6-4-2 — an Angels/Dodgers double play blog

Normally I like Dodger Stadium's cheap seats when I'm paying for them myself, but today we sat in the Reserve Level, a good midrange option. In general, the number of idiots tends to go down with the higher dollar value tickets (viz. the magic tickets in the Loge Level). We didn't do it on purpose, but it worked out for the best anyway as Helen was wearing Cubs colors to the park in the guise of a now-obsolete Sosa jersey, and the last thing we needed was for some yahoo to harass us. We needn't have worried; Chicago fans fairly surrounded us, or at least, enough that violence would have been swiftly answered. As we were about to discover, that wasn't proof against stupidity.

No, I'm not talking about Jim Tracy's lineup here, though I could have been. With Drew 5-10 in the last series, it wasn't unreasonable to play him third, though the stone-cold Werth hitting second needed some second thoughts; he's now hitting .217 since coming back this year, and Greg Maddux is a bad experiment to try to heat him up with. Since the team has a late problem with Izturis getting on base and the 2-4 batters failing to plate him, you'd think Tracy would put somebody in those positions likely to actually do some hitting. Kent likewise has had his issues, 2-7 during the underuse from the Arizona series (he sat out the last game, apparently, while I wasn't watching).

Drew did manage one good thing with the bat tonight, and that was a hustle to first that beat out a bad throw by Maddux. Now, technically -- and the scorer agrees with this -- Olmedo Saenz drove in all three Dodger runs tonight, including Drew and Kent on a subsequent "double" to centerfield. Yet, the sneer quotes remain for a reason, and that reason is Corey Patterson. As readers of Al Yellon's blog know, Corey, You Suck. This is, of course, Al's superstitious way of ensuring Patterson won't suck. However, baseball curses are like the arrow of time: they only go one way, and so Patterson maladroitly displayed said suckage by cleanly fielding the ball -- and dropping it seconds later. Hence, the Dodgers got two gift runs. In my book, those runs should be charged E-8, but as it is, Greg Maddux finds his record unjustly padded. Such is baseball. Saenz' other run, a squeaker of a home run to center in the ninth, kept the crowd in the game but even the Cubs' uneven closers get a lot more wiggle room at Dodger Stadium than they do in the pitcher-unfriendly Confines.

The Cubs were all over Alvarez like a bad smell on week-old fish; it's obvious he really can't start anymore, not even in a spot role, and tonight just sealed that deal. In fact, like fellow good soldier Giovanni Carrara, he's nearing career's end, and the question for Tracy is how many more awful innings to let him go before he turns into a pumpkin, and the Dodgers back into mice. I note in my scorebook exactly zero innings where Wilson retired the side 1-2-3, and a surprising four strikeouts, two against Maddux.

Because of Wilson's weak arm, I therefore discount somewhat the Cubs' offensive surge; Jerry Hairston getting a solo homer, to the deep part of the home bullpen in left? Well, that would be my prima facie case right there, though the Cubs' other outbursts could contend as merely making up for lost ground. Corey Patterson isn't chopped liver, and neither Aramis Ramirez despite his .256 average. Oddly, Derrek Lee, on fire in May (.297/.416/.637 with nine homers and 18 RBIs) went down quietly 0-5; this game, for the Cubs, was about the sputtering parts of the offense lighting up.

The scene in the dugout could cheer the hearts of Cubs fans, too. Helen noticed Mark Prior minus a sling, which may come as good news to Cubs fans hoping for a quick recovery. I doubt it, though; Helen had a similar injury when she fell off a bicycle about ten years ago, and it was months before she could return to normal activities, let alone pitch. (For the record, she was 3-2, 3.02 ERA, 52 IP, no saves. Just kidding.)

Drew played a mostly competent center, but one episode merits comment. In the first, Drew made what appeared to be a highlight reel catch that in my book looked remarkably like a bad, late break on the ball forcing a mad dash. Helen defended Drew's play by noting that at that point, the sun was still fairly high in the sky, and Drew could have lost the ball in the sun. Perhaps so, but he still broke late.

The sun had another interesting side effect on the game, and on Neifi Perez in particular. Neifi!, as he is called in superhuman guise, is .360/.371/.535 in day games, and .247/.284/.377 at night. Sure enough, Neifi! (an All-Star write-in candidate, by the way) got his first and only hit when the sun covered both the mound and home plate. When his second at bat came around in the second inning -- and shadow covered home plate -- he struck out. I take this as evidence that Neifi is solar-powered.

The game had its incidental distractions, on and off the field; of course, there was the idiot running on the field with his pathetic flag, whatever it was about, who eventually got himself ejected from the stadium. And afterwards, I stumbled across Joe Morgan and Jon Miller, and like a good Angelino (or close neighbor thereto), kept my mouth shut; one does not speak to stars, as they are easily frightened in their native habitats.

But most of our adventure took place after the game, in the parking lots and on our way thereto. While waiting for a pedestrian light to change crossing one of the inner circle parking lot roads, we saw an impossibly thin couple. He: short-cropped haircut, wiry, muscular, and in an unbuttoned Dodgers jersey. She: black-haired and thin, but in the unwell way lifetime smokers are, and wearing a Cubs jersey. Both were probably in their early-to-mid 30's. As the rest of the crowd waited for the light to change, they just advanced oblivious to the traffic, the woman shouting obscenities at the oncoming cars (who had the right of way), and flipping the bird to every driver she saw. They spat at each other at the tops of their lungs, and then they chased each other wordlessly for a while through the parking lot. We tried hard to give them a wide berth, but kept stumbling into them: fighting and swearing at the base of the parking lot ramp, and again in their ancient Camaro that could have been Jim Rockford's old ride. Hate will keep us together, I guess.

Recap