Kuzul

While the Major League season may be a marathon, and not a sprint, a tweaked ankle still stings at any distance. Such was the case for Los Angeles on Sunday night, as the Dodgers positive weekend took a turn for the miserable over two painful innings.

To make matters worse, a handful of roster staples played a part in souring the evening, and the club’s big time series with the Yankees. Now a team that stood just two outs away from a much needed spark must pick up the pieces following a “how’d that happen” ending.

Joe Torre’s men lost a game, and any sign of momentum, in their 8-6 heartbreaker at Chavez Ravine. The team is almost more of a mystery now then they were on opening day. The Dodgers still have plenty of questions on the table as they forge ahead toward the second half of the season.

The standings and statistics paint a less than favorable picture. It’s win now or forever hold third place time for Los Angeles. We’ll learn how this team navigates through the peaks and valleys of a season as they hope to shake off a real gut puncher.

In the here and now, Jonathan Broxton’s rocky ninth inning, James Loney’s uncharacteristic mental lapse at first base, George Sherrill’s hanger to AL batting leader Robinson Cano, and some heated player conduct left the home crowd faithful stunned, perplex, and disappointed.

Unfortunately for the Dodgers and their followers, pro-Yankees chants drowned out any true blue words of encouragement, as New York closer Mariano Rivera shut the door on yet another one of his dominant outings. To be fair, many LA fans probably hustled to the parking lot before Broxton took the ball in the ninth.

Who could blame them? With the Dodgers spotting the usually reliable Broxton a 6-2 lead, beating traffic seemed like the right call over witnessing a ho-hum end to what appeared to be a one-sided LA victory. Although Broxton struggled on Saturday, investing in him is still a good bet.

As the flood gates opened in the top of the last frame, where the bottom of New York’s lineup clipped, and tipped, and fought off every pitch Broxton threw their way, the big closer just didn’t have it. No other explanation needed. He battled with his C-level stuff and the Yankees hitters didn’t give him an inch.

And James Loney didn’t give the pitcher a hand.

Loney’s miscue, where he fielded a hot grounder and stepped on first before throwing home, when the immediate play was to the plate, puzzled anyone who’s ever watched the man play defense. The momentary gaffe allowed speedster Curtis Granderson to cross home, tying the score at 6-6 in the process.

There’s not much to say after surrendering a four run loss at home. There’s even less to say after surrendering a go-ahead two-run blast just an inning later. The Dodgers couldn’t muster any magic in their last half.

Throw in Garrett Anderson and Russell Martin’s ejections for arguing balls and strikes with home plate umpire Chris Guccione and that’s a pretty tough night for any squad. They dropped the game and appeared none too pleased in doing so.

Lost in the commotion are all the things LA did right for eight and a half innings. They manufactured runs and fed off a stellar performance from young gun starter Clayton Kershaw. Sunday’s early positives add some salt to the wound when looking at the grand scheme of things.

The numbers don’t lie, which is a big problem for Dodgertown.

They’re 3-7 over the past 10 games, third in the division, three games behind the wild card leading Mets, and five games behind the streaking San Diego Padres in the NL West. Not a whole lot to brag about behind those stats.

There’s little time to reflect on the loss, as LA now flies to San Francisco for a tremendously important three game showdown with the Giants. The series winner will also hold solo second place in the division as they leave AT&T Park on Wednesday afternoon.

While there’s plenty of baseball left, an agitating collapse against a big time opponent, where the visiting team’s fans took over the stadium, hurts all the same.

The Dodgers can still make a strong run at the postseason if they right the ship by the All-Star break on July 12. Until then, though, nothing’s certain for this talented, yet undefined roster.

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My “to do” list nearly crumbled under its own weight last Tuesday.

Jesse James’ fan mail bin boasted more items than my leaky, rickety, ancient refrigerator. The gas gauge on my little Toyota Echo dipped below the dreaded empty line. And the three-tier pile of dirty laundry stared daggers at me every time I breezed by the closet.

These errands deserved attention. No sweat. I’d hammer out the laundry, gas, and grocery duties in a mechanical three-hour frame.

I was Will Ferrell’s classic “Frank the Tank” character in Old School and this was my version of a nice little Saturday. Get going, get it done, get on with it. 

But a 21-year-old kid some 3,000 miles away put a wrench in my productive plans.

I gave Stephen Strasburg two batters, tops, to impress me before I sauntered out the front door.

Long story short, I whiffed on all three goals. The San Diego native left me mesmerized the entire evening.

Thanks a lot, Strasburg.

As a sports enthusiast, I considered it my duty to at least acknowledge the next big thing in baseball. Hall-of-Famers and observers skewered through thesauruses, searching for words synonymous with “potential,” “unbelievable,” “amazing,” and “ridiculous” when describing the hot prospect.

A fresh-faced rookie elevated Curt Schilling’s heart rate and triggered every pitching scout’s saliva ducts. I guess that’s cause for excitement.

Still, who’d bother with an otherwise irrelevant weeknight game? I stuck around just to say I bore witness to a future star’s first big league tosses.

His first two pitches missed their intended spot by a good ten inches. The first batter he faced almost pulled the baseball, along with the shortstop’s forehead, into the left field gap.

Okay hotshot, the leadoff man tagged you. Say hello to Ryan Leaf and Darko Milicic at next year’s biggest bust banquet.

While I searched the laundry mountain for my car keys, Strasburg ripped off what looked like a 99 mph cutter, hurled a changeup that would make a young Pedro Martinez blush, and feathered a curveball that bungee jumped around home plate.

I promptly took a seat.

My two-batter cap ballooned to two innings. Then two hours. I tagged along for every second of his near 100-pitch outing. I was rendered incompetent.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

Strasburg’s debut easily takes the cake as the most highly anticipated mid-May showdown between two sub .500, non-divisional rivals in MLB history. And the phenom’s 14 strikeout, fan friendly, heavyweight performance catapulted Washington into the national baseball scene overnight.

In just two starts, Strasburg became the biggest story of this young baseball season.

By the seventh inning last Tuesday, Pittsburgh hitters essentially crept to the plate with a wooden bat in one hand and a white flag in the other.

Above all else, Strasburg matters. The Nationals will sell out all of his home starts. Opposing team’s fans will scan Washington’s website, hoping one of his starts comes at their ballpark.

He’s can’t miss theater on the mound.

Who was the last pitcher you could say that about? Martinez in the late ’90s? Eric Gagne during his 50+ save streak? Greg Maddux in his prime?

Did any of these former superstars even tread water compared to how Strasburg has already grasped the sporting arena’s attention?

Hopefully, Bud Selig sent his new golden goose a thank you card, along with a bottle of Chardonnay, after the superlative laden night.

The Nationals secured a spot in my DVR over the course of one week. I’m positive thousands of baseball enthusiasts across the country harbor the same joy.

Strasburg pumps up the “WOW” meter with a baseball gripped in his right hand. We can’t wait to see what the next several years hold for the wunderkind.

He’s subliminally altered far too many fans’ social lives. Loyalists will fight off the urge to leave the tube during Strasburg’s starts. Followers will cancel dinner reservations and movie dates to watch the young man’s hybrid slurve in action. Office workers will sneak a peak at his day game box score during breaks.

College fans with teetering GPAs should thank baseball schedule makers for ending the season in September. Professors in the Maryland/Virginia area, especially in sports management classes, would lecture in front of half full auditoriums during the pitcher’s scheduled starts.

We love sports as much as we appreciate special players. Stephen Strasburg transcends fan affiliations and skeptical viewers with his unique arsenal of pitches and quiet, assured disposition. The curiosity and anticipation variables still linger for everyone who cares about the sport.

The hullabaloo will subside, at least to a point, by late August. The law of averages implies Strasburg’s ERA, walk ratio, and loss total will soon rise. Could we really expect him to keep this up for a full rookie campaign? The process involves a two step approach where we: 1) Wait 2) See.

As the next few months pass, Strasburg’s numbers may change.

But my dial won’t.  

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