RMJ 172 August 6

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 6 ● Philadelphia, vs Phillies

I woke up in a new world today: a world full of hope and promise. We have left the talented Marlins to their own devices, and we have flown north for an encounter with the hapless Phillies.

The weather here is perfect: puffy clouds, low humidity, 80 degrees midday. The suffocating heat of south Florida, and the frustration of last night’s game, are gone.

This new world is full of opportunity. I can almost feel the brotherly love as I gaze at William Penn, high atop the downtown skyline.

 

I talked with Steve Mann and set up a golf game for tomorrow. We will play after the game with Joe O’Rourke and his son, Tim. Then Joe will drive me up to New York.

There is a good used bookstore a few blocks away. I was hoping to get there, and perhaps to a cigar shop as well, but with the late arrival and early departure for the ballpark, all I had time for was lunch.

This routine is becoming familiar.  Eating, sleeping, writing, and managing demand most of my waking hours.

If I want to play golf before a night game, I have to give up some sleep. The days when I used to spend a leisurely hour or two in a bookstore are gone. The postcards I used to send to friends and family from the road are still in my briefcase, awaiting messages and stamps. They have been hiding there all summer.

 

We headed for the ballpark at 2:30. It didn’t take long to make out the lineup card for this one.

Rookie righthander Garrett Stephenson is pitching for the Phils. He beat us with a vexing assortment of offspeed pitches earlier this year; I didn’t think he could do it again.

I wanted to check his record against lefthanded and righthanded hitters.  I had a hunch that his stuff would work better against lefthanded hitters, and this proved to be the case. I played as many righthanded hitters as I could, and I was confident that The Big Chief would hold them down.

He would have done just that, if he had held onto the baseball in the first inning. Instead, as he raced to cover first base with two outs, he dropped a throw from Bagwell and a run came in. Two pitches later, Mike Lieberthal hit a home run, and we were down 4-0.

I still thought we would get back into the game, if we could just hold the line. This is exactly what happened. We chipped away, and with the help of a great escape by José Lima, we tied the score.

Lima gave up a homer to minor-league veteran Tony Barron, and the Phils went back on top. I was astounded that he even hit the ball; it was a great changeup, right around the knees. Our scouting report said that he couldn’t hit an off-speed pitch; I don’t know if our report was wrong, or if Barron just got lucky.  

In the eighth inning, Biggio was called out on a 3-2 pitch that was about six inches off the ground. He came back to the dugout in a rage. I have to hand it to him: he manages to contain his fury until he gets off the field, so as not to incite the umpires or the fans. When he gets under cover, he yells at the umpire, then he heads up the runway to vent his spleen. This time, he destroyed the bathroom.

Ricky Bottalico, the Phillies’ fine closer, shut us down in the ninth. He made Bagwell look foolish, which isn’t too difficult to do these days: Jeff is in one of the worst slumps of his career.

 

I had a couple of postgame beers with Steve Mann and Gary Gillette. These guys are two of the most intelligent statistical analysts around.

But after this game, I needed another kind of analyst.