“I
was checked in by four;
Put
the sign on the door.
Looked
out the window
Of
the seventeenth floor.
Talked
to the city,
That
knows me by name,
And
all the bad things
That
I do …
I
shed five bitter tears?
Into
five bitter beers!
Looked
at my watch and said
Where
have the years gone?
I’m
wasting away,
Like
a castle of clay,
Slowly
crumbling too …
Every
Monday?
I
get this pain.
Every
Wednesday?
It
hits my brain.
Every
Friday?
I
die.
Because
every day?
I
still think of you …”
--
“Every Monday”, by the most (the person formerly known as “the champ” voice)
“criminitely” and “grousely” underrated band in modern music history – The
Marvelous3. A sentiment I know that my
favorite college hoops writer, @eamonnbrennan, shares passionately with me …
--------------------
In
case you haven't followed along, or were unaware of the project, the greatness that is Rany Jazayerli has posted his 218 biggest moments of the last two
Royals seasons.
For
the record, Number Eighteen is without question -- (allard baird voice) without
question! -- my favorite of all of them.
For the record, I watched Moment Eighteen at the P Otts on College after
a sh*ttacular night of bowling, and let me tell you, when Kendrys Morales took Dallas Keuchel to the woodshed with what, at the time, became arguably the
greatest home run this team has launched in my lifetime, I lost it. I could not stop crying for joy. I could not get enough of that replay.
But
Game Five of that incredible Astros playoff series wasn't my favorite of the
postseason.
Or even of the series.
(Although
damned if the defining moment of the Royals / Astros series, didn’t rank fifth
in Mr. Jazayerli’s countdown – ahead of every moment in time these last three
seasons save for (a) the Series clinching out, (b) Salvy Perez’ single to win
the 2014 Wild Card Game, (c) Eric Hosmer’s mad dash home to tie Game Five of
the 2015 World Series in the 9th inning, and (d) the home run that
replaced Mr. Morales’ effort as the unquestioned and inarguable greatest home
run in franchise history, Alex Gordon’s tying shot in the bottom of the ninth
of Game One of the 2015 World Series.)
Since
the Royals just faced the Astros for the first time since that magical week
seven months ago (Monday through Thursday in Houston), I thought I'd flash back
to what is not only my favorite day of 2015, it might be my favorite day of my
sports fan life.
Monday,
October 12, 2015.
Buckle
up, peoples and peepettes. This is going
to be fun.
--------------------
In
order to properly put Monday, October 12, 2015 into perspective, you have to
consider everything that occurred leading up to first pitch a little after noon
that day – from not just the Boyz N Blue, but more specifically, the other team
that occupies the Truman Sports Complex.
The
Chiefs were coming off one of the most demoralizing losses in franchise history
(and given that it's the Chiefs, that's saying something), blowing a two
touchdown lead to a horrible Bears team, to lose 21-18 and sink to 1-4. That's bad.
Worse? Franchise back Jamaal Charles had left the
game in the third quarter with a knee injury.
Season over. That's really
bad.
Worst? The single most indefensible coaching
decision of "Fat" Andy Reid's tenure, the decision with :04 left to
have Cairo Santos attempt a 65 yard field goal for the tie, rather than have
Alex Smith throw a 40 yard Hail Mary.
That's
... that's just utter and total insanity.
Hell, it's worse than that -- that is utter and total indefensible
insanity.
For
starters, if you were there that afternoon, you know it was windy as hell. There was a solid 25-30 mph wind blowing into
Mr. Santos' face. Secondly, even if the
wind had been at his back, what are the odds, what are the f*cking odds, of a
sixty five yard field goal being good at Arrowhead? Zero?
Less than zero? Third, what has a
higher likelihood of occurring: Cairo Santos draining a 65 yard field goal as
time expires ... or the Chiefs lucking into some kind of a defensive penalty
(pass interference, holding, illegal contact) that gives them a far better
opportunity to try the field goal. To
say nothing of the fact that, you know, there's the chance the ball might be
caught for the winning points.
I've
rarely left Arrowhead as enraged as I was that afternoon. At 2:15pm that gorgeous fall afternoon (it
was perfect save for the wind), the Chiefs led by two touchdowns, Jamaal
Charles was bleeding clock, I was about two first downs away from hitting
“Perfect Game” status *, and I was ready to jump for joy in the grassy knoll
north of the G30 sign to "Dancing On The Ceiling" in
celebration.
The
season, which needed salvation? Appeared
to be saved.
Now,
an hour later, the season and the franchise's best player lay in (stewie
griffin voice) roo-eens, my pleasant disposition had turned ugly, and the only
Lionel Richie song I had any interest in hearing was "Oh No", and go
figure, that's not even a Lionel effort -- it's the Commodores finest hour **.
Dumb
idiot coaching, coupled with indefensible on field performance, multiplied by
irreplaceable loss to injury, and the Chiefs sat at 1-4, L4, already five full
games behind the denver broncos (counting tiebreaker) with barely double that
count to go. Worse yet, they had a trip
to Minnesota up next, followed by the Steelers visiting for seems like their
annual victory over the Red and Gold.
Throw in looming roadies at denver, Baltimore, and our personal house of
horrors (The Q), and this season was effectively over before the first leaves
started falling.
And
that? That was the positive news of the
day!
Because
no sooner did we get back to The Bus Barn, than Dallas Keuchel took over Game
Three, defeating the Royals 4-2 to give the Astros a 2-1 Division Series lead,
and knock the Royals to within 24 hours of elimination from the playoffs.
Much
like what was happening at Arrowhead, the Royals true season? Was damned near over before it had barely
begun.
It
had been reduced to one last stand, to commence at 12:07pm CT, Monday, October
12, 2015.
Win
... or else everything this team, this franchise, this fanbase and this
incredible city we call home, everything that had been building for three
years, would probably never come to be.
--------------------
(*:
“Perfect Game Status”: when the Chiefs get a solid 14-17 point lead in the
second half of an early regular season contest, because that means I can kick
off the sandals, prop the feet up, and spend the rest of the game doing what I
do better than anyone else in recorded human history: sit in the sun and drink,
while wondering where the hell my t-shirt disappeared to.)
(**:
my eleven favorite Commodores / Lionel Richie efforts: (11) Stuck On You (yup,
still am, Mr. Richie, thirty years later); (10) Lady (not the Kenny Rogers hit,
the Commodores hit by the same name); (9) Machine Gun (even if it has no
lyrics, it's still a cool lil' tune); (8) Endless Love (terribly overrated);
(7) Oh No (terribly underrated … and God do the lyrics never fail to hit me
properly ***); (6) Hello (this music video deserves its own post); (5) Dancing
On The Ceiling (it's the victory celebration song, after all); (4) Easy (about
as perfect of a song as can be recorded); (3) Sail On (one of the greatest
"f*ck you b*tch!" break up songs ever); (2) My Destiny (why he never
released this as a single off "Back to Front" is beyond my limited
comprehension); (1) Truly (not only my favorite effort by the bard known as
Lionel Richie ... but the best ****).
(***:
yes, “Oh No” IS The Commodores finest hour.
Doubt me? Listen / read the
lyrics. Go!
Verse
Uno: “I want you? To want me! I’m going crazy? Knowing he will be? Your lover tonight! When he comes? I’ll let you go. I’ll just pretend? That you walked out the door. Oh no – I can’t sleep! Oh no – I’m going crazy with love? Over you!”
And
that’s just Verse Uno!
Verse
Dos (which somehow, is a hundred times better than the perfection Verse Uno
is): “I need you? To need me! I want to hold you – but you’re holding
someone else? In your arms! When I close my eyes? I see your face! I’m just not sure? How much my heart can erase. Oh no – I can’t think! Oh no – I’m going crazy with love? Over you!”
I
cannot tell you people, how many times 18 Year Old Stevo, thought this song’s
lyrics about his senior year in high school / freshman year in college crush …
who probably needs a nickname, if only because Natalie was one of the few
crushes I had? That dug me, far more
than I dug her. And considering twenty
years later, I still would meet that girl anywhere, anytime, anyplace, for
anything? That’s saying something. Granted, not a positive something, but still
– saying something.)
(****:
true story time! For years – and I mean
years – I always imagined the future Mrs. Stevo and, uuh, Mr. Stevo’s first
dance, would be to “Truly”. I love that
song irrationally. (Pause). I guess this is where the guy who is
perfectly OK being single, cops to admitting, he’d like to meet “The One”,
sooner rather than later. But I’m
willing to cave on “Truly” for our first dance … provided it’s Thomas Rhett’s “Die A Happy Man”. Good bleeping God,
that is hands down the best song of 2016.
To say nothing of the best musical video in a long time. Sweet Jesus, where was a girl like that fifteen,
twenty years ago! And more to the point
– where the hell is she now?)
--------------------
The
day started off quiet yet busy. The good
folks from True Green were scheduled to come aerate the Second Parents yard
that afternoon, so the morning was spent moving plants and objects in the way?
Out
of the way.
Once
that was accomplished, it was time to set up The Deck for the game. I hauled the flat screen out of the basement,
and went about arranging the patio Sunday Ticket style. There were going to be at least 12 people
showing up to watch; that meant said flat screen needed to be perfectly visible
from twelve different vantage points.
In
case you’ve ever wondered what that setup looks like, I give you the setup for
some random game over the last few pre-December months:
(The
seat to the left of the red Chiefs cup, is mine for any event watched on The
Deck. (mr. t voice) I pity the foo’ who
sits next to Stevo on that couch! Also,
I am 92.68% sure this was the setup for the Bengals game to begin October,
based on the download file date it landed on my laptop in. Image Credit: me, via my iPhone 6.)
--------------------
After
stocking up The Beer Machine with what everyone wanted (and yes, I may or may
not have had a frosty cold Coors Light or two off of my row), and a healthy
breakfast of biscuits and gravy, hash browns with corned beef, and some potent
bloody mary's, it was game time.
At
exactly high noon, the DirecTV receiver took over the screen, noting that we
needed to allow an upgrade to download and process, that would take about ten
minutes. Said message gave us the option
of delaying the upgrade by an hour. I chose
to delay the upgrade, since after all, the whole point of having that receiver
on at that moment was to watch the Royals / Astros Game Four. We ain't got no time for your stinkin'
upgrade!
--------------------
Slowly
yet surely, folks began to arrive.
Chris' comment when she arrived was simply yet necessary:
(chris)
you didn't buy any champagne, did you?
(stevo)
no. Hell no! That ain't going so well for the Chiefs!
(chris)
no sh*t.
I
guess I should note: it is tradition that I buy a bottle of champagne for each
consecutive win, plus one for the win to come, for Chiefs tailgating. Needless to say, it was a really lonely
bottle of champagne the first six weeks of the season. (Pause).
What? (Pause). Well hell yes, buying a dozen bottles of champagne
for the Patriots game was expensive! But
it was worth it!
--------------------
Unlike
many other playoff games in 2015, Game Four did not start for the Royals with
Alcides Escobar putting the first pitch in play. In fact, he didn't even swing at the first
pitch he saw from Astros starter Lance McCullers. But the sixth pitch he faced did get put into
play -- right off his body. Plunked to
start the festivities.
Sadly,
the Royals could do nothing in the top of the first, leaving the runner. Thankfully, the Astros weren't much better,
leaving two on in their half of the inning.
Zero to zero after one.
In
the top of the second, though, the Royals took the lead by more than a run for
the first time in the series. After a
Mike Moustakas walk, Salvy Perez strolled to the plate. On the fourth pitch, the hero of last
September launched the pitch high, deep, and gone. Royals 2, Astros 0, Top Two, in the first
"must win" game the Royals had faced since Game Seven to end the
previous year's World Series. No matter
what, at least this year, the Royals would hold a lead in the biggest game of
the season.
In
the middle of the inning, I ran in to use the bathroom. When I came back out at almost exactly 1pm,
that DirecTV upgrade message had once again appeared on the screen. I chose to delay the upgrade installation for
another hour.
I
then retrieved a frosty cold Coors Light out of my row in the Beer Machine *****,
and settled back down in my seat for the start of the third inning, the Royals leading,
2-1.
--------------------
(*****:
for the record, let’s see how well I know everybody’s row. Russ is on top, usually with High Life, but
if we’ve made a trip to Texas recently (or Texas has made a trip to us), it’s
Red Dog. Mona’s row is next (Miller
Lite). Oh – and their rows are double
stacked. Hey, you own the machine? You get to double stack your beer of
choice!
Then
my row – which (senator edward m. kennedy voice) you can bet your ass is always
Coors Light. Then Cindy’s row (Bud
Light). Then Susan’s row (Diet Coke –
she’s not a drinker). Then Joyce and
Jerry’s (Miller 64). Then Gus’ (Busch
Light). The next two to three rows are
for out of town visitors – when the South Dakota folks are here, it’s Miller
Lite; when Jeff and Paula are here, its Bud Light. The next to last row is cans of tonic water
when they’re available (to be mixed with vodka and fresh limes, of course), and
the bottom row is for whatever beer catches the fancy of someone when they hit
up the liquor store. Believe me when I
say, the saddest day of the year? At
least for me? Is the day the machine is
emptied and unplugged, for the winter.)
--------------------
The
Royals go quietly – one, two three – in the top of the third. And in the bottom of the third, a third
baseball found its way to the (not even remotely) cheap seats – this time, our
“good friend” Carlos Correa, who drills the first offering from Mr. Ventura
over the wall, to tie the game at two.
As
Houston celebrated, The Deck was turning strangely quiet. The early optimism that Salvy’s homer
provided, had faded in five hitters, via two “no doubt about it” dongs. Once again, the Royals had struck blow early, and once again, the Astros had
answered the punch with a solid one-two comeback combo of their own.
After
three, the game was tied at two.
And
would remain tied at two, until the bottom of the fifth, when once again, with
two outs, our “good friend” Carlos Correa delivered, this time a double to
right that scored George Springer, to put the Astros ahead 3-2.
The
bottom of the fifth was it for starter Yordano Ventura, and having given up
three runs in five innings, it meant that for the fourth time in the series –
and the fourth time in the four playoff games staged so far – the Royals
starter had failed to record a “quality start”.
Call
me crazy, say I’m a little naïve … but when you starter is getting lit like me
on Thanksgiving morning ******?
You’re
in deep, deep trouble, my friends.
Through
five, Astros 3, Royals 2.
--------------------
(******:
the last few years, Thanksgiving morning has taken on a tradition for me and my
family. Well, at least me and my mom.
In
my family, we have our big family Thanksgiving on the Wednesday before, at my
brother and his wife’s house. And it’s
never turkey that we have – always Italian.
Then I stay over at my folks that night, and stay at my brother’s to
dogsit on Thanksgiving night and if need be, that Friday as well.
But
Thanksgiving morning, when I get up, my mom and I get the Christmas decorations
out, and get them all up and ready. (Dad
just can’t do it anymore, after his near death a couple years ago.) How, you ask, do you properly get up a couple
trees, a bunch of ornaments, and hang stuff outside when its 22 degrees with a
howling wind and sleet / snow? Easy –
mimosas. Lots and lots of mimosas. By the time I have turkey with the ‘rents
around noon? The drunk to sober ratio is
heavily tilted towards drunk.)
--------------------
The
top of the sixth saw another one, two, three half inning for the Boyz N
Blue. The Royals at this point only had
three hits, and none since Moose had singled to open the fourth.
Also
in the top of the sixth, that damned DirecTV upgrade screen popped up
again. I squashed it like a pro at this
point, delaying that sucker another hour.
I even made a comment, something along the lines of “yeah, you’re no
match for me today, DirecTV!” that got a decent round of laughs.
I
ran to the bathroom after that half inning, grabbed another frosty cold one,
and noticed something that surprised me occur when the FOX Sports broadcast
returned.
Desperate
times call for desperate measures, according to the old saying. If you needed any indication as to how
desperate the Royals were at this point – trailing with just nine more
guaranteed outs to play on their season?
Ned
Yost brought in Kelvim Herrera to start the sixth.
That
one surprised me, and I even said so out loud.
I was stunned the call wasn’t to Ryan Madson. That seemed the more reasonable choice for
the sixth. Especially with the lower
third of the Astros lineup due up in the half inning. Why not use Madson against the weaker part of
the lineup, and have Herrera face the heart of it?
Herrera
did what Kelvim Herrera do – he struck out the side, to get this thing to the
seventh still in manageable shape.
It
was about 2:20pm CT when the sixth ended.
To this point, the first two hours and change of this game, had been
fun, and stressful, but not exactly exciting.
Certainly not memorable.
All
that was about to change. Big time.
--------------------
After
Moose led off the top of the seventh with a harmless grounder to first, Salvy
Perez stepped into the batters box. For
better or for worse, the defining at-bat of the game had arrived.
Even
if it took almost an hour, to figure that out.
--------------------
On
the second pitch he saw, Salvador Perez was plunked. Not drilled, but definitely plunked. And perhaps, even if Mr. Perez had reached
via a base hit, or a walk, or some other method of reaching that didn’t involve
a ninety plus mile an hour pitch hitting him in the leg, perhaps Ned Yost
doesn’t pinch run in that spot.
But
one on, one out, top seven, trailing by one, in a do-or-die, win-or-else
ballgame of critical importance, with a slow catcher who had just been plunked
by one standing on first, perhaps Ned Yost had no choice.
Because
Nedley made his move. And his move was
to insert Terrence Gore, to run for Salvy Perez.
And
with the move made, AJ Hinch made his.
Which, to be fair, was getting made irregardless of who was standing on
first. Lance McCullers 110th
pitch, would be his last. In from the
bullpen trotted Will Harris.
The
next twenty minutes would see these three moments entwined in one at bat – a
hit by pitch, leading to a pinch runner, giving way to a relief pitcher – cause
both fanbases to feel pure ecstasy … and both fanbases to feel the cruelest
that agony can offer.
--------------------
To
the surprise of noone, Terrence Gore lit out on Will Harris’ first pitch, and
successfully stole second. At the plate
was Alex Gordon, and really, if you’re the Royals, this is just about the dream
scenario, isn’t it? The fastest (or one
of the two fastest) guys on the team standing at second, one out, and the
f*cking franchise standing at the plate.
Sadly, Alex Gordon did not deliver in the seventh – he struck
out swinging at ball two.
Now, with a runner at second, but two out, and Alex Rios
strolling to the plate, Nedley Yost decided on an incredible roll of the
dice. A move that if it worked, might
shift the momentum of the series to the Royals for good. A move that if it failed, might be the moment
two hours from then, that everyone pointed to as the “how could you do that;
you cost us the game and the f*cking season!” maneuver.
Ned sent Terrence Gore, attempting to steal third. At first, Mr. Gore is ruled safe. Then comes the challenge. Then comes the replay review.
And then, after what seemed like a four hour delay, then came
the crushing reality. Terrence Gore
wasn’t safe. He was out. And the inning – and potential rally – was
over.
On The Deck, I was irate.
I was that guy screaming at how stupid and reckless sending Mr. Gore
there was. It wasn’t needed. A wasted out.
Fuming mad, I grabbed another Coors Light, only to notice that it was
the last one in the Beer Machine.
Yeah – this was going from bad to worse, fast.
Seventh inning stretch time – Astros 3, Royals 2, and the
heart of the order coming up, “Deep In The Heart of Texas”.
--------------------
Kelvim Herrera started the seventh. Faced one batter, Jose Altuve. And walked him.
That sent Ned Yost to the mound, and he wasted no time. In from the bullpen trotted Ryan Madson.
And on The Deck, this hot as hell (at the time) 38 year old
lost it all over again. I was beyond
irate that we’d wasted Herrera on the bottom of the order, and were turning to
a less desirable option to face the heart of the lineup now as a result.
Two home runs, three plated Astros, two curtain calls, and
three outs later – to say nothing of me damned near having my first of what
will be at least a couple myocardial infarctions – the Royals get out of it.
But sweet Jesus, the damage was done. Six outs remaining in the season, and the
Royals trailed by four. This season was
all but officially over.
After seven, Astros 6, Royals 2.
------------------
I stormed off to use the bathroom again, and remembering my
row of Coors Lights was drained, I poured myself about the stiffest Weller and
Diet I’ve ever poured in my life. I
think maybe two drops of Diet Coke made it into the drink; the rest was
straight whiskey.
Had I not plowed through a twelve pack in barely a couple
hours, then I wouldn’t have needed an extra 30, 45 seconds to fix a drink.
Thirty to forty five seconds, that occurred at exactly 3pm
CT.
How, you ask, do I know that?
Because as everyone came back out (we all needed a break
after that half inning) we realized in horror that nobody had been there, to
stop the DirecTV update. And once that
bastardo starts, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. And believe me, I tried everything, including
unplugging the receiver. The download
just continued once the receiver was plugged back in.
For a solid eight minutes, this was the view on The Deck:
(photo: me, via my iPhone 6.)
Finally, at 3:08pm CT, the update was finished, and I
frantically typed in the Fox Sports 1 channel (which I believe is 213 … but it
might be 214. I just know it’s located
right about the last ESPN channel, on the DirecTV tier).
It is at that exact moment, that the True Green lawn folks
show up. There were four of them, and to
protect the potentially guilty, I’ll leave names out. (That, and I don’t necessarily remember all
of them.) Like us, they’d written this
game off after the seventh. And (by
choice, as opposed to DirecTV hostile takeover) they too had failed to catch
the eighth inning up to this point.
As they came strolling in through the gate to the back patio,
as the picture came back on, and showed the current reality, the chick in the
group of True Green lawn folks said it best:
“Holy f*cking sh*t! Is
this for real?”
--------------------
When the picture came back on, Lorenzo Cain had just singled to drive home Alex Rios. Apparently,
this was the fourth straight single the Royals had successfully managed against
Will Harris, and now, the bases were loaded, nobody was out, the score was 6-3,
and Eric bleeping Hosmer was strolling to home plate.
The lawn folks sought out Russ and Mona to get started … who
politely informed said yard folks that “this (meaning the aeration) can wait
until this (meaning the game) is over, ok?”
The lawn folks happily agreed. I
offered them a beer, happily accepted, to watch the inning unfold.
Our party of about twelve, was now pushing twenty, between
the late arrivals and folks “on the clock for the man”.
I guarantee you, NONE of the twenty some odd of us crammed
onto that patio, saw what happened next, coming.
------------------
Eric Hosmer singled off new Astros reliever Tony Sipp (who’d
locked the Royals down in the series so far).
Now it’s 6-4, the bases are still loaded, there’s still nobody out, and
to the batters box strolled Dayton Moore’s biggest free agent acquisition of
the offseason – if not of his career – designated hitter Kendrys Morales.
I mentioned at the start of this post, that Mr. Morales’ home
run about 53, 54 hours later, would be my favorite moment of this run the
Royals have made the last three years.
That one swing of the bat was utter and total validation that this was
real, and it was spectacular. There was
no denying who the best team on the field was, and it was the one who had just
taken the Cy Young Award winner to (reggie jackson voice) “second f*cking base”
*******.
But to get to that moment that reduced me to a crying mess
53, 54 hours later, Mr. Morales had to do something that even I concede, was
greater.
He had to navigate this at bat, without destroying “The
Comeback” ********.
That, he would do.
It’s how it was done, that to this moment, still defies any
semblance of logic, reason, or rational thought.
--------------------
(*******: this might be my favorite f*cking quote of all
time. When asked by a f*cking NBC f*cking
reporter after Game f*cking Six of the f*cking 1977 World Series, when he hit
three f*cking home runs … in three f*cking at bats … off of three different
f*cking Dodgers pitchers, the f*cking reporter asked him if he knew where the
last of the three (a shot off the façade in right field) f*cking blasts had
ultimately f*cking landed. Reggie’s
f*cking response? “Second f*cking
base”. Meaning, he hit the bastard so
f*cking hard, it flew all the way back to the f*cking infield, when it hit the
f*cking façade. That’s one f*cking
awesome quote, if you f*cking ask me.)
(********: no, not this “comeback”.)
--------------------
After taking a strike, Kendrys Morales swung at the second
pitch he saw. He hit a bouncing grounder
right back at Tony Sipp. Mr. Sipp
appeared to have gotten a glove on it, and slightly altered the trajectory of
the ball.
If Tony Sipp fields that ball cleanly, it’s a double play,
and while a run would have scored, it would have been 6-5, runner at third, two
out.
Once it got past Tony Sipp, the next player with a crack at
it was Carlos Correa, the hero of the game, the Astros season, and to this
point, the Divisional Series. If Carlos
Correa fields the ball even semi-cleanly, he easily gets Eric Hosmer at second,
and probably the double play occurs, with the anything but speedy Kendrys
Morales lumbering towards first.
But somehow, the ball went under Carlos Correa’s glove, and
on into center field. Two runs
score. Royals 6, Astros 6. Still nobody out, runners at first and third.
In Houston, there was utter silence. On The Deck, I can assure you, our cries of
joy were heard two blocks away, because Alex (the newbie who lives across
Woodson) heard the shouts of celebration as he left his garage, headed our way
to watch the rest of the game.
My phone was blowing up.
My brother’s only response just about mirrored mine: “holy sh*t!” My co-worker Dusti: “I can’t even imagine how
crazy it is (on The Deck) right now.
It’s insane (here at the office)!”
Anthony: “can you believe this?”
Even my buddy Rudy up in South Dakota (a gigantic Twins fan): “I wish my
team gave me one game like this!”
Uuh, Rude Dog? They
did. It’s called “1991 World Series,Game Six”.
To say nothing of Game Seven that year.
--------------------
The crowd on The Deck just kept growing. No sooner did Alex walk in, than Chris’
boyfriend Freddie came in. A huge
Yankees fan, Freddie hated the Astros almost as much as all of us did (since,
after all, they’d ended the Yankees season exactly one week earlier, ruining
the matchup damned near every Royals fan wanted – to face the Yankees in
October for the first time since I was four.)
Dan, the neighbor across the street, came over armed with a
bottle of Fireball, and even the youth minister who bought Joyce and Jerry’s
old house down the street strolled up to watch the last few innings with us
foul-mouthed, half-tipsy heathens.
After Mike Moustakas struck out (and Jarrod Dyson, pinch
running for Kendrys Morales, stole second), at damned near exactly one hour to
the moment from when he was plunked, Salvador Perez’ backup approached home
plate, for his first (and ultimately only) at bat of the postseason.
Because for all the excitement of the previous fifteen
minutes – and all the depression of the previous fifteen minutes – the fact
remained that the Royals still hadn’t come all the way back yet. They had runners at 2nd and 3rd
with one out.
But this was still a tie game. The Astros still had more outs to play with
than the Royals did. And oh yeah, the
season now fell on a dude who hadn’t even seen playing time in four weeks.
A dude by the name … of Drew Butera.
--------------------
Tony Sipp was yanked for Luke Gregorson, as Drew Butera came
to the plate. Again, from that whole
“desperate times call for desperate measures” department – AJ Hinch was turning
to his closer, with five outs to go in a tie game, at home. He wanted no part of a Game Five in Kansas
City.
And given how that turned out, you really can’t blame him for
feeling that way.
But of all the people to turn to, to stop a Royals rally from
down four with six outs to play, of ALL the people in this universe to turn to,
to hang on at the end?
Yeah. Luke Gregorson
wouldn’t even be on my elongated list.
Let alone the short list.
Let alone the roster.
--------------------
If a walk can be a thing of greatness, then the next ten
pitches were greatness on steroids, at the height of the Barry Bonds Era.
Because after pitch number ten, Drew Butera drew a walk, to
reload the bases, and send to the plate Alex Gordon.
How huge was this walk?
For starters, it didn’t result in an out, and really, that’s about the
only reason it’s huge.
If Drew Butera makes an out, instead of drawing a base on
balls, then Alex Gordon’s groundout to follow doesn’t score the winning run, it
ends the inning.
If Drew Butera makes an out, instead of drawing a base on
balls, then Eric Hosmer never bats in the ninth inning, to belt the two-run
home run that put the game out of reach.
Hell, you can reasonably argue that if Drew Butera makes an
out, instead of drawing a base on balls?
Then the Royals don’t win Game Four, and their season ends on late in
the afternoon of Monday, October 12, 2015, the best day of the year for me, and
for many other Royals fans as well.
But we don’t have to wonder “what if”, and we don’t have to
reasonably argue, because Drew Butera took ball four, on a pitch close enough
that most hitters swing at it.
Again, call me crazy, and say I’m a little naïve, but if Alex
Gordon deservedly has a statue of his reaction to tying Game One of the 2015
World Series with his bottom of the ninth home run, erected in the Outfield
Plaza someday?
I’m good for a $20, to contribute to a fund to build a statue
of Drew Butera looking at Ball Four, in the top of the eighth inning, of Game
Four of the 2015 Divisional Series.
--------------------
We all know what happened over the remaining thirty some odd
minutes, after Drew Butera walked.
Alex Gordon drove home the winning run with a simple
groundout.
Eric Hosmer did get one additional at bat, and he deposited
it in the bleachers in right-center field, to put on ice what for many teams
would be the greatest comeback in franchise history … but for the Boyz N Blue,
might be only the fourth or fifth greatest comeback of the last two seasons
alone.
Wade Davis faced seven hitters; six of them failed to reach
base.
The Royals won Game Four 9-6, extended the season one more
game, and then won Game Five 7-2 in a game in which starter Johnny Cueto gave
up one hit (lionel richie voice) all night long.
And the Royals never trailed in a series again, disposing of
the Blue Jays in six, and the Mets in five.
As the great Ian Darke noted six years ago, in what can only
be described as one of the most “holy f*cking sh*t!” endings in sports:
--------------------
“You could not write a script like this!”
Well, of course I couldn’t.
Jesus, anyone who has ever read this site knows I’m not talented enough,
I’m not creative enough, I’m not dedicated enough … (pause) … fine – I’m
usually not sober enough, to write a script as captivating, as engaging, as
incredible, as the script the Royals have written over the last two seasons.
I could not write a script like we’ve seen unfold in so many
venues, over the last year.
But I can write a recap about them.
--------------------
We’ve all seen “Hoosiers”.
(And if you haven’t, you should.)
The pivotal scene is when Jimmy shows up at the meeting where Coach is
being sh*t canned, and simply says “I don’t know if it’ll make any difference
or not, but I reckon it’s time I start playing ball.”
Readers and readettes?
I don’t know if it’ll make any difference or not, but I reckon it’s time
I start posting again.
There’s a lot I’d love to say about the 2016 election.
There’s a lot I’d love to say about the NBA season about to
end – and the playoffs about to begin.
(To put it mildly, I think this is the best year in NBA history in many
regards, and I think the Western Conference playoffs may be the best month-long
run of greatness in sports history, when they’re said and done six weeks from
now. (Pause). What?
(Pause). Yeah, good point – the only
team Golden State hasn’t mopped the floor with the last two seasons? Your likely three seed in the East, the most
storied franchise in The Association … led by the one coach not residing in San
Antonio, smart enough to outthink and outcoach Steve Kerr for a ten day stretch
in mid-June. To say nothing of the fact
that Brad Stevens is the only coach with the balls not named Gregg Popovich, to
believe he has the smarts and skill to outthink and outcoach Steve Kerr for a
ten day stretch in mid-June.)
The only hockey team I give a sh*t about, has home ice
advantage throughout the NHL postseason for the first time since … well, since
I lived in the Metroplex. Welcome back
to meaningful existence in my life, Dallas Stars!
We’re barely six weeks away from the most monumental Indy 500
ever – the 100th.
I’m barely 90 days away from seeing a milestone I never
imagined achieving when I showed up on Thursday, June 29, 2006, for an
interview at current employer: Year Eleven.
(I officially hit Year Eleven on July 10th, God willing.)
And man, how many of us are about to hit a milestone birthday
none of us are necessarily happy to achieve … but have to secretly admit, we’re
proud we’re there – the big Four Oh.
My buddy “The Perpetual Intern” is about to welcome twins
into his life. “bts” is about to welcome
his second kid. Thank God, I’m not about
to welcome my first, at least that I’m aware of, so all is good in the baby
making section of my world!
If you’re coming to The Pool this summer, you’ll notice some
changes that I think will be agreeable.
The “New Deck” construction got underway on Monday. It is my sincere
and genuine hope that every person reading this, gets to spend at least one day
floating in the pool, enjoying a Stevo-style vodka tonic while taking in the
soothing pipes of Ryan Lefebvre and the annoying pipes of Rex Hudler, at least
once this summer.
My great friend Penny began her new career. Thirty
months ago she was downsized from my current employer. She has spent damned near every moment since
that disgraceful, indefensible decision by my current employer, to get to where
she is: as a registered nurse at one of our fine hospitals in this amazing
metropolitan area we call home.
And – oh yeah – we’re barely three months from everyone’s
favorite summer obsession – “The Chenbot”, and the sixteen worthless bar-flys,
bartenders, delusional models, the token angry black chick, the token
flamboyant gay dude, and the “wait, this is the role Stevo was born to play!”
houseguest – entering our lives, via the greatness that is “Big Brother” *********.
--------------------
(*********: admit it: love me or hate me, I’d be the biggest
thing trending on Twitter for as long as my season of Big Brother airs. Because I do have a pair, and I’m not scared
to use them … but I also have an incredible ability to somehow, someway, hold
things together that seem unsustainable.
Such as my own self-existence in life, for example.
That, and come on – all I’d have to do for ten weeks is sit
in the sun with a shirt off, get drunk once the sun goes down, while
sarcastically mocking my fellow contestants – and occasionally, it is all
caught on camera to my mommy’s great shame.
Really? That’s worth
half a million dollars?
That’s me on a typical Tuesday in August for Christ’s sake!)
--------------------
There’s so many things going on I’d like to comment on.
For far too long, I’ve held it in, be it out of laziness, a
lack of motivation, a lack of whatever.
When I look back at the origins of this site, I notice a lot
of the posts tend to be no more than a couple quick paragraphs, rather than the
next great American novel the last couple years worth of posts have tended to
devolve into.
I reckon it’s time to start blogging again.
I hope you’ll be here to read it.
I started "This Comeback" with a post I’d been working on since the day it
occurred – Monday, October 12, 2015.
It is my sincere hope, I never again take half a year, to
chronicle greatness, when it occurs.
And it is my sincere hope, I never leave you hanging for half
a year again, waiting for said chronicle of greatness.
Because “Every Monday”?
Should matter.
If only because the Royals came really, really, really damned
close, to making verse two of that epic song from 1999, the opening lyrics,
that epic Monday six months ago:
“I was f*cked up by five!
Talkin’ nothin’ but jive!
Told the bartender,
He’d never take me alive!
All of this because
My favorite show?
Was cancelled last night
On TV …”
