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

Well, as you may have guessed by the tardiness of this post, I was at the park, and yes, it was a hell of a game. Rich Lederer was a late addition to our group, and I imagine he'll have something up about this presently as well. First, a preliminary: we did not get the tickets ourselves. As you may know, I have an insane winning record on tickets people give me, but I am utterly terrible on tickets I pay for myself. Thus, Helen's inability to get any postseason tickets was a blessing in disguise for tonight's game; we went instead on tickets from my friend Bruce (hullo!), and didn't pay him until after the game, thus ensuring that they weren't ours.

It turned out to be money well spent (after the game, of course).

I have to admit, I was absolutely certain the Angels were going to lose this game. For starters, their starter: Bartolo Colon and his 8.44 ERA against the Yanks in the regular season, not to mention his bad ALDS Game 1, made me as certain as I've ever been that Mike's deference to his veterans was about to send the Yankees to Chicago.

Bart's first was surprisingly uneventful, considering the persons at the plate. Expending seventeen pitches to escape the top of the fearsome Yankee order is no small feat, and so we went to the Angels' half; they didn't fail to disappoint my sense of dread, going meekly 1-2-3 against Mr. Moose, on only seven pitches. Rich and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes; another top-of-the-order catastrophe was about to unfold.

But no. Colon's back started troubling him before the second inning, or so we thought; it turned out to be a shoulder injury, one I'm sure Will Carroll will be all over in the morn. But it brought about an immediately happier state of affairs, namely, the hauling up of one Ervin Santana. In my opinion, Ervin should have gotten the start anyway, what with Bart's gimpy back over the last month.

He did not disappoint us. Well, he didn't disappoint us for four pitches, but on the fifth he walked Robinson Cano on an inherited 3-2 count. Given how many walks the Angels staff has given up lately, this was a decidedly bad thing, and especially to the Yankees. Not that it ultimately mattered, as he quickly erased himself with a badly timed steal. Then, Bernie Williams walked, and four pitches later, so would Jorge Posada. A Bubba Crosby single and a Derek Jeter sac fly later, it was 2-0 Yankees. So, yeah, we were worried a little about Santana. But it wasn't unexpected, either; he'd only given himself about five minutes to warm up, and his control obviously had suffered. But despite that, I still felt better about him being there than Colon, without a doubt.

The Angels quickly returned fire, Garret Anderson unexpectedly belting one out. And then more miracles: Benjie whacked a single to center field, and then with two outs, Finley drew another clutch walk.

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And then, the game had a miraculous, transcendent, transformative moment.

Adam Kennedy hit what looked like a routine fly ball, but Bubba Crosby and Gary Sheffield couldn't hear each other over the din of the roaring crowd. Instead of catching it, they collided.

Far away from us in the outfield, silent and sepia-toned, Adam Kennedy, wearing a borrowed pair of Mercury's shoes, took third on a credited triple.

When I think of the things that make or break games, so often in advance I have in my head the odds based on history, the pitching matchups, the offense. Yet what comes late to mind is Ecclesiastes 9:11, the idea that the game is a game of chance in some ways.

For tonight, we can call it the Crosby Hope -- not the old 40's comedy duo, but the hope that nine Yankees with a $200 million payroll ultimately have to play the game on the ground, the pitchers have to pitch well, the baserunners have to score.

The outfielders have to call out to each other so that one man, not two, catches the ball.

It's the hope that the other guys can make mistakes, too.

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The moment stretched in time, just a bit. After Figgins struck out, on three straight pitches (I like Figgy, but he needs to learn some strike zone discipline) and an uneventful top of the third, the Halos were back at it. Consecutive singles from Cabrera and Vlad lead off the inning, and Anderson following up with a sac fly to plate Cabrera. After Bengie Molina proved his clutchness again, Erstad hit a high bouncing grounder to first -- that scored Vlad and advanced Bengie to second.

The damage done, Matsui then collected a Rivera foul blistered in the stands that got the Yanks to two outs. (The fans in left field, to their credit, got out of the way of the play, which took Matsui a considerable distance into the seats.) It knocked out Mussina, bringing in Randy Johnson, but too late.

The rest of the game had its tense moments, too, but Santana got steadier as he progressed, only surrendering a leadoff home run to "Captain Clutch" in the seventh. After an A-Rod groundout, Mike pulled Ervin to the roaring applause of the crowd, a tiny red cap tipping to the stands as he walked into the dugout.

Kelvim Escobar and Flash Gordon they dueled, neither getting traction.

And then K-Rod.

Ruben Sierra bounced out to short to end the eighth.

ROOOAAARR!

The top of the monster surfaces.

Jeter singles. Hope lives yet for the Yanks.

A-Rod hits into a 5-4-3 double play.

The Crosby hope lives for the Angels.

Giambi singles. Torre pulls him for pinch runner Mark Bellhorn. He steals second on defensive indifference.

Sheffield taps out an infield single. Two pitches into Matsui's at bat, Torre pulls him for a pinch runner, Tony Womack. It's all or nothing now, lightning in a bottle time, Torre's time for some Crosby hope. If Matsui doesn't do something here, the Yanks have pulled their big guns.

Matsui grounds out to Erstad. Frankie and Matsui, both aware of the implications of their footrace, pour it on to the bag.

Frankie wins. The Angels win.

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And yeah, I got pictures. Light up the Halo, kids. We're goin' to Chicago.

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