O Captain My...WTF??!!

So Bob got picked for the job.

Now I know a lot of you are already kicking and screaming, saying it's ridiculous as well as a cheap ploy by the Vancouver front office to keep Luongo here passed next year when his contract expired. But to all you naysayers. I say this:

They picked the right guy and went to the boards for him.

Initially when I heard the news via a Dice C text, I was just about SYBS (shit your Burrard St) not with outrage but with complete shock. How would this work? I thought it was out and out banned by the league. I raced home and read many on line punditions venomous reactions.

"How will he take faceoffs?"

"Won't he get tired skating back and forth from the crease to argue calls with the refs?"

"Isn't this just cheap Vancouver hucksterism?"

While some of the logistical concerns were valid, I harkened back to some words that Ronnie Bigtime echoed a few weeks earlier regarding the Canucks and the prospective new captain.

"You know what you can put in your blog? They're all a bunch of bums and none of them deserve to wear the "C". They should give it to Luongo."

Which was announced during a time when we were all admittedly a tad downbeat on the squad's chances this year. But after some encouraging preseason play he, as well as the rest of us, have softened our stance as to the futility of the 08/09 campaign. Nonetheless, Bigtime did have a point. There was no clear cut captain.

Mitchell? Possibly, he has heart. Salo? Many years of service. Kesler? He's emerging. (Oh for fuck's sakes...he's been emerging every year. If he doesn't become Joe Thornton or Vinny Lecavalier this year, ship him out already.) No one seemed to stand out. Except of course, Luongo, who's only hinderance was his position.

If he weren't a goalie there would be no debate as to his captaincy. He leads by example and he commands the respect of everyone not only in the dressing room, but pretty much in the entire lower mainland and province. His skill, work ethic and desire to win are of the highest calibre. He has literally carried the team on his shoulders game in and game out for the last two seasons. Case closed as far as I'm concerned. And as far the Canucks front office is concerned. By selecting Luongo to be captain, they are:

1. Not fucking around. Which is what we need. Who's the best guy on the ice night in and night out? That guy. Who then should be the captain? That guy. Who backs this kind of bold decision making? This guy.

2. Erasing doubt. Believe it or not, I liked Naslund and would have been happy to have him as the "C" for another year. However, obviously there were many that did not and probably some of them were in the Canucks locker room. What Canucks player now can look at Bob and not follow him into battle? Christ, he might as airbrush William Wallace on his goalie mask.

3. Committing to him by going to the wall for him. If you test league rules to name the first goalie captain since 1948, you must really believe in what you're doing. Don't let the nays sway you. This is not last ditch effort to get him to sign an extension. The organization wants to win. Luongo wants to win. The entire fucking mainland wants to win. Does this move ultimately help our team win? Of course it does. Because the team did what it took to make sure the right guy was recognized.

Now while there will be much debate over the logistics, and workability of this situation, and yes while he can't take face offs from the Queen, let's just take a second and stop and picture this future scenario:

Canucks Captain, Roberto Luongo ,skating over to the trophy table, accepting the cup from Bettman and company, and hoisting.

I can live with that.




Not only does he turn away pucks. He turns away doubt.

Don't Stop Believin'

Well cue up Steve Perry and call me 2005, but the White Sox won their make up game today against the Tigers. Thus forcing a one game playoff against the Twins tomorrow to decide the AL Central. Super Rookie, Alexei Ramirez, hit his fourth slam of the year setting an MLB rookie record. I didn't even think it was possible to hit four slams in an entire career, but seeing as the entire universe is willing an all Chicago World Series, it seems to fit right in.

So with a windy World Series mind, let's revisit one of the most ridiculous duets in the history of rock, namley Steve Perry and A.J. Pierzynski and hope to God that we never have to witness another one like it again.

Sunday Static

Disaster!

The last day and quite possibly most important day of the MLB regular season and not one game on the telly. I'm sitting here ready to go on my couch, sporting a perfect post karaoke Sunday hangover, coffee in hand and n'ary an inning of anything to be found anywhere.

Instead of seeing see CC pitch Milwaukee into the post season I've got a Favre-less Green Bay vs Gruden and Tampa Bay.

Instead of seeing a CC-less Cleveland try and keep the Chi Sox away from the Central Crown, I've got a CFL half time panel use trite hockey analogies in describing the Sasky/Montreal match.

Instead of looking at lower mainland hero, Justin Morneau and the Minnesota Twins try and clinch in Kansas Sportsnet is presenting a very riveting round of competitive darts.

Instead of watching the Mets try to win their final game ever played at Shea, a game that will keep their playoff hopes alive, I've got Howie at halftime cracking wise with Bradshaw and the gang.

And even instead of the final Jays game of the year, a contest in Camden, the credits of "The Natural" rolling...

I would love to see the final week of the NFL upstaged by big league lacrosse and see what happens.

Sheets The Bed

Ahhhh the NL....

The league where teams just a shade over .500 can make the playoffs, and where the Wild Card is determined not by the team that amps it up to play their September best, but by the team doesn't shit the bed worse than the other.

This year's contestants sit in the line up in between Benicio Del Toro, and Gabriel Byrne, trying to trump last year's late season catastrophes.

1. The Mets. After dropping a 7 game div lead last September the Mets find themselves in a similar sitch again this year. Abdicating the East lead to Philly for the second year in a row (although not as stupendous as a 7 game meltdown) the Mets now face the daunting task of not out sucking the Brewers in hopes of "clinching" the Wild Card. As it stands today, they have won their game and sit a half game behind the Brew Crew with one game remaining.

2. The Brewers. Trying to out shit last year's Mets, this year's Brewers are building upon their own Wild Card washout of 2007 by erasing a 5 1/2 game WC lead held on September 1, 2008. They are currently playing the Cubs "B" squad (as Chicago skip, Lou Pinella, is resting some of his lads for the DS) and are getting no hit by Cubs hurler, Ted Lilly. Brewers ace (and Maniwaki Fantasy Team #2 starter) Ben Sheets, got chased out of this all important game in the top of the third as he allowed four runs on five hits. When they inevitably lose this contest they will sit tied with the Mets, with one game to play.

So while the Brewers are definitely out shitting the Mets today, the true test for both squads will come tomorrow, as they both will require a win to advance. We all know what will happen however:

Both squads will lose their respective games tomorrow and hence have to face each other in a one game shit off on Monday at Shea. The loser having to take the entire soiled bed, sheets, and pillow cases to sleep in for the entire off season.

The Skies Have Fallen

Perhaps it is fitting that it was ushered in in a torrential rain of near hurricane proportions. But I never, ever, thought I'd utter these next words in my lifetime.

American League East Champions, The Tampa Bay Rays.

What?

There And Back Again - The Park Pt 2.

Walking into Fenway was like walking into the front page of an old newspaper. The bustle of activity seemed even more immediate due to the low ceilings and brownstone interior walls of the venue. Signs of all sorts, with turn of the century text, hung from the walls pointing ball fans as to where to find seats, suds and souvenirs. I fully expected to come across some Vaudevillian huckster wearing a derby, who would try to cajole me into buying some hair tonic or get me to try my hand at some game of chance.

We made our way to the second level and circled around the concourse. Stopping to take a look outside of a window, I was shocked to see how close to street level we were. I could practically shake hands with the fellows out on Yawkey Way. Fenway looks so massive on TV, especially with the Monster, and while I'd always heard about how compact the place actually is, it didn't really resonate until right then.

While Yankee Stadium was built to be a modern day Roman Colosseum, Fenway was built to be a very grandiose park. At Yankee Stadium, you'd almost expect Maximus Decimus Meridius to appear on the field in the eighth and slay Roman chariot drivers, at Fenway, you wouldn't be surprised to see President Taft entertaining some foreign dignitary in a rousing lawn bowling match out by the bullpen. Definitely different buildings, definitely built in different times, and definitely occupying different locales.

We continued our tour, which of course would not be complete without a hike up the steps to the Green Monster. The section has had seating in it for a while and was off limits without a ticket, but the friendly Fenway staff did allow for a quick view. Which was pretty much all we needed as we looked from the top of the Monster over and out onto the field. Talk about Field of Dreams. I mean the White Sox might as well as had Ray Liotta in the lineup tonight. A late inning appearance on the hill was certainly not out of the question.

It was time for ale and eats so we walked back down to our section and scouted out some beers and dogs. The Chicago lineup was being read over the PA and as any blue collar ball fan should do we let out a huge BOO when AJ Pierzynski was announced as the starting catcher. Hell, we delivered it with such gusto that even some of the Fenway locals were taken aback which confirmed me that it was the right thing to do.

Found the seats and hunkered down, they were a right along the concourse underneath one of the decks. An iron pillar stood a row up and seat over from me and I had just enough of a view of the mound and the catcher. It was perfect. You couldn't see the Jumbotron or the press box at all and were totally covered in case the elements kicked up a fuss. The best part was that the only way to be able to get the official tally was to check out the left field scoreboard which is still changed by hand. This is definitely where Joe Common would've taken off his tweed and sat to enjoy nine innings way back when.

We stood as it was time for the National Anthem. Game time was here. Dice was originally supposed to pitch but got yanked for some reason so we got to witness the debut of Michael Bowden, recently called up from Triple A Pawtucket. Nerves were getting the best of the lad in the early innings as the Skip relayed to the very Bostonian father sitting next to us. A nice but very stern looking gent, who had a crew cut and wore a fire fighter's t-shirt. He had brought his family which included two young lads sporting the same crew cuts as their dad. It was pure blue collar Beantown. The Skip and him both agreed that Bowden was overthrowing and needed to cool it. I mean, who was going to sit on the other side of us? Sam Malone?

Jason Bay came up and cracked a ground rule double that bounced down the right field line and into the screaming Nation. We stood and applauded as well, and sang, "Oh Canada." How could you not?

When Pedroia came up you'd think Stephen Tyler had entered onto center field to sing "Walk This Way." The place was electric. Signs were waving all around Fenway that petioned for Pedroia as MVP as the crowd chanted M-V-P! in support. He of course responded by going 4 for 4 over the course of the afternoon, crossing the plate twice.

As for myself, keeping in form with missing key plays during the trip(as I missed Dusty's slam at The Stadium) I exited to get refills, whilst Jason Bay just about made a bizarre kick save catch out in left. Didn't snag it but it looked like something Gerry Cheevers would've snared in his playing days at Boston Garden.

After the inevitable Red Sox run, 8 runs on 15 total hits, the result was the same as the three other contests I'd witnessed live this season. Yet another red rout. This one ending 8-2 for the Sox from Boston.

Having witnessed this squad play on two coasts this season, it has become apparent that the balance of power in the AL has shifted drastically. The Red Sox, for all intents and purposes are the new Yankees. Like it or not. They walk into stadiums all over the MLB map, out playing AL squads and sometimes even outnumbering and out cheering the hometown fans.

They get it done with veterans. They get it done with rookies. With Manny or without Manny, they bash their way to through the League as if they're Cam Neely or Bobby Orr muscling their way through the ice. With a recently clinched fifth play off berth in six years, as well as two World Series titles thrown in, these Red Sox have gone from perennial underdog to post season favourites.

And it was never more evident than witnessing them play in their own house. As Hideki Okijima whiffed Griffey to end the game, the crowd lost it once again. The "Pedroia for MVP" signs waved furiously. The Dropkick Murphy's version of "Tess" blared over the sound system as if to cue the ending credits to our epic North Easter tour. The Skip and I walked down the aisle to field level to soak in one last time everything that is good about this park, this trip, this match. This Game.

And then made our way up the stairs and out of the park, planning the inevitable next trip.

Once again baseball had come through.

There And Back Again - The Park Pt 1.

So onto Fenway we went.

We had roared through NY and The House That Ruth Built like it was the 20's, but it was time to pull the tent poles on Camp Maniwaki and head up the I 95 North.

After some inevitable shenanigans at the exit 57 McDonald's complex (in which the Skip was alerted to the fact that apparently the dollar menu does not exist on the highway) we navigated our way through many New England states until we landed at Plymouth. The First Mate's folks reside there and were kind enough to put a roof over our heads for the next two nights.

We drank rum whilst recanting our swing through three burrows and all conferred on the First Mate's brush with the highlight reel. Once again the home squad was on the box as Dice K was putting the finishing touches on a Pedroia led 8-0 rout of the Chi Sox. It was obvious what was going on. We went with it.

The next day was the game. We decided to park the car and take the train in. Zipped through Southie and made Goodwill Hunting cracks. Did a spin through town and took in some obligatory tourist attractions. I'll save you the slide show but included in it were Quincy Market, Beacon Hill, the Cheers sign, and a lot of old buildings where a lot of important shit happened.

It was time for baseball.

We figured we'd get to the park early, duck into a bar an have a beer or seven. Wrong. Three hours before the first pitch and the streets were packed. We hadn't hit Fenway yet, but just the walk out of the subway confirmed that baseball in Boston is to be taken a little more seriously. Wall to wall people. And some of them looking like they mean business (ie the scalper with a scar across his face, looking like he's just been released from Oz). Yup, Beantown baseball is blue collar. But that provides the perfect backdrop for what we were about to witness.

The Citgo sign stood before us as a beacon better than any on the hill of the same name. We followed where it was pointing us, and turned the corner.

To behold the grandest of parks ever to hold contests of baseball, the great Fenway Park. It was amazing.

Smaller than imagined, built of brick and iron and sitting there like a friendly grocer, welcoming you to the neighbourhood. Not wanting to appear rude, the Skip and I proceeded towards town square.

The streets were swarming with Red Sox disciples and after a stop to one of the saloons, we decided to do a lap of the grounds. We started at the Cask'n Flagon and walked down Landsdowne along the outside of the park, marvelling at the Monster as we passed underneath.

"This," the Skip proclaimed, "is baseball."

And who could argue? Of course it was. We gazed upon a vista of shops, brick, iron, grandstands, the Green Monster and a Nation of baseball fans. We knocked on the brownstone outer wall just to be sure we were actually actually there. After verification, we continued around the corner where I looked through an open gate.

And got the inaugural glimpse.

It wasn't expected as we still hadn't paid our admission, but it was stellar nonetheless. The field of Fenway unfurled itself as we looked from outside a field level gate. I pretty much felt like a 12 year old in 1915 trying to scrape two nickels together to get inside. So much so that I immediately looked for a chimney to clean as to earn my admission but then snapped back to reality.

To be greeted by Teddy Ballgame.

The Skip and I stopped at the statue of the Red Sox great and paid our respects as fans of The Game. I mean here's a guy that's an eleventeen thousand time All Star, not to mention the last guy to hit over .400 in a single season. If anyone deserves a statue it's him. It was definitely time to stop for a sec.

After wishing Ted a good season in the '09 Afterlife League, we wandered down Van Ness and saw some World Series pennant replicas outside on the wall. 1903, 1912,1915,1916,1918.

Then..., ....,...., ...., and more....,

.... and then 2004 and 2007. To see the drought of droughts displayed like that on the wall of the home park sure drove the message home. Whilst I bitch and moan about the Jays, I've been lucky enough to grow up with October baseball every year and back to back World Series wins. If the Jays never even post a winning season in my lifetime again, I should still die a happy ball fan. While the Red Sox are enjoying and incredible Renaissance right now let's not forget. They have had a lot of tough, tough, miserable, years. With this thought lingering we turned the next corner.

And then entered onto Yawkey Way. Which is probably the happiest street in all of baseball right in this day and age. The turnstiles are set out on Yawkey making it part of the park at game time. As I previously posted, the Skip presented his ticket to the gate keeper and told him that this was his first time to a game at Fenway.
As there are a multitude of responses that would be acceptable in such a scenario, our Fenway friend greeted the Skip in a fashion that was most appropriate for the occasion.

"Welcome aboard."

And through the gates we went.

Tomorrow. More.

And Like That...

...they're gone. It truly is the end of an era as tonight the Red Sox officially eliminated the Yanks tonight from post season play this October. The first time the Bombers haven't draped the bunting since '93.

Cue Verbal Kint limping out of Agent Coulion's office and into the awaiting Beamer. You just know they'll be back soon enough...

For now though the new Yankees of this era, the Boston Red Sox, are due to be placed under the stadium lighting. In the on deck circle is the Mauler is packing the musket, in preparation for the recanting of the rest of the great pilgrimage, "The Landing At Fenway Park."

There And Back Again - The Stadium

Alright it's time.

As the final game ever to be played at Yankee Stadium is tonight, it is time to recant the Skip and I's pilgrimage to the Great Colosseum in the Bronx.

Over the last few years, the we had been throwing ideas around the horn in regards to making a trip down to NY and/or Boston to take in some ball. When this would take place we weren't sure, but after the great debacles of Series gone by (namely the '03 and '04 campaigns of creating Yawkey Way Nord on St. Laurent) we knew at some point a trip to the epicenter was baseball was not only inevitable. It was necessary.

At Christmas we casually discussed the notion over perogies and Kokanees. At the All Star Break it became obvious that this was indeed the time to venture into the Northeast and (once again) be a part of The Game. As Josh Hamilton wowed the world with his first round home run derby display at The Stadium, and as Russell Martin heroically protected the plate inning after inning after inning during the actual game, even the Spouse was was literally pushing me out the door to the travel agent.

"You just have to go," she stated as Hamilton bashed bomb number 21.

And she was right.

So I flew to Montreal at the end of last month and the Skip and I departed the next day. About an hour outside La Ville de Montréal, driving through the Eastern Townships we looked up and saw a jet trail that headed south.

"There," the Skip announced, "is where we're going. NY is where that trail is pointing." The skies were literally directing our way to baseball he contended. Which of course was confirmed as our Great Spiritual Guide swooped over the highway not half an hour later to wish us a safe trip as well as telling us enjoy the two and three baggers that we would soon experience.

We put one finger up on the steering wheel in acknowledgment and zipped through upstate New York. The increasingly visible Yankee fanfare and product displayed at the rest stop we stopped at made it apparent that we were indeed in a new land. As did the accents of the other travellers coupled with the plethora of previously unknown fast food options.

We continued on the interstate to the quaint Nor Eastern town of Mamaroneck, NY where the Skip's old college chum, Pete (who will henceforth be known as The Fan) put us up. We had a stellar din din we retired to the living room where on the tube the Red Sox were playing the Bombers. It was good for baseball. I mean, I would've travelled across the continent and driven down to this neck of the woods just to watch the Red Sox and/or Yanks be the home team on the local cable feed.

We woke up the next day, and hit the town. I'll spare you the slide show, but as it was my first time to NY we hit up a ton of to dos. Along the way we met the Skip's other college pal, Chuck (who will henceforth be referred to as The Chuck) and he played tour guide for much of our to do list. It was most appreciated and before you knew it, it was time to pick up The Fan and take the train up to the Bronx. To The Stadium.

The four of us emerged from the subway station and began navigating our way through the legions of Yankee faithful. Like many ball parks around The Bigs the area was littered with bars and souvenir shops. But this was different. There was a buzz that surrounded The Stadium like nothing I had ever encountered. This was massive. This was urban. This was historical. This was the real deal. We made our way around the corner to a hole in the Bronx bar.

And proceeded to knock back Coronas whilst the Skip and the Fan shot Jedi Master sports trivia questions back and forth. The place was packed to the pinstripes. I kicked back, and tried to take it all in between slices of pizza. I mean here we were amidst a saloon of bombers, having a Corona'd up conversation about who the greatest Yank of all time was besides the Babe. For a split second I felt like Billy fucking Crystal. And I hate the Yankees! But it surreal and very necessary. And game time was soon.

Or had already began! We headed to the gates and proceeded into the Colosseum. The first thing that surprised me was how tight the hallways were. The painted white concrete block walls were more reminiscent of the local hockey rink in small town Sasky that I grew up going to than the then state of the art Skydome. Walls like that just scream community. They announce neighborhood.

And then we caught a glimpse of the field. Always my favourite part of walking into a ball park. That first view you get of the field and the lights. That's baseball.

We took our seats in the upper decks down the first base line. Steep. But awesome. Although we were a fair ways up, we were with able to see the perfectly onto the field and surprisingly could make out pitches.

Paul Byrd was up for the Sox (as they lead 2-0 already) and while I told the Skip on the way down that yes, it was no Schilling Vs Pettitte there was something at this game that would become awesomely apparent when we got there.

It hit me immediately when I saw Byrd's delivery on the hill. He's one of the few pitchers in the league that has an old school wind up. I mean, he throws his arms up over his head like it's 1939 before releasing and trying to strike out Walter Johnson of the Washington Senators. And too see it live in the place where you want to see it live.

Never mind what was to follow. How about The Skip getting a call from the First Mate not half an inning later, relaying this gem. She's been playing in a competitive soft ball league in Montreal all summer. And we're talking no beer league trotting around the bases. Serious ball. Serious business.

So she had turned on RDS (French Canadian ESPN) to find the game that we're at in case on the off chance she'd see us in the stands or getting escorted out. Instead what happened? The announcer comes on to recant his recent riveting visit to a Montreal soft ball league match in which he was so impressed with the play of none other than The First Mate calling her by name.

And we now return you to your regularly scheduled Papi, Jeter and A-Rod show. What?

So stoked and amazed we were we definitely drank to that. As Byrd delivered another old school pitch complete with old school wind up. As the fans got up at random intervals screaming taunts at the Red Sox that you were waiting a lifetime to hear live.

"You Suck Youkilis!!"

It was brilliant. I have stated this in these e-pages a million times and I know I'll probably rattle it off a million times more, but whatever. Sometimes the game rips out your heart and stomps on your gall bladder. And sometimes the game really, truly does give back. This was one of those times.

There were more highlights through out the night.

- The fans in our row giving kudos to the Chuck's Paul O'Neil jersey. I never knew how much "Paully" was revered in the city. I mean I had an idea, but I never knew.

- The general level of baseball knowledge that was evident. You have to understand. Coming from Vancouver, this was like being on intravenous for six months and then given a grilled rare sirloin. Sure, I'll never root for the Yanks but it's nice to debate stats and projections with cats who know why. And in great detail.

- Pedroia's Yankee Doodle Slammy that I missed as I was looking at a program or something. Looked down. Looked up. He's trotting around the bases behind three other Sox.

- Calling Ellsbury's steal to the two Jersey girls sitting beside me. Ok it wasn't officially a steal as it turned into a hit and run, but he still would've swiped it I'm sure.

- The tilt that broke out a few sections away from us between Sox and Yanks fans resulting in ejections. I mean it wasn't too rough, not Baltic soccer riots or anything of that caliber, but just enough to add provide some atmosphere.

And when all was said and done, it was a Red Sox rout and the reality began to sink in for Yanks fans. The playoffs were out of reach. They needed a sweep. They needed at least to win this game. It would be the first time in 14 years that there would be no Yanks in October. This even managed to sober me up a smidge.

We went down to field level and took a pic as "New York, New York" came over the loudspeaker. But there was not a lot of celebration. We took one last look at the Stadium and headed back out the gates.

The scene was one that I never ever thought I would've witnessed. Dejected Yankees everywhere. Some of them in our party even. Red Sox fans clad in full red and white regalia spilling onto the streets outside like it was Yawkey Way. Some even publicly taunting the Yanks fans. It was unbelievable.

I thought I even saw two guys walk into each other, mutter something about "fucking Steinbrenner" and then shuffle off. As the shiny new lights from the shiny new Yankee Stadium shone from across the street. I felt like we were literally witnessing the fall of Rome.

We got some hot dogs, stood outside underneath the subway tracks and talked about the game, the season, the Red Sox, the missed playoffs. And The Stadium.

Then we headed down the stairs and through the subway turnstiles.




Byrd's eye view.

Pinstripe Pause

Take a peek at the final official box score from The Stadium as a complete Maniwaki montage is being crafted...

In Preparation For Hockey Season...

Let's take a look at the Cormona/Sheffield tilt! Points for Cormona beaning the Shef (hey... if I were a Big League hurler, he'd be in my top ten plunk targets) actual punches being thrown (as it is a baseball scrap after all) and the fact that these two teams are by no means playoff bound but still feisty enough to clear the benches. Behold:

RIP The Grand Old Game

Not a good night in the Bigs. The Jays lost 4-3 to the Red Sox while over in Tampa Bay, the first ever overturned call was recorded where instant replay was used.

Carlos Pena Tropicanad one over the wall but the umps ruled fan interference and halted him at second. After that, they huddled amongst themselves, donned executioners masks, and officially ended an era. And a Grand One at that.

Thank you Bud and MLB for taking away one of the greatest aspects of The Game. In a world of cell phones, laptops, iPods, Tivos, youtube, metube and everyothertube, it was always nice to know that there was one thing, the game of baseball, that could remain separate and outside the sphere of hyper-accelerated culture. And be played essentially the same way that it was for over a century. A game played by people, played for the people, and decided by people. But no longer. Now we must pause while the video judge in New York looks over his FSN Southeast feed to see if Longoria's long ball was indeed a long ball.

I can't wait for October now.

Finally. A Bautista You Can Cheer For.

No, not Miguel Batista. Say olá to Jose Bautista.


(So Selig and MLB fast track video replay in game situations, yet refuse to allow embedded footy on the web. Swell. So for now you'll just have to click the above links and hope for a new commish.)

Plan M

I don't know why I do this to myself. I really don't. I know the numbers don't look remotely friendly. I know the schedule isn't favourable. I know the season is extremely long at 162 games, yet I wish that they could tack on just an extra week's worth. I know that all signs in reality point to the Blue Jays not making the playoffs.

Yet I just can't just throw in the towel. Not yet.

Look. I know how ridiculous this appears. To even entertain the thought, never mind post it to the www, but when I see a night like tonight (where we came back from a 6-0 deficit, while the Rays pummeled the Red Sox 10-3) I just can't help it. For the few nonsensical die hards out there, here's the latest (and most likely not the last) scenario for the rest of the season. As we've gone through plans A, B, and C and are certainly hovering around the mid alphabet, I submit for your general perusal and public ridicule, Plan M, "The Maniwaki Hail Mary." When I run out of letters I will go to the Cyrillic. But for now:

If we win tomorrow in the series finale vs the O's, we will be 7.5 games behind the Red Sox (who are sitting idle tomorrow). As there are a total of 10 games left (stop laughing) we really need a small miracle. However, our next series is a three game set against guess who?

Yes, Papi, Papelbon and the Pedroia. If we sweep (for real this time) we will be 4.5 back with 6 games to play. (look, I know how it sounds...I really do...just hear me out). If this plays out, it basically means that we will have won our next four games. Not out of the realm of possibility. And after that, we welcome the Yanks for three before heading off to Baltimore for the final three of the season.

While the Red Sox face the Indians in Fenway for four. And then finish off with three against the Yanks.

Now I know the Jays pretty much have to win every game left in the season, and the Red Sox have to pretty much lose every game, but when I see a surging Cleveland team (fresh off a sweep of the Twins) who boast Cy Young lock, Cliff Lee, in their rotation coupled with the Yankees having a chance to do serious damage to the Sox at the end of the season, I can't throw in the '08 towel yet.

Yes, I know how it sounds. Believe me I know...

So please gather yourself because the Heinekin pouring out of your nostrils whilst you spastically convulse trying to keep it in is quite unbecoming. And let's watch the final scenes in this MLB multi-part drama (or comedy... or tragedy depending on how you look at it) unfold.

The Numbers Game

To steal a bit from SI:

0. Runs scored by the Jays tonight against Baltimore. Leaving us;

10. Games back of the WC, tied with the Yanks and not looking likely. However;

1. Game is the lead that the Rays have in the East as they beat the Red Sox tonight. You'd expect that Tropicana Field was going absolutely bonkers as this not only is the winning season for Tampa it's also their first pennant drive. Yet;

32 079Fans showed up to cheer on Longoria and the lads. That's

77.6%.Capacity. Not so good considering the above. But however it shakes down only;

14. Days until October.

Zambrano Swoops In Under The Maniwaki Radar. Goes Hitless.

True story. I'm at work last and the Cubs/Astros game comes on by chance as the Chi Sox game was delayed by rain. We keep no sound on the telly and although sometimes the closed captioning does make an appearance, tonight mute was the call.

A guy came in, ordered some draft and inquired as to how the Chi Sox were doing, as he was on vacation and hadn't heard for a few days what was what in the Central. As I've been a walking MLB standings machine as of late, I of course was able to relay that Ozzie's lads were indeed up by game and that tonight's contest was supposed to be on the Sportsnet but was delayed by rain. So he'd have to settle for the Northsiders and Astros instead.

Of which I really didn't pay any attention to for the majority of it (approximately two hours or nine innings) until I saw Zambrano whiff some Houston batter, then drop to the mound and point to the sky as the rest of the Cubbies ran off the bench.

Had they clinched? As an official MLB android that spits standings, I knew this was impossible as they were only up by a few games.

So only one possibility remained. The Big Z must have pitched a no no.

Holy Fuck.

Which was in fact confirmed, as the score flashed across the screen. Cubs: 5 Runs, 7 hits, and 0 errors. Astros: 0 runs, 0 hits, and 1 error.

And I missed the whole thing as all two and half hours and nine innings played out behind me.

Holy Fuck.

Back And To The Left

Ok, never mind what I said yesterday. Another tight loss today has pretty much sealed our fate as we dropped to 8.5 back. Although the Maniwaki party line is to not admit defeat until mathematically eliminated, it is going to take some very theoretical physics to get back into this thing. Like Magic Bullet in Dealy Plaza theoritical.

Downs But Not Out

Ok so he blew a late lead, literally falling flat in the process, but it's still not done. Roy's up tomorrow and while a series split is all we can salvage at this point, there is still a lot of baseball to be played.

Ok, maybe not a lot, but enough.

Ok, maybe not even enough to make a normal, legitimate run, but enough to still make a case. The Mauler refuses to concede defeat until the "E" is officially placed next the Jays name in the standings.

Sitting in the Maniwaki War Room, the Generals are devising a scenario that can still allow the Blue Squadron to split the multiple American League bogies and shoot up the middle to claim the Wild Card Crown. While this plan lies occupies real estate in the realm of the improbable, it is not anywhere parked in the lot marked impossible. Here's the battle plan.

1. We get back on track. Which is the key to the entire campaign. Another decisive win in Fenway tomorrow will not only bolster the Doc's confidence, it will give the lads the resolve to play out the rest of the season with moxy. Tomorrow's game will determine the remainder of the '08 bid. If we lose tomorrow, the season is all but done. If we win we will continue on the next phase of our operation;

2. We regain momentum. Let's remember one thing here. The Jays are winners of 12 of their last 15. They have a grand total of two losses in September. They are still one of the hottest teams in the Bigs if not the hottest. A win tomorrow will set the stage for the next home stand against Baltimore. It is not unreasonable to assume that the Jays could sweep this series. As it is not unreasonable to assume;

3. Boston will get stung by the Rays. While we're pouring salt on the Oriole's collective tails, the Rays will quite feasibly be chasing the Red Sox through the shallow waters of Tampa Bay. Longoria and the lads have already won a key series in Fenway. To assume that they'll win against the Sox at home in St. Pete's is not ludicrous.
The Maniwaki brass has determined that the best case during in this phase is that we sweep Baltimore while the Rays sweep Boston. However the projected outcome is that we sweep or take two at worst while the Rays take two. If the former occurs, it is an added bonus. If the more probable latter shakes down;

4. We will be 4 1/2 games behind Beantown. and;

5. Welcoming them for a three game set at Skydome. Which we will have to sweep of course. But at least we will have another kick at the can. Leaving;

6.The Enemy Of My Enemy Is My Friend. If all goes well the Jays will be anywhere from a half game back to one and a half back, with two series left to play. One against the Yanks and one more against the O's. Both winnable. While the Red Sox finish off against the Indians and then the Yanks. And you know that if New York has a chance to bring a reeling Boston down with them during the final series of the season, they will not hesitate to do so, striking decisively and then twisting the knife, possibly in an extra innings Aaron Boone/Bucky Dent style bomb in the last game of the '08 slate.

Leaving us hopefully sitting in the WC slot, watching the smoke clear and scratching our batting helmets wondering what the fuck just happened.

But it all comes down to tomorrow.

Roy, the ball, and season is in your hands.

Nervous In Beantown

Ahhhh.....what can you say?

The lads were a tad jumpy, and thus got fooled by Wakefield's knuckler all night. You could see it on their faces as they all desperately wanted to unleash, and bash the ball over the monster to gain ground on Boston. The standings sitch being what it is coupled with these home run hallucinations just kept the Jays swinging at garbage pitches all night.

Oh yeah, the seven runs that Boston put up didn't help either.

I was ready to brand Jason Bay a traitor to Canada if he came up with one more pop fly out in left. I know they were all routine and all, but come on guy, help out the country a bit at least shank a few like Manny would've.

No worries though. With the initial "Oh my God we're here," jitters over, I expect the squad will get back to brassies tomorrow as AJ will throw smoke whilst Rios and Wells get fined for excessive littering of cowhide on Yawkey Way.

The Hunt For Blue October

Didn't catch the game tonight as I was stuck on set watching buildings pretend to burn in South Vancouver. Luckily however, I have a brand spanking new data plan on my archaic phone that allowed me to keep an eye on the action in between snaps of the clapper board.

And holy smokes I have not been glued to stats on a 1 x 1 screen that intently for a very long time, if ever. For seven innings, I kept refreshing the screen as Shaun Marcum duelled with Gavin Floyd, nil nil. Until the eighth when the Kid doubled to start off another rock'em sock'em inning which eventually ended in six runs. The added bonus was that it was nice for once to be on the side doing the shelling as the last epic cellular debacle I embarked on was the Bartman game in the '03 NLCS, in which I just about ate my phone afterwards.

The Sox being the Sox did rally of course, and BJ being...well not very BJ like lately did allow a few runners in the ninth, but the final tally in the end was 6-4. We took three of four from the team boasting the most bongs in the bigs and limited them to just one in the series. (Thome couldn't let us leave without getting at least one.)

We now sit six and a half back of Boston and roll in tomorrow to start a four game set. Even the rotations are realigned as AJ, Litsch and Roy will be pitching on short rest in order to make a move on the WC.

From the Jays official site:

"Gaston, for one, will be treating these four games like a playoff series."

Good God, I know I sure will.

All's Well That Ends Well At The Cell...

Ok, so Roy didn't win and got touched up early in the game for a couple of runs (as apparently he has never won at US Cellular Field in Chicago...go figure)

Ok, and so the Jays' win streak stopped at ten as they booted the ball around the infield making some costly errors.

Ok, and so they trailed the whole game and didn't get on the board until the eighth.

Ok...

I hear you. But really let's not fret here. If we were to lose a game this is as good as any to lose as:

We didn't lose to Boston. We're seven back with seven games remaining against them. We hit one more seven and the slot machine is going to light up, spit change and read "Wild Card!"

We came back and didn't lose by much. Yet another Rios jack (About time I was writing that!) put us on the board in the eighth to make cut the lead to 5-2. Which put ample pressure on the levy as it burst open in the ninth, allowing three more runs to flood courtesy of closer Bobby Jenks. Which;

I fucking new was going to happen. No kidding. Ask my Spouse. Jenks looked genuinely afraid as he took the hill in the ninth. Taking a cue from Cito, I calmly sat back, called the ensuing ruckus that was about to unfold and took in the fireworks. The old Jays would've gone down in order. The new Jays put pressure on the opposing pitcher resulting in timely hits in key situations, and chipped away at the lead even more. It was so inevitable that I mused aloud, "This must be how Yankees fans in the '90's must have felt."

So even though we lost, the end result was a three run ninth ending in 6-5 loss. Which is far from the end of the world as notice has been served. The streak is dead, but long live the new streak.

These Jays will not go away.

10 Strong

Chalk up two more for the Jays as they took both in the doubleheader against Ozzy and the Chisox. That's an even ten in a row and the longest win streak since '98. It's one shy of tying the team record of eleven set the same year. AJ pitched hitless ball through six in the first game and the bats exploded for eight runs in the second game.

We are getting quality pitching.

And we are getting quality hitting.

Finally.

To see the Rios/Wells machine fire on all cylinders while the staff guns down some of the best line ups in the League night after night definitely beats watching the .500 Blue Jays ball I've watched over the last few years.

One guy who most certainly be happy about this turnaround is the Doc as the camera's caught him beaming in the dugout it the ninth. That's the first time I ever remember seeing him smile. Really.

But it will short lived and definitely all business tomorrow as he takes the hill in a bid to tie the record. Twenty one games in a row, ten or two one thing is for certain.

There is no way he will lose tomorrow.

To Draft Or Not To Draft

..aaaaahhhh. The bite of autumn is in the air. The MLB playoffs races are heating up. The AL East is up for grabs. The Jays are playing meaningful baseball (although every one south of the border has yet to take notice, focusing more on the fall of Rome, or more specifically, the Yanks decline) and it's time once again for to look at player ranking sheets in order for the annual hockey pool.

But if I'm selected first pick overall, who will be the face of the Maniwaki franchise for 08/09?

Malkin? The Kid? Ovechkin? Lecavalier? Thornton? Iggy? Heatly? Datsyuk?

Tough to say. All worthy contenders indeed.

I'll tell you who it won't be however. Anyone on the Cancucks as it now looks like the Twins might be on their way out and the Canucks franchise guy will be either Pavol Demitra (ESPN Fantasy Rank #128) or Steve Bernier (ESPN Fantasy Rank #163). I'm thinking about inviting GM, Mike Gillis, into our pool so I could laugh as I take his money at the end of the season.

And what of the rookies and sophomores? Team Maniwaki got heavy production out of Chicago rookies Johnathon Towes and Patrick Kane last season. Should I renew their contract or make a play for the highly touted Steve Stamkos?

Tell you which young guns won't be on the Maniwaki roster. Pretty much anyone under the age of 25 wearing a very gawdy looking "Vancouver" on his jersey as the aforementioned, Steve Bernier ranks highest in this department.

It is rapidly appearing that following fantasy hockey will be way more fun and psychologically beneficial than following real hockey in Vancouver this year.

Here's hoping that Ovechkin will be proudly wearing the Maniwaki "M" on his sweater this year as he leads the 08/09 squad to victory.




Now that's the face of a franchise.

The Thin Red Line

Tom Brady is out for the season and I sense bad things for the rest of New England.

Namely a collapse of near Mets-like proportion for the Red Sox over the next few weeks.

Perhaps it is Beelezebub collecting payment on those that signed their souls over in exchange for the regions' sporting successes over the last few years.

Perhaps the jig is up.

Maniwaki Mobile Relay Via HQ - Name That Slam

Received this text via Dice C (who is back on the great plains for the weekend) re: Greg Zaun's 13th inning walk off grand slam to beat the Rays:

Zaun is like, "Take that Barajas!"

Yup. Nothing like some good old fashioned competition for playing time to keep the steam in your squad's engine.

Next stop. Broomtown.

FSN Northwest Nonsense

True story. Turned on the Mariners/Yanks contest to see if the neighbours could lend me the proverbial cup of sugar by beating the Yanks. Turns out the M's were handing out the finest of granulars and in the good china as Brandon Morrow was hurling a no hitter.

Which led over zealous, FSN Northwest announcer, to exclaim, "...and we start off the eighth with Brandon Morrow pitching a NO HITTER!"

Which lead me to scream bloody, emerald, murder at the top of my lungs. So violently that I'm surprised I didn't hear it broadcast back over the FSN feed.

You don't say that. You just don't.

I don't care if you're in the dugout, you're in the park, and if you're in the park, you just don't say it.

As of course the no no got broken up two batters later as Wilson Betimet(?) lined a shot to the gap in right that even the sure footed Ichiro couldn't get to.

Morrow left to a standing ovation. But you could tell he was mad at himself.

Which of course he shouldn't be as Major League announcers should know better and not act like over excited kids at
Christmas. Yes there hasn't been much to cheer about in the Northwest lately, but for God's sakes try and maintain some professionalism man.

You don't say that in the park. You just don't.

The Big Blue Bomb

How about that kid? Cracking his first Major League bomb? And right when I met my compadre Dice C at the pub to pass along some swag from the magical land of Fenway? The wings certainly taste better when your squad has a hot September call up that does nothing but destroy every time he comes up to the plate and single handedly wins tight games to keep them within a remote waft of October's fumes.

Evan Longori-who?

Troy Who-lowitzki?

Dustin Who-droia?

To paraphrase iconic SoCal punk icon and head of Epitaph records, Brett Gurewitz, after he signed English hardcore saviours, Gallows:

"Baseball is back in Toronto and it's name is Travis Snider."

Spaghetti Western Ticker

Where's Clint when you need him? Especially when there's the following items to weigh in on:

1. The Good. Mr. September, Travis Snider, gave the Jays what they've been lacking for a majority of the season. That big hit at the right time. How about a two out 3-2 count bottom of the ninth, game tying crack to send the game to extras? Sure the play was bobbled by Twins right field call up, Jason Pridie, allowing the Jays Thigpen to score but whatevs. The kid came up big. And then again in the bottom of the eleventh to smack another single, advancing Scott Rolen, whom Sir John A then brought home on a walk off single. Ok Blue Jays.

2. The Bad. Oklahoma City unveiled their new team name and logo tonight. Is it me or does it add insult to injury to name the team the "Thunder", especially since there's been a dark, massive, Pacific Northwest rain cloud hanging over Seattle during this whole fiasco?

3. The Ugly. Instant replay was used for the first time ever in the Majors tonight. And of course the first border line jack to be reviewed miles away in MLB's NY office was hit by none other A-Rod himself. What better ambassador to usher in MLB's latest slap in the face to The Game?

In his own words:

"It's very fitting I'm involved. I was just glad we got the right call."

Yes, I'd say it's fitting that the biggest opportunist in the League got the first instant replay call on his 479th essentially meaningless bomb. (As the Yanks were up 6-3 already in the ninth.) I'm surprised he wasn't able to get his agent, Scott Boras to wrangle an extra mill on his contract for hitting the inaugural "First Bomb To Bring Baseball That Much Closer To The Inner Circles Of Hell."



One of Clint's actual badges that I was lucky enough to use in the pictures. I wish I had it now. I'd go arrest Selig.

Renewed Faith From Forty Thousand Feet

Although I switch the banner every month, I'm leaving this one up for two. Why?

Because I want to see a fucking drive.

Yes, it's a long shot. Yes, it's improbable and yes I will most certainly take my lumps for it. But the fact the remains. My squad didn't give up today, thus I must not give up on the squad.

Figured I'd be able to catch the entire match vs Minny today on the flight back from the Great Ride Through The North East, but was only relegated to updates on The Score's ticker. Somewhere over Thunder Bay, I tuned in and became happy that I wasn't able to watch the game. 5-1 Twins in the mid fifth.

Then as we hit the great plains, a great shift. 6-5 Jays in the 7th. Good. But could the lads hold on against everybody's favourite September team?

Apparently so as by the time we western Sasky, the ticker was reading 7-5 and I made the decision there over the home province.

I have grown up playing this game, watching this game, and watching my friends and family play this game. To this day. (Even last night the Skip and I chewed on spits and watched the First Mate put on a 5 tool clinic in North Montreal.) I have just come back from an epic trip through the heartland of baseball, where plenty has been experienced and thoroughly enjoyed. (Hold on...soon the expanded tale.)

As the game has given so much to me over the course of the last day, week and pretty much my whole life, I in turn must do my part. And if that means standing by my squad amidst public ridicule, until the final out is recorded and an "E" is placed next to their name in the standings, then so be it.

The Game is the greatest on the planet, where anything can happen and often does. To give up now only a mere 9 games out of the WC and 13.5 out of the div title would be well...

...I think you know.

Missed Plays

A guy leaves for a week and misses a whole wack of a'doings?

Namely:

Blue Jays roster moves. While these would've been in relative rotation on the Sportsnet or the TSN I can see why the trades of David Eckstein (GFB!) and Matt Stairs (BFB!!) didn't really make it to the forefront of the New York or Boston media at the end of August. The Skip, sporting a fresh coffee and a smirk, filled me in on Eckstein this morning. I found out about Stairs from my newly regained connection to the www. In addition, it appears that outfielding phenom ,Travis Snider, made his MLB debut at Yankee Stadium a few days ago and was The New Hope he's been touted as. I'm hoping he'll have enough Tulowitzki in him to vault us to the '08 post season. But I do also realize that I have been on a very significant baseball high lately...

CC's No No. It's an error. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. Did the umps blow the call? Entirely. Should it be overturned days after the game? No way in Hell. Check it out for yourself:



Oh great...embedded vid nixed by Bud and the boys again.