The drunken Miggy Cabrera baseball playoff preview

Two years ago, I brought you The pom-pom baseball playoff preview. Last year came The John Higgins baseball playoff preview. So this year? Well, you didn't ask for it, but you got it: the return of the baseball playoff preview!

The inspiration for this year's preview goes to a player whose team didn't even make the playoffs. The Tigers did come tantalizingly close to doing so but ultimately choked away a division lead and lost out in a one-game tie-breaker -- a game that looked like it may have been one for the ages* -- to the Twins on Tuesday.

*For all the baseball watching I've been doing on the Internet the last few years, this may have been my best experience yet, the one that felt the most visceral. I really felt like I could get into this game, that I could imagine the moment, the crowd, the tension. MLB.com's Gameday is pretty freaking good, and its latest integration with a Twitter feed, which allows you to track people's reactions right next to a pitch-by-pitch account of the game, makes it all the better.

Miguel Cabrera, you're an idiot. You get paid $14 freaking million dollars a year, yet you feel so little responsibility towards your team, your owner and your fans, that you don't care about playing at full capacity? After a big night of drinking, I can hardly walk, yet you go out knowing that you're gonna have to hit a 95 mph fastball the next day? That's a joke. A joke! I don't get it. You have practically half a year worth of the offseason to drink to your heart's delight, yet in the middle of a pennant race, as your team's division lead is dwindling away, you're getting so drunk -- not to mention with members of a rival team! -- that your GM has to act as your babysitter and pick you up from the police station at 7:30 in the morning?

And I don't even care about the drama that resulted from the drinking, the shady bickering with the wife; that's another issue that needs to be dealt with separately. It's the fact that you went out at all... just absurdly dumb, arrogant and irresponsible.

Oh. And then there's your responsibility to me. That's right. ME. I had you on my fantasy baseball team, and coming down the stretch this year, when I needed you most, here are your stats for the last week of the season: .158 avg, 1 run, 0 home runs, 0 RBIs, 0 stolen bases. Faaaaaaaaantastic.

Okay. Phew! Rant over. And with that pleasantness out of the way, let's get to it.

Minnesota Twins
I like this team. Not just the 2009 Twins, but the Twins franchise in general. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone here. Just something so likable about them. Especially because they seemingly persevere every year without the resources of the big market teams. In the last six years -- just because that's how far I cared to look back, but I'm sure the same would hold true if I looked further -- here's how their payroll has ranked against all 30 MLB teams: 19, 20, 19, 18, 25 and 24. Here's how their record for each of those years has ranked in the league: 6, 11, 3, 17, 10 and 11. For those keeping track at home, the average of their record versus the league is ten places higher than their salary versus the league. That's good.

Colorado Rockies
Yawn. They were hot going into the playoffs in 2007, and I correctly picked them to go to the World Series. They're hot again this year going into the playoffs, but, well, they just don't seem to have that je ne sais quoi. Really, nothing they do is above average; it's all relatively solid. A recipe for postseason success this does not make. Pass.

Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
Let's make a pact to not make fun of their name anymore, okay? The whole "Los Angeles Angels of California in Orange County of Anaheim off the 405" thing has gotten old. And you know what else has gotten old? It really pains me to say this, but I think it's the Angels' futility against the Red Sox in the postseason. This is the year the Angels get by the Sox. Maybe Mike Scioscia* will finally overcome whatever makes him cower in the presence of the Sox. Maybe the Angels will release a real, rabid, rally monkey into the Sox' dressing room. Maybe the Ghost of Nick Adenhart will strike. Or maybe the Sox will simply come undone. (More on this later.) I'm not sure exactly what it'll be, but I just have a feeling that it's gonna happen.

*Yes! Didn't need to look up how to spell his name!

St. Louis Cardinals
This is a good team. A frightening team. You know how I said the Rockies don't do anything really well? These guys do a lot of it well. Really well.

New York Yankees
It was nice not having them around last year, right? Oh well... guess it would've been a bit nuts to think we could make it two years in a row. But I'm happy to report that they're not going to the World Series. To the ALCS, yeah, probably. But that pitching... I'm not convinced. I could easily see CC throwing a stinker or two, AJ will throw multiple stinkers and Pettitte's 85 years old. Glad we can dismiss them!

Philadelphia Phillies
The defending champs! My God, I was so happy to see them win last year. One of the highlights of the year for me. I walked around with a grin on my face for the rest of the day, not at all for me, but for the people of Philly. That was awesome. But this year? I'd like to feel good about them -- really, I would -- but that bullpen... yeesh. Sorry Philly, but you can only cash in on so much karma at a time, and that was well and truly done last year. There's none left. That's kinda what happens when you boo Santa Claus, throw batteries at opposing players and cheer when they suffer near-fatal injuries.

Los Angeles Dodgers & Boston Red Sox
Like last year, I'm grouping them. I'm know. It's gutless. But I can't separate them. I won't separate them. Still, I'm comforted this year by a simple fact that didn't hold as true last year: both of these teams are flawed. Deeply flawed.

The Dodgers have holes everywhere. They also have holes nowhere. If the Rockies are your prototypical solid team without any flash, the Dodgers are your definition of schizophrenia.* The question is, which team shows up? The one with perhaps the deepest lineup in the NL? The one with two starting pitchers who can match up with those on the Cardinals and Phillies? Or will Manny continue his space cadet ways? And will the inexperience and inconsistency of the Buzzsaw and Kershaw shine through?

*Yes! Absolutely had to look up how to spell that!

The Red Sox are -- sigh -- the Yankees of the last few years. Their roster is seemingly full of immobile 1B/3B/DH types. They're old. They lack the passion of previous Sox teams from this decade.* So I just can't get excited about their prospects for this year. Next year? The year after that? All the way through the teens? In Theo and Co, I absolutely trust. But this year? In the immortal words of Dana Carvey impersonating George H.W. Bush, a na ga da.

*I want to be perfectly clear that I'm talking about this Sox TEAM, not the organization. Yeah, the Sox franchise may be more similar to the Evil Empire than any other franchise, but they're still different enough. As in the Yankees' payroll is $80 million dollars higher (over 50% higher!!) than that of the Sox. As in Theo could outwit Cashman any day of the week. As in John Henry is actually sane.

Wow. Going into this, I really didn't have much of a sense of who I thought would win each round, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to make any picks. But I think I just worked myself towards some clarity, and I'm happy to make them official. To recap, I guess: Yankees over Twins, Angels over Red Sox, Cardinals over Dodgers, Phillies over Rockies. Angels over Yankees, Cardinals over Phillies. Angels over Cardinals.

So! There we are. Another baseball postseason staring us down. I'm excited. Who knows how many games I'll get to watch, but I'll savor every opportunity I get. And hopefully next year -- just maybe! -- Miggy will lay off the booze. He has all this postseason and several months afterwards to drink himself silly.

My life: The (very immediate) past

My life seems to be at a bit of a nexus right now. Just finished a whirlwind of a trip to LA; now I'm back in Sydney; and then... well, I don't know what happens then. So I'm gonna use the next posts to tackle these three topics. First: the (very immediate) past. As in, last week.

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Last I updated this thing -- prior to an impromptu rant on Kevin Smith -- I had just come off of a few good days in LA: quality time with the parents, real Mexican food with Benny and Hannah, and Dodgers-Angels with Dave.

To expound on the Dodgers game, a few highlights:

• All around the stadium are large pictures of Dodger greats. Including... Nomar Garciaparra??!?
  


• The Dodger Dog, of course. I'd include a picture here, but I was too busy wolfing it down to capture the moment.


• We all know that Juan Pierre is extremely upset that he's coming off the bench this year. But did he really have to express his disappointment in this photo, the one that they show on the Jumbotron every time he comes to the plate?? Saddest man ever.
  


• As always, the seventh inning stretch.
  

Friday morning featured breakfast with the parents at Huckleberry. For those in the LA area, for those who want to support Windward alum Zoe Nathan, for those who simply appreciate frickin' amazing pastries... GO! You'll enjoy. (And for a lovely dinner, I hear that Rustic Canyon, the sister establishment right down the street, is mighty good as well.)

And then: the weekend, the main event, la raison d'etre for this whole trip... it commenced.

Jack, Dave and I met up at Jack's house. Eager to leave but forced to wait for Jack's clothes to dry, Dave suggested we simply put Jack's underwear over his car's antenna and let them air dry on the way up. Problem solved!

We headed north. And we sang some songs of merriment:

We stopped for some Coffee Bean. Fan-frickin-tastic.

And within a few hours, we were in the lovely and supremely random town of Solvang. Why supremely random? Well, imagine a town from Denmark that's been dropped right into the middle of wine country in California. That's Solvang. Granted, its inhabitants aren't actually Danish, but still. Everything about the town, from the architecture to the food to the spirit, is Danish.

We promptly checked into our hotel, the Kronborg Inn, which we chose pretty much solely because of its name. I mean, it's called the Kronborg Inn! Come on!!!

As we got settled in the hotel, Jack thought it would be a great idea to pitch his new tent, which he had brought for the next night, in the hotel room. Dave and I were bewildered, of course, and we did everything in our power to make Jack's task as difficult as possible.

Eventually, Jack figured it out.

Before the night's main event, the three of us met up with Mike and Erika, who were conveniently staying in the hotel right next door, to get an early dinner at the Hitching Post, a steak house that you may remember from Sideways. I ordered the filet mignon. Now, I'm normally not one for hyperbole; in fact, I consciously avoid it as much as possible. But that very well may have been the best steak I've ever had. Perfectly cooked, unbelievably tender, mouth-watering seasoning. I was in heaven. Unfortunately, pretty much everything else in my meal -- clam chowder, French fries (the waitress swore they were mind-blowing), salad -- left something to be desired. But the steak... my LORD.

And then, the reason we came up north a day early: CHUMASH!!!! Set on an Indian reservation, Chumash Casino has become a bit of an institution with my friends. First lured by the 18-year-old minimum age, we've been going ever since we finished high school and have returned whenever possible. Opportunities to do so, however, have significantly decreased in the last few years, as the original core group has scattered at various times to New York, Washington, Toronto, Kyoto and Sydney. But this weekend presented us with the perfect storm, and we resolved to go for it.

We were excited. Pumped. Amped. Thrilled. Ecstatic. We let out a jubilant cry as we approached the lights of Chumash. We hit the casino floor and took over a blackjack table. And then, well... and then... let's just say that on this night, the casino had its way with us, as casinos sometimes do. And by 11pm, we all found ourselves back at the Kronborg. Beaten down, but comforted by the fact that we were staying at a place called the Kronborg Inn, we slept.

We awoke the next morning refreshed and reenergized. First stop: Paula's Pancake House, which was seemingly the only restaurant in town with customers. And those Danish pancakes absolutely did not disappoint, with Jack proclaiming them as possibly the best pancakes he's ever had. I can't make such a proclamation, with the banana and walnut pancakes from Clinton Street Baking Company in New York and my dad's matzah meal pancakes firmly entrenched in some order in my personal top two. But still, they were damned good.

Next stop was Los Olivos, as we killed some time before the wedding. Enjoying some wine and beer at Los Olivos Café, we just chilled. In retrospect, apart from the actual wedding, this may have been my favorite part of the whole trip. Three old friends, having some leisurely drinks, soaking in the beautiful weather, just chatting.

And then, to the wedding! But before we made it up the mountain to the farmhouse, we encountered some cows. They had been enjoying a nice, warm day under a tree. That all changed upon our arrival:

After we bored of harassing the cows, we made our way to the top of the mountain. And, my lord, what a location Hannah and Benny picked out. Here's the setting for their marriage:

And here's the farmhouse:

The whole day and night was amazing. The wedding itself was gorgeous, without a cloud in the sky. The dinner, with fried chicken and mac and cheese and mashed potatoes, was scrumptious. The reception got a little wild. Jack managed to climb up onto a beam 15 feet above the farmhouse. I was pantsed during an impromptu game of Twister. People were devouring challah dipped in Hannah's homemade fudge. And sometime in there, I called it quits.

The next morning, I was awoken to a lovely hangover and the crows of the ostriches that are kept on the farmhouse. Ever since my trip to Mission Beach, I've been terrified of large, flightless birds. So sleeping no more than 100 feet away from those beasts did not make for the most pleasant of experiences.

Before heading back off to LA, we said our goodbyes to Hannah, Benny et al.

Had half a dozen friends over to my parents' place on Sunday night; another non-wedding highlight of the trip. So good to spend some quality time with everyone in a relatively intimate setting. And along with some of my mom's amazing mushroom and barley soup and Moroccan chickpea soup, we enjoyed more breads and pastries from Huckleberry. Good stuff.

On Monday, before the beast of a flight back to Sydney, I made an obligatory stop at In N Out. Sooooooo good.

And there's the trip! From start to wedding to finish, it was perfect; I couldn't be more pleased.

Now it's back to reality. And I'll tackle that issue next.

Throwin' Kleinballs on the brink of disaster

The Dodgers completed a sweep of the Cubs on Saturday. The Red Sox finished off the pesky Angels on Monday. And I'm one step closer to disaster. I'm officially frightened. And thrilled. I hate myself. And yes, I wouldn't blame you for hating me too.

I'm not sure how much attention Erick Aybar's little dance in protest of his tag on Coco Crisp in Game 2 of the Sox-Angels series received in the US, but when I first saw it, I burst. As did the other Aussies in the room. Thankfully, someone out there was kind enough to a video on YouTube... in the only ridiculously crude fashion that MLB would allow to slip through their iron fist:


With the time difference, most night games are played the next morning my time. This worked out perfectly for me this past weekend, as I got the Sox-Angels on Saturday morning, Dodgers-Cubs on Sunday morning and then, thanks to a three-day weekend (Labour Day in October!), Sox-Angels on Monday morning. Of course, what was perfect for me -- three consecutive mornings/early afternoons of baseball -- probably wasn't so much for my roommates and visitors to my apartment. This came to a head with a marathon of a Game 3 between the Sox and Angels, during which at one point I was surrounded by nine Aussies. As the game went into extra innings and Jason Varitek and Mike Napoli seemingly trying to one-up each other with multiple visits to the mound every inning, I was just waiting for them to revolt, rip the remote from my hand and throw me off the balcony, cheering all the way.

Filling out my weekend with sports, the Rugby League grand final was on Sunday night, between the Melbourne Storm and Manly Sea Eagles. As you may recall, I witnessed the Storm absolutely embarrass the Cronulla Sharks, 28-0, in the semi finals. In the finals, Manly returned the favor and shut out the Storm, 40-0. That's some exciting rugby there!

I have absolutely no idea what this guy is talking about, but if (a) I lived in Jamaica (we can dream, right?) and (b) I didn't do it already, this would make me buy Guinness:


A subtle benefit of living here: being able to thank someone by saying "cheers" or calling a friend "mate" and not sounding like a complete jackass.

We sprung forward last weekend! So for those keeping track at home, until you guys fall back an hour on November 2, I'm now 15 hours ahead of the East and 18 ahead of the West. Those in the middle, you can figure it out on your own.

Or don't worry about the time difference and just come visit! Qantas is currently having a special to Australia, which you can view here. $881 roundtrip from LA, $1,081 roundtrip from New York. Granted the travel must be between October 20 and November 27, but those are honestly the best prices I've ever seen. Get on it!

The John Higgins baseball playoff preview

As I do all too often, I wrote most of this post a few days ago and then sat on it. If I were write it from scratch today, it would probably read a bit different. But that of course isn't going to happen, so please note that some of these thoughts are slightly dated and perhaps irrelevant. You'll deal with it.

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Watching one of the first games of the Cubs-Diamondbacks NLDS match-up last year, I noticed with absolute bewilderment that the D-backs had given all of their fans white pom-poms to wave around like a bunch of idiots. At a baseball game. Naturally, this enraged me. In fact, it got me so worked up that I decided to write a team-by-team preview for the playoffs.

This year, the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays have made the playoffs for the first time in their very non-illustrious history. This history has been so un-illustrious, in fact, that they'd been hemming and hawing for the last few weeks of the season on who would throw out the first pitch for Game 1 of their ALDS match-up against the White Sox. Finally last week, the Rays announced that John Higgins, their very first employee, would have these honors. This didn't enrage me. But I found it to be ridiculously random; Higgins will forever be the answer to a trivia question in the greater Tampa Bay area. And this intrigues me. In fact, it has intrigued me so much that, yes, it's worked me into enough of a tizzy that I'm going to bust out a team-by-team preview -- or probably more accurately, just a random group of my thoughts on each team -- for this year's playoffs.

So here we go, in some sort of particular order:

Chicago White Sox
Who cares. Really. The only reason I'd ever watch this team is on the chance that someone will hit a home run and I'll get to hear their TV announcer's home run call. Seriously. That alone is worth the price of admission. But as for their prospects in the playoffs? Who really cares? After taking a bit of a hiatus after their World Series victory in 1919, they won three years ago, so they've already cashed in their sympathy support. This year, they've limped in as their own manager berated every player on the team in some sort of a misguided attempt to motivate them. Is there even any kind of a compelling story on the team? With the possible exception of Alexei Ramirez? Who cares.

Milwaukee Brewers
Considering how little I really care about this team, I kinda like them. And you gots to love the CC Sabathia. Although you have to wonder about how he's going to pitch next year after throwing 241 innings last year and 253 innings AND COUNTING this year. He is a man, a man's man, a Steve McQueen's man, but after all those innings, I absolutely would not want my team to be signing him this off-season for however many years and at whatever ridiculous salary he's going to demand. Anyway. Like I said, I kinda like this team. But what other pitchers do they have? No one. So they shouldn't win. And they won't win.

Tampa Bay Rays
I really didn't think this team was going to hold onto the AL East lead throughout the year. Not in May, not in June, not in July, and especially not through the grind of August and September. Where's the experience, the proven grit, the knowledge to know how keep at it for 162 games? But somehow, they did it. And I'm convinced. They're absolutely, positively legitimate, with a solid core of players throughout the roster. No absolute game breakers -- and it's this absence that I think has most people befuddled at their success -- but just a solid core of players from top to bottom. Batting, fielding, starting pitching, bullpen. They could go deep.

Philadelphia Phillies
I'm not going to reread what I wrote about the Phillies in this preview last year, because I'm probably about to write the same thing again. And I'm going to keep on writing it every year until they do what's absolutely necessary: they need to win. They must win. Not for the team. For the city. Hell, with all the angst and anger that seeps out of that city and contaminates everything within a 300 mile radius, they need to win for the freaking nation. Does it need to be the Phillies? No. Could be the Sixers. Or the Eagles. And maybe -- just maybe -- even the Flyers. But someone's got to do it. Because if these teams keep on losing, one of these days, after another early exit from the playoffs, that city is just going to implode. If and when you start to see hints of this, and you live anywhere on the Eastern seaboard, run. Just run.

Los Angeles Angels
Hey, isn't it crazy that both teams from LA and Chicago are in these playoffs? And neither team from New York is? I love that. What I don't love are the Angels. Well, I do love them. But I don't. I love Mike Scioscia, I love Mickey Hatcher, I love how Art Moreno runs the team, I love that they're (kinda sorta not really) in the city that I grew up in. But the team as a collective? I don't love them. It's the basically the same team that we've seen since 2002. And it's become boring. They've worn off on me. Whatever.

Chicago Cubs
I'll be honest. I'd be very happy to see one of four teams in this year's playoffs win the World Series. That's right: four, or half the teams in there. We've already discussed the Phillies. We're about to get to two of the other teams. And then there are the Cubs. For they too need to win. And soon. Not necessarily for their city, but for their fans. Need I say anything about their history? Nah, I think I'll leave that for the five bajillion sportswriters out there. Instead, I'll just wish them well.

Los Angeles Dodgers & Boston Red Sox
This is where it gets fun and complicated and intense and shitty and thrilling and frightening. I'll be the first to admit it: very slowly during the 90s and into this decade,* I became a baseball bigamist. And I love and hate myself for it. The Dodgers were the team of my youth. Mike Scioscia. Steve Sax. Orel Hershiser. Jay Howell. Mickey Hatcher. Alfredo Griffen! Fernando Valenzuela. Kirk Gibson. Ron Perranoski!!! My first vivid baseball memory is when my Dad surprised me one October afternoon in 1988 by showing up early at my after school daycare with tickets to one of the NLCS games between the Dodgers and Mets. It was awesome. A few weeks later there was Kirk Gibson limping and seemingly flicking his wrists, Tommy Lasorda wildly flailing his arms, Vin Scully not believing what he just saw, and a World Series victory. That was it. Dodgers -- and absolute playoff futility since then -- for life.

*I absolutely love that we still don't have a name for this decade. It's strange, if you think about it. Names for all the others come so naturally and obviously, but in this decade, no matter what century it may fall in, we have no name for it. And as far as I can tell no one has made a concerted effort to come up with one and make it stick. So it's just some decade. But once we hit 2010, won't we need a name so that we can refer to it? Or are we just going to call it "last decade"? But then what about in 2020? "Two decades ago"? There has to be a name at some point. My favorite is "the naughties". But I'm thinking that's just a little too punny for most people's tastes.

But then, there were long summers on Martha's Vineyard. Red Sox Nation. Endless Red Sox paraphernalia, Red Sox coverage on the local news, Red Sox talk among the locals. And they grew on me. Not in any one moment or any one summer, but slowly, over the course of the 90s, they grew on me. Enter the summer of 2001. I lived in Boston. And that slow growth bloomed into full fandom; I was sucked in. Who's going to buy the Sox? Are they going to tear down Fenway and build a new one? And what the hell is wrong with Dan Duquette? Enter October 2003. I'm in a packed bar in New York, surrounded by Yankees fans. Grady doesn't pull Pedro. Aaron Boone pulls a Bucky Dent. Enter October 2004. Papi. World Series. Happiness.

I've set myself up for disaster. Because I pray that the Dodgers make the World Series. And I pray the Red Sox make the World Series. Yet I pray above all else that the Dodgers and Red Sox don't meet in the World Series. It's a curse, but it's 100% self-inflicted, I know this. So I go into these playoffs hoping for the best for both teams, as long as it really only pans out for one of them.

In this space last year, I didn't make predictions for the playoffs. Shortly after that post, however, I made some calls to a friend in an email, and actually correctly picked the winner of each of the seven series that are played. Seven for seven. This year? I'd love to make some picks here. But I can't. I just can't. It's gutless, I know. But please rest assured knowing that the closer the Dodgers and Red Sox get to the World Series, I'll be ripping my eyes out every step of the way.