Oakland fans have plenty of experience with being ignored by the Mainstream Sports Media.  We’re used to it.  It’s kind of our thing.

(SPORTSCENTER INTERN: Bad news, sir.  The show is running about two minutes short.

SPORTSCENTER PRODUCER: Well, what can we use to fill time?

SPORTSCENTER INTERN: Film of fat people stomping on kittens, terrorist recruiting tapes, and highlights from tonight’s Oakland game.

SPORTSCENTER PRODUCER: Hmmmm . . . Tell you what - just run that Red Sox feature again.  You know, the one about  how they’re scrappy underdogs who succeed in the face of adversity.

SPORTSCENTER INTERN: The one we’ve already run twice in the last hour?

SPORTSCENTER PRODUCER: That’s the one.)

But the last few days have shown us something worse: attention.  Good attention.  And that’s “good” attention in the sense of “positive, complimentary” attention, not ”good” attention in the sense of “NOT likely to karmically curse your team by introducing lofty expectations that the Universe cannot help but strike down in its fury” attention.

(ARIEL PRIETO: Man, I know what that’s all about.

THE UNIVERSE: Shut up, Ariel.

ARIEL PRIETO: Yes, sir.)

In last few days, we’ve seen Buster Olney, Keith Law, Jerry Crasnick, Jon Heyman and Lee Jenkins fawn over our young pitchers like new parents over their baby clutching a puppy sliding down a rainbow.   Susan Slusser goes so far as to spend a paragraph telling us how beautiful Michael Ynoa’s eyes are. 

And that’s bad.  It’s very bad.  Bad to the point of “Me Selling My Pre-Bought 2011 World Series Tickets” bad.  Bad to the point of “Let’s Sacrifice a Live Chicken in Trevor Cahill’s Locker to Undo the Curse” bad.

So in an effort to avoid the messy alternative, I’m going to unleash my own brand of karmic invalidation.  Right here, right now,  you are going to hear the only unabashedly true scouting reports on the hotshot young pitchers rising up the ranks of the Oakland farm system. Beginning with . . .

Brett Anderson: Very early in life, Anderson was ordained to a life of stardom.  This early adulation created a sense of entitlement, which led to arrogance, which led to a healthy disrespect for all forms of authority, coupled with a thirst for power.  Currently, Anderson spends his nights leaping from rooftop to rooftop garishly dressed as a costumed supervillain named “The Speckled Mangler,” continually going to greater and greater lengths to seize wealth and power in a cruel bid for world domination, all while thwarting the efforts of The City’s many costumed crimefighters.  His fastball lacks velocity.

Trevor Cahill: The first pitch he threw as a professional shattered his elbow.  The second pitch (thrown two years later due to a longer-than-normal rehabilitation time) landed soundly in the groin of his own first baseman.  He’s been known to cockily tell batters the type and location of the pitch he’s about to throw and dare them to hit it, only to break down in tears as he watches that pitch soar over the center field wall.  He hates freedom.       

Vincent Mazzaro: Is in actuality only three and a half inches tall.

James Simmons: I don’t know who this is.

Gio Gonzalez: Is Ariel Prieto is disguise.

Sean Gallagher: Is Marco Scutaro in disguise.

Matt Holliday: Is Ben Grieve in disguise. 

Henry Rodriguez: Though once heralded as a leader of the American Revolution, became disillusioned with his compatriots’ cause and conspired with the British to surrender the base at West Point, a defeat which would almost certainly spell doom for the colonies and which he misguidedly felt would make him a hero in the eyes of history.  His plot was exposed, and he died an ignominious death in disgrace.  Excellent velocity, but lacks control. 

Michael Ynoa: May be a girl.

Your move, Universe.

·                    For the second year in a row, I watched the Sacramento Rivercats win the Triple-A Championship, a degree of sustained excellence that we can only dream of seeing replicated on the Big League level.  Clearly there is something to be learned here.  But what?  Dare we go to the extreme?  Am I advocating changing the team’s name to the Oakland Rivercats? . . . Maybe.

·                    It is officially too late for me to add anything significant about the mustache thing (despite roughly 90% of my notes from the game containing  either the word “mustache” or “awesome”).  I will say this, however: Danny Putnam grows one seriously weak sauce mustache.  It’s like .01Eckersley.  If you think there’s no connection between his girly stache and his going 0 for 3 on the night, then you, my friend, are kidding yourself.

·                    I too thoroughly enjoyed the repeated commercials from the tourism boards of minor league towns.  (My personal favorite: “Lots to see.  Even more to do.  Toledo!” despite no visual evidence whatsoever that there is anything in Toledo to either see or do.)  I do question the commercial value of the ads, however: are there really that many devoted Triple-A fans watching the championship game whose vacation choices will be influenced by the presence of another Triple A team in some backwater town?  Norfolk thinks so.

·                    Speaking of commercials, there is a new #1 on my list of “People Whose Pride in their Accomplishments Seems Somewhat Disproportionate to their Actual Accomplishments” (formerly #1: Francisco Rodriguez):The Batavia Muckdogs.  According to their commercial, I can buy official Muckdog merchandise, engage in Muckdog-sponsored marketing, or even license my youth baseball team with the official Muckdog name and logo.  Their commercial indicates no uncertainty whatsoever that I would want to do any or all of these thing.  And maybe I do.   So what am I saying?  Am I advocating changing the team’s name to the Oakland Muckdogs? . . . Maybe.

·                    Wait a minute . . . Sacramento leads the Minor Leagues in attendance??!!  How did . . . I mean . . . what could . . . seriously, what the crap?!

·                    According to the announcers, the Scranton Yankees won their league in a deciding game in which Phillip Hughes outdueled Bartolo Colon.  He didn’t specify where this game took place, but I think it’s safe to assume that it was in Hell.

·                    I am now ready to declare Casey Rogowski my favorite ever career minor leaguer.  6’3”, 230, former heavyweight wrestler, looks like The Undertaker with the name of a Pennsylvania steelworker AND, in last night’s game, executed the most awkwardly bumbling stolen base of all time.  It was like watching Frank Thomas collide with Erubiel Durazo.  So what am I saying?  Am I advocating changing the team’s case to the Oakland Rogowskis? . . . Maybe.

·                    Let me say right now that I am in love with Henry Rodriguez – 94 to 99 MPH fastball with about as much control as a deflating balloon.  I’ve waited YEARS to get a guy like this.

·                    For the record, “The Oakland Rogowskis” is a much, much better team name than “The Silicon Valley Athletics of Fremont.”  Take note, Mr. Wolff.

·                    In non-baseball news, Marvel Comics is televising commercials featuring Skrulls!  This may be my inner nerd talking, but I would like to take this moment to declare, without hyperbole, that that commercial was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen.

·                    And then, at life’s most dizzying nadir, with the sun blacked out and the night refusing to yield its icy grip, just as it seemed all hope was lost, I saw Carlos Gonzalez drench his manager in Gatorade.  I smiled to myself.  “He’s happy,” I thought.  “He’s really, really happy.”

·                    But not as happy as Buck.

Great.  Just great.  I leave for Sacramento for four days to take the California Bar Exam, and everything goes straight to Hell.  Here’s my week in clauses:

“The rule against perpetuities . . . destructibility of contingent remainders . . . the Angels pick up Texeira?! . . . the Eerie doctrine . . . strict scrutiny analysis . . . the A’s get swept at home by the Kansas City Freakin’ Royals?!! . . . protectable property interests . . the Angels morph into an indestructible juggernaut comparable to Virtual Mike Tyson from “Punch-Out” from the original 8-bit Nintendo. . . reasonable expectation of privacy . . . is it asking too much to win one lousy game??!!! . . . the 4th Amendment.”

So it was a rough week (and for reasons of common sense and decency I am not getting into the flu, the bedbugs, or the Berkeley Law grad next to meet who felt that bathing and personal hygiene are uncalled for in Bar Week).  So how does one recover from the most intellectually, emotionally and psychologically draining three days of one’s life?  (Well, one drinks for 36 hours straight, usually.  So how does one recover if one is a good Mormon who doesn’t really understand this whole “alcohol” thing and wouldn’t know where to start anyway?)  Minor league baseball, baby!!!

Allow me to share:

Top of the 2nd

Poor freeway construction and Sacramento’s obsession with one-way streets make me late to the ballpark.  The Sacramento starting 9 look . . .  familiar.  Too familiar.  I strain my mind to remember where I could have possibly seen them before.  Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . it’s on the tip of my tongue . . .

SP – Joey Devine

1B – Daric Barton

2B – Donnie Murphy

3B – Gregorio Petit

LF – Matt Murton

CF – Eric Patterson

Oh, that’s right.  They’re actually the 2008 Oakland Athletics.

Bottom of the 2nd

Due to what must be a labor shortage in the minor league coaching industry, Gio Gonzalez is coaching first base.  I am excited, until I come to the startling realization that I have at least two inches and forty pounds on him.  Does anyone else find it disconcerting that one of our shiner hopes for the future appears to be about fourteen years old?

Top of the 3rd

The visiting Nashville Sounds choose to bunt with a man on first and no outs.  Predictably, the bunt is popped up into the waiting glove of Rivercat pitcher Chris Gissell.  Eager to impart wisdom, I shout “Bunting is dumb!”  No one listens. 

Top of the 4th

It’s a slow stretch in the game, so I’m going to take this time to reflect on how happy I am to hear Bay Area sports talk radio again.  I’ve been listening to sports radio in either Los Angeles or Salt Lake for some time now, so I’m used to getting my sports news with a heapin’ helpin’ o’ homerism, but it’s soundly invigorating to finally hear it in favor of the A’s.  I listened for less than ten minutes before hearing someone say “Oakland is still in reach of the Wild Card” without a trace of irony in his voice.  He’s a moron, I know, but it’s still nice to hear.

Bottom of the 4th

I make a food run, and Daric Barton respectfully responds with a near-400 foot shot that comes in just left of the right field foul pole.  It brings to mind the ancient proverb, “If Barton hits a homerun and I don’t see it because I’m waiting for my hot dog, does it really happen?”

Top of the 5th

Midway through the game, a thought occurs: Why not let Ziegler hit? 

Bottom of the 5th

The Angels are leading the Yankees 97-0, and my faith in the basic goodness of mankind and cosmic justice is taking a real hit.

Travis Buck looks glum.  I know just how he feels.

Top of the 6th

My spirits are lifted by probably the greatest double play I have ever seen.  One out, man on first – Tony Gwynn Jr. (!!) clocks in with a base hit to left, base runner going on the pitch.  Murton fields and responds to a wide turn at first with a throw to Barton, getting Gwynn in a pickle between Barton and Murphy at second.  Runner Ozzie Chavez starts heading from third to home, leading Barton to interrupt the pickle with a throw to Petit at third, getting Chavez into a pickle of his own. Catcher Justin Knoedler tags out Chavez, and, spying Gwynn now trying to capitalize on the chaos and make it to third, flings it to Barton, who covers third in time to beat Gwynn to the bag.  Jack Cust is granted super powers by a magical genie.  Torii Hunter is arrested for murder.  Barry Zito remembers how to pitch.  Osama bin Laden is discovered in Hank Steinbrenner’s midtown loft.  Scientists find that mozzarella sticks make you more attractive.  Inning over.

That was awesome.

Bottom of the 6th

More local radio thoughts (sorry, but listening to sports radio in the car has been my only release this week.  Except for stop lights, when I studied Wills & Trusts, and slower traffic jams, which were Remedies Law.  People who haven’t taken the Bar Exam think I’m joking).

Anyway, my question is this: is Ralph Barbieri actually on the air twenty-four hours a day, or does it just seem that way?  Not that I’m complaining – I like him.  I am enchanted by the lilting, pixie-like intonations of his voice.

Top of the 7th

Now pitching for the Sacramento Rivercats: Chris Farley.  He lives!!

Top of the 8th

Barton just took a grounder and threw out the runner at second heading to third.  I understand that I’m looking at an insanely small sample size here, so I’ll hedge my comments accordingly: Daric Barton is not only ready to return to the Major League roster, but he’s ready to become the greatest first baseman alive and the first man ever enshrined in the Hall of Fame while still an active player.  There.  How was that?

Bottom of the 8th

Breaking news: Chris Farley has been demoted to the Midland Rockhounds.  First person to work “Midland” or “Rockhounds” into a “van down by the river” joke gets a prize.

In other news, Gio is back to coaching first, and he’s cold.  Would anyone judge me if I rushed the field to lovingly drape my sweater around his shoulders?  I think not.

Bottom of the 9th

Final Score – Nashville 4, Sacramento 2

So what else is new?

Post-Game

“This Manny to the Dodgers thing, I tell ya – it’s like at the end of Predator 2, with all those Predators invading Los Angeles.”

Local radio is awesome.

It’s the dawn of a New Era in Oakland. 

Specifically, it’s the dawn of a very, very sucky era.  Hopes for the future notwithstanding, the remainder of the 2008 season does not look to be a particularly enjoyable experience for anyone with an Athletics affinity and an unfortunate lack of masochistic tendencies.

But never fear!  Every cloud has a silver lining!  Behind every cloud there lurks a rainbow! . . .  While I can’t think of any more, there are almost certainly several additional cloud-based metaphors out there that would make us feel better about rooting for a AAA team somehow snuck into Major League contention!

Specifically, I have eight silver linings/rainbows/unmemorable cloud-related literary tropes to illustrate why the last few months of the 2008 season will be, if not successful, at least kinda fun:

1) The entry of Alan Embree into the game is now less of a punch in the gut and more of a post-modern conceptual art piece – The Reliever Who Wasn’t.  Heck, I’m rooting for All Embree, All the Time, just to see what kind of damage he can do without the burden of expectations.  Give up consecutive homeruns to every member of the opposing team’s lineup?  Bring down a passing airplane with a wild pitch? Rip off his mask to reveal that he was secretly Arthur Rhodes the entire time?  Anything can happen.

2) This new era means rooting for Huston Street on a whole different level.  I cheer for his every strikeout, not because it signifies one more out en route to an Oakland win, but rather as one step closer to some poor team taking him off our hands via trade.  I cheer every save as another meaningless stat padding Huston’s resume for any passing GM with a hole in his bullpen and too many power-hitting corner infielders clogging up his farm system.  I encourage all of us to do the same.  A prize to the first A’s fan to bring a sign to opposing stadiums proclaiming “STREET!  THE PERFECT FIT FOR A CONTENDING TEAM!” or “STREET!  HE MAY JUST BE YOUR MISSING PUZZLE PIECE!” or “IS HUSTON STREET WORTH ONE OR TWO OF YOUR MORE VALUABLE PROSPECTS?  BELIEVE ME, HE IS!!!”  An extra prize for anyone who can work one of the prior slogans into a catchy chant.      

3) Conversely, it’s time to root for Duchscherer to go straight into the crapper.

4) I, for one, welcome an era in which we no longer have to keep a constant vigil on the Anaheim score.  It’s exhausting enough keeping track of one game per day – expecting a fan to live and die by every pitch in two games daily is cruel and unusual.  I look forward to the Angels not even passing my mind until the inevitable day that Garret Anderson’s exploding kneecap makes the Sportscenter Top 10. 

5) Jack Cust is the marvel of the age: a man who manages to OPS+ 122 while striking out 5 to 7 times a game.  Some say that’s impossible.  Others say it is possible, as evidenced by the fact that it is in fact happening.  Still others say it’s very possible, just made slightly less impressive when considering his actual strikeout numbers and not the ones I just made up.  Whatever the numbers say, he unquestionably proves, once and for all, that Moneyball doesn’t work.    

6) Sometimes Carlos Gonzalez hits homeruns.  It doesn’t happen all that often, but it makes you feel all sunny inside when it does, doesn’t it?

7) It was shaky there for a while, early in the season, but don’t worry: it’s still okay to hate Bobby Crosby.

8 ) A season of mediocrity gives us our first big chance to turn Michael Inoa into The Great Pumpkin: a supernatural, possibly-fictional savior whose velocity and pinpoint control will solve all our problems and make life worth living again.  I foresee at least three or four seasons in which all of us can be Linus sitting in the pumpkin patch on Halloween, telling our respective Sallies about how while He didn’t come last year or the year before, The Great Pumpkin is sure to arrive any minute to pass out toys to all the good little children and lead Oakland into postseason glory.

Am I the only one who thinks that sounds like fun?      

In one of the more surreal developments of my week, Jose Canseco got smoked by Vai Sikahema in Atlantic City last Sunday:

http://www.pressofatlanticcity.com/126/story/204427.html

Or, for the more visually inclined among us:

There are several things about this that make me happy:

1) When Canseco made this challenge, I’m willing to bet he was expecting Will Ferrel to step up.  Or perhaps Keifer Sutherland.  (Or perhaps, in his dream of dreams, Mark McGwire!!!)  Instead, he got former Philadelphia kick-returner and current sportscaster Vai Sikahema, who is a delightful combination of “Fantastically Uber-Nice Super-Cool Mormon Guy” and “Guy Who Could Rip Off Your Head Without Breaking a Sweat and Then Toss the Severed Head to Your Children in the Front Row, Chuckling.”  That’s awesome.

2) Sikahema came to the ring with fire dancers.  That is spectacularly awesome, approaching Samoa Joe-like territory.

3) Sikahema fought bare-chested, while Canseco did not, suggesting that the good juice is a little bit out of Jose’s price range these days.  (Before I saw the video, my first thought was that Canseco had fought wearing like a Long Beach Armade jersey or something.  That would have been all kinds of sweet.)

4) Surprise of the day: Jose Canseco has a “martial arts background.”  I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that Jose’s martial arts background is very similar to mine, in that it consists primarily of two months of Taekwondo as an 8 year-old and several viewings of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles film series.

5) Canseco had seven inches  and an undisclosed number of pounds on Sikahema, and yet didn’t manage to last a round with Li’l Vai.  My old Bash Brothers poster is looking less and less cool.

5) According to his Wikipedia page, Napoleon Dynamite is Sikahema’s nephew by marriage.  I’m smelling sequel here. 

-          When I heard about the Mulder trade, I put my fist in a wall.  When I heard about the Haren trade, I ran a school bus full of orphans off a cliffside road. When I heard about the Swisher trade, I halted AIDS research and declared war on several small, indefensible countries.  But when I heard about the Harden trade, I merely set fire to a weeping willow and punched a nun in the gut.  So it’s nice to know the trend is slowly reversing.

-         Thing That I Expected to Hear in Billy’s Pre-Game Interview on Tuesday But Unfortunately Did Not #1 – “Have you seen Harden’s arm?  It’s falling off!  And I mean that.  Two wispy fragments of blood-encrusted tendon are literally all that’s keeping his right arm attached to his shoulder.  I was kind of surprised the Cubs didn’t ask for a physical or something, but hey – caveat emptor.”

-          Has it occurred to anyone that maybe Eric Patterson is an extraordinarily good, supernally talented even, left wing, or striker, or goalie or something?  Boy, that’d make us all feel pretty dumb.

-         Thing That I Expected to Hear in Billy’s Pre-Game Interview on Tuesday But Unfortunately Did Not #2 – “Stars?!!  Who needs stars?!!  I’m the only star this team needs!! Me!!  Me!!! MEEEEE!!!!!!!!(crashing sounds as Billy chugs straight from a bottle of Johnnie Walker before breaking it over Ray Fosse’s head)”

-         Hey, more weak-hitting outfielders . . .  awesome.

-         Thing That I Did Not Expect to Hear in Billy’s Pre-Game Interview on Tuesday But Unfortunately Did #1 – “We needed to be younger.”  (And yes, this was the 2008 Oakland Athletics he was talking about.  And yes, Huston Streetwill be traded for two infants and a fetus with a surprisingly high OBP sometime in the next week.)

-      Thing That I Did Not Expect to Hear in Billy’s Pre-Game Interview on Tuesday But Unfortunately Did #2 – “Jemile Weeks reminds me a lot of a young Ray Durham.”  (While I am not the general manager of a major league baseball team and lack many of the skills and abilities that would be required of such a position, I feel that I know enough to distinguish between things that will comfort one’s fanbase the day of a potentially-devastating trade and things that will not.  This, Mr. Beane, will not.)

-          Hey, Dallas Braden . . . awesome.

-          If you’re feeling down about this trade, and perhaps wondering if there can be anyone who suffers as you do, just think of poor Joe Blanton, who has been hiding in a supply closet somewhere in the locker room area since the seventh inning of Wednesday’s game.  (He’s hoping Billy will forget he’s there.)

-          Thing That I Expected to Hear in Billy’s Pre-Game Interview on Tuesday But Unfortunately Did Not #3 – “Sure, Harden’s great, but Sean Gallagher may just be Roger Clemens, Bob Gibson and Cy Young rolled into one.  Plus Winston Churchill.  And Gandhi.  With a little Han Solo thrown into the mix.”

-          I would have felt much better about this trade had I not seen Jim Hendry and Lou Piniella on ESPN pouring champagne over themselves while running bare-chested through the streets of Chicago screaming “Wooooooo!!!!!!!!” some three and a half minutes after the trade was announced.  It just gave me a bad feeling.

-          Thing That I Expected to Hear in Billy’s Pre-Game Interview on Tuesday But Unfortunately Did Not #4 – Virtually anything that would have satisfactorily explained to me why he was willing to give away the most dominant Oakland pitcher of my lifetime for $23.50 and some Pop Rocks.                                                                  

-          Did I just write 600 words about this trade without mentioning Chad Gaudin once? Yes.  Yes I did.                                                      

This has not been one of my better summers.  When the Maleficent Gods of Lousy Summers were doling out their wrath in my general direction, they decided that it wasn’t enough that I’d spend it studying for the California Bar Exam (Motto: “What the Crap is a Vested Remainder Interest Subject to Condition Subsequent?  Seriously, what the crap?”), but instead decided that I should do that studying smack dab in the middle of Utah (Motto: “If You Don’t Know What it Means, it’s Probably Profanity”) with no cable, no wireless Internet, and virtually no Major League Baseball in any form.

But a little light shone my way this weekend.  On our anniversary last month, my wife handed me a lace-trimmed card with tickets for us to see the Salt Lake Bees take on the Sacramento Rivercats on the evening of June 21st (moments such as these make me fall in love all over again).  Here’s my report.

Pre-Game

Surprisingly large crowd for a minor league game.  Perhaps Utahns really do care about baseball, I think to myself.  Perhaps I have judged them too harshly. 

On the other hand, I waver, this may just be the only place in Salt Lake City that serves alcohol. 

Yeah, that’s probably it.

Bottom of the 1st – Salt Lake 0, Sacramento 0

I hadn’t expected to recognize anyone, what with 90% of the Rivercats pre-season roster currently starting for the big league club, but lo and behold if it isn’t “Mr. 4 2/3” Lenny DiNardo starting for Sacramento.  Apparently all those reports of his skull serving as a paperweight on Billy Beane’s desk were just vicious rumors.

Still Bottom of the 1st – Salt Lake 3, Sacramento 0

My peripheral vision catches a flash of curly hair.  I glance to the left and spy Dallas Braden sitting in the next section over next to a guy with a large notepad and a radar gun.  My palms sweat.  Dare I approach him?  This is just like 1988 all over again, except that I’m not seven, and he’s not Dave Stewart. 

Bottom of the 2nd – Salt Lake 3, Sacramento 0

Bye bye, Lenny.

(On a “Behind the Scenes” type of note, my notes on the subject read simply “DiNardo – alive?”  I don’t know why I bothered writing anything else.)

Top of the 3rd – Salt Lake 3, Sacramento 1

My father, who apparently feels more comfortable talking to Triple-A pitching prospects than I do, just had a nice discussion over the bullpen fence with Gio Gonzalez concerning Travis Buck.  Buck isn’t in the lineup tonight because he suffered a concussion after slamming his head into a chain link fence going after a fly ball.  “But the important thing” says Gio, “is that he held onto the ball.”  My father couldn’t agree more.

By the way, my new favorite Rivercat is first baseman Casey Rogowski.  He does nothing of note tonight, but looks suspiciously like a cross between Jason Giambi and Satan.  Barton beware!

Bottom of the 3rd – Salt Lake 3, Sacramento 1

The mysteriously large crowd is explained by the triumphant arrival of the San Diego Chicken in all his glory. (The billboard on the freeway reads “June 21st – Famous Chicken.”  I had wondered where my free bowl of fried chicken was.)  He dances.  He prances.  He puts a bad juju on the Rivercats.  He pulls distracting posters of fat women in bikinis out of his tail.  He pretends to pee on the umpire.  Oh, that Chicken.  He’s still got it.

Top of the 4th – Salt Lake 3, Sacramento 1

I note that the foul poles here at Franklin Covey Stadium proudly read “Burton Bumbler” in large vertical print.  This has to be the second dumbest name for a mascot ever (just behind “Steely McBeam,” but a notch ahead of “Stomper”).

Bottom of the 4th – Salt Lake 4, Sacramento 1

Over the XM Radio perched in my left ear I hear Ken Korach talking about his hopes that Travis Buck will “find his stroke” down in Sacramento.  Surprisingly he says nothing about Buck finding his missing skull fragments.

Upon further review, the foul poles actually say “Burton Lumber.”  It seems unlikely that this refers to the Bees mascot.  Sorry ‘bout that one.  My bad.

Top of the 5th – Salt Lake 4, Sacramento 3

Just as I thought we were about to get a solid mascot fight, the Chicken kisses the Bees mascot (NOT named “Burton Bumbler”) full on the lips.  The Bee is not seen for the remainder of the evening.  ‘Cause really, how do you top that?

Bottom of the 5th – Salt Lake 11, Sacramento 3

Tonight’s theme of “Pitching That Seemed Like a Good Idea in 2007” continues, as Jay Marshall takes the mound and gives up seven runs in 1/3 innings.  I’d say that this proves once and for all that Moneyball doesn’t work.

My younger brother strolls into our section with his friends, fresh off a three and a half hour drive from his undergraduate studies in Rexburg, Idaho (Motto: The Only Place on Earth That Makes Salt Lake Seem Like a Really Fun Idea), and distracts me from the bloodshed with a brief discussion of sixteen year-old Michael Inoa and his likely four million dollar signing bonus.  I am shocked, but only until I remember that four million dollar signing bonus I got for the paper route I had when I was sixteen.

The PA system blares the Village People’s “YMCA” during a pitching change.  Dallas Braden is not doing the dance.

Top of the 6th – Salt Lake 11, Sacramento 4

This inning’s entertainment?  Angry Mascot Dance-Off between the Chicken and Barney the Dinosaur with Hammer’s “2 Legit 2 Quit” blaring over the loudspeakers.  Minor league baseball is awesome.           

Bottom of the 6th – Salt Lake 12, Sacramento 4

I debate various icebreakers I could use with Dallas Braden that wouldn’t end with me getting punched in the face.  “So, how come you’re in Sacramento now?”  No.  “So, you think any of these guys will make the big league club before you do?”  No.  “Hey Dallas, Embree just gave up another bomb – maybe you’ve still got a shot at this season”?  No.  “Hey Dallas, thanks for effing up my fantasy team”?  No.  “Dallas, did you get a haircut?”  Maybe. 

Top of the 8th – Salt Lake 312, Sacramento 3

Landon Powell cracks a four-bagger, a real moon shot impressive enough to make my wife momentarily glance upward from her reading of volume 3 of the Twilight series. He truly is a sight to behold.  Intimidating glare, rocket arm, colossal swing – the whole package.  So it’s all the more surprising when I distinctly see a single tear roll down his cheek as he crosses home plate.  I’m confused, until I hear Ken Korach tell me that Kurt Suzuki has just picked up his seventh RBI of the series.  I’m sorry, Landon.  I’m so sorry.

Bottom of the 8th – Salt Lake 3,276, Sacramento 1

My moment arrives:

ME: Hey, who’s this guy you’ve got on the mound?

DALLAS BRADEN: Knoedler.  He’s our backup catcher.

ME: (chuckling softly, pretty sure that was a joke) He throws some serious heat.

DALLAS BRADEN: He was throwing 95 in high school.  He just had no control over when it ended up.

ME: Sweet.  I’ve never even heard of the guy before.

DALLAS BRADEN: Yeah, he came out of nowhere, and now he’s better than all of us.

ME: (unable to think of any relevant response that won’t get me punched in the face) Later!

Top of the 9th – Salt Lake 112,423, Sacramento .5

I’m enjoying myself tremendously, but there’s something very depressing about watching the Rivercats in action.  You get the sense that every single player on the team is well aware that the average age of their big league counterparts is somewhere between 22 and 14 and making $8.75 an hour, and that their moment in the sun just isn’t coming absent a shrewd trade or a particular Oakland Athletic falling in the crapper.  I’ve already mentioned Powell.  Cliff Pennington is batting over .300, but I can’t see him replacing King Ellis anytime soon.  Ditto for Gary’s son Joe Gaetti and the eleven outfielders ahead of him. And Casey Rogowski knows all too well that Lucifer the Lord of Darkness isn’t going anywhere soon.

Final – Salt Lake “Number too high to be calculated by anyone other than a highly-trained theoretical physicist”, Sacramento “That same number with a negative sign in front of it”

Is there any way to blame this on Dan Uggla?

The last few weeks have been a ride on the Oakland baseball equivalent of Space Mountain – a bunch of ups, a lot of downs, no one has any idea where we’re going next and the six year-old sitting behind me won’t stop screaming in my ear. 

So while there’s been a lot of positive coming out of McAfee Coliseum lately, there’s been a big bad pack of negatives as well.  And I don’t like negatives.  So in order to focus on the positives instead, I’ve decided to direct all my negative energy away from the Oakland dugout and toward where it really belongs – the lamest parts of blockbuster Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.  I’ll be pairing each instance of Hollywood suckitude with something good coming out of the Athletics organization – the crappier the movie moment, the better news for A’s fans.

 Refrigerators and atomic warfare, together at last!

Indy escapes a nuclear blast inside of a refrigerator.  I may be nitpicking here.  We respect Dr. Jones precisely because he’s a resourceful guy, and hiding inside a refrigerator (“Lined with Lead!”) may indeed be the best way there is to ride out an A-bomb explosion.  But while the fridge may have protected him from the blast, it should have killed him in the fall.  Indy’s a tough guy, but he’s not the Hulk. This is Oakland pitching throwing together an innings-eater, two finalists from the Mr. DL 2007 Pageant, two rookies and a swiss army knife of bullpen rejects together to form the third-best Team ERA in the league.

I have nothing to say here, other than to point out how happy I was to find these pictures.

Shia goes swinging with the monkeys.  From the parade of lameness that didn’t quite manage to crack the list, you’ll find “Indy has a kid” and “Indy’s kid is Shia LaBeouf” in prominent places.  Still, I was able to accept both of those in waves of understanding that just couldn’t wash up upon Shia hopping a vine and outpacing the Soviet jeeps by going all Tarzan in the midst of the most mediocre CGI you’ll find this side of Jar Jar Binks.  Harrison Ford has earned my trust to the point where I would probably buy him pulling off this kind of crap; Shia has not.  Dumb. This is the Haren trade (which I virtually blasted into nonexistence by the sheer force of my rage just a few months ago) pretty much saving the season thus far – two pitchers that would be welcome on any starting staff in baseball and a five-tool center fielder already on the starting roster, with another three quality cogs still in the Minor League System.  I’m an idiot. 

Any resemblance is purely coincidental.  Or is it?

The alien.  Y’know, I was okay with the movie starting off in Area 51.  I had no problem when alien skulls started popping up everywhere.  I was even cautiously optimistic when we some full-body alien skeletons made an appearance.  But when an actual alien in the gray-headed squinty-eyed flesh beamed itself down to get into a staring contest resulting in Cate Blanchett’s head popping like a cherry bomb flushed down a toilet?  That was too much, Mr. Spielberg.  You have failed me again.  This is Carlos Gonzalez. Three games, four doubles, a .727 slugging percentage, wide-ranging defense and a whole lotta hope.  He is now what Daric Barton was at the beginning of the season. Stay gold, Carlos.  Stay gold. 

Spielberg or Beane - who’s better at his job?  Beane never would have polished off the Indy series in a bowtie, but Spielberg is worth roughly 80 bajillion dollars.  Discuss.

The wedding.  Okay, Indy deserves to be happy.  He deserves to fall in love.  He can even settle down if he wants to.  But ending the Indiana Jones series – the most action-riddled, testosterone-laced action series of all time with a wedding?  With Indy wearing a bowtie??!!!  That’s just wrong.  This is the unprecedented depth of talent with which the Oakland organization is suddenly awash.  At last count, there were five guys competing for time at DH, nineteen outfielders, thirty-seven starting pitchers and bullpen candidates exceeding the population of several small island nations.  Guys are being banished to the disabled list at the first twinge of pain simply to free up roster space (leading to historic firsts such as Ryan Sweeney being placed on the DL for, I believe, a “stuffed-up nose”).  Chris Denorfia has been locked in a storage closet since mid-April.  It’s an embarrassment of riches, and as happy as it’s making me right now, I’m positively giddy at the thought of 2009-12.  Oakland could be looking at a dynasty to exceed all but the most transcendent of Hollywood action series.  Your move, Mr. Spielberg. 

Just for the record, I liked the movie.  A lot.

Three hours to gametime

The Athletics are playing the first of a four-game series tonight in Anaheim, some 45 minutes from my apartment.  Inexplicably, the UCLA School of Law has chosen to schedule their final exams for this week as well.  I am in conflict.

Not really.  Law school exams can suck eggs, says I.  I’m going to the game.

Two hours to gametime

The A’s fan standing next to me tells me that Zito just got moved to the bullpen.  A little part of me dies.

Ninety minutes to gametime

Mike Sweeney rips a ground ball down into foul territory, which Rich Harden casually deflects by kicking into the stands.  To my shock, he does not shatter every bone in his foot upon doing so.  Perhaps it is a magic ball.

I pocket the ball and instruct Rich to return to his protective casing of bubble wrap back in the dugout.

Sixty minutes to gametime

Joe Blanton is apparently too good to sign my hat.  That, or he heard about me enthusiastically endorsing his potential trade to the Reds from a few weeks back.  I apologize, but Joe is unmoved.

Thirty minutes to gametime

Santiago Casilla signs my ball.  “Gracias por todo lo que hace,” I tell him.  “Es usted invincible.”  He seems touched.  Joe Blanton sneers.

1st Inning

My intimations that I am now in possession of a magic ball gain support as Frank Thomas legs out a triple on a fly ball to right, driving in Oakland’s first run of the night.  I am astounded, not merely by the triple, but by the realization that I actually find it more painful to watch Vladimir Guerrero run for a fly ball than it is to watch Frank run all the way from home to third.

3rd Inning

Daric Barton at bat with two men on.  I grip the magic ball tightly and envision a base hit finding the gap between center and right.  Barton hits a three-run bomb into the right field stands.  It is not for me to command the ball, I realize.

I call my father and brothers in the Bay Area to celebrate the home run, only to find that they missed it in favor of watching the end of the Hawks-Celtics upset.  I scream at them viciously for ten minutes.  They should know better.

6th Inning

Jack Hannahan’s homerun prompts a profanity-laced tirade against Jon Garland by the drunken Angels fan sitting next to me.  “This is pathetic!” he raves in his most genteel moment.  “Not one of these guys is hitting .300!”  I consider telling him about the magic ball, but decide against it.

7th Inning

The world ends.

Frank is pulled for a pinch runner following his double, and I immediately worry that he has resigned from the team, claiming that he has already earned his major league minimum salary for the year.  He would be fully justified in doing so.

Chris Bootcheck leaves too, walking off the field with a 37.80 ERA (down from his high of 43.00 earlier in the inning).  In related news, Rajai Davis is hitting .500.  I think this proves once and for all that Moneyball doesn’t work.

I use the 7th inning stretch to explain the magic ball to the elderly woman keeping a box score next to me.  She is not amused.

Hey, where’s the Rally Monkey?

8th Inning

Note to Angel Stadium administrators – don’t use the Jumbotron to display random selections of your fans in the 8th inning of a twelve-run blowout – everyone just looks depressed.  Except for little kids, who are always happy.  And those two guys grinding on each other to Jennifer Lopez’s “Let’s Get Loud,” who, apparently, are also always happy.

9th Inning

I’ll say this for Angels fans: their team may be down by twelve runs, and there may be only about a third of them left in the stadium, and they may be paying $120 million to come in second to a rebuilding team, but they just cheered for Bobby Wilson’s first major league hit like it won Game 7 of the World Series.  They got spunk.

Five minutes after the game

#8 on the list of Best Baseball Fan Moments: High-fiving complete strangers in an opposing team’s stadium.

#112,476 on the list of Best Baseball Fan Moments: Watching opposing fans high-five each other in your stadium after your team gets blown out by twelve runs.

Maybe they should let the Rally Monkey pitch.

Twenty minutes after the game

I find that I have serendipitously parked next to baseballgirl in the seedy, cut rate parking lot across the street.  I say hello and tell her about the magic ball.  I think she’s impressed.                      

-          Here we are, ten games into the season and my excitement for the remaining 152 has yet to be extinguished.  I’d say that’s enough to give this season an “E” for “Exceeds Expectations.” 

-          Let me be the first one (somewhat inaccurately) to welcome Dana Eveland and Greg Smith to the pitching panacea that is Oakland A’s baseball.  I am mildly concerned that they’re merely benefiting from their opponents’ bout of Who-the-Crap-is-This-Guy-?-Syndrome, soon to be cured by word-of-mouth and periodic injections of videotape, but let’s enjoy it while it lasts.   

-          Man, Toronto fans boo EVERYTHING.

-          Damn you, Rich Harden.  Damn you for pitching well.  Damn you for beating the Red Sox.  Damn your 0.82 ERA.  Damn you for giving me hope for two games before taking it all away again.  Damn you to Hell.  (sniff)  Damn you for making me love you again. 

-          I like Mike Sweeney.  He’s old, he’s tough, he’s experienced, he’s wise, he marks the path for the rest of the team – he’s basically Jack Palance from City Slickers. So he’ll probably be dead by August.  Oh well.

-          The A’s currently have more wins than the San Jose Earthquakes.  I’d say this proves once and for all that Moneyball doesn’t work.

-          I currently trust our 2003 closer more than our 2008 closer.  Those may be the saddest words I’ve ever written.

-          Hey, remember the Mulder trade?  The one we didn’t expect to follow the Hudson trade?  Where we all thought we were getting hosed?  But then it turned out that Haren ended up having a better season than Mulder did, meaning that even a one-for-one Mulder-for-Haren trade would have been to our advantage, and Kiko Calero and Daric Barton were just the frosting on top?  Is anyone thinking that Haren for Eveland trade might end up the same way?  Yeah, that’d be sweet.

-          If current trends continue, I may have to write something positive about Bobby Crosby by . . . I’d say July 14th at the latest.  I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

-          I’m probably not allowed to marry Kurt Suzuki.  But pending agency approval, I may be able to adopt him.

-          So, one start and Ducscherer’s on the DL.  That’s not good.  We want the Duke healthy.  So, how can we keep him healthy?  Hmmm . . . hey, how about the putting him in the bullpen?  Think that might work?

-          And finally, I’m proud to introduce . . . the current Oakland batting champion . . . clocking in with a .364 batting average and a truly goliath .500 slugging percentage . . . Ryan Sweeney?  Seriously?  Ryan Sweeney? . . . Man, this team sucks.