The baseball gods, capricious as they are, like to save their weirder displays for matinees which will be viewed on the sly by all those fans trapped in offices, reloading GameCast or peering furtively at TVs with the sound turned down. I was convinced of this a long time ago, and today's game certainly did nothing to make me think otherwise. It seemed like every time I looked at the screen something strange was going on.
For instance, what was Frank Robinson doing coming out of the dugout in the fifth to talk to Tony Armas? Armas couldn't seem to grasp the idea of getting a bunt down, that was clear. Frank was tired of the fact that his pitcher couldn't do this simple thing, that was clear too. Goodness knows there's been many a time I wished Torborg/Dallas/Bobby V./Art would pop out of the dugout and deliver a firm talking-to to whichever of our pitchers seemed nonplussed to find himself holding a piece of wood. (OK, not Torborg. Fucking Torborg.) But you can do that? Really? I suppose if the pitcher can go halfway up the third-base line to have to coach whisper “Hey stupid, you're bunting,” it makes sense for the manager to be able to have a tete-a-tete in the on-deck circle. But Lord knows I don't recall ever seeing one. If Bobby V. were still around, I'm sure he would have been out there citing 5.63.15b or somesuch. (And the umpires would have ignored him.)
Then there was Heath Bell warming up for the bottom of the 11th while Looper just happened to be making up for a late start getting loose in the pen. Funny how Willie then changed his mind and brought in the closer. Frank didn't seem to like that much — I think it was knowing Looper would get eight more warm-up pitches just to rub it in. Fortunately he didn't know Willie's next move, if that hadn't worked out, was to have Miguel Cairo spend five minutes looking for a contact lens. Par for the course in Earl Weaver's day, maybe — it reminded me, naturally, of Davey Johnson tormenting the Reds in the Ray Knight Fight Game by switching Orosco and McDowell between the mound and the outfield and having them get their warm-up pitches each time. Definitely another one to shake your head at.
I can't really blame Willie for not having Looper up in time, though, because I still can't quite process what I think happened to end the top of the 11th. So let me get this straight: With one out and Floyd on first and Beltran on second, Piazza blooped a hit to right field in front of crybaby Jose Guillen. Beltran scored just ahead of Brian Schneider's tag as Floyd headed for third. Piazza, moving at the approximate speed of continental drift, decided to break for second. Schneider threw the ball to Jamey Carroll, who tagged Piazza out, at which point Carroll realized Floyd was churning up dust on his way home. So Carroll threw the ball back to Schneider, who tagged out Cliff. Inning over! What the hell?! But wait, we have the lead! Whoo-hoo! But…what the hell just happened there?! Who cares, we have the lead! I know, but….
A 9-2-6-2 double play. Usually when you see one of those, there's a keg at second base.
Oh, and thanks for picking up that thrown towel, pardner. Off to Maine; I'm trusting you to keep the orange and blue flame burning against those damned Pirates. See you for the second half….
Another weirdness from this game was Robinson not sending anyone into the “on-deck” circle when he was going to use a pinch-hitter. Hernandez retired Cepicky (they also have an “eye-chart” guy batting 8th), then had to wait while Robinson selected Spivey to pinch-hit, and while Spivey got ready. Robinson tried to pull that again later in the game, but the umps made him send out the pinch-hitter to the on-deck circle.
One more comment on the 9-2-6-2 double play. It was a bonehead move for Piazza to be thrown out when there was a runner on 3rd with less than two outs. He could have turned it into a smart play by taking out the 2nd baseman, allowing Floyd to score. Piazza had an opportunity for a real smart, gutsy play – but muffed it. (Does this count as another Piazza GIDP?)