control to get that manager to put in pitchers that really shouldn't be there. 

Now the conspiracy goes a little deeper than this, after all Colorado also switched from a starting pitcher to relievers, but Arizona failed to score off of them. Why was that? Now I haven't uncovered much evidence of this, but from what I'm told, Colorado has used field operatives, which they misleadingly call "scouts", to bring in quality relievers rather than the mediocrity that Arizona uses. What's scary is that these spooks could be in any of our hometowns right now watching ballplayers.

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Rockies win 10th straight on Giambi HR (AP)

Jason Giambi came off the bench and became the latest late-inning star for the surging Colorado Rockies. Giambi connected for a pinch-hit, two-run homer with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning and Colorado beat the Arizona Diamondbacks 4-2 on Sunday to extend its winning streak to 10 games. “Streaks likes this, you [...]

Read The Full Article:
http://www.mlbnewsblog.com/2010/09/12/rockies-win-10th-straight-on-giambi-hr-ap/

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Red Sox rally past As to avoid sweep (AP)

Pinch-hitter Ryan Kalish hit a go-ahead two-run single in the sixth, J.D. Drew had a two-run double one batter earlier and the Boston Red Sox rallied for a 5-3 victory over the Oakland Athletics on Sunday. Josh Beckett (5-4) settled down after a rocky start as Boston avoided its first sweep by the A’s since [...]

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http://www.mlbnewsblog.com/2010/09/12/red-sox-rally-past-as-to-avoid-sweep-ap/

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Giants move into virtual tie with Padres (AP)

Tim Lincecum looked every bit a two-time Cy Young Award winner and had a two-run single as the San Francisco Giants roughed up San Diego ace Mat Latos to win 6-1 Sunday and cut the struggling Padres’ lead to less than one percentage point atop the NL West. The Giants won three of four games [...]

Read The Full Article:
http://www.mlbnewsblog.com/2010/09/12/giants-move-into-virtual-tie-with-padres-ap
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