Playoff thoughts …

A few thoughts about sports, life, Jeremy Affeldt and my daughter while we wait for the Red Sox and Indians to play Game 3:

– OK, so, help me with this. I’ve now seen this Liberty Mutual, “When people do the right thing, we call it being responsible” commercial about 500 times during the playoffs — you know, the one where one woman prevents the obviously drugged up kid from wandering into traffic, and then someone else gives up their parking place, and another woman gives up her cab in the rain and so on. It’s obviously an absurd commercial for an insurance company — I really don’t care that this woman with shopping bags prevented the basketball from going into the street, I’m more concerned that you won’t screw me over when my house gets hit by lightning — but that’s not my point here.

One of the scenes shows a woman slowing down so she doesn’t run over a dog. Really? Have we fallen this far in society that now not hitting a dog with your car qualifies as extra credit on the great responsibility exam. What next? How about they show a scene where a man is in his car, and he’s looking at his handgun, pondering killing someone, and then he shakes his head and put the gun under the seat. Put some music behind that Liberty Mutual.

– Classic John Madden moment Sunday night. You know, I used to like John Madden, or at least not dislike him, and then Frank Caliendo ruined him forever for me by pointing out that the stuff he says is always stunningly, sharp-blow-to-the-head obvious. I had grown so used to his voice, especially paired with the minimalistic strains of Pat Summerall (”Handoff. Emmitt Smith. Not much”) that I had never really noticed this before.

Now, it’s like being too aware of background music — the inanity of what Madden is saying is all I think about now when he talks.

Sunday, Madden was talking about what it takes to have a successful field goal. He said, “Well, it comes down to three parts. The first part is, you need a pretty good snap. The second part, is you need a good hold. And the third part, obviously, you need a good kick.”

Oh, it’s just the THIRD part’s the numbingly obvious. The snap and hold, those things are too intricate and confusing for football fans.

– Speaking of Frank Caliendo, I’m thinking now the Frank TV commercials have become such an overwhelming pop-culture joke (even Joe Buck was making fun of them) that I’m now reversing my position and suggesting there should be more of them.

– Tim McCarver leads me to ask this question: How long can anyone be a sports color commentator on national TV without getting on the nerves of everybodyin the world? (This also could be about John Madden). I say this because for years, I liked McCarver. He was passionate about baseball, he told some good stories, he did not seem to take himself too seriously, and he occasionally said something that made me go, “Hmm, that’s an interesting point.” I mean, that’s pretty good announcing.

Well, I don’t think McCarver has changed all that much. He still has all those good qualities. But somewhere along the way, I think, we have just heard most of the points he has to make about baseball. We heard most of his good stories. I don’t know that he takes himself any more seriously than he once did, but it now SEEMS like he does, probably because he’s telling the same stories and making the same points he has for 20 years. It’s like if you followed around a commedian, even a great one like Jerry Seinfeld or Chris Rock, and you saw his same act 40 or 50 straight performances, at some point you would probably think, “OK, this guy’s a jerk. He just keeps saying the same thing every night. Get over yourself, pal.”

I was talking with a friend about this once … I think we decided that five years was about the maximum amount of time that a color commentator could make fresh points. After that, it’s a whole lot of rehash or, worse, bizarre efforts to say something new, like this from McCarver:

“Dustin Pedroia is a high-ball hitter. And by that I mean he’s a waist high-ball hitter, not a letters high-ball hitter.” Now what does the heck does that mean? He’s sort of a medium-high-ball hitter? He likes it high but not too high? Whah?

Incidentally, play-by-play commentators have a much longer shelf life, as long as they don’t rely on goofy shtick like catch-phrases or nicknames.

– I’m really loving this Colorado team. This is one of the best stories in recent baseball memory. They have actually won 20 of 21 games now. Incredible. I mean, sure, the National League absolutely stinks. And while I personally like the Diamondbacks — I mean, how can you not like Eric Byrnes? — they have to be the worst team to ever appear in a Championship Series, right? I mean this team finished dead last in a dreadful NL in hits, batting average and on-base percentage (this in a big-time hitters park). And the pitching staff, minus the irrepressible Brandon Webb, isn’t much good either. Yet, this team won 90 games.

ARIZONA INTERLUDE: It has been funny to hear those TBS announcers try to explain how this Diamondbacks team won 90 games. Announcers (and us columnists) don’t work very well in gray, we need absolutes. So from what I can tell, the announcers generally have given much of the credit to the Diamondbacks “Amazing fielding,” which I think perfectly qualifies for what Bill James calls the “Bullshit dump.”

You probably heard this theory: Anytime there’s a gap between what we KNOW and what we BELIEVE we have to fill this gap with something. Bill says we tend to go to the Bullshit Dump (BSD) to fill those gaps. This is usually where the talk about clutch ability comes from. Not to pick on Derek Jeter again (I really do like the guy), but he explains the concept best. We may KNOW that Derek Jeter is a good hitter who gets on base, steals a few bases, hits a few homers, plays every day and plays a statistically subpar shortstop. But we may BELIEVE that Jeter is the biggest winner in the game. So how do we get from one place to the other? Well, we reach deep into the BSD and start talking about all these vague, non-measurable things like his leadership, his remarkable influence on teammates, his penchant for never making a mistake, his ability to perform in the clutch, his knack for making the big play offensively or defensively, etc. I’m not saying here that there is NOTHING to all that. But it’s mostly BSD.

(Speaking of BSD, I wish someone — SOMEONE — would find video of Joe DiMaggio throwing to the wrong base. You know it happened).

More BSD is this Arizona defense. Yeah, they have a pretty good defense, I guess. But their defensive numbers certainly don’t stand out. They committed 106 errors, which places them in the middle of the pack. Their defensive efficiency (percentage of balls hit into play that are turned into outs) is .691, which is nothing special. They turned 157 double plays, which is OK, but not great. I don’t deny that Arizona is a brilliant defensive team. I’m just saying, I don’t see how it allowed a team that gave up 20 more runs than it scored to win 90 games.

To me, the simple truth is: There are still mysteries in baseball — and this is part of the reason many of us love it. The Diamondbacks went 32-20 in one-run games. They were fabulous in their home park (they hit 19 points higher with a lot more power at Chase Field, which is an extreme hitters park. Interestingly, though, they pitched a little better at home too). And I think some of the BSDs probably fit in there too — they did play with a lot of confidence, their defense was pretty good, they made plays at the right time, Bob Melvin did do a heck of a job, etc. And some of it just boggles the mind.

Back to Colorado. Think about this: On Sept. 15, they were 76-72. They had just lost three in a row, the last to Florida 10-2, a game where they used seven pitchers, one (Juan Morillo) who gave up an enormous grand slam to Miggy Cabrera. They were 6.5 games out with 15 games to play, which is just about reverse-dormy (I don’t know if there’s a phrase reverse-dormy, but is sounds cooler than “dead.”) Nobody, and I mean nobody, saw any greatness in this team.

And then BLAMMO. They win 14 of their last 15 games. They hit .317 with 23 homers during that stretch, averaging just about seven runs a game. Their pitchers have a 3.13 ERA during that stretch, throw two shutouts, hold opponents to 1 run four times. And this is against their own division — Dodgers, Padres, Dodgers, Dimaondbacks and finally Padres in the playoff game. Then comes the playoffs, and they obliterate Philadelphia, a team that had its own mad-dash finish. Now they lead the Diamondbacks 3-0. This is like something out of the movies.

And even though the Rockies are certainly not loaded with big names, you can at least see how they win. They honestly DO have a great defense. They set a major league record for fielding percentage this year (only 68 errors, which either means they are amazing defensively or they have a wresting referee as their official scorer … I didn’t see enough games to tell). They had a .701 defensive efficiency which was second only to the Cubs — and the Cubs play in a much smaller ballpark. They turned 178 double plays, second only to Pittsburgh which pretty much began every inning all season with a runner on first base.

Plus the Rockies led the National League in batting average and on-base percentage. They were second in runs scored. There’s something substantial about them.

– I’m also happy for my old friend, Colorado reliever Jeremy Affeldt, who for years would call me “Mr. Posnanski,” either because he’s very polite or because he wanted to make me feel about 283 years old.

I may have written about this on the blog before, but Affeldt offered me one of the most amazing sports reporting days of my life. We were in Bradenton, I think, and it was a sleepy spring training game, a Sunday afternoon if I remember right, and I was sitting down in the stands with former Royals general manager Allard Baird. There was nothing going on, I mean nothing, Scouts were slumped down, half asleep. So were umpires. It was a nothing day.

And then Jeremy Affeldt entered the game. He was a kid then, 22, and he had not pitched above Class AA. He had not exactly pitched mind-blowing baseball there (10-6, 3.91 in Wichita). He was a moderate prospect at best — I’m not sure he was on the Baseball America list (Sports Illustrated mentioned him in their preview and called him a “righty sinkerballer” which is slightly off since Affeldt is a lefty power pitcher). Well, he came into the game and first pitch, WHAM, 96 mph on the black.

“Whoa!” Allard said.

Next pitch, WHAM, 96 mph on the black (We are using lots of sound effects for today’s blog by the way. WHAM! BLAMMO! OOF!).

“Whoa,” Allard said.

Third pitch, well, there’s no sound affect for it because it started about the height of the batter’s chin and then took a four-foot dive. The batter didn’t just swing over it — he looked like he was swinging at something else. It was one of the nastiest curveballs I have ever seen up close. That was strike three.

“Whoa,” Allard said.

And suddenly, everything in the park perked up. Scouts jumped to attention. They pulled their radar guns back out. And for two innings, honest to God, it was like watching Koufax. High fastballs. Back breaking curves. Again and again. He struck out five and the other out was a foul pop-up. Except for the pop-up, nobody even touched the ball.

Now, you see that, and you will believe in a guy. There were moments when Jeremy Affeldt flashed that brilliance again (I remember a game in Minnesota when he pitched in relief and was just about that good). But I think we all know that Affeldt never turned into an unhittable force of nature. Still, whenever I see him pitch, I can’t help but think: “Maybe he will do that again.” It’s another reason I love sports.

– We’ll try to make some live comments tonight off the Indians-Red Sox playoff game (so come on back) but for now I do want to say that the 73-hour marathon Saturday night was a bit much. There may only be one October, but I can’t spend every waking hour of it watching Kevin Youkilis foul off pitches, OK? Something has to be done.

I will also say this — all game long (because of my Cleveland paranoia) I was sure the Indians would lose Saturday. Absolutely sure. It was that feeling in the pit of your stomach, and it was there for all 73 hours (time actually stands still when Rafael Betancourt pitches, so it was even longer than 73 hours) … UNTIL … Eric Gagne came in from the bullpen.

A few years ago, I went to the Olympics in Greece when my oldest daughter, Elizabeth, was only two years old. I was away from her for three weeks, and it was awful. For three weeks, I thought about how much she was changing, how much I was missing, how bad a father I was, how desperately I missed her. And then, finally, the Olympics ended, and I took the long plane ride, and then another, and finally I arrived at the airport, and I walked on the concourse, and there she was, mt Elizabeth, and she ran into my arms and shouted “Daddy” and it was just about the best feeling I’ve ever felt.

Yeah, that’s just about how happy I was to see Eric Gagne.

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