Maybe this kangaroo court thing is apropos after all. Justice Glavine ruled in favor of targeting and hitting the inside corner for once and then sentenced the Cardinals to an hour-and-a-half of futile flailing, with no time off for good behavior. It was gratifying to watch, even though I still find myself desperately rooting for 24 Mets and simply trying to not root against the one who held court Friday night. Old story, but he's still Glavine. He and us, though, we're in business together, so for the good of the corporation, way to go, your, uh, honor.
I get cranky when I have to go more than 48 hours without a game, especially if the last one was a loss; imagine what I'm like all winter. I was still in low-seethe from Derrek Lee, and it was just a matter of when before distaste for the Cubs morphed into detest for the Cards. No offense to Will who sounds like a stand-up (and get-pelted) guy, especially with the Ankiel homage. Warn me if you ever plan to introduce us and I'll dig out ROJAS 51.
For a game I love so much, I do spend a lot of time hating. Catch me on some stray afternoon when the Cardinals are two months away on the schedule and I'll be like, yeah, Stan Musial, what a history, et al. This wasn't one of those afternoons. I hate the Cardinals. I hate the Cubs. I hate the Braves (stop telling me they're not so bad). I stick up for the National League at every turn, yet I despise 15 of its 16 franchises. And there are days I'm not so crazy about us.
As for the Junior Circuit, Chokeland and Seattle are conspiring to ruin a good bit. The Collapse-O-Meter is rusting from disuse, but I have faith. And hate. Oh, lots of it where grumble, grumble is concerned.
I'll tell ya what I do like. I like a night like Friday night when not only do the Mets win in record time (I dozed off after the first Floydian rip and was shocked that it got so late so soon), but the rest of the National League East cooperates as well and technology allows me to enjoy it as it happens.
I began to watch the Braves and Dodgers on TBS when it occurred to me that I could turn on XM and instead indulge in Vin Scully for a few innings. Man, that guy can do baseball. I didn't love him on NBC in the '80s but on the radio he's everything he's cracked up to be. He works alone, you know. Seeing as how the other Dodger voice belongs to Charlie Steiner, you can hear why. Anyway, Vin told pleasant stories about Horacio Ramirez and Bobby Cox (which is tough to do), gave updates on Eric Gagne's rehab and made the early innings sail by all too quickly.
Then he left to work the TV side which left me to fiddle with the dials and skip among West Coast transmissions, settling eventually on the Padres and Marlins. The San Diego announcer — Jerry Coleman's homer of a partner — kept promising us Hell's Bells and Trevor Time, and Trevor didn't disappoint. Marlins lose!
Back on TBS, the Brave booth was bursting with self-congratulation for having suggested Adam LaRoche hit a grand slam right before he actually did it. This gave the Braves a 4-2 lead in the eighth which looked solid…until Milton Bradley, unofficial spokesperson for MLB's Mental Health Awareness Month, hit his own grand slam. The Bravescasters went quiet. Braves lose! Combined with the Nationals' loss, we picked up ground on everybody, moved into third, and sit only 2-1/2 from the lead.
That's what I like.