I saw it with my own eyes

I was there at Dodger Stadium last night.  I saw the Snakes do their batting around Kershaw, yet K remained effective.  I saw Puig continue to get hits.  I saw first base umpire Clint Fagan call Jerry Hairston out when he was safe by at least a step.  The worst part of that horrific call?  The Dodgers did their usual fucking up, keeping the lead at 3-1 going into the ninth.

I knew something wrong was about to happen...and it wasn't the Cool-a-coo ice cream sandwich I was eating (an intriguing concoction of chocolate, ice cream, and sawdust)

Folks, I was sitting at Loge level when I began screaming.  Pleading.  Trying to get the attention of any usher I could find.  Short of running on to the field, I tried my best to prevent what was next. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you're attention please.  Now pitching for the Dodgers, Brandon League."

(Indifference.  You readers know what music should be played.  Take it, "Slim" Jim Koehler)
 
Miguel Montero struck out.  (I've seen that start before.  By the way, the scoreboard implored the lemmings to "Get Loud" after that strike out.  The suggestion was ignored.)

Martin Prado gets a single.  (I know what happens next)

Gerardo Parra gets a double, Prado to 3rd.  (This is where the "Al-bu-quer-que" chant began, and I swear I had two sections of the Loge level joining me...the rest were laughing.  Laughing at someone who we all knew was going to fail.)

Jason Kubel hits a ball toward the middle.  It's knocked down.  Prado scores.  Parra to 3rd, Kubel safe at first.

"Chat-a-nooo-ga"  (Clap Clap ClapClapClap)  (A woman sitting behind us says that's "cruel but accurate.")

Someone named Didi Gregorius gets a walk to load em up. 

"COO-CA-MUN-GA" (Clap Clap ClapClapClap)  (The woman behind us says "It's like we're the Cubs."  I tell her I was a Cubs fan until I had to end that bad relationship.  Pause.  "Then this is all your fault.")

A.J. Pollock pops out to Ellis.  (Dear God, 2 outs...if this wasn't League...)

Willie Bloomquist gets an infield single where TWO RUNS SCORE?!

(I haven't seen 2 runs score on an infield single since watching my sister's 4th grade softball team struggle through a win-less season.)

Peter Moylan comes in to give up another of League's runners while Brandon is told he should just give it up.  The Dodgers, once up 3-1, are now down 5-3.  

Brandon's ERA is now

6

(We all just shake our heads)

The Bottom of the 9th saw the Dodgers get within a run and have runners at the corners with no one out.  No one came close to scoring.  We slowly leave the stadium having snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.

Folks if there is a game to encapsulate the 2013 Los Angeles Dodgers season, it's this one.  It has it all:

• Injuries
• Effective starting pitching pulled at random
• Double switches, a Donny Yankees favorite
• Minimal runs but a lot of hits
• Brandon League getting diarrhea on the mound in the 9th
• The Dodgers just missing a win, losing to a team they should beat
• Out-managed again

I'm out of a voice today, but it was for a good cause: I was warning those around me of impending doom, yet was powerless to stop it.  Brandon League sucks, and I hope Ned remembers that every 2 weeks when that jumbo check is handed to #31.

"I'm tired of doing my job today."

This was the thought that was going through the mind of Jerry Meals last night. 

"It's a LONG day at the office for everyone...so I'm selfish.  I guess us umpires already aren't selfish enough, now is a time as good as any.  But I'm not like a lazy cop who considers a small theft "petty crime" because "I pulled a double shift." I want sleep.  Whoever gets closest to home next wins."

If you saw it live, saw the replay, or saw a photograph, you saw something so obvious that it almost destroyed your mind that it could be called that way.  Hell...even the home plate umpire at the infamous 2002 all-star game called the last pitch a strike...he could have let Bud get another at-bat.  But those were different times.

The great Cosell once called baseball (and this was in the mid-70s, mind you) "a game belonging to William of Orange."  Aside from the comedic touch, he also said baseball was "a game of the nineteenth century."  Which it is, and one that is dragged kicking and screaming to the present and the future.  Since there was no television in 1897, thus no instant replay, we can't have it now.  So instead of saving someone face....instead of making sure correct calls fill the game (allowing the players performance to make the difference) we watch horribly bizarre call after horribly bizarre call.

It's pointless to argue close calls.  There's enough of those in life each day.  "That fucking mom in the mini-van isn't even on the fucking road!"  It is the calls that are so clear, and then you see someone who is supposed to be a professional just shit all over home plate.  And I don't care about the Pirates or Braves.  You probably don't, either.  But you DO assume that an important game involving a team that interests you will include competent umpiring, regardless of the length or nature of the game.  But don't tell that to the umpires - it's not their job to get it right all the time.  They don't have to!  Don't tell Bud, either.  It's hard enough trying to decide what tie you'll wear each day.

Shit...don't say "tie" to Bud Selig.