November 4, 2004

 PLAYOFFS: AGELESS PITCHERS SIPPED FROM FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

      The 2004baseball season will long be remembered, especially in New England, as the year the Red Sox finally laid the Bambino to rest.  The curse of the Babe had grown in authority and in aura with each passing year--and had seemingly reached its pinnacle in 1986 when one simple out was all that stood between the Sox and glory.  How torturous must it have been for all the Sox and their supporters to watch expansion teams join baseball and win the World Series?  The Blue jays won back-to-back in ’92 and’93, and the marlins, mere babes in the woods, have won two championships even through they have been an organized club for barely a decade.  But this season, that number 86 would prove to be a good omen--it was the number of years that had passed since Boston’s last title.  That number would grow no more.

       It didn’t look good for the Mudville nine that day.  The hated Yankees had just laid an historic drubbing on the New Englanders, right in the very heart of their baseball souls, Fenway Park, and had taken a seemingly insurmountable 3-0 series lead.   Might Casey was about to strike out.  The Red Sox had pinned their season’s, and title, hopes on having an incomparable one-two pitching in Curt Schilling and Pedro Martinez.  Those two quietly aging superstars were supposed to give the Sox an edge in any post-season series—mostly in a series against their hated rivals the Yankees.  The Sox believed they needed to beat the Yanks to make the World Series.  Pedro and Schilling were pegged to pitch in at least four, possibly five games and give the Sox a decided edge.  But when Schilling came up lame after his start against Anaheim, looked mediocre in game one against the Yanks, and appeared to be done for the season the Sox lost that edge, and their confidence.  Before they knew it the series was just about over.

       Then something miraculous happened.  A new medical procedure was created and Schilling adamantly admitted that he would pitch again.  The Sox, at first trying to stave off humiliation and embarrassment, suddenly had their edge back.  In game six Schilling pitched the game of the season and reclaimed that edge for the Sox.  There was never any doubt which team would win game seven.  The momentum had turned.  Schilling was, by far the most important player on this year’s championship club, and proved his mettle one more time when he took his flapping ligament out to the mound and beat the hard-hitting Cardinals in game two.  By then it had been firmly established, this was the year of the Red (bloodied) Sock.

       The other ageless pitcher that keyed his team’s fortunes was Houston’s Roger Clemens.  The Astros knew that as long as they stayed close in any series that Roger would be the deciding factor in their favour.  The only problem was that the Astros had never, not in their 44-year history, ever won a playoff series.  And wouldn’t you know it, their first round series was against their bitter rivals.  The Atlanta Braves had been the team that seemed to stand in their way each time the Astros made the playoffs, and each time the series would end with Atlanta celebrating and Houston weeping.  This year was different, though.  Even though the Astros once had a dominating Randy Johnson, and still lost—that year to San Diego and a more dominant Kevin Brown—this year they had their hometown hero, and the Rocket would not disappoint.  He pitched game one—and won—and when game four rolled around manager Phil garner rolled the dice and pitched the Rocket man on three days rest.  Unfortunately Clemens, at the advanced athletic age of 42, could not take the game into the late innings and the bullpen eventually blew a lead.  But the confidence of the Astros was still high and they simply walked into Atlanta and crushed the Braves in the deciding game five to finally win a series for the city of Houston.

       Against St. Louis the Astros suddenly had nothing to lose.  They had exorcised their particular demons and were now playing with clear minds and clear consciences.  Losing the first two games in Missouri were not discouraging to the Astros, after all they had the Rocket man, on full rest, ready to go for game three.  The Rocket did not disappoint and got the Astros motor running once again.  Before the Cardinals realized it they were down 3-2 in the series and need to once again win both games at home.  This time manager Garner chose to be conservative with his ageless pitcher and kept him back for game seven.  But the gas ran out of the Rocket as he left two fastballs up and over the plate to two very dangerous hitters—Albert Pujols tied the game with a double and Scott Rolen ended it with a home run.  For everything he had done Clemens made two mistakes and the season was done.

       The reassuring part for Clemens is that he can now decide to come back and pitch one more year, hopefully with a healthy Andy Pettitte, and know that he has proven everything that he set out to prove.  His last goal was to help his hometown team win a playoff series—and that has been accomplished.  And after all, with Schilling doing his miracle bit for the Red Sox it wouldn’t have mattered even had the Astros made the Series.  The baseball gods had already made their decision.

       Other good moments—the battle between Houston’s Carlos Beltran and Pujols, ultimately won by the Cardinals’ last game rally.  Beltran was unstoppable during the playoffs—he often single-handedly carried the Astros to victory—and, until the World Series, it appeared as if Pujols was on base after every at bat.  David Ortiz was mister clutch for the Sox, winning games four and five with extra-inning base hits.  Keith Foulke was unhittable, and Pedro finally had the opportunity to one-up the Yankee fans and their “whose your daddy” chants.  Mariana Rivera had to fly all night to make it back to New York for game one of the LCS after relatives were found dead in his pool back home in Panama.  Is it a coincidence that this was the post season when Rivera’s invincibility was broken?  Probably not.

       The bad moments are led by one astoundingly juvenile play.  The picture of Alex Rodriguez standing at second base with his hands outstretched like a 12 year that was just caught chewing gum in class and, after sticking the wad under the desk, pleading innocence.  For this former classy individual with an impeccable reputation it will take some time for that picture to wear off.  

       Congratulations Boston—will we see another championship in 2090?