It’s not very often that you get to see a World Series game in person.  So when ‘my connection’ called me up with a ticket to spare, I decided to make the two-hour trek to the Trop for Game One.  Although Tampa Bay had just beaten my Boston Red Sox, this was an opportunity I could not pass up.  Far be it from me to look a gift cowbell in the mouth.

Besides, I wanted to soak up the atmosphere first hand.  I was curious to see if Tampa Bay fans would show up and support their baseball team when, for the majority of the season, they had failed to do so.  Saint Petersburg has seen Yankees and Red Sox fans overtake their stadium for years.  This post-season, Philly fan would make them look civil by comparison.

This proud Philadelphia franchise has not won a World Series since 1980, the days of Mike Schmidt, Greg Luzinski and Steve Carlton.  They’re not about to let some p iss-ant, expansion team deny them another title.  In many ways, the Rays are to Philadelphia as Latin America is to the Spaniards.  Philly fans simply think they’re better.  The Rays are an offshoot of baseball history and Philly fans refuse to recognize the existence of any legitimate culture.  In this case, Philly fan may be right.  The Phillies have been around forever (since 1903).  While in their eleventh season, technically, the Rays have only been around a year as they recently dropped the Devil from their name.  Damn religious right.

The atmosphere at Tropicana Field, although enjoyable, was exactly as I feared.  Rays fans were ever present, sporting their blue mohawks and Evan Longoria jerseys, but Philly fans were rambunctious from the start.  The male fans were rowdy and the female fans were… well, let’s just say I’m glad I live in Florida.  The endless ‘Let’s Go Phillies’ chants were drowned out only by the incessant clang, clang, clang of the cowbells.  Bruce Dickinson and I are still trying to figure out what a cow has to do with a manta ray.  In the entire history of the animal kingdom, I’m pretty sure these two have never met.

Our seats were grand.  Third level high but right behind home plate.  Prime foul ball territory.  While the clowns to the left of me and jokers to the right caught a few, none unfortunately came our way, which is okay because I really didn’t want to get caught on camera spilling my drink in front of millions of Americans.  I can do that unwatched in the privacy of my own home.  Regardless, the view was sublime. And the pretzels, peanuts, caramel popcorn and bourbon we (allegedly) snuck into the stadium made for a special evening of baseball.

Especially for Cole Hamels.

Early on, Hamels was nearly unhittable.  His mixture of change-up and fastball kept the Rays lineup on its heels.  That, combined with an early Chase Utley home run, gave the Rays a uphill climb from the start.  With Hamels and the Philly bullpen dealing, Upton, Pena, Longoria, Aybar and Navarro were a combined 0-for-18.  They all struck out at least once.  Upton was responsible for all five Rays runners left on base, which is misleading since he grounded into two double plays.  He apparently left his bat in Fenway Park.  The Rays can NOT win this series with their role players alone.  They must get some production from the meat of their order.  Otherwise, this could be a short series.

As you well know, the game was a great one.  A classic 3-2 battle.  Unfortunately for Rays fans, though, it was one they lost.  They did had opportunities and will need to take advantage of them as the series progresses.

Going in the bottom of the ninth, down by a run with closer extraordinaire Brad Lidge coming to the mound to finish the job Hamels had started, the Rays played a montage of inspirational movie clips on the big screen to motivate the crowd, including scenes from Hoosiers, Animal House, The Natural and yes….Rocky, which seemed sacrilegious considering how many Philly fans were in the building.  I’m surprised they didn't go Clubber Lang right then and there.

Memo to Tampa Bay:  the Phillies mean business.  As do their fans.  The Rays and their support group can not just be happy to be there.  Take this thing seriously.  After all, it is the World Series.  Beating the Sox was a thrill for the franchise but second place is still the first loser.  Philly fans will gladly congratulate you on your American League title while they polish their World Series trophy. 

For Rays fans, their appearance in the World Series is a novelty, almost as if they’re still surprised to be here.  For Philly fan, this is life or death; losing is not an option.  If the Rays lose this series, you’ll be hard pressed to find a Rays fan who would shed a tear.  If the Phils drop this series, we may see a sudden rise in suicide in the City of Brotherly Love.  Therein lay the difference between the two baseball cultures, which is perfectly understandable considering their histories.  This is not to paint a picture that Rays fans were not loud, supportive and making their presence felt.  My head is still ringing from the cowbells.  And the Mohawks are kitschy.  But it will take a lot more than a drum stick, a piece of metal and a bad hair cut to beat Philadelphia.  Substance will always trump shtick.

While the players and managers are ultimately the ones that will decide this series, rest assured, the fans play a role.  So take this series seriously, Rays fan.  Despite your talent, you never know when you’ll get another chance.

So this is what our forefathers had to go through, huddled around the radio, begging for a visual, tuned in only to the audio portion of the broadcast.  Thank goodness for XM radio and the ever-portable jack and coke.  I stepped outside to listen to the car radio until the network could regain coverage.  Never before had I yearned for the voice of Chip Caray.

Due to a power outage at TBS Saturday evening, the network responsible for showing the American League Championship Series fell far short of its broadcast duties.  Sox and Rays fans were anxious enough going into Games Six and Seven.  We shouldn’t have to be submitted to network gaffes.   TBS’ first inning coverage was as effective as Mark Kotsay with runners in scoring position.

If a tree falls in the woods, does anyone hear it?  Similarly, if BJ Upton hits a solo home run in the first inning and the entire nation misses it, does it count?

Fortunately for disgruntled Red Sox fans who missed the opening part of the game, Kevin Youkilis tied the game in the top of the second with a home run baseball fans were finally able to see live.

Look, I think Steve Harvey’s funny, but there’s no way I’d watch him over Game Six of the ALCS.  It’s bad enough we’re submitted to the incessant run of Tyler Perry’s House of Payne promos every commercial break, but that, compiled with the inability to watch the game was gut-wrenching.  Maybe next time, they’ll preempt House of Payne for an actual sporting event.  Doubtful, though.  After all, it is the #1 cable sitcom of all time, at least in the Turner household.

So thanks, Theodore, for reminding us that TBS is a mediocre network at best, one that should probably only be allowed to show Saturday college football games that nobody cares about.  If athletes are suspended for such off-the-field indiscretions, can’t we similarly suspend networks for shoddy coverage.  In the future, please opt out of airing all relevant sporting events until you buy a back-up power generator.

If there is anything ‘very funny’ about your network, it’s the coverage it provides.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another Frank Caliendo promo to watch.

Ladies and gentlemen… prepare yourselves for Game Seven.  And have your radios ready just in case.

The words of the prophets were written on the subway wall.  Or in this case, the Green Monster.  Walking out to leftfield every inning, Jason Bay had to see it.  As did every somber Red Sox fan who visited Fenway over the past two nights.  A constant reminder that their newest nemesis, the Tampa Bay Rays, were two games better than them.

The Green Monster in historic Fenway Park not only features the manually changed scoreboard on its façade, it also shows the regular season standings.  Tampa Bay 97-65.  Boston 95-67.  Two games back.  This season, the Rays won their first American League East title in franchise history.  It shows, for the last two games in Fenway are ones that Red Sox nation would rather forget.

The wall, in conjunction with the Rays recent performance, serves as a reminder that the Rays are the better team, both over an 82-game season and a 7-game series.  The way it looks now, the Rays may not even need seven games.

Gorier than any Stephen King novel, Rays bats have terrorized Sox pitching and the ghost of Big Papi has been consp icuously absent.

Boston post-season legend David Ortiz has one hit in the series, that being a meaningless triple late in Game Four.  Meanwhile, the Rays have battered Sox pitching.  9 runs on 12 hits in Game Two.  9 runs on 13 hits in Game Three.  13 runs on 14 hits in Game Four.  DJ Format would say the Rays have more hits than Barry Bonds playing slow pitch in a disabled seniors league.  Tampa Bay becomes the first team ever to score nine runs in three consecutive playoff games.  Breaking baseball records is not that easy.  The sport’s been around for a while.

Blowouts like this do not happen in baseball, but the Rays have beaten the Sox soundly.  Red Sox manager Terry Francona looked like someone ran over his dog in the post-season press conference.  Knuckleballer turned gas can, Tim Wakefield, looked tremendously out of shape while scuffling off the mound to field a soft Carl Crawford ground ball, falling awkwardly onto the grass.  The good news for Wakefield is that was one of the few Rays hits that did not fly out of the park.  Wake allowed five earned runs in 2 2/3 innings, serving up more meatballs than a family outing at Buca di Beppo.  The Sox pen hasn’t been much better.  Manny Delcarmen allowed five earned runs in 1/3 of an inning, making Wakefield’s performance look Koufax-like by comparison.

Lay blame wherever you want.  Mike Lowell and Josh Beckett’s health.  Manny Ramirez’s departure.  Tim Wakefield’s horrific ineffectiveness.  An over-reliance on Jon Lester.  An inconsistent bullpen.  The bottom line is the Rays want it more.  They may be the better team.  They’re certainly playing like it.

While this series is not over… yet… the Rays have beaten the Sox in nearly every aspect of the game.  Clutch hits, starting pitching, bullpen work, base running, defense, coaching.  The Red Sox will have to work quickly to generate the magic they’ve had over the past few years to have any hopes of winning this series.  They still have Matsuzaka, Beckett and Lester to throw.  The Sox have been down before.  But this team does not seem to have that fire.  The Rays do.

The networks may complain that Tampa Bay’s appearance in the World Series will not be good for ratings, but the best team in the American League is about to play for a title for the first in its short history.  And that will be worth watching.

The following article will be published in the September issue of Campus Talk, a magazine distributed in Tampa, Orlando, Gainesville and Tallahassee. If you're a local, pick one up and increase their circulation. They also have lots of pictures of pretty girls for extra motivation.

October means pennant races are in full swing.  With playoff positions now set, we at Campus Talk thought we’d celebrate some of baseball’s more memorable post-season moments.

1932 – While many view the modern athlete as arrogant, Babe Ruth may have actually invented athletic braggadocio.  Baseball had never seen anything like Ruth.  He shattered nearly every record the game had ever known.  In the third game of the ’32 Series, Ruth allegedly ‘called his shot’ by pointing to the centerfield bleachers.  The very next pitch he slugged clean over the centerfield fence.

1951 – Back when the Giants played in New York and the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn, Bobby Thomson hit a Ralph Branca pitch over the Polo Grounds fences to give the Giants the National League pennant. Referred to as ‘The Shot Hit Round The World,’ Thomson’s home run propelled the Giants into the ’51 Series, which they would lose to Yankees. 

1954 –With men on first and second, a deep Vic Wertz fly ball looked to give the Indians the lead.  That was until Willie Mays’ jaw-dropping, over-the-shoulder catch quelled the run, giving the Giants the momentum they would need to sweep the Indians and cement Mays’ place in history.

1956 - In 1956, Don Larsen established a feat that has yet to be duplicated.  In Game Five against the Brooklyn Dodgers, Larsen pitched a perfect game, retiring all 27 Dodgers on less than 100 pitches.  The Yankees won that Series in seven.

1960 - In 1960, Pittsburgh Pirate Bill Mazeroski hit what remains to this day, the only Game Seven, walk-off home run in World Series history.  Although an outstanding defensive infielder, it is this one hit for which he is most famous.

1975 – In the 12th inning of Game Six, Carlton Fisk hit one of the most memorable home runs in post-season history.  Fisk’s left-field blast off Reds reliever Pat Darcy bounced off the foul pole, thanks to a little body English from Fisk, to force a Game Seven, which the Sox would eventually lose.

1977 – To the echoes of over 50,000 rabid Yankee fans, Reggie Jackson earned his nickname Mr. October by hammering three home runs in a single Game Six to give the Yankees another World Series victory and a candy bar aptly named after the man himself.

1986 – As if Red Sox fans hadn’t suffered enough, Bill Buckner’s gaffe is another image ingrained in baseball history.  With a two out, two run, one game lead, Boston seemed poised to remove the Curse of the Bambino, until Mookie Wilson’s grounder dribbled between Buckner’s legs, giving the Mets the victory and chance to play Game Seven which they ultimately won.

1988 - In a late-game pinch-hit situation, Tommy Lasorda inserted a gimpy Kirk Gibson into the lineup to face the untouchable Dennis Eckersley.  With two outs in the ninth, Gibson took a 3-2 slider over the right field fence.  As announcer Jack Buck shouted “I don’t believe what I just saw,” Gibson limped around the bases, pumping his fists.  The Dodgers won that Series in five games.

1991 – In ’91, the Atlanta Braves and Minnesota Twins played one of the most competitive World Series ever.  Five of the seven games were decided by only one run.  In a series where Kirby Puckett etched his name into Minnesota sports lore, it was Jack Morris who pitched a Game Seven, ten-inning shutout to defeat Atlanta and end a series for the ages.

1994 – Perhaps the greatest sports trivia question is who won the 1994 World Series?  The answer?  No one.  In 1994, Commissioner Bud Selig cancelled the World Series as a result of the player strike.  In a year when Tony Gwynn flirted with batting .400, Matt Williams challenged the home run record and the Montreal Expos were the best team in baseball, the World Series was canceled in what is still considered a major black eye for the sport.

1993 – In Game Six, Joe Carter took a Mitch Williams pitch deep to left-field to give the Toronto Blue Jays their second consecutive World Series.  After giving up that pitch, Williams, one of baseball’s most dominant relievers, would never be the same. 

2004 – In 2004, after eighty years of suffering, Red Sox fans finally got their just due.  Often considered the greatest choke in sports history, the Yankees coughed up a three games to none lead give the Red Sox the American League pennant.  Boston then swept the Cardinals to win their first World Series title since 1918.

In my current quest to work as little as possible while also attending premier sporting events throughout Florida, I decided to withdraw a small portion of my dwindling bank account and scalp a ticket to the Monday night Red Sox-Rays game.  Despite having lived in Tampa, I had never been to Tropicana Field.  But let’s be honest, prior to this season, there was never really a good reason to go.  Since their inception, the Rays have never finished in anything other than last place in their division.

This year, however, the Rays have flipped the script.  For a good part of the season, they held the best record in baseball, an even more significant feat if you consider they’re doing so in the American League East.  Even Red Sox fans are impressed with the Rays’ mettle.  No matter how often Beantown would make an attempt to narrow the gap, the Rays consistently maintained a comfortable lead.

That was until last night. 

In front of nearly 30,000 fans (most of them cheering for the Sox), the Rays soiled the proverbial bed.  The Sox had not won in Tampa Bay all season long.  It’s safe to say they saved the best for last with a 13-5 romp of the Rays.

I was fortunate enough to scalp primo seats, twenty rows up along the first base line, not too far above the Rays dugout.  I even showed up on time, or so I thought, entering the stadium in the bottom half of the first inning.  Much to my dismay, as I was in line to purchase my first of several beverages, the person behind me (a Sox fan from Connecticut… imagine that) informed me that I had already missed a David Ortiz three-run homer and Mike Lowell solo shot.  It reminded me of the time my buddies and I showed up late to a Bucs-Lions game back in the day.  At the start of the second quarter, we walked in to see Barry Sanders running rampant all over the old orange and leading by a score of 21-0.  An early bird, I’ve never been.

Fortunately, the rest of the game didn’t lack for offense.  At one point, the Sox had five home runs on only six hits as the Boston lineup treated Rays’ ace Scott Kazmir like their own personal ragdoll.  Nine runs, all earned, in three innings pitched.  Not exactly the momentum the Rays were looking for heading into October.

With home runs by Ortiz, Lowell, then Bay, Varitek and Ellsbury, the Sox bloodied the Rays and the two teams now stand atop the division tied.   The Rays now have fourteen games remaining: two against Boston, then four each against Minnesota, Baltimore and Detroit.  The Sox have twelve games left: the two more against Tampa, then Toronto, Cleveland and New York.  It’s highly likely that both the Sox and the Rays will make the playoffs.  The question is who will win the division, and thus home field advantage, and who will be the wild card.

But the purpose of this post is not to provide the reader with an American League East breakdown or to predict the upcoming pennant races.  Rather, I saw something intriguing and quite disturbing at the ballgame last night.  One fan’s out-of-line behavior that raises an interesting question.  

The word ‘fan’ is short for fanatical.  Its meaning is self-evident.  Many franchises are closely aligned with their fans.  They take on a persona.  For years, long-suffering Red Sox fans had accepted their role as the almost ran’s.  But with their recent success, winning World Series in both 2004 and 2007, there’s a new breed of confident Red Sox fan gloating around.

But as you might think, this is not a story of an obnoxious Sox fan, but rather an ornery and absolutely inexcusable Rays fan.

Read on…. I promise you will not believe this.

Around the fourth inning, a woman was carrying her newborn up the steps, most likely to use the restroom or perhaps change a diaper.  The child could not have been any more than 18 months and was dressed in cute, little Sox gear.  About three rows down from me, to the right and across the aisle, an elderly Rays fan who couldn’t have been any older than sixty-five, sat with his wife.  As the woman toting the baby climbed the steps, she eventually passed by his row.  As she did so, the man stood up, took off his Rays cap, turned it logo-side and shouted to the baby “Get A Real Hat!”  Okay, now… re-read that last paragraph.

A Rays fan... heckled... a baby!  As if the eighteen-month old contemplated which color hat would better match his Huggies before leaving the crib.  I’m pretty sure the kid couldn’t even say hat, never mind put one on by himself.  As the mother continued climbing the stairs, seemingly unaware or perhaps totally in shock that this man had just accosted her baby, I asked her in disbelief, “Did that man just heckle your baby?”  She replied half-amazed “Yeah, he did!”  It was definitely something out of the Twilight Zone of sports.  And I thought Partykiller trying to pick a fight with a guy in a wheelchair at a Florida-Kentucky game was bad.

Then of course, the always classy, random Red Sox fan had to get his two cents in by shouting back at the guy “Talk when you get a ring,” as if the polish still isn’t wet on his own hardware.

Clearly this man’s behavior was inexcusable, if not therapy-requiring.  However, his wife sat by his side, silent, and didn’t so much as give him a second look.  No tug on his shirt, no “Is this really the man I married?” glance, no promises to withhold sex for a month for his actions.

Yes, fans get out of hand.  In no way was this man violent or threatening but there’s a fine line between fanaticism and stupidity.  And this man crossed it.  Look, I’ve been known to tip back a few and throw things at the television screen when my team isn’t living up to expectations.  I’m as big a sports fan as the next guy.  But regardless of whether the team I root for wins or loses, I pride myself on being a good sport, shaking the hand of a competitor after the contest and saying “Good game.”  After all, isn’t that what we were taught in little league?  Perhaps this man forgot that lesson.  In my opinion, his partner is equally to blame.  Control your husband, lady.

Remember guys, when your woman gives you a tug when you’re out of line, don’t just blow it off.  She probably has your best interest at stake.  Here’s hoping she does.  I’m pretty sure had I heckled a baby, my date, had I had one, would have been up in my grill.  And sex would have been unquestionably denied.  After all, what’s so attractive about a baby heckler anyway? 

Hello, my name is Christopher and I’m a Red Sox fan.  Which makes what I’m about to say so difficult.

I could not have written this five years ago.  In October 2003, we Sox faithful had once again suffered another devastating defeat to our arch-rival and overall evil-doers, the New York Yankees.  This time, the blow came from the bat of Aaron Boone in the American League Championship Series.  Game Seven, extra innings, another loss to the Yankees, could things get any worse?  Numbness ensued.  Another crushing loss meant yet another year of ribbing from Yankee fans everywhere who were, and had always been, our daddies.  However, five years, two World Series titles and one Ruthian exorcism later, Red Sox fans can put all that behind them and openly talk about the past, for it is now the Yankees who haven’t won in ages.

Growing up, I hated the Yankees.  I hated absolutely everything about them.  The pinstripes, the fans, Graig Nettles catching Yastrzemski’s foul pop-up in the 1978 playoff game, the endlessly, obnoxious Reggie chants, Yankee Stadium and of course the Boss, George Steinbrenner.  He is the Yankees epitomized.  His tirades were legendary, his temper that of a scorned Latin lover.  His passion for the game and his desire, if not need, to win were unrivaled.  Indirectly, he made me a better fan, for he made me care more about the Red Sox, and beating the Yankees.

Steinbrenner bought the Yankees in 1973 for $10 million, not a bad investment.  Before finally settling on Joe Torre in 1996, Steinbrenner hired and fired over twenty managers.  That’s nearly one a year, folks.  Several of them he recycled including Billy Martin, Gene Michael and Bob Lemon.  The Yankee skipper post saw more traffic than a New York subway turnstile.

Seeing Steinbrenner manage from afar, one would guess him to be the type of boss that struck fear into the hearts of his employees, the kind of man you avoided as you walked down the hallway for fear of saying the wrong thing in passing.  Mark Cuban could never be him, too obnoxious.  Dan Snyder could never be him, too sniveling.  Ted Turner could never be him, too Jane Fonda.  Only Jerry Jones might be able to hold a candle, but still… no.  Not even close.  George was one of a kind.  Oliver Platt did an outstanding job playing the fiery Steinbrenner in the mini-series “The Bronx Is Burning,” but even he would admit he couldn’t do George justice.

After tallying several World Series titles between 1996 and 2000, we slowly began to see a kinder, gentler Steinbrenner.  It was even rumored that he enjoyed the Seinfeld parodies of his character.  I guess winning 125 games in a season can put a smile on anyone’s face.  The enlightened Steinbrenner was, dare I say, likeable.  His charitable contributions in his home town of Tampa Bay are too numerous to mention.

Seeing the ailing Steinbrenner driven around in a golf cart in last week’s All-Star Game, the last to be played in Yankee Stadium, touched even this Red Sox fan.  It served as a reminder of how fragile life is.  Yankee legends from Berra to Jeter all approached him, hugging him and paying their respects, as they should have.  After all, he’s the boss.

Steinbrenner is a figure you never imagined would grow old, never one you’d see in a weakened state.  As Steinbrenner, 78, entered the stadium from centerfield Tuesday night, the crowd cheered loudly and appreciatively as he waved back.  Yankee Stadium may very well be the House that Ruth Built, but it’s the House that George Flipped.

The bottom line is George Steinbrenner pulled the Red Sox fan out of me, made me care about the game more.  He may very well be the most hated Yankee ever.  Bucky Dent and Don Mattingly, Chris Chambliss and Dave Righetti all came and went, but big George was a mainstay, ultimately orchestrating every Yankee move.  His shrewd ownership and heavy handed decision-making made the Yankees perfectly hate-able.  In fact, hate isn’t a strong enough word.  But we felt that way because they were the best, and to be the best, you had to beat the best, which we could never do.  Steinbrenner was no camera hog, he just wanted to win, wanted what was best or his team.  For this, I salute him. While most Red Sox fans would likely not be able to pick the Yawkeys out of a lineup, everyone knew Steinbrenner.  The Yankees won six World Series under his ownership and were ALWAYS competitive.  He saw to that.

Due to his declining health, George has relinquished control of his franchise to his son, Hank, who can only hope to follow in his father’s footsteps, for they are big bossy shoes to fill.  As a Red Sox fan, I can only hope Hank fails miserably.  But in doing so, I must acknowledge the kind of man George Steinbrenner is and the sports fan he ultimately made out of me.

Sure we may be witnessing the end of an era with this final season in Yankee Stadium, but George was just as much of a Big Apple icon, far more responsible for Yankee success than any storied ghosts.  For that reason, Yankee, Red Sox and baseball fans nationwide owe him a debt of gratitude.

This weekend, I was invited to a mini-high school reunion/get-together in south Florida.    One of my best buddies and future subject of tennis elbow surgery, Mario A, invited me down a day early for a Florida Marlins game.  (Mario and I once played tennis alongside the Swedish national team featuring Mats Wilander and a young Stefan Edberg, bombarding them with newly released, over-sized tennis balls… but that’s a story for another time).  As it’s unlike me to refuse a free ticket to a sporting event of any kind, I cordially accepted his invitation and off we went to Dolphin Stadium to see Florida take on the NL West leading Arizona Diamondbacks.

Starting for the Marlins was (7-4) Ricky Nolasco.  Despite the fact that the Marlins were recently swept by the best team in Florida, the Rays, they seemed likely to bounce back against D-backs’ starter Micah Owings, who must be allergic to hitting 90 mph on the radar gun.

Now I know it’s a Friday night in South Florida and there’s plenty to do, but let’s just say the reported 15,290 spectators in the crowd was an EXTREMELY generous figure.  In fact, there were so few people in the stands, every fan had the luxury of having their face on the Jumbotron… TWICE!  And on Venezuelan appreciation night, even the pretty Marlin media rep walking around the stadium asking fans random trivia questions honored Venezuelan heritage by mispronouncing the name of infielding great Luis Apar-A-cio.

After attending a game in Fenway Park earlier this season, Friday night’s Marlins game really had the feel of a triple AAA contest… and this is with two of the better teams in the National League playing.  Despite the fact that the young Marlins are having a fantastic season (currently three games over .500, 1 ½ games back in the NL East), their fan support is sorely lacking.  How south Florida can approve funding for a new stadium is beyond me.  Perhaps I should inform whichever governing body approved that move that I have a bridge to sell.

Those who chose not to attend the game missed an outstanding pitching performance from starter Ricky Nolasco.  Nolasco had a rough first inning.  After giving up ten pitches and a base hit to lead-off hitter Stephen Drew, Nolasco tallied 33 pitches in the first inning.  Drew eventually scored on a misplayed fly ball by Marlin left-fielder Josh Willingham.  It looked like it was going to be a short night for the starter in teal.

Then Nolasco settled in nicely.  Combined with a perfectly called game by his battery mate Matt Treanor, Nolasco’s command soon became dominant.  Nolasco retired 19 of the final 22 batters he faced and 12 of his last 13, six of which he struck out.  Nolasco has been on a tear lately, easing comfortably into the role of Marlin’s ace.

When the Marlins finished batting in their half of the eighth, Mario and I questioned whether the Marlins manager would let Nolasco pitch the ninth for a shot at a complete game.  We also wondered if we were the only two in the stands thinking that.  Although having thrown 120 pitches, Nolasco was in total control of the Diamondback lineup.  He had allowed one sharp hit in the eighth, but otherwise was keeping opposing batters off balance with a nice mix of fastballs (still hitting 92 on the gun) and off-speed pitches.

Mario and I couldn’t recall the last time we had seen a complete game live, or if we ever had.  Which got me to thinking…. with such concern about a pitcher’s longevity, where does the modern game rank in terms of complete games and innings pitched compared to years past.

Simply put, there is no comparison.  In this respect, the game has changed dramatically.  No pitcher in either the American or National League has double digits in complete games since 1999, when Randy Johnson led the majors with twelve.  For the eight years before that, at least one pitcher in either league finished in double digits in complete games.  And for every year since the turn of the century prior to 1990, whoever led their league in complete games had at least ten.  By comparison, last year C. C. Sabathia and Aaron Harang led the majors with six.  The complete game is unquestionably a lost art and if managers and ownership had their way, perhaps a forgettable one.

Similarly, innings pitched among starters are down.  The last starting pitcher to hurl 300  innings in single season was Steve Carlton in 1980.  No pitcher in either league has thrown that many innings since Lefty, but for the twenty years prior to 1980, whoever led the majors in innings pitched totaled over 300.

The game has changed.  For the better or for the worse is up to the fan to decide.  Mario and I are of the old school.  Nolasco was dealing in the eighth!  Sure, maybe the bullpen needed the work.  Congratulations to Kevin Gregg by the way on his mesmerizing yet otherwise meaningless 14th save of the season.  I understand that owners and management must think long term about a pitcher’s career.  But they also should have given the four thousand fans in attendance something other than the victory to cheer about.  Unless, of course, Mario and I were the only two in the stands aware that Major League Baseball still keeps stats like complete games.  Or do they?

With modern athletes in better shape than their predecessors, pitchers should have the stamina to go the distance.  With the Marlins up 3-1 going into the ninth and the Diamondbacks still reeling from Nolasco’s impressive performance, Gregg shut them down in order.  That’s like Gregg getting to go home with the girl that Nolasco bought drinks for all night long.  From this fan’s perspective, seeing a CG on the back of Nolasco’s baseball card would have been much more impressive, and entertaining, than any S under Gregg’s.

I wasn’t in the dugout.  I don’t have the luxury of knowing whether Marlin manager Fredi Gonzalez asked Nolasco if he wanted to pitch the ninth.  It is much more likely that that decision has become automatic and predetermined.

In the discussion of untouchable records, people are quick to mention Ripken’s consecutive games played and Dimaggio’s hitting streak.  But in this day and age, one record that will NEVER be broken is Cy Young’s 749 career complete games.  No active pitchers are even in the top 100 in that category.  On a beautiful night in Miami, little did Mario and I know how close we came to witnessing rarity in person.

Personally, I can't understand all the hate for Barry. 

I was sipping some suds at a local spot not long ago and the bartender, while flipping channels at my request to find some hoops, chanced upon an episode of "Bonds on Bonds" and immediately spouted angrily that Bonds "needs to go to jail!"

For what?

Now, I didn't want to get into it with him, knowing that he'd be engineering my next Crown Royal cocktail, but I just don't see the logic.

I mean, if we're gonna crucify Barry for being one of the greatest, if not THE greatest player of our generation, then shouldn't we also nail the instution itself to the cross?  Players like McGwire, Sosa and the rest of the gang have gotten off scott-free.  Let's keep in mind that it was a waning Major League Baseball that shamelessly tried to self-promote while those two were chasing one of baseball 'most hallowed records.'

To not celebrate or even recognize Bonds' inevitable passing of Ruth is a travesty.  Major League Baseball is currently reaping what it's sewn.  It's only solace is that anyone even cares at all.