Mourning Patch

Obviously, the Angels are wearing mourning patches to honor the memory of Nick Adenhart.  Those patches are over the players hearts, are circular, and have the number 34, along with Adenhart on them.

I noticed a second patch, however, and was not aware of its significance.

The Angels are wearing a black diamond patch on their right sleeves in honor of Preston Gomez, long time Angels advisor, scout and coach, who did in January at the age of 86.  Read the LA Times article here.  Gomez is credited with straightening out reliever Jose Arredondo.

Hemorrhaging Halos

It almost feels wrong to come into LA to face the Angels right now.  They're battered and beat down.  Just so everyone's up to speed, I'll briefly recount their miseries:

• They're still reeling (as are we all) at the loss of Nick Adenhart.

• Vladimir Guerrero has a torn pectoral muscle and is out for a month.

• The following pitchers are on the DL:

Kelvim Escobar

John Lackey

Dustin Moseley

Ervin Santana

• Darren Oliver had to come out of the bullpen to start a game for the first time in five years, and naturally could not be expected to last more than 4 or 5 innings. (He did last 4, and had a one-run lead when he left the game on Saturday.  The bullpen came in and.....)

• The team is collectively hitting .250 right now.

I could go on, but let's just stop.  To go any further would just be piling on.  Now I feel for the Angels, I do, but I will have to draw the line at rolling over to them.  Let's not get crazy.  I hope everyone rallies 'round them as they're grieving.  Team lines should evaporate in a show of consolation and empathy.

But injuries are a part of baseball, and every team has got to deal with the loss of player personnel during the season.  Steve Bisheff of the LA Times thinks it's crisis point already for the Halos, and is calling for a shake-up.

Oughta make for an interesting series.

Playoff Heartache

There's a lot of heartache going around the MLB playoffs right now, and a little left over for me, even though my Detroit Tigers didn't make the playoffs.

I'm not going to lie, I'm feeling for the lovable losers the Cubbies right now.  I'm really feeling it for their fans.  At least the current players haven't been pining for a World Series title these past 100 years.  I'm not sure who their oldest player is, but it's a safe bet he's not much over 40, if that.  And how many of their players grew up as Cubs fans?  I'm sure there are many elder Cub fans who have suffered through this drought with untold agony.

I also feel a slight pang for the Brewers, although they were always my arch-rival team in some respects.  I grew up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and people there are either Brewers or Tigers fans, but never both.  So loved to loathe names like Paul Molitor, Robin Yount and especially Rob Deer.  Mostly, I feel for Corey Hart, who looked like he was going to burst into tears when the ball popped out of his glove last night after he banged against the outfield fence and then fell to the ground.  He hadn't had a good series at bat either, so it was all going so wickedly wrong for him.  There was no gloating in my heart over their loss.

Now, the Angels are still in, and have tied it up as I write this post (at least last I checked).  However, when three players converged and failed to catch the blooper off Ellsbury's bat, allowing 3 runs to score for Boston, the looks on their faces said it all.  Mike Scioscia had to send in some signs afterward.  The camera was zoomed in on his face and I swear the dejection was palpable.  His finger looked like it was in slow motion as it went through the crazy nose to ear to nose to chin movements.

Finally, to my little heartbreak.  This goes back to the White Sox/Minnesota play-in game.  After Thome's solo shot, A.J. Pierzynski stepped to the edge of the dugout, raised his hands in the air, and hyped up the crowd.  Something in that moment shot straight to my heart.  The jealousy and the heartbreak of "they are there and we are not."  The energy, the electricity, the jubilation of the Sox and their fans reminded me only too well of the taste of playoff baseball, while I sat with the bitter taste of what people are calling the biggest bust ever in the Michigan sports history.

Oh, well, all I can say is summed up in the clichéd baseball phrase "wait til next year."