On What a Difference a Year Makes

or

The importance of bringing your best stuff to the plate.

My God, I am about as baseball blissed out as you can get. The Astros are playing really well right now, taking a lead in their division into the All-Star game. We all remember how that game went last year, right?

Well, not this time. I had so much going on on Tuesday that I almost forgot the game was on. I got to sit and watch it with the National League up 2-1. This year, for those unfamiliar with the newly set dogmatic tenets of my religion, Major League Baseball tried to prevent the tragedy that occured in last year’s All-Star Game. This year, the winning team’s league gets homefield advantage in the World Series. This is an invaluable asset, as anyone who watched the Angels come back and win Game 7 last year understands, and while this may not be the best way to decide who gets it, at least it got a lot of people invested in the All-Star Game. There was something else going on that night, though.

This game was about a game.

The announcer’s talked baseball. Strategy. Pinch-hitting. Bullpens. How to bring in the right closer. Who plays the game with apparent ease, who muscles out big wins, who throws enough heat to melt asphalt. No strike talk, no labor negotiations, no steroid troubles, no corked bats or lost dreams or heartbreak. Just Baseball. We talked about how Tim McCarver’s love for and knowledge of the game makes every one he calls feel like the playoffs. We rooted for the National League, because of the two teams I pull for in Texas (and the only one Kevin and Ryan pull for) only the Astros have a shot at the Series, and they could use the homefield advantage, they play great at home this season (so far, knock wood.) The NL took a pretty good lead, and McCarver started touting their killer bullpen, the three best closers in the majors, one of ’em an Astro. The AL couldn’t seem to get it together, and for the second year in a row I felt hurt watching A-Rod (who has ruined the Rangers chances of getting anywhere, since he’s the only player they can afford). And during a discussion on what closers do, the NL closers did it.

Closing pitchers measure success in saves. They measure failure in blown ones.

Hitters measure success and failure in batting average and RBI and strikeouts and lots of other things, but they emphasize success in the most beautiful way. The other player from my hometown (and first love) team did just that.

They hit game winning homeruns.

This time, it Counts.