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Gardy's good intentions are paving the way to an early off-season
In times of crisis, it's natural to hunt down the source of your ills, to stop rooting for your team and start rooting around for the reason your team's losing. It's called scapegoating, and it's been going on all throughout this sad and maddening season. The targets of the fans' scorn was first the under-performing rookie squad that comprised most of the lineup; then the dark eye turned to the veterans, failing in their leadership roles; and now, the buck is finally beginning to stop with the coaches, specifically hitting coach Scott Ulger and, of course, Ron Gardenhire. That's the exact opposite direction the blame-chain ought to run.
More >>Freddie Garcia hung a breaking ball to Jacques Jones leading off the Twins' half of the 8th inning and that was the ballgame. And what a ballgame.
Minnesota managed one total hit, Jones's homer to dead center. Garcia kept them off balance all night, often getting ahead by throwing his slow curve over, then pounding fastballs and cutters on the corners, causing the Twins to pound the ball into the ground. It was a superb performance only slightly marred by the paucity of quality hitters in the Twins lineup.
Johan Santana was nearly as dominant, surrendering a pair of ordinary singles and a cheap double when Pablo Ozuna chopped one over third baseman Michael Cuddyer's head. Old fogey purists (including yours truly) starting swearing at the screen when Ron Gardenhire got Joe Nathan up in the ballpen moments after Jones's jack. Santana had logged less than 100 pitches and would certainly have have had Gardenhire's full confidence taking the mound in the 9th if the Twins hadn't scored. But suddenly it is a "save situation" and so we have to go to this rote bullshit of bringing on the closer to get the "save." If the pale hose had managed a run off Nathan, it would have sucked the wind out of the ballclub and put the Twins in a tie or worse with their closer spent and the White Sox still with a reinvigorated-by-reprieve Garcia and their full complement of relievers.
More to the point, this was a old fashioned pitcher's duel, a pair of Venezuelans hurling with smarts and discipline, and it cheapened the game to bring another pitcher into it. If the baseball gods want us to be baseball fans, play--and manage--the game the right way. Let the man finish the masterpiece that he started. Yeah, Nathan got the save, but that's an inning's work he didn't have to log, an inning Gardy may want back later in this series.
Kvetching aside, this was a baseball classic. Three times, outfielders flung themselves into walls making running catches. Shannon Stewart was forced to leave the game when he strained his shoulder robbing Paul Konerko of extra bases with Carl Everett (who had walked) on first. Jermaine Dye saved a run with a great catch off the bat of Michael Ryan (Stewart's sub) with Cuddyer on third (the result of 3B Ozuna's two-base error leading off the inning) and got up gingerly. And Lew Ford made the catch of the night with a full-tilt, over the shoulder grab of a scorching liner seconds before denting the baggy in center.
The Twins are not going to catch the White Sox, folks, and on the very rare chance that they do, Cleveland still may escape with the pennant. The wild card's possible, hardly probable. Bottom line, this is the weakest lineup the Twins have unfurled since the days of Chad Allen and Scott Stahoviak.
But a 1-0 ballgame with just four combined hits and nonstop drama between two contenders is a game to savor regardless of how this season ends. And baseball, which has the highest boredom ratio of any major team sport, is, when it is right, a game to be savored.
Anyone who follows sports will know what I'm talking about. There is a weird, slightly delicious feeling of zealotry that comes over you when conventional wisdom flips you the bird. You're so sure about a player's ability (or lack of it) that you sense down to your bones that your opinion is the Absolute Truth, yet damn few people, if anybody, agree with you.
It's an odd jones to have visited upon you, and, alas, is not always accurate. For example, I was a byzantine champion of the Wolves' wayward forward Marlon Maxey once, staunchly defending him even after his teammates took me aside and explained to me he was dumb as a post, incapable of learning the team's offensive sets and defensive rotations. Sure enough, within a year or two, Max was out of the league, and I can't remember if it happened before or after he was caught toting a handgun in some alley. But even now, I can't let go of the feeling that he could have--should have--been something special.
Ah, Marlon. Before I wander off into memories of him challenging me about that "dumb as a post" quote and actually being mollified after I told him his teammates said it, not me; or about the time he deliberately fouled an opponent in the waning seconds of a lopsided Wolves' loss so that his team would get the ball back for one final chance to rack up the 100 points necessary to earn free chalupas for fans in the stands (my all-time favorite Timberwolves moment); let me return to the subject at hand.
Mewelde Moore is, by a wide margin, the best running back on the Minnesota Vikings.
Why doesn't everybody see this? Not Mike Tice; I understand that, aside from his take on offensive linemen, Tice is a consistently poor judge of talent. That's the logical explanation for why the Vikes have already awarded the starter's job to brittle, inconsistent Michael Bennett, and, even post-whizzinator, treat bad apple Onterrio Smith with more love than Moore.
As a rookie last year, Moore's per-carry average was nearly two yards better than Bennett's, 5.8 to 3.9. In fewer attempts, Moore picked up more first downs rushing than Bennett, and, despite Bennett's vaunted breakaway prowess, had more rushes of more than 20 yards. Moore is also a much better receiver than Bennett, with 27 catches last year despite just three starts, just ten less than Bennett's career-high for a season. Yeah, Moore lacks Bennett's blinding speed, but, like Bennett (or at least the Bennett before last night's butterfingers performance), he rarely if ever fumbles. Moore also has that intuitive knack of being elusive, that rare gift of almost organically slipping tackles and picking up an extra yard or two.
Can I get an amen on this, or is this another bout of Marlon Maxey-like mania? In any event, I'll wager an ounce of pride against anyone who wants the action that Moore's yards per carry will again exceed Bennett's this season, and likewise will top the production of the noble but aging Moe Williams.
Mewelde Moore is a nascent stud. You read it here first.
Unlike most people, who consider Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban to be an asshole, I've always liked the guy and regarded him as something of a kindred spirit (which doesn't necessarily mean he isn't an asshole). One of the few people who got out fabulously rich before the dot.com boom was revealed to be as much of a fever dream as Haight-Ashbury's Summer of Love, Cuban bought himself a basketball team, opened his wallet to upgrade his perennially woeful squad with quality players, and then treated them to the best perks his money could buy. Watching him sit behind the bench, baiting the refs, trying not to be a jock-sniffing doofus but occasionally losing control and doling out high-fives and back-slaps to his team, he was obviously first and foremost a stone hoops fan.
Anyway, when Cuban bought the Mavs back in the late 90s, one of the few players on the roster that was worth a damn was Michael Finley. The other day, Cuban made a smart business decision and cut Finley. For those who think Mark Cuban has no class, check out his account of how and why he dumped the fading star and longest-tenured Mav.
Entries haven't been finalized yet, but a few intriguing horses will definitely be somewhere in the mix. Wally's Choice (partially owned by Wally the Beerman), who's already won a $40,000 stakes race at Canterbury this season and has nearly $300,000 in lifetime winnings, will certainly be one beast to watch. According to track analyst Kevin Gorg, Wally's Choice will most likely face off against Key Issues. That horse has already had a mammoth season, winning the $60,000 Minnesota Derby and another $40,000 stakes race.
That's who the Mariners' rookie starter channeled during his five-hit, 1-0 win over the Twins last night. The phenom in question is Felix Hernandez, a 19-year-old (yes, that's very young for major league pitcher) who was also making his home debut at Safeco Field in Seattle. And while the Twins offense has knack lately for making any old second-rate pitcher look like Nolan Ryan, it's safe to say that this kid is the real deal (his 98-mile-an-hour fastball certainly is). Head over to Seth Speaks for more on him, and start counting the days to the Liriano unveiling.
The Twins snapped the longest losing streak of their season last night, and they did it against the hottest team in baseball, the Oakland As. They also did it on Lutheran Night. Coincidence? Probably. Still, there was a moment last night, as Morneau rounded third, when I seriously considered converting. And then Morneau was called safe, the game was over, and for a second I had the very un-Lutheran desire to climb into the stands and give every one of those passive-aggressive, socially reserved churchies a big smooch right on the pie-eater.
I got over it, and thank God, because while Lutheran Night may have worked its magic last night, it's a whole new day, and JC Romero just gave up the go-ahead run to another lefty, Eric Chavez. Remote prayer, turns out, has no effect on baseball games.
You know you're really in the shithouse when this is the best news you've read in a week. Three days after the baseball gods reached into Fenway Park, into center field, into Torii Hunter's ankle, wrenching tendons and destroying the last of the Twins' feeble playoff hopes, an MRI has shown that Hunter didn't actually tear a tendon as was previously feared. He "just" broke his ankle. Phew.
No surgery necessary, but he's still probably out for the rest of the season, barring some kind of ridiculous reversal of fortune that lands our boys in the postseason (and after a long and bitter bout of stubborn resistance, I'm finally counting myself among the non-believers). So why is this good news? Because Hunter's a centerfielder, that's why, and maybe the best in the game at that. Centerfielders need speed more than anything else, and when one tears a tendon, he almost never fully regains that precious resource. That means that if Hunter had torn his Achilles, when he reappeared next season, it probably wouldn’t be in center field. And that would just suck.
So taking the long view, this really is good news. And the long view is the one you've got to take at this point; Terry Ryan's refusal to make the Big Trade that I wrote about a few days ago is proof of that. Instead of bringing in a big bat to right the ship and stay the course into the postseason, the Twins are now setting their sights on 2006 and working on their dismal offense. That means giving their prospects some valuable big-league playing time, a group that includes Jason Bartlett and Scott Baker, among others. It also means trimming the fat, i.e. Bret Boone, which just happened earlier today, and refocusing on the further development of Morneau and Cuddyer, both of whom were disappointing this year but have lately shown more of that promise folks had always associated with them. If it was those big, noisy Metrodome crowds that were throwing them off, the rest of this season should be gravy.
All of which is fine with me, actually. I was pretty steamed at first when the trade deadline came and went, but I'm over it. Now I can finally sit back, and instead of watching a whole season, enjoy the team one game at a time. It's been a while since I was able to do that, and what with all the extra elbow room in the Dome stands, I imagine it's going to be pretty comfortable.
