Reining In That Enthusiasm

There's a chance I got a bit ahead of myself last night when, drunk on offense, I declared that short of Rios' slow start things were just this side of perfect in Jaysland. In fact there are several areas of concern, as we all know, starting with Rios, but encompassing Money Earnin', too, who's looking a tad slower in CF, and at times a tad befuddled at the plate. Add the misadventures of the closer, the loss of the most experienced non-Halladavian starter, and the great probability that this .727 clip won't last all season long (if it did they'd end up winning 117 games, which is a wonderful thing to contemplate), and you are left with the conclusion that our current high can't possibly last. But it's also worth remembering that strong seasons are very rarely built on the backs of weak Aprils; if the miraculous should happen and the Jays find themselves playing meaningful games in September, then having these games in their pocket might provide the crucial difference between contention and disappointment.


And then there's Seattle, who were picked by most to dwell in the nether-regions of the AL West again this season, but who have started off hot. The same caveat applies to them: they probably aren't as good as they look right now, but with Griffey back at Safeco, Ichiro healthy and breaking records, and the M's actually winning, there are a lot of reasons to pay attention. If'n I were a Seattlite (which has been a sort of a fantasy of mine, off and on for years, for a variety of reasons I won't bore you with here), I'd be at the park every night, I think. "A New Day," goes the team's new ad line, and aside from conjuring unfortunate memories of a lesser Paula Abdul single (pray God they don't play that song at the park as the hometowners charge out of the dugout), it just might be apt. Also, tonight's Ichiro bobblehead night, so there's that.

Finally, whichever part of my head or heart is responsible for schadenfreude went into overdrive yesterday afternoon when the Indians helped the Yankees open the new Yankee Stadium by handing them a 10-2 spanking. Delicious. Whatever goodwill I experienced last season has long since evaporated. Once again I truly do hate the Yankees.

Does 20 Matter?

As I write this the Jays and the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees are just getting underway in the last hogtown home game of '08 (look at all those wingnuts going apeshit for their beloved boys in blue!). Halladay makes his 33rd and final start, his lone shot at 20 wins on the season (though I suspect it wouldn't take much begging from Cito for Roy to agree to start all their remaining games -- off-days are for lesser men and mere boys). I don't need to tell you that the last time The Ace won 20 was '03, when he nabbed his Cy Young, and Roy's not going to reach that season's total of 22 bedpost notches, but in every other respect he's been better. In every peripheral category, The Inning Eater has bettered his '03 numbers, and the only thing missing, of course, has been run support (5.67 runs/game then vs. 4.48 this year). Anemic bats are his W-L kryptonite.

When I was a kid, and the world was dewy and green and splendid, and polution hadn't yet begun, and America was sexy, wins were really all that were used to determine a pitcher's greatness. I think Ws and Ls were all they put on the back of Opee-Chees (and maybe strikeouts). They used the extra room for the French translation of those zingy factoids. Who the fuck cared what Dwight Gooden's WHIP was, or his K/BB ratio? Dude was 17-9 as a rookie, and 24-4 in '85 -- of course he was good (and always would be, right?).

Of course, since the internet and all these web-logs have sprung up, we've all developed calculators for brains (I'm right about that, aren't I? People are smarter now?), we've begun to see the demise of the W as the sole stat in determining a pitcher's worth (Fanks, Bill James!). If that proverbial coffin required a final nail, Roy's '08 season will do, because, whether he ends up with 19 or 20 victories, that number won't do justice to the season he's gifted us with. I know the sense that good pitchers get wins and bad ones don't -- period -- will linger in many minds, maybe forever. I know this after trying to convince my father of the fallacy of the W-L tally on several frustrating occasions, most recently while seated in the nosebleeds at Yankee Stadium, and discussing Mike Mussina's HOF credentials, or possible lack thereof. My father's ironclad defense in this or most any debate: "Call me old-fashioned, but I think 20 wins still means something." Ugh.

That said, obviously I'm pulling for Roy to get his 20th tonight, if only because it means he'll get a little more attention around the rest of baseball, where Toronto remains a provincial outpost about which little is known, and about which few care to learn. Also, to hell with the Yankees. I suggested in my last post that we were playing for third place. Well, er, we've lost two straight to the Yanks' scrubs, so maybe playing for Roy's 20th is a more realistic goal.

No doubt I'm biased, but Jeter's right, and so's GWB (and that is the only time I will ever say that): Halladay is the best damn pitcher in baseball. You can have your Cliff Lees and your Brandon Webbs and your damn Jobas; Harry Leroy Halladay is our ace and I hope it stays that way for seasons to come.

UPDATE -- How Fitting

A complete game victory. Beautiful. And the hugs with AJ and Arnsberg, and the pie in the face; perfect. And maybe I'm reading too much into it all, but there was something sorta kinda like a playoff atmosphere tonight at Ted's House, and it gave me a thought: if this team does make the postseason sometime in the next few years, is there any doubt whatsoever that Doc will prove himself a rock solid big game pitcher? Think about it: it's a crime against wee helpless orphans and Mother Nature that Halladay has never tasted October baseball. The Fates willing, it's an injustice we'll one day see righted.

What We're Playing For

Last night's game was just the tonic for a fanbase feeling dyspeptic from frustrated expectations, impending rotation breakdowns, and the prospect of yet another lonely October. Sure, the Yanks won, and that's plenty shitty, but the game felt like it meant something, and that gave me a charge. There's always a little animosity between Toronto and New York (AL), whether because they share a division, or because A-Rod is something less than a gentleman, or because the Hogtowners are trying to shrug off the inferiority complex they covertly direct at Gothamites while prattling on about diversity and cleanliness and relative safety (this, secretly, is kind of nice to see for me, since I grew up in Ottawa and have to endure on an ongoing basis the Sens-Leafs rivalry which is, in the 613 area code, merely the mask applied to Ottawans' hatred of Torontonians and their World Class City status, while Ottawa, nominally the capital of Canada, wallows in cultural provinciality [Jesus, I'm glad I moved out of Ottawa]).

Anyway, what with all the love directed at the Yankee Empire recently, and their now-abandoned ballyard (I was guilty, sure, all that Bronxian smog and grit obscuring my judgment, as well the massive Foster's I was able to track down, but then so too was Lloyd the Barber moved to say a kind word or two), it was nice to be reminded that these are the Yankees, and we hate the Yankees. Last night's game was full of spleen and invective, and it was a hell of a lot more intense than you might expect from two teams in a dogfight for third place. But it was obvious that both teams want to see the other finish in fourth.

So what, I hear you saying. Who cares how far out of the playoffs the Jays finish, the point is that they missed the playoffs -- again. Bullshit, I say. It might be third place, but it's our third place. Now let's take it back.

Long Time Gone

They don't make 'em like they used to

Much has transpired since the last time I checked in here (despite assurances that I'd be a more regular presence -- what can I say?). I won't rehash; there are a ton of good, regularly updated Jays-related blogs out there that you probably read daily.

But part of my excuse has to do with baseball. I was in New York, at both doomed ballparks, Shea and Yankee Stadium.

The Mets game (v. Braves, with Santana scheduled) was rained out, alas, but I can report that Mets fans are a friendly bunch, that the sausage was good and the beer, well, cold anyway. The seats scored from StubHub were very good (they were behind home in the mezzanine level, not in the right field upper deck as suggested by that photo), and I imagine would've provided excellent views of players actually engaged in playing baseball. Oh well.

As for Yankee Stadium, well, it's the damndest thing. You despise the Yankees and you tell yourself that what's left at 161st and River Ave. is not the original, legendary House that Ruth Built, but a vintage '76 redo, a Steinbrenner bastardization, a hacked up corpse of a legendary ballpark.

But then you go there. And damned if there aren't chills a-multiplyin' up and down your spine. It really is a thing to see, and I'm glad that I got to witness the 10th-last game ever played there. Glad, too, that the Rays won 7-1. Because impressive ballpark or no, to hell with the Yankees.

The view from our seats in the upper deck

[Thanks again to Kingman at Loge 13 for the tips on what to see and do at Shea. Didn't get to do everything, but much appreciated nonetheless.]

This is AWESOME

The Jays are laying a hurt on the Yanks as I write this (13-0) behind Doc, and it feels pretty good to be a Jays fan right now. I know that there's a hell of a way to go, and that blind optimism is foolhardy, and that this club has done its level best to tinge all enthusiasm in hues reminiscent of caution tape, but I'll be fucked if I can't say that right now, I think this team has a real chance. Outside shot, sure, but maybe they're the '08 version of the '07 Rockies? Only with less God-chatter, mehopes.

I've been kept away from the laptop though I've been yearning to write about the team for the last week+. (Actually, the laptop was handy, it was the satellite TV that hadn't yet been installed, meaning that my only baseball fix came via the wireless, and that makes for a less informed commentator, I figure.) Last weekend? How great was that? Doc eats lesser men and craps them toward the cellar of the AL East. The Beantown Beatdown was a hundred different varieties of sweet. And tonight? Tonight is Valhalla. Tonight is a well-stocked paradise. Tonight is 2-for-1 beers night at your local. Tonight is your first time and your wedding night and the birth of your first and your retirement party all rolled into one. Beating anybody is lovely, but punishing the Yankees for simply being the Yankees is bliss. By watching that third inning, I became a better person.


I know, I know, this team is a longshot. A lot of teams stand between them and the postseason, and I'll probably be full of expletives and invective come mid-September, but part of fandom is playing the role, right?

Go Jays.

Your Two Minutes Hate Begins...

...now! (In case you hadn't heard, J-to-tha-izzo-B-to-tha-izzay takes the hill tonight in the Bronx for his first Major League start. Look for Doc to humble the boy wonder in workmanlike fashion.)

I Love It When a Plan Comes Together

Things unfolded more or less as designed last night, with AJ coming strong - even if he didn't have all his stuff, as The Mockingbird suggests, he was hitting his spots. There was that scare when he landed awkwardly on Jeter's groundball, but thankfully all his moving parts seem to have remained in good working order (and the errant throw allowed for yet another instance of Rios awesomeness - can we please just have that extension announcement already?).

As predicted, Vernon Wells went 3-4 (so we were off by 1 RBI).

So what if Eckstein did nothing but ground into DPs? And Aaron Hill's still not hitting high in the order, where he will surely mash all that comes his way and develop into the perennial all-star he is destined to become. But I'm nitpicking; the Jays played well, on the whole, and handed the goddamn Yankees their asses. A win's a win, but it always seems so much more satisfying when it's New York doing the losing (especially when a reliever like Brian Tallet steps in and Ks Alex Rodriguez to stifle a rally - note to self: check to see if Tallet is still available in your fantasy league).

Tonight: One more from THE STADIUM (didja hear this is its last season?), McGowan against Hughes. Our young guy will totally kick their young guy's ass. And - thrill of thrills - the chance to hear Rod Black wax poetic about the city and the team and the general aura of magnificence that permeates all matter when the pinstripes are on hand.