Our Family Trip to New York City: Midsummer 2008
American League at National League
14 July 2008
by A. Knoefel Longest
Dear Extended Baseball Family,
We are writing to you today because we know that while many of you showed up for this year’s reunion (11 percent more, according to the official ratings), more than a few of you seem to have left a bit early. It happens, we know. You’ve traveled all this way basically to see everyone, say hi, shake a few hands, catch up a bit, and then head on your way again. Yet still, we all know how many kids were at this years’ reunion; and as often happens when this is the case, the whole gathering went on well into the night, and looking back, if you left before 11pm, you pretty much missed the party.
Sure, there was quite a show at the beginning. There was a parade down 6th Avenue, and a long but well-orchestrated ceremony in which many of the game’s legendary elder statesmen aligned themselves on the field, by position, and welcomed the starters in this years’ game. As we all know the New York branch of our baseball family is big on superlatives—everything either the biggest, or the most, or the best, or the greatest ever assembled anywhere at any time in the history of the planet—and we applaud them if nothing else for the effort. This of course was the last All-Star Game to be hosted in the old house, Yankee Stadium, and this fact alone seemed by all accounts within the media coverage and pregame discussion to be the main reason for us gathering at all—to pay homage.
(Which, look, we don’t really consider ourselves a family gossip here, but yes you know it has to be said: that it seems a little odd to be heaping so much praise on a building which was renovated beyond recognition out its original glory thirty years ago, and since that time has been the constant subject of ridicule by its very owner, who—we haven’t forgotten—has spent the better part of the last thirty years trying to get the townsfolk to build him a new house so that he can take a wrecking ball to the place he and many others consider wholly unsuitable to a team that is the best, the greatest, the most.)
Finally, after all such homage was paid and the lineups announced and the anthem sung, there was the minor detail of having a baseball to be played. And for a time it too seemed almost ceremonial, going through the motions and rotating some of the bigger names out at pre-set intervals. Applause, homage, and on to the next. There is no denying that it was a remarkably dull game for most of the evening, which is typical of these type of gathering but rare to the degree where at one point (around about the fourth or fifth) there were earnest discussions as to whether this was, in terms of play, the very worst All-Star Game on record. Through six and a half innings it may well have been. For in that time the list of interesting baseball moments consisted, in whole, of: a Matt Holiday opposite field solo home run of Ervin Santana in the fifth, and a sacrifice fly by Lance Berkman of Justin Duchscher in the sixth. And that, was it.
Of course by that time most of the big names had already left the reunion. Ichiro, Jeter (mid-inning, to a predictably loud ovation), A-Rod (also mid-inning, to just as predictably tepid applause), Pujols, Utley, Mauer, Manny, Youkilis, Chipper Jones and so on. With a wave and a see you next year they made their way out off the parking lot and away, and as the night deepened toward midnight fewer and fewer were left hanging around the picnic table.
But you know how these things go. Late on a warm summer night, half dozen younger family members sitting around picking at the crumbled potato chips, giving a spent keg one last pump, telling stories; and then, at some point the laughter starts up, a few cans are fished out of a tub of melted ice, and the party starts all over again.
Now we realize many of you left early and had to hear about it in the morning, so we’ll try to piece it all back together for you. Yes, as always, we took some snapshots; but you know those late night pictures never turn out quite right. Still we’ll flip through them and piece together the night as best we can. All we know for sure is that it was a great party, and lasted nearly till dawn.
- Alright so this one must be in the beginning because everyone’s still there. American League side all together, you have Ichiro, Jeter, Josh Hamilton (warm welcome to a prodigal son), A-Rod, Manny, Milton Bradley, Youk, Mauer, and Pedroia. A good bunch altogether, but missing a few key faces, namely Big Papi (present but on the sidelines), and everyone’s favorite wobbly uncle, Vlad.
- Another early one, this one of the National League side. Here we had Hanley Ramirez, Utley, Berkman, Pujols, Chipper, Holliday (in for the injured Soriano), Braun, Kosuke Fukudome, and Geovany Soto. To which, once again: ehem.
- Here we go then. Nothing like a sequence of pictures jumping about three hours ahead and going from neat, prim, day lit ceremony to dark and flash-washed late night revelry. Because the next picture that pops up is of J.D. Drew facing the Reds’ Edinson Volquez with two outs and one on in the seventh, AL down 2-0. You remember J.D., right, that kid who had all that talent and just never seemed to put it together, to the point where some people were starting to talk. How he’d never gotten a big hit, never carried his team like we thought he could, never once made it to a family reunion. Yeah, that’s him. Well it seems he has made something out of that talent, and stepped up not only when his team needed him this season, but also tonight, when his entire league needed him. He does so by turning Volquez’s 2-1 pitch on a line into the right field stands and instantly tying the game 2-2. And the Yankee Stadium crowd, well, does not seem to know quite what to do, and so instead sort of murmurs its ascent that being tied rather than losing is, technically, a good thing.
- Less so a moment later. This really is an unattractive shot, no matter how you look at it. With the game tied in the late innings it comes down to what should be one of the highlights of the game, in the American League’s ability to run out the three greatest closers in the game back-to-back-to-back. Yet whatever baseball intrigue this situation presents (what should be a showcase moment in the showcase game) turns sour because of some New York tabloid nonsense, and some overzealous and we must say a little sour Yankee Stadium fans, who boo and taunt Sox’ closer Jonathan Paplebon mercilessly during the entire top of the eighth. Now before going any further let is say that yes, when the reunion was in Boston the Fenway fans did absolutely boo Derek Jeter and other Yankees when they came to the plate. This is true. But let us also say that there is a difference between booing, and outright castigation. What happened with Jeter at Fenway (and Drew, Ortiz, and the other Sox at Yankee Stadium) was a booing meant to show disfavor; but this, with Papelbon, was different. This was a reprimand for a perceived slight drawn out of a nothing, joking comment in an hour long press conference.
And really, to place blame where blame is due, what kind of paper uses its entire back page on the day before a grand, celebratory, and by all measures positive moment in city sports history, to create trouble and distaste and vitriol out of nothing? (Ah but if you give them bread and circus…)
In any event, the image of Yankee Stadium venting its spleen on a visiting pitcher who had said merely in jest that he would love to be the one to do his job and save the game, did serve one small but key purpose. With all the sentimental black and white montages of the Stadium and its glory, this one moment served to remind us that it has not always been a place baseball has been proud of. That it has been the scene of numerous unsightly squabbles, on the field and off, and that it has been home to many types of Yankee fans, some of whom…well perhaps Steve Garvey put it as plainly, and politely as possible, by once merely noting that, “…throwing things on the field is not my idea of a well-rounded human being.”
- Gratefully the game moved on, and this next shot is of Rays rookie Evan Longoria at the plate with two outs in the bottom of the eighth, and Grady Sizemore having just now stole second. The American League trails 3-2 (Papelbon had given up an innocent single before a clean stolen base went awry when Dioner Navarro let fly a bad throw and Michael Young did an even worse job of keeping it from darting into the outfield. The run scored on a sac fly, and Papelbon was booed mercilessly.) Longoria looks a bit nervy, to be honest, but with the National’s Brian Wilson on the mound he reaches down and golfs a 3-2 pitch out into left field, hooking toward the line it stays just fair, and Sizemore comes around to score and tie the game at 3-3.
- The next one is, in its own way, as uncomfortable as the previous closer situation, if only because it is so awkwardly forced. Here Francisco Rodriquez, on pace to shatter the single season mark for saves, leaves the ninth after only two batters and one out, and gives way to Mariano Rivera. This, by our program, is to be the climax of the night. A big ovation, tribute to the great Mo, and so on and so forth. The only problem is that the curtain not only fails to come down when the star leaves the stage, but the show actually begins in earnest only after his departure. In effect it is the last of the merely ceremonial moments, and from this point on—after all the starters have left for both sides, and all the first-choice pitchers have been used up and crossed off—only then does the game, and the real showcase of baseball’s best, begin in earnest.
- Alright so here we go: bases loaded, nobody out, tie game in the bottom of the tenth; Rockies’ Aaron Cook on the mound, and Marlins’ second baseman Dan Uggla behind him at second, looking as if sincerely wished his first half had not been quite so productive. He has made two errors on two balls hit to him, and with an intentional walk added has essentially loaded the bases by himself (not an easy feat for a middle infielder). Now, knowing that, it is one of the few guarantees in baseball that the very next ball will without a doubt be hit directly to Uggla. It is, a hard ground that he fields and very, very deliberately fires home for the force. Still though the game is there to be won, and again it is Longoria at the plate (a fly ball away from an All-Star MVP); only this time he grounds hard to third, the force is again made at the plate, and Cook (an out away from a possible All-Star MVP) gets Justin Morneau to ground out to short to end the inning, end the threat, and bring a visibly relieved Dan Uggla jogging in to pat his new favorite pitcher on the back.
- Now here’s a really good picture for you young catchers in the family. It comes inning later in the bottom of the eleventh, with Cook still on the mound and the situation now Navarro on second, Drew on first, one out, and Young at the plate. He singles to center, and Navarro with the winning run is waved around as Nate McClouth comes up on one hop throwing home on a straight line and Russell Martin fields with textbook precision—his left food blocking the plate, leaning to his right, he catches on a short hop and slides over to both block Navarro from the plate and apply a good firm tag. Good, good baseball.
- Another shot of bases loaded, this time for the National League in the top of the twelfth, one out, Joakim Soria on the mound and none other than Dan Uggla at the plate to win it. Or, not. He strikes out, extending his All-Star-grade nightmare and (after Adrian Gonzalez strikes out against George Sherrill) extending the tied game another half inning.
- Next half inning, next good clean-cut scoring opportunity. Carlos Guillen on third, one out, Cook still on the mound, and Longoria up again with a chance to win the thing with a fly ball. This time he strikes out, and after Morneau is walked Ian Kinsler grounds out to end the threat and inning. And, we have to feel, raise the name of Aaron Cook in the esteem of more than a few of his National League teammates.
- Next half inning, next example of good baseball. The Mets’ David Wright leads off with a single to center, but when Christian Guzman attempts to bunt him over Sherrill comes off the mound to field cleanly, turn and chances a throw to second, and cuts down the lead runner with a strike. A simple, but critically well executed baseball play.
- Another scoring chance. This one in the bottom of the 13th, with JD Drew on after an (we can hardly bring ourselves to write it) error by Uggla; he steals second on a Young strike out, and stands there needing only a single to win it. Carlos Quentin—whom we are reminded over and again has to most game winning hits in all of baseball—strikes out swinging to end the inning.
- Then nothing but an uneasy tension, as the game lingers on into the top of the 14th, the top of the 15th, and the night lingers on well past one o’clock in the A.M. It has long since become a war of attrition, a battle the National League seems to have won by having closer Brad Lidge ready while the AL is reduced to one man, Scott Kazmir—he of the 109 pitches only two days prior, he who his manager has publicly said will not pitch except unless absolutely necessary, he who only has a set number of pitches to be thrown before he will be removed for…
And there’s the rub. For the American League it is Kazmir alone (and perhaps 20 or 30 pitches) who stands between this being a great exhibition of baseball skill and excitement, and it turning into a mockery of All-Star Game itself. He works a relatively clean inning, walking one, and we head a bit warily into the bottom of the fifteenth.
- Here then is the next to last picture. Brandon Lidge on the mound, one out, Morneau on third (having singled), Navarro on second (ditto), JD Drew on first (having done an admirable job of resisting the hero’s swing and taken his walk), and Michael Young at the plate. On the first pitch Young swings, and flys a ball to the shallow side of left field, where Brewers’ outfielder Corey Hart comes in throwing as Morneau and his long frame come down the line, the throw is hard and straight but slightly toward first, and Martin catches and swipes his tag hits Morneau’s leg an instant after it slides onto the plate. Safe, and the American League wins it 4-3, in fifteen wonderful innings of baseball.
Those who are left, lingering around the picnic area here at nearly two in the morning, give high fives and shake their heads. Looking back through this flurry of late-night thrills, we can safely assert without any hesitation at all that this has been the most exciting All-Star Game in a generation, if not ever. (Hard to verify, of course, but just in the sheer number of critical, potential game-altering at bats it must rank near the very top.) Of course, we hesitate to add that it will surely not be remembered that way; not only because of the late start and finish of its excitement, but also because the principle players involved were not the brightest of stars. Nevertheless, the game is meant to be a showcase, and a showcase it was. There were stolen bases (a record number) and sacrifice bunts, great defensive plays and horrible gaffs, clutch two-out hitting and breathtaking no-outs pitching escapes, any number of at bats which could have decided the game, and two fantastic plays at the plate—one that saved it, and one that won it. All coming after the official, league-sanctioned, team organized, network promoted show had ended.
And this, perhaps, is our favorite memory of all.
For this entire night was meant as a tribute to the long gone past. Some said it was a celebration but really, in fact, it felt was much more like a eulogy. Past heroes, past memories, past ballparks. And while this ability to remain conscious of the continual thread of history through the game is unquestionably one of baseballs most charming traits, it too needs to be checked when it goes so far as to blot out the present. Which is exactly what had begun to happen around such a wildly nostalgic event. So it is only fitting that the orchestrated, ceremonial aspects of the night passed without a great deal of enthusiasm (one always sensed that the producers of this show were somehow expecting more—more emotion from the players, more thunderous homage from the fans), and that once it had gone and carried its props off the stage, a most exuberant display of why this game is great in the present tense began. So much grainy footage, so many words spent reflecting, so much tribute to what is being left behind; and all the while, down below, Aaron Cook and Russell Martin and Joakim Soria and Even Longoria and Michael Young and JD Drew and Justin Morneau went and played an All-Star Game more exciting and more interesting than any other before it—regardless.
Until October,
A. Knoefel Longest
Boston, MA
