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Monday, October 10, 2005
Legacy of collapses grows into a curse
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
They are our Red Sox, our passion and our curse, our annual helping of heartbreak. They are doing to us what the star-crossed Sox did to generations of New Englanders. They are making us believe not in the happy power of miracles but in the darker side of fate.
It goes like this: The Braves get really good over the summer and we tell ourselves, not for the first time and sadly not for the last, that this October will be different because this time they’ve got (choose one, or two, or all) cool rookies/fighting spirit/better starters/better relievers. Then the bitter month arrives and we’re reminded that nothing ever changes. They’re the Braves, and they wilt in October. There’s no explaining it. It’s simply what they do.
Yeah, they win all the other months, and that only makes it worse. The stuff they do that brings them to October never works once they’re there. The closer who carried them through September spits out a five-run lead with six outs to go. The leadoff sparkplug becomes the All-American out. The rookies look like rookies. Every year the failings are different, but every year the result’s the same. The Braves lose. They lose so horribly that they make us never want to watch another baseball game, but then spring comes around and the Braves get hot again and we begin to wonder if this is the team that will make us forget all the other teams.
Instead we wind up remembering. For Kyle Farnsworth, we see Mark Wohlers. (Just as Andruw Jones, then stationed in left field, leaped in vain after Jim Leyritz’s infamous home run in 1996, the same great fielder tried to pull down the Brad Ausmus line-clearer.) For Brian McCann and Pete Orr failing in the clutch against Dan Wheeler, we see Gary Sheffield and Chipper Jones against Robb Nen in 2002. We see everything for the second and third and 10th time, and it hurts worse with every repetition. That’s October if you follow the Braves: Much pain, no gain.
Dour New Englanders had their grim litany: Johnny Pesky holding the ball; Jim Lonborg on two days’ rest; Bill Lee throwing the eephus; Bucky Dent and Bill Buckner and Grady Little. We purportedly sunny Southerners have our own. The last 10 postseasons have yielded no championships, only two pennants and five jolting Round 1 exits.
The tale of woe began 10 Octobers ago, the night Leyritz, nicknamed the King for his playoff theatrics, hoisted the slider from Wohlers, nicknamed (rather appropriately) Woe-Daddy, over the left-field fence. The Braves had led that game 6-0 and were closing in on a second World Series title in succession and were about to stamp themselves as a team for the ages. Instead they became Bosox South.
A six-run lead wasted in 1996. A five-run lead squandered in 2005. Three Game 5 losses at Turner Field. First that rat Leyritz, then Eric Gregg, then Sterling Hitchcock, then Chad Curtis, then Will Clark, then Craig Counsell, then Barry Bonds, then Kerry Wood, then Carlos Beltran, now Chris Burke. Ten October fizzles in a row, 10 and counting.
We know already what will happen over the offseason. The Braves will make moves — the guess is that Rafael Furcal, who should have rendered himself indispensable but hasn’t quite, will be allowed to leave — that will generate yet another division title. (As bad as the Braves are in October, they’re that good in the six months preceding.) We’ll convince ourselves that this team is better suited for the fall than any of its immediate predecessors, and then it will fall, too.
But we shouldn’t lose hope. The Red Sox went from 1918 until 2004 without winning it all, and they finally and famously broke through. If we can just hang in there another 75 years, we’ll really have something to celebrate.
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Williams ready to assert himself at highest level
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
J.C. Clemons
1. Has life in the NBA humbled your boy Louis Williams yet?
Quite the contrary, we hear. In fact, now that Lou has that guaranteed contract deal (the one nobody except he thought would happen), the Sixers’ rookie guard sounds as effervescent, or brash, as ever.
According to the Associated Press, Lou is still being Lou.
He arrived at training camp in Durham, N.C., in full self-assertive mode, complete with this declaration: “I’m even going after Allen’s spot… . The awe factor ended this summer, three months ago once I first got into Philly.”
Uh, that’s Allen Iverson whom the pride of South Gwinnett High was speaking about. High words indeed for someone once considered by many to be a “project.”
But, Lou has not totally lost touch with reality,
“Really, it is impossible,” Lou said of supplanting A.I., “but that’s just the confidence you’ve got to have.”
Coach Maurice Cheeks endorses Lou’s strident mind-set.
“Why should he be a guy that just comes out there and says, ‘I’m not going to be one of the guys and I won’t be able to play,’ ” Cheeks said. “Certainly, he’s not as good as A.I. now, but as time moves on, maybe he will. Who knows that?”
All Lou knows for sure is that he is in a place of his dreams.
“How many 18-year-old guys can even have this opportunity?” Williams said. “There’s millions and millions of high school basketball players out there in the world and I get to practice every day with Allen Iverson.”
For those who just can’t wait until the Sixers visit the Hawks on Dec. 23 to find out, Lou and A.I. play a preseason game in Columbia on Wednesday against the San Antonio Spurs.
2. Now that it’s over, will your other boy, Jeff Francoeur, be Rookie of the Year?
Will he? Probably.
Should he? Nope.
As much as we all love Jeff around here, in an ideal world he would finish third in the voting. I say Jeff falls behind the Phillies’ Ryan Howard (.288, 22 HRs, 63 RBIs in 88 games) or the Astros’ Willy Taveras (.291, 34 steals, 82 runs in 152 games). To me, either would be a more worthy winner.
But being a former card-carrying member of the Baseball Writers Association of America, I will let you in on a little secret. Most award voters are biased. It’s hard to deny human nature.
Voters tend to favor candidates who are nice to them (“How are the wife and kids doing?”), accommodating (do not hide in the training room after a tough game) and/or are quick with a witty quote. Like, for instance: “We should be back in Atlanta right now.”
Still, Jeff’s splendid campaign (.300, 14 HRs, 45 RBIs in 70 games) gives Braves diehards hope for next season.
Once again.
3. Since Brookwood has all but clinched its region, which football team do Bronco fans want to finish runner-up?
Grab a seat, this may shock you. Parkview gets the nod.
Players, of course, couldn’t care less. If you are a true-blue Brookwood backer, though, you would much rather see the hated Panthers win out and take second place in Region 8-AAAAA. That way, Parkview would land in the opposite side of the playoff brackets from Brookwood. Meaning they could not meet again until the state final.
Ironically, Bronco fans would rather Parkview finish third than land the fourth and final playoff berth, even though that would mean Parkview would have to play at opponents’ fields throughout the playoffs.
Until, that is, a possible rematch with the Broncos in the semifinals at the Georgia Dome.
While we can be assured Parkview will be heard from again this season, Central, Berkmar and Grayson will all have a huge say in how the region ultimately shakes out.
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Another fine summer ends in painful fall
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
Bobby Cox is my Manager of the Year, except for one month — October. Not that I’m in sackcloth and ashes after the hassle in Houston, for this is not a World Series team. But six times in a row? Out with the garbage in the first round? With your healthiest pitcher in charge and leading the Astros 6-1? Yep, you’ve heard the same old song so many times you want to bring charges. Tim Hudson was pitching on three days’ rest. So?
This was October, not July. This was what the season was for — to make the playoffs. Hudson’s a strong, wiry guy, built like a coiled spring. Would he rather be pitching to the Cardinals this week, or have all winter to rest, as he now has?
On the other hand, look at that phoolish Phil Garner, who had the audacity to go against the book. Bring the antique Roger Clemens in from the bullpen? Pinch-hit? Go the last three innings?
Let’s see, Clemens pitched last Thursday, so by the baseball calendar he had only two days’ rest. At the age of 43. And who have the Braves got going against him? Joey Devine, 22 years old. Four months ago the league he was pitching in was the Atlantic Coast Conference. Then who did Cox have left to go to? Horacio Ramirez had to be reserved for the fifth-game start that never came. John Smoltz’s shoulder, they said, was aching again. That left John Foster, whose job description is pitching to left-handers. (Though the funny thing is, Cox brought him in the other night to pitch to Lance Berkman, who’s a switch hitter. One pitch and he lost him.) And there was tough little Macay McBride, who was ready but uncalled on.
Here were the Braves in this predicament, score tied, 18th inning, a college kid pitching against the Hall of Famer Clemens, but an Astros rookie coming to bat. (Would I rather have Kyle Davies or Joey Devine in this situation? Easy choice, but for some reason Cox chose to go with the green-as-grass kid for his playoff roster.) The unknown Chris Burke had spent three seasons trying to get out of Round Rock — which, by the way, is Ryan Langerhans’ hometown — had hit five major-league home runs. Looked like even money. Wrong. Devine gave up his third killer home run of the season. At least the bases weren’t loaded this time, but that made no difference.
The “home run” that I question was the one by Brad Ausmus that hit above the yellow line and rebounded onto the field. That “yellow line” stuff has no place in the major leagues. No ball that stays in play should be a home run because of some dadgummed yellow line. It either leaves the park or strikes the fair-foul pole, or it’s not a home run. But Bobby Cox didn’t make that rule.
His minions played their own part in the Braves’ demise. Marcus Giles misses the bag. Chipper Jones throws a wayward ball to Julio Franco, then makes a slow-motion effort after a foul ball. Adam LaRoche had struck a four-run homer, but had been lifted, I suspect, after lallygagging around the bases on Jeff Francoeur’s double in the seventh inning and getting cut down at the plate with a very valuable run. Actually, he probably had no idea Fredi Gomzales, the third base coach, would wave him, and he had trouble shifting back into high gear, which is no burning speed, to say the least.
The bullpen has been vulnerable from the start, when the Braves made the sinking discovery that $3.4 million had been wasted on Dan Kolb. It was another kind of Albie Lopez blooper. They took a $4 million plunge on Lopez a few years back, after one shining performance, and Albie was more to be pitied than scorned. After Kolb, the bullpen was in rotating disarray in search of a closer. Chris Reitsma, Jim Brower and others had a fling at it until Kyle Farnsworth arrived. The season was saved. They had their man. Until the eighth inning in Minute Maid Park Sunday night. For Bobby Cox, the first 162 regular-season games had gone well. Once again, it was those silly little playoff games that got him, sixth time in a row, and you know these fans of ours. Your grizzled correspondent, for one, is not offended. Give me the pleasure of a good 162-game season and October can take care of itself. Besides, by the time they get to the World Series, baseball is but a distant blur on the horizon. I once walked out on one to go to the Breeders’ Cup, so there.
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