The word "unbelievable" is tossed around rather casually in sportswriting these days. This is one of the few times when I think its definition truly applies to the situation. I literally cannot believe what I just saw.
I know that tomorrow, when I wake up, the papers will say that the Phillies beat the Marlins by a score of 8-7 in extra innings. But right now, I feel like I'm in the middle of a dream sequence, about five minutes away from giving a speech to my entire high school in my underwear.
The bottom of the ninth obscured everything positive for the Phils up to that point. They had just scored three insurance runs to go up by four. The bullpen held a lead. Freddy Garcia finally pitched six full innings. (Fred, we'll have more confidence in you once you stop throwing the ball like it's the dunk tank at the county fair, 'kay?)
A few things I could stand. I channeled my inner bastard and reasoned that Dan Uggla's RBI triple actually helped my fantasy team. I couldn't fault Greg Dobbs for being befuddled by Hanley Ramirez's unexpected squeeze bunt. And I could even understand keeping Brett Myers in the game with only one out needed for the win.
But how do you explain Rod Barajas? Everything was set up for him. Aaron Boone (Phillie Killer alert!) hit it sharply enough to make a play at the plate possible. Jayson Werth fielded it cleanly and uncorked a surprisingly accurate throw. Ramirez was only halfway to home when Barajas got the throw, positioned directly to the left of home plate.
The climax was like one of those sequences in kids' movies like Home Alone where a child is being chased by an adult authority figure. The adult finally gains a strategically defensible position and is ready to trap his quarry. But just before he does, he decides that it's a good idea to spread his feet as wide as possible, even though it opens up a tantalizing child-sized window to freedom.
So does Barajas even change his position? Does he move up the line? Does he get down and do his job--blocking the goddamn plate?
No. Ramirez plays the Macaulay Culkin to Barajas's Tim Curry and sneaks right through the five-hole. Tie ballgame. Unbelievable.
On the very next batter, Myers throws a wild pitch and leaves the game clutching his shoulder. Unbelievable.
The Phillies come back to win the game in the tenth with an RBI single by "Defensive Replacement" Abraham Nunez (that's "Dr. Abe" to you), who continues to make the most of his starting job. Unbelievable.
What's incredible about this victory is that the Phils refused to yield when they historically melt like a snowman at South Beach facing a Marlins comeback on the road. (Which is crazy in itself--how can they have such a home field advantage when only a few thousand retirees and sunburned tourists come to root for them?)
Make no doubt about it: changes are coming. Uncle Charlie will find himself back on the hot seat. Barajas will have plenty of time to work on his seed-spitting skills in the near future. Tom Gordon might have a job after all. And Ryan Howard is remembering that he is Ryan Freaking Howard.
But could the biggest change afoot be a veritable attitude adjustment--forgetting that the team is "supposed" to let the fans down in situations like this? That they usually snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and not the other way around? That they can actually turn a potential Chernobyl into a mere Three Mile Island?
That, dear reader, is perhaps the most unbelievable idea of them all.
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