McGwire Claus

On Monday, my childhood hero announced that the speculation attached to his name for the last five years was more than conjecture. That the accusations made by his former bash brother were more than sensationalized pull quotes to sell a book. That the debate about whether he had used performance-enhancing drugs was no longer debatable. That’s because on Monday, Mark McGwire admitted to using steroids. Or in other words, Santa Claus wasn’t real….

If I had a time machine, I’d go back to my 8-year-old self and give him some advice. I’d find him sitting on the edge of his Dad’s bed in New Jersey, struggling to stay awake and watch the end of Game 1 of the World Series, live from Los Angeles. I’d go to bed that night saddened by the loss of my favorite team. But as I would later learn, I was rooting for the wrong guys. The year was 1988. The game would go down in history as one of baseball’s all-time best, and as I find myself now working in the very same building in which Kirk Gibson’s home run soared into the All-You-Can-Eat (nee Right Field) Pavilion, I realize that that his game winning shot off Dennis Eckersley represented much more than a Dodger victory. Rather, it was the baseball gods speaking through Gibson’s bat as good prevailed over evil. You see, McGwire claimed in his statements that the reason he took steroids was to help him heal from injury. In a beautiful twist of fate, only appreciated through the eyes of hindsight, Gibson was injured going into the series. He could barely walk. But without the aid of steroids, without the aid of HGH, and with only the aid of a Tommy Lasorda pep talk and his natural talents, Kirk Gibson stepped to the plate and won the game off Oakland’s Hall of Fame closer. A Hollywood ending if there ever was one. If only I could tell myself then, that this was a moment to savor rather than stew over. A moment I could have re-lived with my friends on the driveway, rather than mimicking the Canseco/McGwire bash. A moment I would have cherished until the day I walked into Dodger Stadium with an employee badge and fulfilled what might have been a childhood dream.

Instead, I took the path most traveled. I believed in the power of the home run. (Its not just chicks who dig the long ball.) And over the next 10 years, I watched, defended and cheered for McGwire. At summer camp, in the middle of the Pennsylvania woods, I’d find the library (yes the camp library of all places) as often as possible so I could check the latest box scores, see how McGwire was doing and how he stacked up in the home run race (somehow guys like Rob Deer and Mo Vaughn were always in the running at that point in the season). These moments were shared with my just-as-devoted-to-baseball cousin and being that this ritual would usually take place in early July, we’d joke about how many home runs McGwire would need to hit in order to break Roger Maris’ all-time record. Wouldn’t that be something, perhaps in our lifetimes we thought.

As I grew up, I’d go to games when McGwire was in town to play the Yankees (during his Oakland days) and later the Mets, when he was a member of the Cardinals. I can remember watching Big Mac hit two home runs against the Bronx Bombers during an injury-plagued season in which he only hit 9 total. I remember talking back to those Mattingly fans sitting in our section, making fun of what an average player he really was despite the Donnie Baseball lovers all around me. Once again, if I could tell myself to root for Mattingly, rather than McGwire, the fact that I now work with Coach Mattingly could have been even more rewarding.

Across the Triborough Bridge at Shea Stadium, friends and I took in a double-dip between St. Louis and the Mets in 1998 - THE year. The year baseball would change forever. And despite New York fans cursing at me for wearing a McGwire jersey to their stadium, I left the game with nothing but smiles as Big Mac hit his 50^th of the season that day (not to mention his 51^st) en route to a record. (We did leave quickly, however, considering the foul-mouth fans had close to 18 innings to get good and drunk.)

Later that fall, when I went off to college, my attention was somewhat diverted to the new world around me: Lecture halls, girls, house parties, girls, and at the time, a respectable Syracuse football program. Despite it all, I managed to continue tracking McGwire’s assault on the record books (an appropriate phrase, don’t you think?). And on September 8^th, 1998, as McGwire trotted around the bases for the 62^nd time that season and embraced his son, his teammates, Sammy Sosa and the Maris family, I too was embraced from friends and family across the country. My adoration of this baseball immortal was no secret, and I received calls and even emails - from those technically advanced - congratulating me on the historic blast.

The country would fall in love with McGwire that summer and conversely, I began to ease off my fascination with him. For years, I had dreamed of him breaking Maris’ record and when it finally happened, and the dust settled on the numerous pieces of memorabilia I now owned commemorating the eventual 70 spot McGwire would post that season, the fantasy was over. It was now reality, or so I thought. I’m sure the parties and the girls (and the lectures too!) made it easier to move past my boyhood dreams, but his role in my life was not over yet. In fact, it actually relates to the afore mentioned girls as I was introduced to my now wife because she had a news clipping about McGwire’s record tacked to her collegiate cork board. I can’t make this stuff up. Even our rabbi made note of McGwire and his role in our first encounter at our wedding during the actual ceremony - under the Chupah no less!

And now. After feeling sad for the man after he was pinch-hit for by Kerry Robinson in his last at bat. After suffering through the embarrassment of the 2005 congressional hearings. After reading Jose Canseco’s tell-all book and seeing McGwire’s peers shot down one by one, Monday was not a complete surprise. It was a slow decline to this moment, from the minute he crossed home plate with his Bunyan-sized smile, to the tearful apologies given to Bob Costas last night, finally proving that there was no such thing as a seventy home-run hitter.

Of course its not as simple as that. I can’t go back in time to warn myself, nor can I relive my childhood as a fan of Don Mattingly rather than Mark McGwire. One of Mark’s quotes during his interview went like this. “"Looking back, I wish I had never played during the steroid era.” Looks like he could use a time machine too.

The Naughties

This is the time of year when people like to make lists, blog lists, check lists (twice) and hopefully, read lists. So, as we say goodbye to the Aughts I present the Coffeeon3rd edition of the decade that was:

Best Sports Moment: 4/07/03: 3rd and Long. New York, NY

The answer to this question is relatively easy for this Orange alum (considering my baseball, football and basketball teams of choice all failed to win it all in the '00s). Since I graduated in '02, the Syracuse run to the Men's Basketball National Title Game could still be enjoyed with the enthusiasm of an undergrad. To prove it, I watched Syracuse knock out Oklahoma in the Elite 8 in person as my friend Greg and I woke up at dawn in New York City, drove to Vermont to meet a guy at a Burger King with tickets we bought on Craigslist, then drove through the snow to Albany to watch the 'Cuse take out the Sooners. And if that werent enough, I decided to make another drive north, this time all the way back to the Salt City to watch the Final Four matchup versus Texas on campus, which was followed by an impromptu race to M Street to celebrate. So when Monday, April 7th came along, it seemed destined that my view of the Championship would pale in comparison to the previous two games. I was mistaken as more than a dozen of my fellow Orange alumni met at our favorite New York watering hole, 3rd and Long in Murray Hill, to watch G. Mac, Melo and Hakim Warrick swat the Jayhawks en route to a National Title. Beer was flowing, both in our mugs and over our heads as we reveled in the victory. If you didn't know any better, you would have assumed we had class the next day.

Best/Worst Sports Moment: 12/03/07: M&T Bank Stadium. Baltimore, MD

The Patriots were undefeated. The Ravens were 4-7. The Patriots had Tom Brady. The Ravens had Kyle Boller. The Patriots were on their way to the Super Bowl. The Ravens were on their way to a 5-11 season and a coaching change. BUT BUT BUT for one night, we stood toe to toe with destiny's darling on the grandest stage of all, Monday Night Football. Just a week after New England squeezed out a win vs. the Eagles, the Pats headed to BMore for a MNF game against the down trodden purple and black. The season was lost, but hopes were high as a game against an 11-0 team looking to rewrite history, in front of a national audience no less, brought an air of excitement to the Charm City all week long. This was 'our' Super Bowl. The game itself somehow lived up to the hype. At halftime, we were tied! Hope. As the 4th quarter began, we were winning! And then, in a moment I'll never forget, as Lauryn and I knelt on the sidelines with snow flurries beginning to fall, we smiled at each other with a knowing look as if to say, "Can you believe it? We're going to take this thing!" At that very moment, with more than two-thirds of televisions across the country tuned in (and presumably rooting for the Ravens given we were playing the role of David in this performance), Boller threw an interception on the way to what appeared to be a game clinching drive. Brady proceeded to lead the Patriots down the field in the opposite direction despite their best efforts to give us the game (the Ravens called timeout before a would-be 4th and 1 play that we had stopped - thank you Rex). The game went on and led to a Jabar Gaffney TD that no Raven fan could forget, nor could Bart Scott as he took one of the referee's flags and threw it into the crowd. I later learned that ESPN asked the Ravens PR team if they could interview Ray Lewis and Ed Reed on the field following the game, only to see Rodney Harrison eventually give the post-game presser. The highs and lows defined in a single night. In the end, this one ranks at the bottom.

Top Life Moment: 8/20/04: Lincoln Financial Field, Philadelphia, PA.

As most of my readers know, there is a better half to this blogger whom I was lucky enough to marry in June of '05. However, as great as the wedding was, the best moment of the decade for me was the point in time that I decided to ask her to marry me. It was during a preseason game in Philadelphia as she traveled with the Ravens up I-95 to The Linc. I trekked east from New York after work to catch the seemingly meaningless preseason game for the chance to see her during halftime for a few minutes and to take in a little football of course. We met in the concourse behind my seats. Shared a few stories of the day, talked about when we'd actually get to see each other next, and that was it. A hug and she was off, down the stairs, back to the field. And then it hit me. I knew that deep down that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I didnt want to let her go again, whether it was down to the field, or anywhere else without knowing that we'd be back together. Cue the violins, but its the truth. And since it happened in a sporting venue, relevant.

Best (5) Movies:

Cheating here I know, but its hard to pick just one. So in order:

#5 - Lost in Translation (Welcome back Bill Murray, hello Mrs. Johanssen)

#4 - Juno (welcome to moveistardom Michael Bluth)

#3 - Anchorman/Old School (combined, maybe the best movie ever)

#2 - Almost Famous (Almost #1, but Cameron Crowe's masterpiece)

#1 - The Matrix (the two sequels diminished the greatness of the first)*

* I've been informed this came out in '99 (thanks Dev) but I'm keeping it on there.

Best TV Show: LOST

I absolutely love The Office, Arrested Development, and The West Wing. I'm a huge fan of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, The Sopranos, The Big Bang Theory, Entourage and Mad Men. But by far, the show that changed the way I watch TV over the last ten years is LOST. Flashbacks and flashforwards. Suspense and science fiction. Equal parts Mark Burnett and Dan Brown, the show game me a reason to not only use a DVR (pause, rewind, slow-mo, pause, holy crap!) but also to google (i.e. book titles you see in the paused screen-grabs) and check the blogosphere (i.e. to see the screen-grabs you missed and what they in-turn meant). The perfect 21st century show and I can't wait for the final season to kick off the next decade of entertainment.

Best Vacation: June 2002: California Coast Road Trip

A post-college, pre-career road trip should be a pre-requisite. For this brief moment in time, its possible to live life to the fullest, without fear of running low on vacation days or finishing a paper. Now of course taking such a vacation with my girlfriend (now wife) and spending two weeks along the California Coastline didn't hurt, but being able to plan as you go, with seaside motels and San Francisco hotels mixed in to the same itinerary was truly a special time in my life. San Diego to LA to Santa Barbara to Hearst Castle to Pebble Beach to Santa Cruz to Monterey to San Francico and Napa Valley is a drive unlike any other in the country, and perhaps the planet.

Best Meal: Mama's Fish House. Maui, HI

We first went to Mama's on our honeymoon. And when youre on youre honeymoon, everything tastes betters. In fact, the sun shines brighter, the people are friendlier and, well, the food just tastes better. But, on our return trip to Maui last winter, we went Mama's again...and AGAIN. Almost primarily for this dish:

Mahimahi caught by Shawn Boneza along the north shore of Maui Stuffed with lobster, crab, Maui onion and baked in a macadamia nut crust.

It's unbelievable. We've had amazing sushi (Nobu, Izak-ya by Katsuya, Fat Fish), steak in New York and Chicago, fish in the Caribbean, crabs in Maryland and legendary culinary favorites from San Francisco to Charleston, but Mama's main meal is an entree like no other and worth the trip inland from the Ocean whenever you find yourself in Maui.

Best Dessert: Unknown Creperie. Paris, France. February 2001.

We were 20 years old. We were in college. We were backpacking across Europe and we had very little cash. But despite the bread and cheese diet we maintained while in France, we found a favorite little spot along the River Seine that became a daily staple, no matter what time of day. It was a creperie that featured a crepe with mint ice cream. I don't know if it was the crepe batter, the chocloat, or the French cows they used to make the cream, but they tasted like no desert we'd ever had before. And given our one attempt at a nice meal ended with prawn eyes staring back at us, we stuck to the sweet stuff during our Valentines Weekend trip to Paris. Fitting.

Best Coffee: Toast. Los Angeles, CA.

My barista on Beverly would be pissed. Despite the fact that I enjoy a Grande Iced Skinny Vanilla Latte every morning on the way to work (and a Peppermint Mocha on nights we happened to be caffinating) the coffee I enjoy the most is made right down the street from our apartment in Los Angeles at Toast. Toast is a bakery. Toast is the place to be seen on a Sunday morning (which isnt too hard since you have to wait outside on the corner for at least 30 minutes before you get a table). But Toast also has the most delicious Iced Vanilla Latte that tastes more like a vanilla milkshake. Not to mention, Toast was our first love in LA as we picked our apartment almost solely based on the proximity to the brunch haven. So when we sit down for omelets and lattes on weekends at Toast, the coffee tastes better than any other.

Not a bad decade, from Syracuse to London to New York to Baltimore and now Los Angeles, but I cant wait to see what the Twenty10s have in store for us. Stay tuned to coffeeon3rd to find out.

The Mayan's Predicted His Birth

All is merry in the land of Lukinwood this morning.

Thinking back to a balmy afternoon in the Atlantic Palace/Fantasea/Blue Green resort on the Jersey Shore (no Pauly D and J.Woww were not there), I didn’t know what lay in store for the 2009 Fantasy Football Season. I felt good about my team, sure, but passing on Ray Rice for Clinton Portis seemed to be a mistake from the start. Trust your instincts I kept telling myself, yet decided to go the other way. The path less traveled was and up and down journey, and seemed destined for mediocrity. But then came the Tweet heard round Kansas City. Larry Johnson twittered himself right out of KC after a few gay slurs and suddenly, a light at the end of the tunnel emerged.

A late round pick would get his chance to shine. A green sticker that seemed innocuous back in August. A selection deemed destined for bench duty all season long. Unless…unless…Enter Jamaal Charles. In addition to FMJD, JC led LW on a November/December run right to the playoffs and eventually in to the championship game. Sure he didn’t make the biggest splash this past weekend, but he was part of the team since training camp and given his chance, he made the most of it.

Speaking of the final game, during those final few seconds on Monday Night Football, Favreverreve to Rice nearly gave me a heart attack. I had spent all night counting down the minutes (note that I was en route from Aruba to NJ during the first half). The first 30 minutes went swimmingly, 30 yds for AD and not a peep from SURPRISE – Johnny Knox. (My opponent had Bernard Berrian in the 3rd WR slot when I took off from Orenjastad. But then the Vikes roared back and Five Second Stare's score started to climb. Of course Knox getting Knoxed-Out (easy) didn’t hurt my chances, but still, AD has reptile skin, right? So with the Vikes at 4th and goal, I was doing the math, a TD catch by Peterson would still leave 5SS a few decimals short, but a storm cloud named Overtime loomed. So when Brett found Rice in the end zone, my heart sank. AD would get another shot.

Alas, the fumble by All Day proved to be the difference as the Bears (who knew I could love Jay Cutler so much) ended the roller coaster ride for Chicago fans, Vikings fans, and Lukinwood fans. And now, with a victory in hand, I feel honored. Depending on who you ask, I either spend too much or WAY too much time in the fantasy world, but for one night, it was worth it.

What a year. For those who fell short in leagues all across this fine land, and especially to my Retired Orangemen brethren, all I can say, is stay thirsty my friends.

Fantasy Focus

Monday Night Football. Week 13. Ravens at Packers.

On paper, an early December matchup between two Wild Card chasing teams would be a decent draw. Fans from all corners of the country, presumably with their own Wild Card aspirations, would tune in to to cheer for the team from the opposing conference to win. As a result, fans in Miami, Jacksonville and Pittsburgh are rooting for Aaron Rodgers tonight while those in Philly, New York and Atlanta are newfound followers of J. Flacco.

However, the real-life playoff positioning is most likely taking a back seat this evening as the majority of NFL aficionados, who are most likely in AT LEAST one league, are measuring the fantasy football implications with each and every snap. You see, Week 13 is typically the regular season cut-off for the fake stuff. The scenarios at play are plentiful. Rodgers is owned in 100% of Yahoo Fantasy Football Leagues (the home of the ROFFL). Flacco is owned in 89%. But QBs are not the only ones on display. Ray Rice, Derrick Mason, Ryan Grant, Donald Driver and both defenses are almost surely starting for many GMs out there. So whether your team has one of those guys, is playing against one of them, or even more gut-wrenching, your following another matchup to see if you get into the postseason, tonight is must-see TV.

As a result, the WK13 MNF slot is surprisingly sought-after. A game worth looking up when the schedules come out each Spring as they could represent the last 60 minutes of your fantasy life. I'd even guess to assume that tonight is more important to the fantasy game than the Week 16 match-up, as Championship Week is only big for 2 teams (I can only hope I'm pulling for Greg Olsen and Sidney Rice during MIN vs CHI Dec. 28th). For now, its back to rooting for Mason and the Ravens D, against the Packers D and following the footsteps of Ryan Grant very carefully as he determines the fate of a few fellow fantasy friends.

Blind Sided

I read the book. I watched the draft. I knew his story. But it wasn't until I watched the evolution of Michael Oher unfold on the big screen that I realized just how special he is, and just how lucky we are that Big Mike is a Baltimore Raven.

What's amazing about some of the best sports movies of all time is that they are based on true stories. Stories so inspirational, that not only did they pass the test in a Hollywood pitch room, but they hold up on film too. The Rookie, Eight Men Out, Rudy...and now, The Blind Side.

For those new to the Oher saga, the movie provides an abridged version of his journey from having nowhere to sleep to starting in the NFL. At the center of the transformation, is a family who was willing to take Michael into their home, into their family and into their lives to give him the means to pursue an NFL dream. From giving him a warm meal on Thanksgiving and his own bed to providing a tutor and cheering him on from the stands, the Tuohys gave Oher a gift of a lifetime - a life.

The movie starred Sandra Bullock as Leigh Ann Tuohy, which of course gave the film its focal point. As a result, the movie centered on her bond with Michael, which eventually leads to the Tuohys becoming his legal guardians. The road is filled with moments that made you laugh, but even more moments that made you, well, get a little teary. Come on, I know its a football story, but thanks to the magic of hollywood, the kid found a home, got off the streets, got his first bed, learned biology, got through high school, made a few friends, gained a brother and a sister, got some new clothes, stood up to the old gang back in the projects, got a car, learned how to play tackle, got a scholarship and was drafted in to the NFL all within 124 minutes. Each step along the way was a story unto itself and of course the movie could only show so much. Which is why the book is so important as - at minimum - a companion reader.

Written by Michael Lewis of Moneyball fame, the book adds a sports skew to the story with the evolution of the left tackle position just as prevalent as the evolution of a young man. Starting with the career-ending sack of Joe Theisman by Lawrence Taylor on Monday Night Football, the story describes why the second most important man on the football field is now considered to be the man who protects number one. The Left Tackle. Responsible for protecting the Quarterback from oncoming defenders he cant see. Otherwise known as the blind side.

The book profiles the reasons for the growing emphasis on the LT, starting with the hit by L.T. The book references some of the best to play the position since that fateful Monday Night, including the original Raven (literally the first player drafted by the franchise) - Jonathan Ogden. J.O. was a mountainous man who spent more than a decade camped out on the left hand side of the line in Bmore. Its only fitting that less than a year after Ogden left his post, the man selected to help fill his shoes is a kid whose promise was predicated in part by Ogden's play at the position. Ogden's versatility, combined with his monster-like size, gave NFL scouts a protoype to compare all future footballers looking to play the line. In fact, the high school coach that helped get Michael into high school, and onto the field, saw those very traits in Oher. The Big O, just like J.O. And now, just like J.O., Oher wears the purple and black on Sundays and takes his place in front of 70,000 cheering Ravens fans with one mission in mind. To protect. The same as the Tuohys. And now his story gets to play out in Baltimore, but consider his pro career the sequel because his journey thus far has already earned itself a Hollywood ending.

Under the Lights

A special night Under the Lights at Dodger Stadium included the chance for fans (and the marketing department) to take swings and photos with Matt Kemp, Ramon Troncoso, Eric Karros and Dodger legend, Don Newcombe.

We had a few things to take care of so unfortunately there were no swings to be had for us, but the fans seemed to have a blast and we did make time for this snapshot. It was fascinating to see which player fans flocked too as Kemp was clearly the most popular based on his current reign as Mr. Everything for the back-2-back NL West Champs. However, it was only 10 years ago that Karros was electrifying the fans at the Ravine as he hit 34 HRs in '99 en route to becoming LA's all-time power king. Kemp and Karros certainly appealed to today's generation of baseball fans, but the most awe inspiring man on this night is the former Dodger to the far right, Mr. Don Newcombe.

Newcombe is a pioneer in the sport we came to celebrate on this night as he jumped from the Negro Leagues to the Majors with tremendous success. "Newk" is the only player to win the Rookie of the Year, MVP and Cy Young awards in a career. However, is benchmarks paved the way for African-American players for years to come as he was the first black pitcher win 20 games, the first to start a World Series Game, and among the first four African-American players to make an All-Star Team.

Fans enjoyed the chance to take BP, throw in the bullpen, dine on Dodger Dogs and roam the outfield, but years from now, when the take out their commemorative photos from their nights Under the Lights and appreciate the chance to stand toe to toe with baseball heroes of the past (Karros), present (Kemp & Troncoso) and of all-time. I know I will.

* Jersey Blogger Note: Both Newcombe (Madison) and Karros (Hackensack) were born in the Garden State

I Almost Forgot

The Lukin’s headed back east for Thanksgiving week and in less than 24 hours, I’ve learned a few things. Or should I say, I’ve remembered a few things.

First of all, to borrow from Wedding Crashers lore, Maryland is all about crab(cakes) and football. Upon landing at BWI, Lauryn and I checked crabs off the to do list right away as we picked our way through nearly a dozen jumbos between us. My fingers still sting from the Old Bay and I’ve been thirsty ever since, but man are they good. LA may have a leg up on the Charm City when it comes to spicy tuna and fish tacos, but the crabs here in Bawlmawr are second to none. How could I forget?

Day two had a similar feel to Sunday mornings in Los Angeles, with football scheduled to take up most of the day. But a few differences distinguished the East vs. the West. First, the weather. It was cold, yet seasonably warm. Same temps at The Grove would be considered cold, unseasonably cold. Second, everyone in town is wearing the same jerseys. Back west, it’s a mix of Chargers, Giants, Bears, Pats, Eagles, Raiders, 9ers…I even saw a Jaguars jersey one week at the bar (the Jags could use him in the stands). In any case, everyone in MD was wearing purple and black. And its not just Heaps and 52s any more. Its evolved to include white Rice(s) and Flacco’s in all shapes and sizes.

Of course the time difference was hard to get used to as the early morning wake up was necessary just to make sure we saw kickoff. A venti peppermint mocha took care of that and we were off and running. The game was back and forth and full of field goals – a true flashback to the days when Lauryn and I were running up the sidelines at the big crabcake. Even Matt Stover was there – unfortunately he was wearing a horseshoe on his helmet, how strange. But the game would come down to the end and despite outplaying the undefeated Colts, Indianapolis managed to stay that way with a late interception by Flacco and an unnecessary fumble by Reed. Watching the game from start to finish made the loss sting, even more than the Old Bay. We were once again watching the home team and the heartbreaking finish was just that. How could I forget.

A Day at the Races

Breeder's Cup @ Santa Anita

We may not have come out ahead, but I did learn how to bet, which seemed just as important as knowing how to order a cheesesteak at Pat's or Jim's. It goes something like this: Santa Anita (yes, you had to say the name of the track since some bettors would place money down on races all across the country); Race #, $ amount, and then the fun part. You could pick multiple horses to finish in multiple places. Pick the top 2. Pick 4, hoping 2 of them finish in the top 2. Pick a winner and the field. Pick the top 5. Exactas. Trifectas. Superfectas. Oh my! Pick anything you want and the odds just kept on multiplying. Despite the mathmagic of it all, I failed to find the right combination. I did have our My Town billboard cover boy - Garret Gomez - in a few races and GG rode Life is Sweet to victory in the biggest race of the day. All in all, a good day at the races.

The 'Bu

Here We Go Again

NLCS. Phillies. Dodgers. Again.

Don't get me wrong, don't take my phrasing to suggest that I consider such lofty heights routine. It's just that the Lukin's have worked for the Dodgers for two seasons and so far, we're two for two. We've not only won the Division (twice) and swept through the NLDS (twice) but now we advance to face the Phils for the right to go the World Series (again).

Of course there are differences between 2008 and 2009. In 2008 we started in Philadelphia. In 2009, Game 1 is in LA (tomorrow). In 2008 Clayton Kershaw was only 20. In 2009, CK is 21 and not only legally able to enjoy the champagne supernovas in the locker room, but apparently is ready to make the Game 1 start for the boys in blue. In 2008, the Dodgers lost the series in 5. In 2009....

...it remains to be seen. But hopes are high. This team is THE story in baseball. The comeback wins. The Mannywood drama. The near collapse. The emergence of Kemp. The sweep of St. Louis. And of course Joe Torre tempting fate with a date with the pinstripes looming (the only other team competing for the title of 'THE' this year is of course the Yankees with their own run of walk-offs, A-Rod, and a Jeter MVP run, not to mention CC & Tex).

So what happens now? Will history continue to repeat itself? Last year, a Red Sox/Dodgers World Series had Hollywood writing the script with Manny as the lead. This season. Ramirez and Rodriguez may take a back seat to Joe, but the plot would have more story lines to intertwine (not to mention an international - perhaps even intergalactic audience). All we can do is wait. It's time for the supporting cast to take center stage. Andre, Matt, Russ, James...ready? Casey, Raffy, Ronnie, O...ready? Clayton, V, Hiroki, Wolfy...ready? And yes, JP, Bills, Thome, Loretta! Are you ready? Ok. Go!

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Slash Shreds the National Anthem

Using the Force

What a difference a week makes.

On the night of September 26th, the Dodgers became the first team in the National League to clinch a spot in the 2009 Postseason. Spirits were high, and the following morning, the team took a 3-run lead into the bottom of the ninth to potentially seal the deal on their second straight Division Title. But a funny thing happened on the way to the champagne room as the Pittsburgh Pirates found themselves in a celebratory scrum on the pitchers mound that just moments earlier had been reserved for a Dodger party.

And then the wheels came off. With a magic number of one, the Dodgers woke up Monday for a breakfast with destiny, but before they could figure out what time it was or which pot was decaf, they found themselves trailing 5-0 en route to an 11-1 lopsided loss.

Back on the left coast, the mood amongst fans, and the front office, shifted slightly from an air of confidence to feeling, well, inconvenienced. There was no concern at this point, just frustration in the fact that we'd have to wait until the following night, when the team would play the Padres a few hours to the south, to celebrate. Tuesday night came, and despite dozens of the Dodgers faithful in attendance at Petco thanks to DODGERLIFE, the evening went, once again, without a win. Wednesday brought more of the same, including the pacing back and forth in the office just waiting for another chance, and as I watched Kevin Kouzmanoff's 3-run shot clear the right field fence while working out, I stepped off the elliptical and was out of the gym before Kouz crossed home. Now it was time for concern.

Those damn Rockies refused to lose all week long and Thursday morning found themselves not only with a chance to clinch a playoff spot of their own, but a win vs the Brewers would set-up a series in LA for the NL West Crown and no more scoreboard watching.

Well of course Colorado won, giving them at least a Wild Card entry into the next round. And now it was time for the national media to begin to take note of the potential collapse in SoCal. Friday night was meant to be a celebration of Tommy Lasorda for his 60 seasons in Dodger blue, and fate would seem to suggest that this would be the night all of LA had been waiting for. But before the echoes of Tommy's speech left the Ravine, the Dodgers found themselves in a 2-0 hole that would eventually result in a 4-3 defeat. BUT. There is a but. For the first time since the previous Sunday, the team showed signs of life. A 2-run rally in the 7th after the Rockies had taken a 4-1 lead ended with the potential tying run just 90-ft away.


















On to Saturday night, a week since the Dodgers last win. A seven day stretch that threatened to squeeze out all of the great moments of the first 160 games of the season. From Ethier's walk-offs to Manny's bobbleslam, all signs seemed to be pointing towards another division title and another chance at the World Series. And now, with two games left to win just one, a new feeling swept through the night and throughout the sold-out crowd. An excitement, an exuberance, a binding, metaphysical and ubiquitous power commonly referred to as, The Force. That's because Saturday night was Star Wars Night at Dodger Stadium complete with Storm Troopers in Autograph Alley, a Clone Wars Bounty Hunter throwing out the first pitch and a visit to the press box by R2-D2.

With The Force in hand, the game began to go the Dodger way; from Clayton Kershaw's 5K start; to a mysterious injury sidelining the Rockies ace after just 3 innings; followed by a series of season saving hits, including a slump-busting single for a struggling Manny Ramirez; and finally culminating in a 1-2-3 9th for Broxton that was so dominant, mind tricks may have been involved, the Dodgers found a way to win and secured the crown that they had been fitted for a week earlier. Worth the wait it was.

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