Love and Baseball Part III

Two weeks ago, the Baltimore Orioles swept the Houston Astros in a 3-game mid-week inter-league series played at Camden Yards. To the untrained eye, it was a wholly unremarkable occurrence. A team which is showing signs of improvement after a dismal decade won three straight games against a team which, by all accounts, is coming apart at the seems and headed for a well below .500 finish. I doubt anyone at ESPN even considered any of the three games for national tv coverage. And justifiably so. Boston Red Sox pre-game stretching has more of a national draw than mid-week Orioles vs Astros.

Despite what those who would jump at the chance to watch Kevin Youkilis limber up would have you believe, The Orioles-Astros series was indeed extraordinary. All three games had dramatic finishes. All three featured lead changes, timely hitting, clutch pitching and acrobatic defense. Most importantly, I watched all three games from the 3rd base-side lower box seats with my favorite Houston Astros fan. Though perhaps not the most conflict-free dating strategy (I doubt too many Roman boys asked Christian girls to go see Lions vs. Christians in the Colosseum) I am pleased to report that after three summer nights in Baltimore, my favorite baseball fan is still speaking to me.

In what may accurately be called PUSHING MY LUCK, I have decided to write about the series sweep. Over the next few days, I intend to weave my mental notes, our scorecards, and my occasional scribbled side-comments into a narrative which tells the story of 3 games, 3 dates, and 1 very very contented Orioles fan.

The scoreboard operators should have known this was coming. After a night in which any well-trained baboon could have keyed in the parade of zeros which covered the screen, Thursday night will be a lot more colorful. Even our seating arrangements will be chaotic, as, ticket-holders will repeatedly show up over the course of the first few innings brandishing tickets for the seats in which we are illegitimately sitting in my uncle’s 3^rd base side section.

But first things first. After Orange Wild Bill Hagy Jerseys on Tuesday, and Retro adjustable hats on Wednesday, tonight’s door prizes are Nick Markakis bobbleheads. It’s a good-looking souvenir, 31,480 folks show up to get one.

The run scoring starts early. Michael Bourn leads off with a bunt base hit. With 2 outs, Bourn swipes 2^nd base and promptly scores on a Lance Berkman RBI single. Brian Burres whiffs Carlos Lee for the 3^rd out, avoiding further damage.

The Bourn stolen base is not a fluke; the Astros are a running-crazed team. Much to my companion’s chagrin, Cecil Cooper is determined to win games by stealing bases. As of this writing (July 10) the Astros lead the national league in having their runner gunned out on the base paths. 31 Astros have perished in the act of attempted theft. To put that in some perspective, that is as many or more caught stealing as 4 teams have stolen bases. The Astros run a lot.

The top of the second inning starts badly. Hunter Pence, he of the wiry frame and hyperactivity, raps a Burres offering deep into the left field lower deck to give the visitors a 2-0 lead. Burres is starting to look a little flustered as he immediately walks bald-headed Ty Wigginton. I slump a bit in my seat, preparing for an implosion. But, no such calamity is forthcoming. Burres retires the next 3 batters and order prevails.

In the top of the 3^rd, Miguel Tejada, who has been irrationally booed for the duration of the 3-game series by many of the Camden faithful, provides me with a flashback to last season by rapping into a 6-4-3 double play. No Astro runs cross the plate in the inning. A first for tonight’s contest.

Last night’s hero, Kevin Millar, is at it again in the bottom of the frame. With 2 outs and white and orange-clad runners occupying every base, Millar patiently watches 4 balls go past him for the always sexy RBI walk. Astros lead sliced in half.

Ramon Hernandez, who acquired the nickname “Magnificent Bum” during the Pirates series over Fathers Day weekend, is magnificent in his at-bat leading off the 4th. Hernandez turns around a Shawn Chacon fastball and drives it into the left field boxes to tie the game. 2-2. But more joy is forthcoming. As my companion gets that uneasy look on her face of a fan who is beginning to fear witnessing a sweep, Alex Cintron cracks a big fly into the right-center bleachers. 4 innings are in the books. The Birds hold a 3-2 advantage.

Burres is starting to look sharp. The Astros go scoreless in the 5^th. The orioles have no intention of going so quietly. Back-to-back singles by Mora and Huff bring up the fair-headed Kevin Millar. Millar’s RBI binge is not complete. He rockets a double to deep centerfield. Mora scores easily, Huff, laboriously plods to 3^rd base. It cannot be overstated; Huff and Millar are painfully slow runners. But this inning, that won’t matter. After a fly out to short right by Scott and a groundout by Hernandez, Jay Payton brings both heavy-footed oriole baserunners homeward with a 2-run single.

6-2 Birds. Not for long. Miguel Tejada makes it 6-3 with a blast to left field. It’s still a 3-run Astros deficit, so the celebration by my game-companion is subdued. Given the absolutely classless and unwarranted abuse that Tejada has taken from the once adoring Baltimore fans, I am tempted to stand and clap as he rounds the bases. That a player who came to the Orioles when the team was a laughingstock and provided moments of excitement when excitement was in short-supply, should be booed in his former home park is, to me, disgraceful. Every Baltimore fan that stood and berated Tejada during the 3 game series deserves every bit of the futile misery to which they have been subjected during the past decade.

With 2 men out in the 6^th, Burres walks Ty Wigginton. The tying run comes to the plate in the person of veteran Mark Loretta. Exit Burres. Enter pudgy Matt Albers. Loretta lines out to Cintron at short. Still 6-3 for the home team.

After the singing of Thank God I’m a Country Boy, Aubrey Huff cranks a homerun to right field off of lefty Tim Byrdak. 7-3 Orioles. A sweep is temptingly close. I’m excited. Worn out from lots of driving and 26 innings of baseball, but excited. The girl in the Astros gear sitting next to me seems about ready to strangle either me, Huff, or perhaps most satisfying of all, Cecil Cooper.

The 9^th inning dawns and suddenly the brakes have been slammed on the Happy Joyful Train to Sweep City. Dennis Sarfate walks the leadoff man. Alex Cintron drops a throw at second base on a would-be double play. 2 runners on. No one out. Sarfate, who shows worlds of potential and many areas of needed reform, reaches back and fans pinch hitter Darin Erstad. Did you know, I facetiously ask my companion for the 8^th time this week, that Erstad used to play football at University of Nebraska?

2 on. 1 out. Sarfate walks Michael Bourn. Bases loaded. Tying run coming to the plate. Dave Trembley emerges from the dugout and replaces Sarfate with the flat-brimmed George Sherrill. Kaz Matsui elevates a Sherrill offering to right field, but, Markakis easily snags it for the 2^nd out. 1 run scores on the play. 7-4 good guys. Miguel Tejada steps into the batters box. Nervous Orioles rooters toss unnecessary invective his way. How ironic, I let myself think, if Tejada were to blast a game-tying homer right now. It’s what the hecklers deserve. No homer is forthcoming. Instead, the former Oriole shortstop hits a high chopper to shortstop, which Cintron drops. Allow me to repeat that last clause: Cintron drops. The official scorer takes pity on the Orioles shortstop and declares the play a base hit. I disagree.

7-5. Go-ahead run striding to the plate in the person of Lance Berkman. He’s 3 for 4 on the night and homered in last night’s game. I don’t like where this is headed. In my nervousness, I fail to observe if my long-suffering game-watching buddy has taken this last-ditch opportunity to smile over the prospects of a miracle comeback. Berkman, batting right handed against the left-handed Orioles closer, gets under a 1-2 offering from Sherrill and skies a game-ending fly ball to Payton’s waiting glove in left field.

The stress of the 9^th really zapped some of my energy to enjoy having just seen a sweep in person. The Orioles Magic music video is playing on the over-sized TV in centerfield. A long-suffering, wonderful, and worn out Astros fan walks out of the stadium with me. Her team has blown a lead in all three games. All three contests have ended in dramatic fashion. And, now, defeated, the Astros have an 8^th straight loss to show for their efforts. Though my Lions have eaten her Christians three nights in a row, I receive the happy assurance as we leave that there will be more baseball this summer for the two of us.

Of all the wonderfulness involved in seeing my favorite team win three games in a row, the promise of future baseball with the greatest double-X chromosome’d fan is, by far, the highlight of the week.

Love and Baseball Part II

Two weeks ago, the Baltimore Orioles swept the Houston Astros in a 3-game mid-week inter-league series played at Camden Yards. To the untrained eye, it was a wholly unremarkable occurrence. A team which is showing signs of improvement after a dismal decade won three straight games against a team which, by all accounts, is coming apart at the seems and headed for a well below .500 finish. I doubt anyone at ESPN even considered any of the three games for national tv coverage. And justifiably so. Boston Red Sox pre-game stretching has more of a national draw than mid-week Orioles vs Astros.

Despite what those who would jump at the chance to watch Kevin Youkilis limber up would have you believe, The Orioles-Astros series was indeed extraordinary. All three games had dramatic finishes. All three featured lead changes, timely hitting, clutch pitching and acrobatic defense. Most importantly, I watched all three games from the 3rd base-side lower box seats with my favorite Houston Astros fan. Though perhaps not the most conflict-free dating strategy (I doubt too many Roman boys asked Christian girls to go see Lions vs. Christians in the Colosseum) I am pleased to report that after three summer nights in Baltimore, my favorite baseball fan is still speaking to me.

In what may accurately be called PUSHING MY LUCK, I have decided to write about the series sweep. Over the next few days, I intend to weave my mental notes, our scorecards, and my occasional scribbled side-comments into a narrative which tells the story of 3 games, 3 dates, and 1 very very contented Orioles fan.

The atmosphere at Harborplace at 6:00 is calm. Not a Red Sox fan in sight. Very few Orioles fans in sight. A Wednesday night Orioles-Astros contest does not exactly bring hoards flocking to downtown Baltimore. Not even for retro-hat night.

The last time I ate dinner at Harborplace before a game, my favorite baseball fan and I endured a 13-inning game interrupted by a series of drunken brawls in and around our section in the left-field upper boxes. Tonight, there will be no violence. Thanks to our family connections seat upgrade, we’ll have a terrific vantage point on the game from the 3^rd base side field boxes. There won’t even by much violence on the scoreboard.

But there will be extra innings.

Jeremy Guthrie is on the bump for the Birds. He dispatches the Astros in order on three ground balls. A much more agreeable opening than last night’s initial half inning.

In the bottom of the first, Nick Markakis raps a double off of journeyman Astros hurler Brian Moehler. With 1 out, last night’s hero Melvin Mora, who, despite a putrid .240 overall batting average is hitting close to .350 with men in scoring position, rolls out weakly to Wigginton at 3^rd base. Markakis takes 3^rd on a wild pitch from Moehler. 2 pitches later, Aubrey Huff has drawn a walk. 1^st and 3^rd. 2 outs. Kevin Millar laces a sinking liner towards right field. If it drops, it’s a 1-0 lead for the birds and the rally will live on. As the liner dives towards the safety of the lush green right field turf, the hard-charging string-bean right fielder, Hunter Pence, dashes forward, hurls himself earthward, and snares the would be RBI single.

Following the baseball cliché that a good play in the field will be followed by success at bat, in the top of the second, Pence crashes a double to left-center. Lance Berkman lumbers to 3^rd and the visitors threaten. Guthrie pacifies the invaders by inducing back to back lineouts by Erstad and Wigginton to end the inning. It will be several innings before the Astros touch a base again.

The veteran Moehler has overcome the first inning malaise and is really dealing. The two teams start an energetic swap of scoreboard goose eggs. 6 up and 6 down in the 3^rd. 6 up and six down in the 4^th. Only a 2-out Adam Jones single denies Moehler a perfect 5^th. As the mid-game restlessness of the Camden Yards patrons takes hold of the stadium, a brightly-colored beach ball is sent knuckling through the air in our section. It survives for several skyward bumps from obliging fans before it is snatched from thin-air and put to sleep by the 250 pound usher in our section. Some boos ring out. If the usher in question weren’t my uncle, I might have been tempted to join in.

After another silent half inning from the Astros in the top of the 6^th, the Orioles mount a rally, but, a pop-up from Huff and a fly out by Millar dash the home teams scoring chances.

With 1 out in the top of the 7^th, a new sound rings through the park. It’s the sonic boom of maple wood pummeling horsehide. Lance Berkman has just stratophered a Guthrie fastball to right field. 1-0 Visitors. Despite an error by Shortstop non-solution Alex Cintron, no further damage is done. Ty Wigginton throws a bit of a temper tantrum at home plate after he strikes out to end the inning. Cecil Cooper rushes out to defend his 3^rd baseman. For a second straight night, an Astros player, this time Wigginton, appears to get the ole’ heave-ho from the umpire. But, rather than retreating to the dugout and clubhouse, Wigginton, after a great deal of huffing and puffing, wanders to his position at the hot corner. Un-ejections on back-to-back nights?

The natives stand and sing Hymn #1983: Thank God I’m a Country Boy. Luke Scott strides into the batters box after the singing concludes. Before the former Astro has exited the hitting square, he has tied the game with a magnificent blast into the grass patch beyond the centerfield wall. A single, an error, and a walk load the bases with birds with 1 out. A change to take the lead? No. Wesley Wright fans Nick Markakis and Chris Sampson forces Mora to tap out weakly to Matsui at second. Game tied. Chance to seize the lead squandered.

Guthrie is still in command. Despite the failed rally, I think I am smiling more than my watching buddy. The visitors go down 1-2-3 in the 8^th. Guthrie walks off the mound to an enthusiastic ovation. A run in the 8^th and the under-supported Orioles ace will be in line for a victory.

The Birds go down in order.

Chad Bradford, the Orioles submarining veteran reliever enters to pitch the top of the 9^th. My companion, having read Michael Lewis’ classic Moneyball, knows a great deal about Bradford and gleefully applauds his entrance into the game. I take over the lead in the gleefulness department soon as Bradford retires the leadoff man, surrenders a single to Berkman, and then induces the slow-footed behemoth, Carlos Lee, to ground into an inning ending 6-4-3 double play.

No damage in the bottom of the 9^th. The Astros hint at a threat in the top of the 10^th, but, with 2 outs and a runner on 1^st, Brad Ausmus manages only a 30 foot tapper to the mound against Bradford’s down-under slings. The veteran right-hander fields the nubber and submarines it to first to end the inning.

Enter Jose Valverde. Nick Markakis will lead off. Last night, Markakis feebly flailed at Valverde’s fastball in one of the most 1-sided at-bats in recent memory. Tonight, the Orioles franchise player has improved slightly. A respectable ground ball to 1^st base is the first out of the inning, but, Markakis trots back to the dugout with his dignity in tact. Melvin Mora, who last night slew the portly Valverde in the 8^th inning, crashes a single to left center. Aubrey Huff follows with a roller into left field which is hit just weakly enough, and Carlos Lee is just fat and slow enough, to allow Mora to scamper from first to third. Runners on the corners, 1 out. The outfield mopes in a few steps. The corner infielders creep inward. Only the 2^nd baseman and shortstop remain on the infield dirt.

Millar raps a crisp single up the middle. Mora jogs homeward. Millar taps first base with his left foot then is descended upon by a mob of teammates. They knock off his helmet, exposing a head of dyed-yellow hair. Not even the amusing sight of a grown man with comically blonde hair can console my favorite baseball fan. It’s a second straight dramatic 1-run loss for the Astros. They have now lost 7 straight.

The great thing about baseball, I think as I see the frown on my companion’s face, is that the pain of 1 game only lasts about 20 hours until the first pitch the following night. And, may the sports gods be praised, we will be there again tomorrow night for that pain-erasing (or pain-delaying as the situation may be) first pitch.

Love and Baseball Part I

Two weeks ago, the Baltimore Orioles swept the Houston Astros in a 3-game mid-week inter-league series played at Camden Yards. To the untrained eye, it was a wholly unremarkable occurrence. A team which is showing signs of improvement after a dismal decade won three straight games against a team which, by all accounts, is coming apart at the seems and headed for a well below .500 finish. I doubt anyone at ESPN even considered any of the three games for national tv coverage. And justifiably so. Boston Red Sox pre-game stretching has more of a national draw than mid-week Orioles vs Astros.

Despite what those who would jump at the chance to watch Kevin Youkilis limber up would have you believe, The Orioles-Astros series was indeed extraordinary. All three games had dramatic finishes. All three featured lead changes, timely hitting, clutch pitching and acrobatic defense. Most importantly, I watched all three games from the 3rd base-side lower box seats with my favorite Houston Astros fan. Though perhaps not the most conflict-free dating strategy (I doubt too many Roman boys asked Christian girls to go see Lions vs. Christians in the Colosseum) I am pleased to report that after three summer nights in Baltimore, my favorite baseball fan is still speaking to me.

In what may accurately be called PUSHING MY LUCK, I have decided to write about the series sweep. Over the next few days, I intend to weave my mental notes, our scorecards, and my occasional scribbled side-comments into a narrative which tells the story of 3 games, 3 dates, and 1 very very contented Orioles fan.

The trip to Baltimore was far too smooth. Sandwiches in Georgetown. A few minutes illegally parked while my baseball companion got out of work. No parking ticket. Almost no traffic. Plenty of space at the outdoor parking lot which marks the last bastion of innocence before Baltimore Street spills eastward to a land of prurience. After a quick few minutes surrounded by Bal-mer-ians in the ticket line, we marched, tickets in hand, through the turnstiles in time to receive our size XL, orange #34 Wild Bill Hagy Jerseys. Some quick wise-cracking from my uncle about my being cheap was the only price we paid to upgrade our seats from the leftfield boonies to the lower box seats in his section along the 3^rd base line. Earl Klug played a fantastic national anthem.

The good times stopped abruptly once the contest on the field began. Michael Bourn led the game off with an infield single. Garrett Olson immediately went into his best Rick Ankiel impersonation and wild pitched Bourn all the way to 3^rd. A Kaz Matsui ground ball to shortstop plated Bourn and, before the big bats in the middle of their order even began their night’s work, Houston led 1-0.

Olson settled down and retired the Astros without further damage on the scoreboard. His counterpart, Brandon Backe, who, as an aside, was an absolute stud in MVP Baseball 2005 for the PS2, wiggled out of trouble in the first and second innings. After a 1-2-3 top half of the third, the Orioles seized a 2-1 lead as Aubrey “The Magnificent Bum” Huff crashed a Backe offering into the stands. I stood and clapped. I’ve always had the utmost respect for Huff as both a person and a player, or so I declare to anyone within earshot. Caroline, slouching in her seat to my left, knows better, but is too perturbed by the turn of events on the field to expose my lie.

I stand again and my companion slouches and cringes again as Freddie Bynum, flicks an RBI single up the middle in the bottom of the fourth to stretch the hosts’ lead to 3-1.

Olson is cruising. He’s retired 12 straight Astros when Ty Wigginton strides into the box with 2 out in the top of the 5^th. Wigginton fills out his uniform. His build suggests that he may have a future as an NFL fullback should he give up on baseball. He cracks a single. Humberto Quintero follows suit. As does Michael Bourn. 3-2 Orioles. After a Ramon Hernandez passed ball the runners advance to 2^nd and 3^rd and I declare Hernandez to be simply a Bum. Not magnificent on this night. Only a bum. With 2 men in scoring position, Kaz Matsui send the girl next to me to happy land with a 2-run double. 4-3 visitors.

I groan. In my anxiety I begin making nonsensical arm gestures towards the Orioles dugout as if to signal to Dave Trembley that the time has come to excuse Olson from further responsibilities for the evening. The Orioles skipper ignores me. Olson walks Miguel Tejada. The Astros fan with 2 X-chromosomes, sensing an opportunity for her team to go for the jugular, admonishes me to “Have Faith in my Pitcher.” I keep gesturing. Trembley heads my cries, emerges from the dugout, and summons Matt Albers from the bullpen.

As Albers trots in from the pen, my companion explains that the Orioles right-hander gave himself the nickname “Fat Albers” while with her Astros and that the Houston rumor mill was buzzing last summer that the youngster had “maturity issues.”

Issues and bad-nicknames be damned. Albers induces a ground ball from Lance Berkman which Brian Roberts plays cleanly and lobs to first for the final out of the inning.

Carlos Lee adds to my pain in the top of the 6^th with a blast into the left field stands. 5-3. Maybe Albers does have maturity issues. Maybe he is a fat idiot bent on my eternal misery. Nope. With Geoff Blum on second base, Albers fields a come backer from Quintero, and flings it to first to end the sixth.

A 1-out Adam Jones double in the bottom of the sixth gives the Orioles runners on 2^nd and 3^rd. The lovely lady to my left stirs in her seat. “Why isn’t Cooper coming out to the mound?” she wonders out loud. I encourage her to have faith in her starting pitcher.

I should have kept my mouth shut. Backe fans light-hitting Freddie Bynum and then departs the game. Tim Byrdak replaces Backe on the rubber. Brian Roberts, swinging from the right-handed box, lofts a fly ball down the right field line. Hunter Pence, who is skinnier-looking in person than on TV, dashes toward the line, leaps up against the tall green padded wall along the line, snags the ball, and snuffs out a Baltimore rally.

After the Camden Yards patrons have belted out a rousing chorus of Thank God I’m a Country Boy, Nick Markakis returns Birdland to its feel with an opposite field homer to lead off the 7^th. 2 batters later, the Magnificent Huff strokes a double; and with 2 out, Luke Scott works a walk from the recently inserted Doug Brocail. Runners on 1^st and 2^nd. 2 outs. Brocail runs the count to 2-1 against Ramon Hernandez. Then, suddenly, a fuse inside Brocail blows. For reasons not clear to the casual observer, Brocail and home plate umpire Ed Hickox enter into a heated war of words. Hickox appears to wind up and eject Brocail from the game. Cecil Cooper sprints out of the visiting team dugout. The Camden Yards partisans ho and hum and holler.

When order is restored, somehow, magically, Brocail is still in the game. I am shocked. Un-ejected? Is that possible?

No worries. The outlook has improved. 5-4 Astros. Jim Johnson enters to pitch the 8^th and promptly fans Lance Berkman. Carlos Lee singles, exits the game for a pinch runner, Reggie Abercrombie, who, is gunned down at second on a steal attempt a few pitches later. I express thanks for Cecil Cooper’s bone-headed insistence on playing small ball with a lineup of boppers. A hint of homicidal rage towards Cooper dances briefly in the Astros fan’s eyes.

The Orioles half of the 8^th plays out like so many games played by the Orioles in the years before I came into the world. Adam Jones singles. Bynum sacrifices him to second base and Brian Roberts works a walk. Go-ahead run on first base. 1 out. Cooper ambles towards the mound, removes Brocail and calls for Jose Valverde, the Astros portly flame throwing closer.

Markakis vs. Valverde. The Orioles best vs. The Astros best in a critical situation. After taking strike one. Markakis offers a feeble wave at strike 2 and then, with the crowd at a fever pitch, contorts his body and offers a still feebler poof of his wrists and wiggle of the bat at strike 3. 2 outs. Mora coming up. Air escaping fast from the Camden yards balloon.

Mora falls behind in the count 1-2 and then declares war. Dug into his trench in the right-handed box, Mora deflects Valverde's offerings, watches 2 overthrown fastball sail wide of the strike zone, and, with the count full at 3-2, rockets a double into the alley between right and center. Standing on second, a lone Oriole in a sea of red-clad disheartened Astros, Mora pumps his fists in excitement. His double has given the home team a 6-5 lead.

George Sherrill works a 1-2-3 ninth inning. The Orioles have won the first game of the series. Caroline and I rush out of the park and trek to the parking lot on Baltimore Street. Not one to pour salt on wounds, I do my best not to talk about the result and I somewhat sheepishly re-confirm our date for the following evening, “Again tomorrow night?” My favorite baseball fan, though disappointed, offers no objection.

My birds have drawn first blood. But, 1 thrilling comeback win does not a series win guarantee. The games must be played. Tomorrow night could hold anything in store…