It’s Always Sunny In Los Angeles

It’s times like these that we need to appreciate living in Los Angeles. As decent and loyal fans I completely encapsulate what it means to be a “die-hard”. I’m right there, in the passion pit, side by side, next to all of you. We follow our team, night in and night out, for a 162-game epic of a season. We watch every sacrifice-bunt, every wild pitch; every Manny Ramirez poorly impersonated Truffle Shuffle, as he would go after doubles down the left-field line. We’ve seen the failure in a relief pitcher’s eyes as he gazes out into the pavilion seats that are about to become the home of at previously uncorked fastball. We’ve seen the celebratory helmet launch, as “The Jonas’ Brother’s Favorite Dodger” would unleash just before launching himself into the arms of his teammates.

And now we’ve tasted the rancor of our own organic imaginations.

The beauty of our plan was in its simplicity. After having upset the heavily favored St. Louis Cardinals, the Dodgers would simply take the series from the Phillies and beat it out of em’. (If you haven’t caught on to the reference yet there’s still one more chance). There was nothing to be afraid of. Unfortunately for the Dodgers, the plan turned out to be far more complex than originally anticipated. And worse still for Donny (Joe Torre) and the Dodgers, the men they were attempting to rob, were neither nihilists nor cowards. They were the Phillies. The same team who broke our hearts in five games last season. The same team who seems to continuously, for one reason or another, have our collective number.

No, Brett Myers did not infiltrate the box score with RBI’s fit for a Pujols, but it didn’t matter. Jayson Werth and Co. were simply too much for a pitching staff that could boast neither an Ace nor a King, and had to settle on a group of scattered misfits. A bunch of 2-7’s. A hand that would force a bracelet-wearing poker player to fold like fresh laundry.

The point is that we, as fans, made a conscious decision to believe in this team, for no logical reason other than blind loyalty. We knew what we had in April. Granted, there were plenty of pleasant surprises along the way, most of whom spend the majority of their time in the ‘pen.  There were also, however, some major setbacks to some major players on the Los Angeles side of the chessboard. Setbacks that ultimately rendered them pawns. Setbacks like presumptive ace Chad Billingsley failing to position his 4.03 ERA below the Astacio-line (that I just made up). Or setbacks like a full season of Manny Ramirez, interrupted first by an agent who would sooner scavenge the depths of Hell before giving in to human emotion, then by suspension. And oh wait, I forgot: A juggernaut, T-1000-esque ultimate villain of an American media that would sooner scavenge the depths of Hell before giving in to human emotion. The media, to me, is the main culprit in regards to the demise of Manny Ramirez. I think they finally got to him. He could handle the quips about his laziness, the barrage of jokes regarding his defensive grace and even the attempted slander on his character. I truly believe none of that bothered him.

It never bothered him because he crushed the ball. And when he did so, he smiled. Say what you will about Manny, but don’t say he didn’t have fun playing the game. And don’t say other players didn’t have fun playing with him.

Notice the past tense. Notice the past statistics. Know that it’s now just that, in the past.

I truly believe that the steroid banter finally exposed a chink in his armor. A chink that left him vulnerable versus more than just pitchers. Manny understands what he did. For the first time in his professional life he had done something unquestionably, irrevocably wrong. And for the first time, he couldn’t play baseball the way he was capable. He couldn’t back it up. He couldn’t definitively say Eff You to the jabs about his post-steroid statistical dip.

Manny’s lack of authority in the Dodger lineup does not account for everything though. But combined with the lack of consistent starting pitching and untimely slumps from Rafael Furcal, Casey Blake, Joe Torre and Matt Kemp were too much to overcome.

I’m not going to get into Torre’s mismanagement of the rotation or his WTF Ronnie Belliard loyalty because it’s old news. Torre has been in the postseason for a long time and has earned the right to be Joe Torre. He is just that. A caricature of a manager. A manager who has gone 38-41 in the playoffs since his last World Series victory in 2000. A phenomenal leader in times of despair, especially for a still-young Dodger roster, has seemed to fall in love with his own quirkiness. The following, however, were the only major qualms I had with his arrogance:

• Orlando Hudson, our all-star 2nd baseman, didn’t start a game in the postseason. In case you missed it the first time, Orlando Hudson was out of favor between two players. And the other player was Ronnie Belliard. What did O-Dogg do to you, Joe?
• 8 postseason games. 3 stolen bases. It has always bothered me that the Angels, a team I despise with the fire of 10,000 suns, plays National League baseball far better than their faux city counterpart. The Dodgers are not a power hitting team. They need to put pressure on defenses and utilize their speed. JP had 0 stolen base attempts. You’re telling me they couldn’t pinch run Juan Pierre in every playoff game and make sure he gets a shot at swiping at least one?

The last thing I will speak on is the biggest reason (literally) I feel Dodger fans talked themselves into the team rather than deciphering through the figurative tear gas. That thing is Big Jon. Or as I have temporarily deemed him, Mr. April.

We knew he didn’t have it. Admit it. I saw all your bitter Facebook status’. You knew it. I knew it. He definitely knew it and may know it for a while.

Jonathan Broxton is NOT a big game closer. Anyone ever recall Mariano Rivera walking and plunking back to back hitters in the ninth inning of a one run game? I certainly don’t. What I do remember is Matt Stairs cremating the remains of a Broxton moneyball and depositing them into the all-you-can-eat seats. I remember a 3-run save being blown late in the season when the Dodgers had a chance to clinch the division. This isn’t exactly a novel approach from Jon. Ain’t nuthin’ new from where I’m sitting.

This may be a bigger deal than we think. Soft-minded closers don’t exactly have the best track record after blowing nationally televised playoff games. Think Brad Lidge after Pujols changed his slider from solid to liquid.

So in summation, we were in ownership of 0 of the following things:

• Up-The-Middle strength. Furcal and Martin were bad all year and never really showed us anything to believe that they aren’t both through. I’ll give Martin the benefit of the doubt if we find out later that he’s been playing with a titanium plate in his wrist, or something of that nature. Combine this with Ronnie Belliard starting over Hudson and Matt Kemp’s 206 post-season strikeouts and you have a major, major weakness.

 

• Number 1 and 2 starters. This was supposed to be Billingsley and Kershaw but it’s clear that Kershaw is still at least a year away from being the shut-down guy we all believe he will be. And Billingsley made a midseason decision to try and prove that there just isn’t that big of a difference between 89 and 94 mph. I know I’m a believer.

 

• A give-em-the-ball-and-tell-him-to-win-this-shit closer.

 

• A Manny Ramirez

 

Not exactly the recipe for October champagne.

This all brings me back to my topic sentence. My mission statement. We talked ourselves into believing in this team. We knew they didn’t have it and it killed us when they proved it. I know how it felt, how you wanted to Chan Ho Park scissor kick Chan Ho Park and/or the nearest Philly fan. It felt like someone took my noodles when Rollins line drive found grass in right-center. But it just wasn’t to be. The dream matchup; Yankees/Dodgers for coastal supremacy, Torre/Yankees for pride, A-Rod/Ethier for Kate Hudson. The list goes on. Countless celebrities will have to wait one more year for a chance to outshine each other beneath October’s spotlight.

My main point and reason for starting this piece the way I did is that I feel we should appreciate our beautiful surroundings now more than ever. If not for my reason, then for many others I’m sure.

Would you rather be in Minnesota through March having just lost playoff series? Thank you, Los Angeles. The Dude abides.

Oh yeah, one more thing.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It’s basketball season. Whoops.

 

By Justin Gordon-Cooper

~ by putcoopsdodgerhaton on October 23, 2009.