Big Men - Big Times

The times were similar for both teams. One team had climbed to the top of their division after five months of mostly turmoil, only to find themselves hanging onto the lead by a thread. The other had made the playoffs for thirteen straight years but were in danger of getting swept by their most hated rival.

Each team would weather the storm. Each of them would accept their challenge and survive. And each would have some heroes of the day, but, in each case, the biggest hero would be their big man.

For the Mets, it would again be Carlos Delgado, whose heroics have been so numerous, I half expect him to come out of the dugout in gleaming armor and wielding a lance instead of a bat. To borrow from Richard Adams in his great story Watership Down, Delgado’s walk-offs and game winning hits have been, as the rabbits would say, “hrair”, which means a great many, as rabbits can only count to four.

For the Yanks. it would be Jason Giambi, who, despite his prodigious numbers this year, had been branded most recently as a non-performer in big spots, as had his even more infamous teammate, Alex Rodriguez. The Giambino had been benched quite a bit as of late, as his fielding and running game lagged somewhat behind his bat, which was saying a lot.

As this writer has most often been a Yankee-hater, and as I was otherwise occupied for the Yankees afternoon game, I only heard about Jason’s big hits after the game. The last thing I heard on the radio was Susan Waldman somewhat viciously panning Arod and Giambi for their failures to hit with runners in scoring position. That reaming was followed by Arod flying out with runners on first and third. Giambi was spared only because he wasn’t yet in the game.

The next thing I know, one of the gym rats is running around with an ear to ear grin, for not only had the Yanks won, but they did it against Jonathan Papelbon. Only later did I discover that it was my favorite Yankee who did the damage. And, to be honest, I guess I really don’t hate THESE Yankees. Not these pitcher-less and Posada-less Bombers, whose biggest hero for the year had been Mike Mussina.

And not THESE Yankees, who had converted Joba Chamberlain from the holder to limited starter, then full-blown starter and now slated to become the holder again after his time on the DL. Not THESE Yankees who actually looked forward to Carl Pavano’s return, with good reason as it turned out.

And not to belabor a point, but the boys in pinstripes are still holding on, notwithstanding Cano’s massive inconsistency, Arod’s fall from grace, Damon’s misadventures in the outfield and Jeter’s off-year. It’s easier to count the blameless, only the Moose and Bobby Abreu of the core group, and of course the ageless one, Mariano Rivera, in any event decidedly less than “hrair”.

But the main reason they’re still breathing a breath of life today is Jason Giambi. In the biggest game of the year, on the very precipice of disaster, the Giambino was the man once again, mustache and all, coming off the bench to destroy the hated Red Sox and their peerless (if tainted in Yankee-land) closer Papelbon.

It’s almost always the big men who draw the attention in any sport, and it’s no different for baseball. And no big man personifies that relationship more than Carlos Delgado. Since July 13^th, the Mets have only lost four games in which Carlos Delgado has had an RBI. And with the Mets relief staff, that’s saying an awful lot.

Delgado has, if my math is right, 43 ribbies since July 13^th. But that doesn’t really tell the story. He’s had at least one ribbie in 20 different games, and the Mets are 16-4 in those games. And, in many of those, Delgado has had the walk-off home run or the game-winning RBI. So he’s been, um, good.

Delgado always has a smile, it seems, even when he’s not doing so well. It’s really a pleasure to see him make some numbers for his new contract, and playing the complete game at first base too. And nobody celebrates like the Mets, and especially when Delgado’s doing well.

You have to admit, the Mets are a cool team to root for, and Delgado’s maybe the coolest. The big guy, playing like the big guy in that batters box and around that keystone bag. He strides (slides) back towards that dugout, big smile, amused that he can still be the man, at least right now, and all those big hits will go a long way towards ensuring his future too.

Even the manager’s cool. If Delgado has been Lancelot, then Manuel has been Merlin. It really is extraordinary the presence of the man when talking baseball, so comfortable, like talking to the local hardware store guy about your patio, for your seven houses.

And the big man is certainly making him look good. The record’s good, they’re up by a game instead of down by a game, and Carlos’s two dingers had a little bit to do with that. Those Phillies, they ain’t so baaaad.

So there it is. Giambi and Delgado, two big men in New York making their presence felt in that lineup. The rest of the guys can be faltering, on both teams, guys like Beltran and Arod, but these big first basemen can take you where you want to go, all by themselves sometimes. At most they need just one or two other guys to do something…..walk, get a little base hit, a sacrifice, whatever, and the big men can do the rest.

They say timing is everything in life. And so it is for these two big fellas. A little hot streak for them both right now, the Yanks chasing the Red Sox and the Mets trying to just hold on, would be perfect.

Great Equalizers...Clay...Distance et al.

All week I have been amazed by the French Open tennis action, and what a difference the surface has made in the outcome of matches and tournaments. Thank God for clay, I thought. There’s always a good chance of seeing a Final you could never dream of when they’re sliding around on that red stuff. It surely beats the hard courts for long rallies.

And, sure enough, there was the lovely Maria Sharapova, while not actually looking too much like a “cow on ice” (as she had once referred to herself), losing to her compatriot Dinara Safina. The really big servers, the Williams sisters for example, had already been beaten. So the Roland Garros faithful had the pleasure of watching two rather unlikely semifinals, a Russian duel between Safina and. Kuznetsova and an all-Serb matchup of the elegant Ivanovic versus the quick-as-a-snake Jelena Jankovic.

And what a semifinal was the latter. Ivanovic proved that she’s not justt a pretty face, sliding back and forth with ease and grace while slamming winners left and right to come back in the third set to prevail. Safina beat Kuznetsova a bit more easily to advance, all of which sets up a tantalizing women’s final, one unimaginable on grass or blacktop.

As much as I await the men’s results, and the fate of the Frenchman Monfils, who has the misfortune of drawing Roger Federer later today, I look forward even more to the Belmont on Saturday afternoon, and wonder about the outcome of what has set up as a classic duel between Big Brown, winner of the first two Crown jewels rather handily and the bred-for-distance Casino Drive, half-brother (through the dam amazingly enough) to the last two Belmont winners.

The great equalizer will be the distance, of course, in that affair, not that there aren’t other variables to consider; Big Brown’s cracked hoof, for example, or getting stuck on the rail. But, even these two seemingly-unrelated questions are amplified by the 1 ½ mile distance. That is to say, one factor is aggravated by the other.

A cracked hoof, although it’s been pooh-poohed by Brown’s loquacious trainer Rick Dutrow, maybe wouldn’t figure too heavily over a mile and a quarter but what will it do over those last two furlongs, especially considering the injury did necessarily affect Big Brown’s training.

And, in a shorter race, Kent Desormeaux would figure to just sprint to the lead, thus staying out of trouble while saving ground. But will Big Brown be able to overcome the energy-sapping effort it’ll take to take the lead in a potential stretch duel after 11 furlongs? After all, there is a rabbit in the race and Casino Drive has the pedigree to get the distance.

The race is setting up for a late drive, either by Casino Drive or even one of the others, for, after all, this is first and foremost a horse race, and horse races tend to propagate unusual finishes. Otherwise, there’d be happy railbirds everywhere, and that’s a prospect I can’t even imagine.

Then, there are the NBA Finals, and the home-court equalizer. The advantages of playing at home in the NBA can scarcely be over-estimated. Without going into boring statistics, the numbers favoring the team on its home court are staggering. While some of the advantage is due to a familiarity with the court, and some due to the noise of the home crowd, it’s those whistle-blowers who have the greatest affect on the outcome.

Very unfortunately, I might add. Even the most die-hard NBA fans have this year cringed at some of the calls, none more noteworthy than the no-call in Game 5 of the Lakers-Spurs game that handed the victory to the Lakers.

Given the questionable nature of the trades that made this Celtics-Lakers death match possible, the ridiculous Pau Gasol trade from Memphis to the Lakers, of course, but also the timely Boston acquisitions of Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen, one has to wonder whether this entire season was story-boarded back in the New York offices of NBA Commissioner David Stern.

Happily, although the Celtics have jumped out ahead in Game One at home, the whistles did not largely figure in the outcome. It was more the defense of the Celtics and the ineffectiveness of Kobe, no doubt forced by the Celtics Defense.

In any event, though, it’s a no-brainer to figure that, once this Series finds its way back to La-La Land, the odds will swing to the Lakers, no matter what should happen in Game Two in Boston. Jack Nicholson, a host of other stars and starlets, the Laker-Girls, all that gold and purple figure to sway the result, if not the officials.

A discussion of equalizers would not be complete without mentioning injuries in football. I still savor with fondness the Giants playoffs-run this past year, but it was all the more remarkable considering the injuries the G-Men withstood throughout that run.

It wasn’t just Jeremy Shockey. There were what could have been devastating injuries to the secondary, against opponents who certainly should have been able to take advantage, Giants-killer Freddy Garcia, the irrepressible Tony Romo to Terrell Owens combination, and Hall of Famer Bret Favre.

Last but not least, if certainly the sweetest, there is the lingering image of Tom Brady, with Giants seemingly draped around, under and through him, trying desperately to find Randy Moss. In retrospect, it was a lack of injuries along the defensive line that spelled defeat for the Patriots.

In baseball, of course, there is a slight advantage to playing at home, but it never really seems to be a significant determinant of a game’s outcome. The great equalizer in baseball is pitching. Or the lack thereof, as the case may be.

I was reminded of this last night as I watched the Mets lose a close one to the Padres, on bases on balls followed by a hit batsman, served up by the usually reliable Scott Schoenweiss. But it could have been worse. It could have been Heilman.

Not Just Three Musketeers

God knows I was pulling for West Virginia last night. I had them in one of my pools advancing. Joe Alexander is my favorite player. The Big East is my favorite conference. The Mountaineers also have some real hustlers, fun guys to watch like Ruoff and Mazzulla.....guys with talent like Da 'Sean Butler. They have a big-time and colorful coach in Bob Huggins.

But it wasn't meant to be. There were Musketeers all over the place. Yes, Xavier just brought it all last night. They shot 28-59 from the field and a cool 11-19 from 3-point land, supposedly a favorite Mountaineer hangout. They out-rebounded the Mountaineers too, 39-34. But it wasn't really a game about statistics, as impressive as they were.

It was really a lot like all those "Three Musketeers" movies, one for all and all for one and all that. But it wasn't just three guys. Sure, you could point to Josh Duncan and his career-high 26 points. Or you could say Stanley Burrell won the game with his all-around game and his cross-court pass to B.J. Raymond that finally iced the boys in blue. C.J. Anderson went 6 for 12 from the field and had 10 rebounds, 6 on the offensive boards.

But if you were clad in white last night, and only eight players were, you were touched by the angels. Derrick Brown only scored 9 but played 30 minutes with just 1 turnover and had 3 rebounds and 2 assists. Drew Lavender played 38 minutes, had 7 assists and just 1 turnover. B.J. Raymond did not too much all night but then went nuts in overtime, making more three-pointers in that period than the entire West Virginia team made all night.

But there was also big sophomore Jason Love, 6'9" and 255 pounds muscling 10 rebounds in just 21 minutes and freshman Dante Jackson didn't embarrass himself either. In 18 minutes, he took one 3-pointer and made it, while chipping in with an assist, a rebound and a steal.

They just wouldn't be denied, these Musketeers. Even when Joe Alexander went off in the second half, and for about ten minutes or so, anybody watching and listening had to think he'd take it all away, either by a nice shot, a strong rebound or sheer hustle. And with little Joe Mazzulla running around loose and Alex Ruoff in the right spots, and those refs hanging foul after foul on the Musketeers, surely the Mountaineers would prevail, right?

I mean, couldn't they just accept they were "beat", I mean, the refs were against them, Joe Alexander was everywhere, these little pesky guys were doing all the right things, and it was, after all, the Big East they were fighting. How could this little upstart Atlantic friggin' 10 team from Cincinnati think they could play with the Big Boys from the Big East?

And then there was a sequence that gave me the willies, that seemed to turn the game around. Surely D’Artagnan laid his sword over the basket in that 4^th quarter. Not only did Alexander miss the jumper, but then one Mountaineer grabbed the rebound, went back up and missed. Then another Mountaineer did the same thing and just missed, then still ANOTHER Mountaineer grabbed that rebound and AGAIN could not put that ball down from two feet. Finally, after an eternity of misses, Xavier finally grabbed the ball, and, as it turned out, the game.

Of course it didn’t end there. Big East fans everywhere would later thrill to Alexander’s jumper that floated right in with just over14 seconds on the clock, thus tying the game and, as he was fouled on the play, surely Joe would finally put this game away at the line. But he missed.

The game went into overtime, as do so many of these NCAA tournament games. And it seemed for a while that West Virginia would finally prevail, going up by 6. But, lo and behold, Joe Alexander fouled out. “That isn’t good,” I said to myself.

But that wasn’t all that wasn’t good. West Virginia missed four of six free throws in the extra period, and they shot only 18-27 from the foul line all night. The 18,103 in the live audience and millions at home could readily see that the hex was truly on the Mountaineers.

One for all, all for one. That one turned out to be B.J. Raymond in the final minutes. He hit a three from the top of the key with 1:18 left to put the Musketeers on top once again. Shortly afterwards, he got loose, snagged the nice pass from Burrell and sunk still another three to put his team up by four with just 30 seconds left.

By then, it was all over, at least it was to me. West Virginia, after all, did not deserve to win this game. Xavier certainly did. And when I really thought about it, I had to figure that, if any team could jolt UCLA in the final of the West Region, it would be this band of upstarts from Xavier, these damned all-for-one guys.

It was a great game though. Good hustle all-around, great plays on offense and defense, the lead going back and forth. It was so good that not even CBS could ruin it, not with skatey-eight commercials or the inane superlatives that kept issuing from the mouths of the succubi in the booth.

Never was a team more deserving of advancing. Hopefully, they will not have left it all on the floor last night. Hopefully, they can gut out one more win against the favorite to win it all, UCLA.

Despite my misgivings about big-time college basketball, I have to admit that games such as this one perhaps make it all worthwhile. There are, after all, worse things going on in America. The President, the war, the gas, the dollar, the economy, health care, Hillary or Barack as the alternatives, lots of things.

And only one winner will take this thing. Xavier ?