Blah blah blah apathy, etc, etc. Yeah, all of my seven readers have read it before. But I’ll be damned that seeing the Braves in the playoffs again after a few years has been some of the most tension and excitement-filled baseball I’ve watched in quite some time, and I have to admit to feeling somewhat invigorated by it, in spite of the unfortunate way the season came to a close last night.
Ultimately, I’m not surprised that the Braves lost the series, because my educated guess was that they simply didn’t have the pitching to hang with the Dodgers, or any other World Series contender, but it didn’t meant that I wasn’t going to root for them regardless. And it doesn’t make that feeling of exhausted and draining defeat suck any less when it did happen, because in the end, that’s not what I wanted from my team. I wanted them to win the whole fucking shebang, and not get bounced in the first round yet again.
But it’s how it all transpired that I felt like writing about, because it defied all logic and convention, and as far as making educated guesses go, was not how it was supposed to happen. And like all high-tension critical games go, it was of course, the emotional rollercoaster that makes victory sweeter for those on the winning side, and defeat that much more painful for those on the losing side.
Going into the playoffs, it was my guess that the Dodgers could probably win it in four games. In that regard, I was actually spot on; there’s no consolation in being right here, because it came at the expense of my team, it just says I watch and analyze a whole lot of baseball and am not completely incompetent when it comes to making an educated guess. But the rationale behind it was that the Dodgers have a lot of talented starting pitching, and that the Braves’ starting pitching is not capable of matching it. The Braves are also a team that strikes out a lot with the flipside being that they have a ton of power and hit a whole lot of home runs; but when a strikeout-prone team runs into a team with talented starting pitching, something’s got to give.
In the four game series, the Braves struck out 42 times; naturally the one game in the series they won was the one where they struck out just six times, but still, 15, 6, 9, 12 strikeouts in each of the games. Anything over 8-9 over a nine-inning game is not to be considered to be that good, it’s even worse when it’s one guy throwing 10+ in less than nine innings. Needless to say, the Dodgers’ strong starting pitching capitalized on the propensity for Braves batters to strike out.
The one shining strength the Braves had not only over the Dodgers, but probably compared to every single playoff contender, was strength in relief. The Atlanta bullpen was statistically stingy, staunch about giving up hits and walks, and anchored by the National League’s best closer in Craig Kimbrel. The Braves’ objective for every game was very simple: get a lead, do whatever it takes to get that lead into the hands of Kimbrel, profit.
So it’s kind of poetically perfect that it was the bullpen that ended up being the demise of the Braves last night.
Last night’s game was actually a thing of beauty when I look back at it. It’s just the ending that I found to be unsatisfactory. If the Braves pulled off the victory, the emotional roller coaster would have continued to rise and rise until whatever the conclusion could have been on Wednesday night, but instead, with the defeat, the culmination of the peak was an unsatisfying drop that didn’t provide enough momentum to carry us to the appropriate finish.
But really, the game was supposed to be the ultimate trap game for the Dodgers that they had no right winning. The Dodgers took a gamble to putting the nail in the Braves’ coffin, by sending out the best starting pitcher in the Major Leagues, Clayton Kershaw, on just three days rest (typical starters get five). The Braves countered, almost laughably, with Freddy Garcia, a maligned journeyman pitcher who really had no right starting in a playoff game in today’s era; think Tony Danza’s character in Angels in the Outfield for an appropriate comparison.
However that right there was the perfect recipe for a trap game – best pitcher in baseball versus a guy that was literally unemployed at the start of July.
And the story went on as it should have; Clayton Kershaw, whether it be the nerves of pitching in a potential series clincher, or the fact that he was pitching after inadequate rest, was somewhat mortal on this game. After striking out 12 in seven innings in the first game, he “only” struck out six in six innings last night. It’s still very good in general standards, but for the best pitcher in baseball, it’s definitely mortal. Especially since he gave up two runs to the Braves, who had no intention of bowing out without some sort of resistance. But the important thing was that the Braves weathered the storm of Kershaw, and by the time he left the game, the Braves were very much still alive, which is a complete opposite of how things went in the first game of the series.
The bigger story was the storybook performance by Freddy Garcia. I felt like the only person on the planet who saw this script being written, and was the only person alive not surprised when Garcia turned the clock back in time about eight years and made one fucking hell of a start to keep the Braves’ hopes alive.
#Braves Freddy Garcia: “I don’t panic. I just make pitch.”
— David O’Brien (@ajcbraves) October 7, 2013
When he said that, I knew, KNEW, he was going to pitch a great game.Six innings later, the wandering journeyman, with no perceived value other than “being crafty” and “having playoff experience” had matched the best pitcher in baseball pitch for pitch, and left the game with the Braves and Dodgers tied 2-2.
Freddy Garcia delivered on his part of the bargain.
He made pitch.
As Brad Pitt improvised this immortal line into the script of the movie rendition of Moneyball – How can anyone not be romantic about baseball?
The cruel mistress of fate gave Braves fans everywhere hope springs eternal in the 7th inning, when waiver-wire-pickup-turned-starting-second-baseman (AKA picked off the bargain bin) Elliott Johnson delivered a triple, and then was brought home by the bat-licking Jose Constanza, for a 3-2 lead. This was where Braves fans everywhere grew hopeful that the series was moving back to Atlanta, and intrepid broggers like myself began imagining words of victory and defiance and resistance until the bitter fucking end to post to their brogs and Facebook.
After all, we had plenty of reason to feel confident with the game now in favor of the Braves and being turned over the one glaring strength of the team, the relief corps.
But that confidence hit a little bit of a snag in the 7th inning, when Luis Avilan put runners on first and second base, with the dangerous Adrian Gonzalez up to bat with two outs. He didn’t make things any less stressful by pitching him three straight balls to start the matchup, but ultimately he got him to fly out deep into right field. But he held the line, and protected the lead.
One of the biggest arguments that occur among those who love to talk about baseball these days is the role of the closer, and the advent of the save statistic. From a pitcher that closes’ financial standpoint, the concept is the best thing to ever happen to them, because it gives closers their own statistic that they can amass and use as justification for financial benefit, but from a purist baseball standpoint, it’s one of the worst concepts ever. Last night was one of those instances where I’m betting every Braves fan wished that the idea of closers and saves never existed.
Statistical saves can only be earned in the final inning, whether it be in the 9th, or an extra inning there afterward. But sometimes, regardless of the fact that it wouldn’t be counted as a statistical save, the real save situations sometimes occur in an earlier point in the game, where it would make sense to trot out the closer to make that save, as opposed to making it the responsibility of someone less talented.
In the 8th inning of last night’s game, the Dodgers had two very dangerous hitters due up. Yasiel Puig, the Cuban phenom that set the baseball world on fire when he was called up in June, and Juan Uribe; I’ll get to him later. But because it was the 8th inning, the Braves’ manager Fredi Gonzalez elected to go with David Carpenter, whom had a good 2013 season statistically, but had previously demonstrated an inability to handle the pressure of pitching in the playoffs thusfar, having given up a massive home run in the second game of the series.
In a perfect world where players aren’t so money-driven and ambitious, it would be at this point in the game in which Craig Kimbrel would have been summoned from the bullpen, because he is a wizard at neutralizing batters and making opponents look silly.
But we don’t live in a perfect world, and because there are roles and statistics allocated to particular players, and because the 8th inning did not dictate the requirements of the 9th inning pitcher, an inferior pitcher was made responsible for two very dangerous batters.
Naturally, Puig would get on base, and set the stage for Juan Uribe’s heroics. Let’s talk about Juan Uribe now. Uribe has played for four major league teams now. Throughout his career, Uribe would be considered a guy that is not a very good player, because he strikes out way more than he’s capable of taking a walk, and is often times more of a liability with the bat than he is a beneficial contributor. But because he can play the very difficult defensive position of third base without embarrassing himself, he’s always managed to stay afloat at the big league level. And he’s picked his spots well, because he’s lucked into being a part of two World Series teams (2005 White Sox, 2010 Giants).
However, Uribe is a guy that whenever he occasionally connects with a baseball with the bat, the ball tends to go far. In eight of the 13 years he’s played, he’s managed to clobber a double-digit number of home runs. In other words, he’s kind of the equivalent of retard strength in baseball, because he’s not a very good player, but if he manages to get a hold of one, it’s going to go far.
Home runs also disguise poor performance, if hit at the right times, and Juan Uribe has historically been good at doing just that.His playoff numbers aren’t necessarily pretty, but he’s hit four playoff home runs, that have all pretty much come at critical points.
Basically, Juan Uribe is the Robert Horry of professional baseball. A mediocre player that hits critical home runs and lucks his way to championship rings.
Yes, part of this is sour grapes coming out, but part of it is frustration with a defeat that should never have happened, had baseball not fallen into the predictable rut it kind of is in right now. My heart sank when Juan Uribe clobbered David Carpenter’s hanging slider, and the nano-second it came off the bat, I knew it was gone.
I knew it was over.
I still hoped that the Braves would get to Kenley Jansen and completely ruin the night for the Dodgers, but when Jordan Schafer struck out, followed by a questionable strike three call on Jason Heyward, the strikeout of Justin Upton seemed inevitable.
When the game ended, I wasn’t mad in the least bit, because I’ve been here before. Sports heartbreak is nothing new for me, and I always question why I put myself through this year after year after year. How the odds are just so unfavorable from the onset, and that there are games at casinos that have a better chance of victory than putting hopes in sport teams. How it doesn’t matter how great a team does in the regular season if it never translates to playoff success.
A myriad thoughts more, for David Carpenter, that I hope that this failure will be turned into strength for him, or if it will eat him alive and make him completely incompetent for the rest of his career. For Craig Kimbrel, whom the cameras caught standing flabbergasted in the bullpen, while the fairweather Los Angeles crowd went ballistic during Uribe’s home run. How the best closer in baseball had to sit idly while his team went down in the ninth inning. And for Brian McCann, whom very well may have just played his last game in a Braves uniform, as he is now a free agent, with several teams very likely to be interested in his talents and be very willing to pay way more than the Braves would be willing to.
But as my personal baseball season comes to a close, I still look back at last night’s game as somewhat of a beautiful narrative, and a prime example of just how funny things work out.
The Braves, facing the brink of elimination, with baseball’s best pitcher holding the gun, weather the storm and disarm Clayton Kershaw to force a stalemate. Freddy Garcia, a pitcher nobody had any faith in, pitches as well as anyone could have hoped to for him to pitch, and holds his end of the bargain and keeps the team in the game. Atlanta takes a lead late in the game, and turns it over to their seemingly impervious bullpen.
And in the end, it’s their bullpen that falters and ultimately ends up being their demise.
With a sigh of relief, I feel somewhat liberated now. But I’m sad that the Braves’ season is now over, in spite of all the apathetic and bad-fan things I’ve alluded to and said. It’s a love-hate relationship we as sports fans have with our teams, but I’d be lying like crazy if I said I wasn’t going to miss having baseball around in the winter time.
