And that, my friends, is why pitching wins ball games

This weekend was a good weekend to be a New Yorker. Why, you ask? The Subway Series for one. Before 1997 (the year that interleague play was implemented in the MLB) the only time the Yankees and the Mets would play each other was in sporadic spring training games, in an exhibition game at the beginning of the season or in the World Series. So interleague play allows these cross-town rivals to meet each year regardless of whether or not either team makes it to the postseason. This weekend the Mets hosted the series, and in spite of their pitiful record this year, won the series 2-1. Game three of the series appeared to be a blowout, with Johan Santana only allowing one run. It appeared the Yankees were finished, until the top of the ninth, where they generated a three run rally and cut the Mets' lead to two runs.

And it all came down to pitching.

The Yankees found themselves down to their last out... two men on, with Alex "A-Rod" Rodriguez representing the go-ahead run at bat (arguably their best hitter, though I'd take Jeter over him any day of the week and twice on Sundays). And facing A-Rod was Francisco "K-Rod" Rodriguez on the mound. The at-bat was intense, a real pitcher-batter duel. Though I would have liked to say that the Yankees emerged victorious, A-Rod struck out swinging on a wicked breaking ball from K-Rod. Sorry dude, it doesn't matter how well you hit, pitching wins ball games.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

A continuation by Dignan...

     Thank you L-train! I loved the imagery of this story, and couldn't but help to think of the great baseball poem, "Casey at the Bat".

I hope you don't mind, but I thought I would throw it on here. It's lengthy but great!... for the cerebral types!

Casey at the Bat

by Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:

The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.

And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,

A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -

We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,

And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;

And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,

There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;

It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.

Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,

Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-

"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.

"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;

And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;

He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;

But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;

He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;

But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

The Oldest Rivalry in Sports

[Preface: For those of you who think the Holy War is intense, I'm about to knock your socks off.]

It began in 1901. Two teams from two rivaling cities. First, the Boston Americans, a team that, from the very beginning, displayed dominance in the arena of baseball. And then, the New York Yankees (or Highlanders, as they were frequently called back-in-the-day). The Americans won the inaugural World Series in 1903, and would go on to win four more times as the Boston Red Sox between 1912 and 1918. The Yankees, on the other hand, oft times found themselves toward the bottom of the standings.

And then came the curse. The year was 1919, the player, George Herman "Babe" Ruth.

To pay off some loans, Red Sox owner, Harry Frazee, sold Ruth to the Yankees for a paltry $125,000 and a loan of $300,000 (which was secured for Fenway Park). This sparked the era of Yankee dominance and began the superstition of the "Curse of the Bambino." Indeed, the Yankees would go on to win 26 World Series titles, while the Red Sox wallowed in mediocrity, misfortune and ignominy. There were multiple times throughout the years where it seemed like the Red Sox would break the curse, only to be foiled by "Bill Buckner"-type events. In 2003, it appeared that the Bo Sox would finally defeat their enemy, in game 7 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS), and return to the World Series.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

The game went into extra innings, and it appeared that Boston might outlast the Yankees. The bottom of the 11th inning found Aaron Boone, a sometime 3rd baseman who was brought into the game earlier as a pinch runner, hitting a walk-off home run and sending the Yankees to their sixth World Series in eight years. It also marked the 86th year of the curse.

Perhaps it was only inevitable that the curse would be broken. In 2004, the Red Sox returned to face the Yankees in the ALCS, and found themselves down three games to zero... a seemingly insurmountable figure. And yet, to the shock of the Yankees and the shock of sports fans everywhere, the Sox came back and won the next four games, defeating the Yankees and going to the World Series for the first time since 1986. They are, to this day, the only sports team to come back from a 3-0 deficit to win a series.

Their subsequent World Series victory was icing on the cake, for they had already defeated their most formidable foe, and did so in a way that the history books will remember. It was as if all of the years of the curse melted away in this one inimitable series. For the next few years, the Yankees floundered while the Red Sox flourished. It seemed as if the curse, and the era of Yankee dominance were things of the past.

Until last year, that is...

The Yankees are back and better than ever. And with 27 World Series titles under its belt, this team is the winning-est team in the history of American sports. (And this year, they're up 4 games to 2 against the Red Sox. I'm just saying...)

Author's Note: Having been at the heart of both the Utah/BYU rivalry and the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry, I have to say that there are quite a few similarities.

First, if you are a true fan, it is utterly impossible to like both teams. You will, nay you must, love one and loathe the other. It's a pretty natural reaction, really, dependent on which side you're coming from. As an Italian American, I'll give you three guesses as to the baseball team I favor. My allegiance to a specific Utah team is not as obvious and my devotion is a little less fervent, but it comes out during the rivalry games. Believe that.

Second, true fans get intense. And I mean in-tense. In my youth, I had the unfortunate experience of coming between an indignant Red Sox fan and a Yankees fan post-game in the Bronx. My mother actually plugged my ears so that they would not be tainted by the language employed in this exchange. I'm pretty sure it could have peeled paint off the walls. And maybe most of the foul language was coming from the man in red. Maybe. I also have been that person on the second row of a certain school's student section clad entirely in the rival school's attire, all whilst dealing with the subsequent verbal barbs. Not paint peeling language, but laden with a sense of sanctimony that almost made me beg for profanity.

Third, to be a true fan you must own multiple pieces of memorabilia/branded clothing. [I happen to own three hats, a beanie (you know, when they were cool), six shirts, a license plate cover, key chain... you get the idea.] How can you support your team if you don't show it?

Last, true fans know their stuff. They know the stats, they know the players. They know the history. They follow the games even if they don't attend. They have no patience for "posers" and have a genuine respect for the true fans of their opposing team. In fact, that is perhaps the only thing that rivals have in common... their intense devotion to their respective team.

Who do you cheer for?