Sports Journal 10-12-13

I’m going to give you the main pertinent stat from Saturday’s two league championship games. Cardinals over the Dodgers, 1-0, in a about two-and-a-half hour long game.  Tigers over Red Sox, 1-0, in a nearly four-hour long game. Now in all fairness, the Tiger-Red Sox game was probably more entertaining with the drama of the near combined no-hitter and on-base action, but not to the tune of an extra hour-and-a-half to get to the same low score (in fact the minimal score for finished baseball game).  (Okay, I admit.  That Cardinal-Dodger game may have been seriously quickened by the players, playing a day game after a long, extra innings night game.)

I’m going to flat out blame the American League East division, specifically the Yankees and Red Sox.  These jokers have pioneered the four-hour, nine-inning game.  Pitchers endlessly adjusting themselves and soft-tossing to first.  Batters all but playing with themselves as they constantly hop-scotch in and out of the Batter’s box, fouling off pitch after pitch in every at-bat.  Anybody who plays these teams usually ends up adopting their style. 

This movement must be CRUSHED for the good of the game.  This isn’t entertaining, half as much as it’s an endurance contest for the fans.  I want more guys like the Cardinals’ closer, Trevor Rosenthal.  He pitches so quick, it’s like he’s playing catch with the catcher.  Can we freaking pick up the pace a little bit?  All of the drama of the game will still be there, I swear it will, just play faster!

I listened to the Cardinal-Dodger game on the radio and was treated to Dodger team broadcast, featuring mostly Vin Scully.  He was in classic form, spinning little tales, painting word pictures, and eloquently describing the ambiance of the ballpark.  I loved his description of the St. Louis crowd being so perfectly composed, who only got excited when it was necessary.  But when they did, they’d roar like “waves crashing on to rocks.”  What else could you say about the game other than that Wacha kid is pretty good?  Come on, a double, a passed ball, and sacrifice flyball was the entirety of scoring action.  Dodger fan and sports talk broadcaster, Ben Maller, all but said after this loss, that the Dodgers have the Cardinals right where they want them. 

In Boston, the players grow beards.  The pre-game even ran a feature on them.  I loved Sox players referring to Dustin Pedoria as “a gnome,” and “like a lumberjack’s beard on a 12 year-old’s body.”  For the game, however, all the Red Sox players did was strikeout and complain about the umpiring.  There were a lot of close calls, but on replay, the umps did seem to get it right.  For their part, the Tigers couldn’t hit either, but at least took it like a man, instead of a whiney brat. 

Yeah, John Lester for the Sox and Anibal Sanchez for Tigers might have a little something to with that lack of offense.  I loved Sanchez’s pitching line: 6 innings, no hits, 6 walks, 12 strikeouts, including 4 in one inning, thanks to a wild pitch.  Sorry he shot off so pitches that there was no way he was realistically going to get a no-hitter by himself.  You know those guys behind you do have gloves?  You don’t have to walk or strikeout every batter.  8 1/3 of a staff no-hitter was still nice.     

I didn’t even try to watch any college football, but still filled up the day and night with sports.  There was the Drag-Boat race in the morning.  All I can say about that is that they go fast.  I unexpectedly finally got ABC back on my TV reception (this might part of a network contract dispute, I don’t know) and got to see a little of Nicole Briscoe’s awesome chest (sorry best pic easily available) .  I think there was a NASCAR race going on in the background, or paid commercial programming (who can tell the difference?).  I know the headlights on NASCARs aren’t real.  I don’t care if Nicole’s are.

I give up on boxing.  I was assured that the Marquez-Bradley was going to end in a knockout.  What did I get?  A split-decision with both boxers on their feet.  As what always happens when I watch.  All I can authoritatively say about boxing coverage is always go with the Spanish language broadcast.  Unless you’re really fluent in the language, you’re not going to pick up a word, because they’re going too fast, but their breathless commentary makes even a lousy fight somewhat  exciting.  Bradley won, I guess.  I can’t tell you who really won, but I know who lost: me and my time. 

(I’ll be back.  I know it.  It’s those damn Tecate Girl commercial bumpers they run in between the rounds.  I don’t care if their headlights are real either.)

It was a lovely, late afternoon, Fall day in the pleasant country of Japan, as I sat here after midnight and settled in for two hours of F1 coverage into the early morning.  Ah, Suzuka.  The racetrack with an overpass, just like out your own highway.  Seems like a safety hazard to me with cars running fast over each other, but they run with it anyway.  Sort like a life-sized slot car track.  The track was otherwise immaculately manicured like a baseball field, unlike the pasture they ran that Korean GP on last week.  I fully expected to see cars sliding on cow patties in that one.  The great crowd there was treated to Grosjean making a spectacular move at the start to get past Vettel and Webber, and then not being able to hold that lead for the rest of the race.  Vettel, Webber, Grosjean made up the podium.  Well, that was functionally the whole race.  Well worth staying up to 2:30 A.M. for.