It's 3:30 Pacific time and I'm blasting up I-5 in a rental car, topping 80 in a valiant (and basically successful) effort to get to the conference I'm attending in time for a 4 p.m. meeting with a tech bigwig. I'm driving with one hand, flipping up and down the AM dial with the other, and periodically interrupting one or the other to jab at my cellphone. (Thank God I don't smoke.)
Why? So I can see what our stupid team did. I listened impatiently to the dregs of an Angels-Dodgers game and finally got Emily on the phone.
“Did they win?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“Was it bad?” I said.
Well, yes, it was. Pedro seems to have done a pretty good job showing the Yankees they ain't his daddy anymore, but Daddy Willie might want to sit Wright and Reyes down for a loving but firm talk. I mean, Holy Kaz Mientkiewicz! We can't make a habit of these things.
So after all that Sturm and Drang, we wind up with the same record as Those Guys. Whatever. I don't want to hear that we should have swept, not after a double double error and some crappy relief pitching to seal the deal. Even if those twin tragedies did bookend a satisfying drama of the now-Medium Unit.
Young players on young teams do these things. They also learn from them if those young teams are going to turn into good teams. Atlanta and Florida await. Time for some learnin'.
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