Game Report: April 2006 Archives

Washington at St. Looey. Cardinals 6, Nationals 2.

Dear Diary,

Oh. My. God. I wish I had someone to tell; this is so big I feel like I'll burst keeping it to myself. It finally happened. My first time.

They asked me, just like I've always dreamed, but I suddenly got like way nervous. What if I wasn't ready, or what if they were just using me to get over losing JP? Did they really want me for who I am? But then they told me they'd been watching me since last year and they really thought I was the one, and all I could do was say "yes."

It was just like I imagined. Well, mostly. Sort of.

I mean, I think I was pretty good. But I'm not really sure that they enjoyed it very much. I guess I thought it would be more fun, too.

At first I was just looking at the beautiful new stadium they took me to. I was just like, wow, this is really special. The brick walls and the fresh grass and those adorable bass-relief sculptures. It was like totally classy. It would have really spoiled the mood if we'd just gone to some cheap old run-down dump, you know? Like RFK. Gross.

I knew the first batter was supposed to be a little tough, but David Eckstein really hurt. I thought the strike zone was going to be bigger, but it was actually pretty small, and I just couldn't fit the ball in. And then he was on first base and I didn't really know what happened. I started to get really embarrassed, but then they were all giving me encouragement and it was so sweet.

So I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and tried again, and the second time it went a lot better. Then the third time I was really afraid, because Albert Pujols has a totally scary reputation, but I got him out too, and then I was really starting to enjoy myself. I was thinking, "This is pretty nice." I totally felt like I could keep on doing that all night, you know? Like when Ryan and Marissa finally got together on the beach.

And it was sinchro synchronisty weird that I was thinking of Ryan and Marissa on the beach right then, because at that exact moment Ryan and Nick totally lost their ball in the dirt and instead of going back to the dugout feeling that nice glow I was all tense and embarrassed again.

Honest to God, I wanted to cry. I was just like, "I wish this was over right now." But I had to try to get Edmonds out. I was all sweaty and uncomfortable. And then Edmonds went all the way.

Three runs! Oh, I was so ashamed. I mean, "officially" those runs weren't my fault, and later Ryan and Nick both told me it was them, not me, but still. You know. It's not like Edmonds wouldn't have come up in the second inning looking to go deep. He would have. He totally would.

Anyway, then Fonzie missed a play in left to give Spezio a triple and now I was just completely angry. You know? That diving catch on a line drive Fonzie missed? That's the kind of catch second basemen are supposed to make all the time. Like it's no big deal. And he's out there pouting because he's really this hot second basemen and not a left fielder, but you know, a real second baseman makes that catch every time.

Then it was just total relief when Bengie Molina finally finished the inning with a pop-out.

I thought this was supposed to be some kind of magical experience that I would remember forever, but it was just kind of yucky and I wanted to forget the first inning ever happened.

But it got a lot better after that. The strike zone was still pretty tight, and I kept having trouble putting the ball in there, but I only gave up one more hit. Oh, and the next time Edmonds came up? I struck him out and he didn't even swing.

OK, that felt pretty good. Really good. I don't know, the way the other guys describe it, well, it wasn't exactly like the best feeling ever, so maybe it wasn't, you know, OMG, I am so EMBARRASSED! I can't even write it here! "The Big K." Shhh! But, you know. Striking Edmonds out was good.

Then in the fifth, I finally got a three-up, three-down inning, with another K, and I got both Pujols and Edmonds out, and by then I was feeling like I knew what I was doing.

But they didn't seem to be having much fun. I think I was doing everything right, especially after the first, but they just couldn't score. I thought it was going to be this life-changing experen thing, and it was a special night and a beautiful place, and it did start to feel pretty good eventually, but after it was over we all just felt like losers. I don't know how to explain it.

Cincinnati at Washington. Commies 5, Nationals 0.

So self-proclaimed "former Red" Frank Robinson sent the former Red Ramono out to pitch against the Commies. While he was at it, he benched Vidro and the Barbarian, two of our four best hitters.

And the Nationals took the field wearing red shirts.

Suspected Red infiltrator Ramono's pitching wasn't bad enough to hand the game to his former comrades, but at the critical moment in the fourth Ramono just happened to commit a throwing error to allow Felipe Lopez to score and set up a three-run inning for Cincy.

Again, BallWonk isn't saying there is a sleeper cell in our midst. But he does note that we sure do have a tough time beating the Reds, and every time we lose to the Commies, it's a so-called "former Red" at the center of the loss.

Some days you can almost hear a faint murmur of "The Internationale" coming from our dugout and our front office. But maybe that's a coincidence too.

Fortunately, Ryan Zimmerman proved with the only Nationals hit of the game that there is hope for expunging the taint of Commie leanings from the organization by promoting loyal youngsters from within. That makes today's news that George Washington alum and lefty prospect Michael O'Connor will start in St. Looey extra welcome. And in repatriation news, Zach Day has come in from the cold, apparently before Cincy could lay their pinko hands on him. Then again, with his 10.80 ERA, maybe we should have let Cincinnati have him.

But it's doubtful that any such moves could have prevented a Cincy sweep, what with known and suspected Commie sympathizers littered throughout the front office, the dugout, and even on the mound. Let's just be thankful the series only went three games and we go back on the road now, where we're actually capable of putting together a winning streak. Except in Cincinnati.

Cincinnati at Washington. Commies 6, Nationals 5.

We've long known that Trader Jim is an active Commie agent. He'd be a mole, except he doesn't bother to hide his loyalties. He staffs the front office with known Reds. He trades for or signs former Red players at every chance. He lets his own son wear a Commies cap. He's tried to hire longtime Red Barry Larkin as a player and a coach.

Aldritch Ames was not so much a Red. Kim Philby was less obvious in his leanings.

But good Nationals patriots have long wondered: Is the self-proclaimed "former" Red Frank still a fellow-traveller?

After pulling Traber in the second, Tex and Eischen pitched almost three innings of perfect baseball. Then Frank put Felix Balkriguez in to give up what turned out to be the winning runs. Fine, whatever. Someone in the bullpen is going to lose the game; whether it's Balkriguez or Don Walkum or Stanton doesn't really matter.

But then after yanking Eischen after a single perfect inning, Frank left Balkriguez in to bat leadoff and then pitch some more.

The Commies are beating us 6-2, our reliever is bleeding runs, and Frank leaves him in to bat leadoff with Fonzie, the only man in our lineup strong enough to hit a ball out of RFK Canyon National Monument, due up next. Suspicious, to say the least.

After Balkriguez grounded out weakly, Fonzie hit a homer. Which would have given us a tie game after Johnson scored in the sixth and Vidro drove in a run in the seventh, except that nobody was on base for Fonzie to drive in.

Which sure worked out well for the Commies.

BallWonk still has no proof, but throughout last year too Frank sure seemed to make a lot of mistakes and "huh?" moves when we were playing the Commies. Frank sure does have a hard time beating his own former comrades.

If we ever get those new owners, BallWonk proposes that they order Frank to step aside and let Eddir Rodriguez manage against the Commies. Not because they question Frank's loyalty or anything. Just to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interests. To protect Frank's reputation from scurrilous accusations about his sympathies.

Cincinnati at Washington. Commies 4, Nationals 2.

Man, this league is filled with incredible pitchers. It's like every man a Sandy Koufax. Nolan Ryan, Tom Seaver, Steve Carlton, those guys had nothing on the current generation of National League pitchers. You know, those giants of the mound Brian Bannister, Wandy Rodriguez, John Thomson.

And now Elizardo Ramirez.

Isn't it just our luck that every pitcher who faces the Nationals this season is a first-ballot Hall of Famer pitching in his prime? And that's not even counting Glavine, Pedro, and Pettitte. Those guys we expected to pitch like all-stars. But every night, every freakin' night, the rest of the league manages to send out a pitcher so dominant the Nationals feel lucky just getting a single runner to second and stranding him there every other inning.

Really, where did all these great pitchers come from? Who knew the 2006 National League would be the best pitcher's circuit in baseball history?

The funny thing is, you can see from how the other teams play that they're afraid, really afraid, of the Nationals. They know we're a sleeper powerhouse, a 100-win team if they turn their backs for just one inning. That's why they're playing so hard, pitching so well, against us. Sure, a lot of the pitchers who make our batters look like fools give up a lot more hits and runs to other teams. But that's just because they know they have to try harder against the Nationals, such a threat are we.

Take the young Elizardo, whose name means "The Izard." He had an unlucky 6.99 ERA so far in his brief big-league service, but on Monday night he finally put it all together against the Nationals. And wasn't he something to watch? BallWonk hadn't seen pitching that good from a rookie since, well, since all the other rookie pitchers who've beaten us this year.

Man, these National League pitchers are good.

Washington at Philadelphia. Nationals 10, Phailers 4.

Frank Robinson lost his thousandth game on September 28, 2004, the day before Montreal's relocation to Washington was announced. The game was in Montreal, against Florida, and the Expos lost 2-5. And as of today, he's five losses away from the big 1100.

But isn't that the way it goes when you work for baseball's orphan franchise: When you lose your thousandth game, it's at home. Two years later, when you win your thousandth game, you're on the road in the city of brotherly goddammit Phillies you suck.

Washington at Philadelphia. Phailers 7, Nationals 6.

How does this guy get into the game? BallWonk checked the roster, which had names like Mike Stanton and Gary Majewski and Joey Eischen in the bullpen. But there was Don Walkum on the mound once again, ruining the game and totally costing ¡Livo! his first M.L. delegate.

How did BW know this interloper's name? Well, here is what the eighth inning sounded like at BallWonk Party Headquarters:

"No, no, no, Don Walkum!"

"Fer crissakes, Don Walkum!"

"Can't you get that pitch anywhere near the strike zone? Please, Don Walkum!"

"Come on, Officer Schneider, lay down the law. Don Walkum!"

"What, are you afraid to pitch to this guy? Don Walkum!"

"Just Don Walkum!"

"You tell him, Cowboy Randy. Don Walkum!"

"Another 3-2 count? Are you kidding me? Please, Don Walkum!"

"Don Walkum, Don Walkum, Don Walkum, come on, Don Walkum!"

"Dammit, I said Don Walkum!"

But it was no use. Don walked 'em both. It seems lately that Frank has been turning to Don Walkum any time the bullpen has to pitch to a run of lefties. But he's not on the roster. Why are the umpires allowing him to come into the game?

Sure, Don Walkum has been wearing number 58, which used to belong to Joey Eischen, and the guy does look a little like the Old Man of the Bullpen. But he's clearly not the same guy! Just listen to the Nationals fans every time he comes into the game: it's all Don Walkum this, Don Walkum that. The umpires should have no trouble hearing his name and checking their rosters and telling Frank, "Sorry, sir, but I don't have a Don Walkum on your roster. You're gonna have to send out an eligible pitcher."

Please, umpires, do your jobs, and don't let Frank keep sending out the non-roster Don Walkum in critical late-inning situations.

Washington at Philadelphia. Nationals 10, Phailers 3.

Overheard at the Gates mansion Tuesday night:

"What's that, President Hu, you want to experience some authentic American culture before you head to Washington?

"Well, Americans love video games. You want to play Xbox 360? No? How about surfing the web? I can show you some blogs on Internet Explorer -- not a pirated version, ha ha! -- that I just know will make George and Dick laugh at the state dinner.

"No? You want to watch a ballgame? Well, sure. I've got satellite, which is like wireless cable. The Mariners game doesn't start for a while, but let's see what's on ..."

[Bill Gates starts flipping the channel.]

"Woh yow nay guh!"

"That one? That's Philadelphia against the Nationals."

"Uhn! Na-shun-ah team!"

"It's just their name, President Hu. They're not the actual National team. You know, like in the World Baseball Classic."

"Bu ming bai."

"Yeah, I know. Baseball can be hard to understand. OK, see, every big city has its own team, but they're not owned by the city. They're owned by private investors, but mostly the cities build their stadiums."

"Yes, that is kind of like state-owned factories. I see your point. Anyway, the teams are owned by ... well, wait, actually the Nationals are owned by the other teams.

"Yes, I suppose that does mean that the Nationals are collectively owned. But they'll be sold to a private owner soon, now that the city is building them a ballpark.

"OK, I see that point, too. It is a bit like fake 'privatization' where the People's Liberation Army owns most of the shares and leases the use of the factories. But that's all beside the point. Besides, the Nationals just prove that collectivization and socialism don't work. They're a terrible team. Just you watch. And they particularly can't beat Philadelphia, which is the birthplace of American freedom and entrepreneurship. The pitcher? Liddle? The Nationals have never beat him."

...

"Right, you're catching on. The pitcher is very important. That's why he stands in the middle of the field, on a little platform. I guess you can think of him like the team's leader. Then the rest of the team works together to try to get hits and run the bases and to field the ball. Even if you get a hit, you still rely on the rest of your team to drive you home so you can score. And that guy there? In the little room? He's the manager. He works behind the scenes to tell the team what to do, but he doesn't come onto the field himself or play or anything.

"What do you mean, this seems just like China? This is the American game, President Hu. It's all about American values.

"Well, OK, sure, the collectively owned team is winning, and every one of its players has a hit, and they sure look happier than the privately owned players, and everybody is contributing, but -- aw, heck. That's what we call a grand slam. Looks like the Nationals have this pretty well in the bag."

"Shi, San!"

"Yeah, 10-3. What? I guess that's like the difference between China's 10 percent economic growth and America's 3 percent growth, but that's just a coincidence. You can't draw any conclusions from that. And just so you know, the man who hit that grand slam, he was sent down to the minor leagues to teach him to be more industrious! He had to earn his way onto the team, not like some --

"Oh, you have reeducation camps too? Right. Well, it's been a fascinating evening, President Hu. I'm sure George and Dick would be fascinated to hear your thoughts about baseball. Really, you should make a note to talk to them about the virtues of collective run-farming."

Washington at Florida. Series Report.
Future San Antonio Team 5, Nationals 3.
Nationals 2, Future San Antonio Team 1.
Nationals 7, Future San Antonio Team 5.

Let's get this straight: The Nationals go to Miami, lose embarrassingly to baseball's only all-volunteer team, and during that game lose yet another starting pitcher to what looks at first like a season-ending injury. Then Long John Patterson uses the Red Glove of Courage to pitch maybe the best eight innings of baseball any starter has pitched in the major leagues so far this season, and the Nationals still almost manage to lose the game. Then we finally win one for real, with decent if not wonderful pitching and timely hitting, though mainly from Ryan Church, whose pair of two-run homers made the difference between a two-run win and a two-run loss, and who isn't even supposed to be on the team because his GM and his manager think he's a sissy little girlie-man.

BallWonk understands the story of the Nationals visit to Miami so far.

But then Trader Jim's girlfriend beats him up after the final game of the series, right there on Ocean Drive, where Madonna and Tara Reid can like totally see them. Then they get into a car together, run a red light, and get pulled over by the fine officers of the Miami-Dade Police Department. Trader Jim refuses to take a breathalyzer test, and instead submits to an old-fashioned sobriety exam.

According to the police report, Bowden smelled of stale liquor, his eyes were glazed over like a deer in the headlights, his cheeks were flushed, and he didn't make any sense when he tried to talk. His judgment was impaired, and the officers did not trust him to operate complex machinery.

And here is where BallWonk doesn't understand the story any more: Based on this evidence, Crockett and Tubbs concluded that Trader Jim was drunk, and they booked him for DUI.

Sorry to spoil the fun, officers, but that's not Trader Jim drunk. That's what he's like sober.

Trader Jim, of course, announced that he would plead not guilty to the DUI charges. His first exhibit will be Cristian Guzman's four-year, $16.8 million contract. His second exhibit will be the cumulative ERA of all the pitchers we've fired in the last year. The rest of his defense will consist of Cold Pizza videos.

No jury in America would convict.

New York at Washington. Metropolitans 13, Nationals 4.

New York at Washington. Freakin Mets 3, Nationals 1.

It was Thunderdome at RFK Canyon Nationals Monument.

Two men entered. One man left.

Bottom of the sixth, Nationals trailing 2-1. Other than a Vidro solo home run in the fourth, Master/Blaster Martinez had a perfect game going. One hit, one run, but that was more about Vidro redeeming himself for the run-costing error he committed in the top of the inning than anything Master/Blaster did.

(Yes, that was an error. Sometimes the official scorer blows the call. A ball hit right to the secondbaseman, on the ground between his legs, he gets his glove down on the ball but lets it through, that's not just an error. That's the error, the misplay responsible for more little league nightmares and mocking laughter than any other fielding failure. In BallWonk's row, a boy said with the naive wisdom of youth, "That's an error, right dad?" And the father, who clearly has lost whatever inner wisdom allows a person to fly on the power of happy thoughts or see a wardrobe for the fairy portal it is or to board a train at Platform 9-3/4, said, "Wait a second ... no, it's scored a hit." But dad, BallWonk almost screamed, your boy has it right. It's your scorecard; score it as you see it, not how some little man behind a curtain somewhere tells you he saw it. When your son misses a grounder between his legs in a Babe Ruth game, you call it an error. Jose Vidro misses the same play and it's a hit? Mercy.)

Right. Back to Thunderdome in the sixth. Master/Blaster has a perfect game, minus that Vidro homer, going through five. For the first time all night, the hours-from-full moon peeks out from the clouds. If The Natural was set in postapocalyptic Australia with Mel Gibson and Tina Turner, it would have a "full moon breaking through the clouds right now" scene in it.

Officer Schneider comes to the plate. Up to now, Master/Blaster has thrown exactly 40 pitches, 10 of them balls. But in the sixth, he starts throwing balls. Which gives Officer Schneider something to hit, which he does, for a leadoff single.

Then Marlon Anderson walks - see, Master/Blaster is throwing balls now - and the Official Leadoff Out, little Elementary Watson, comes to bat. And lays down a perfect bunt with the runners in motion, freezing Master/Blaster, who actually had time to get Elementary Watson at first except he started a useless motion to third first and by the time he recovered there was the Official Leadoff Out safe at first for, what, the third time this season?

And that brought up Vidro, who had already followed his error-redeeming homer with a series of sharp defensive plays, and you sort of knew by looking at him that Vidro knew his karma was back in balance, and now Master/Blaster was looking really angry, and you didn't figure much to happen here. Besides, it wouldn't be Thunderdome if Vidro didn't leave the bases loaded for the Barbarian, who in his first at-bat had hit a broken-bat comebacker that sent the head of the bat bounding toward Master/Blaster's gut while the ball pegged him in the ankle, which was really, really sweet and actually shut up the legion of upper-deck New York fans for a few seconds.

So Vidro could walk, single, or strike out; any other result would ruin the script. Vidro opted for the K, going down with some truly mighty swings, the sort of swings that look really good and that would launch a ball maybe 600 feet, if only the head of the bat could get closer than about three feet to the ball.

That swing was a problem for the Nationals on the night, actually. The Freakin' Mets batted like a team that plays its home games in a canyon so deep Teddy Roosevelt designated it a national monument in 1905. They were hitting fast grounders down the lines for doubles, lacing line drives to the corners for triples and into the gaps for doubles, and seemingly hitting fly balls only with the runner in scoring position to set up the sac. Smart baseball, allowing the Metropolitans to make the most of their very few opportunities against a decidedly better-than-fifth-starter Junior Armas. If you can't hit the ball out of the park, don't bother trying.

The Nationals, on the other hand, seemed to be batting for a miracle. At times it felt like all of our guys were up there thinking, "If I hit it 400 feet to dead center, maybe this time it will be a home run." Fair enough: If the Nationals played in Arlington, Texas, they would have crushed the Metropolitans something like 21-3 with all those home runs that died on the warning track in front of those distant canyon walls. But we don't play there, and so those balls weren't home runs, they were easy pop-ups. Line drives, people! Grounders down the lines, line drives anywhere, and walks. That's how you score runs at RFK Canyon National Monument. Everyone else in the league seems to have figured that out already, why can't we?

But anyway, back to Thunderdome. One out, bases loaded, Master/Blaster throwing more balls than strikes in the inning, and our very own road warrior, Guillen the Barbarian, steps to the plate against Master/Blaster. Two men enter. One man leaves.

Like with Vidro, the script only offered three possible outcomes. Outcome the first, Master/Blaster beans the Barbarian, who takes his revenge cold by walking calmly to first base to collect his game-tying RBI while the umpire throws Master/Blaster out of the game. Option the second, the Barbarian hits a grand slam to put the Nationals firmly on top. Option the third, Master/Blaster forces the Barbarian to ground into an inning-ending double play.

Sadly, this wasn't Hollywood, and the Barbarian didn't have a tribe of lost children to lead out of the barren wasteland to a new home of plenty, so this time it was option number three and Master/Blaster walking his cocky little ass out of Thunderdome, stepping derisively over the dismembered bits of the Barbarian dribbling to the bottom of the cage.

New York at Washington. Metropolitans 7, Nationals 1

To: GWB

Cc: DR, CR, KR

From: RBC

SIR,

You tasked me to find someone to "look into the Nationals situation." After an extensive search, I found myself to be the most qualified candidate for the job, so I delegated the mission to me and investigated the situation in person Tuesday.

Rest assured that the Nationals are a championship team. The 2006 pennant is in the bag. Slam-dunk. Sure, the Metropolitans may have out-hit the Nationals 12-3 on the day, but that represents nothing more than the death throes of the New Yorkers. The storm is loudest just before it breaks.

With their short attention spans, critics of the Nationals in Congress and the media will point out how many more runs New York has scored against us this year. But this is not a one-week season. We're in this for the long haul. We are resolute in our resolve. We just need to stay the course. The Mets are peaking early, and will fade in the last twenty-three twenty-fourths of the season.

Let the sissies in the opposition whine about how Brandon Watson keeps hitting pop-ups instead of the line-drives and grounders that might actually get him on base like a real leadoff hitter. You should stay focused on our message that those pop-ups are just home runs waiting to happen. (I am prepared to leak Ryan Church's .200 batting average in New Orleans to Novak or Coulter if KR feels it would help to discredit the Watson bashers. Please advise.)

I know I promised you that we would find huge stockpiles of hidden pitching talent in the Nationals rotation and the bullpen. No, we have not yet found those hidden stockpiles. But just because we have not found them doesn't mean that they are not there. We know for a fact that the Nationals were in contact with good pitching over the winter. We should not apologize for acting on the best intelligence available at the time.

And let's not forget that these apparent setbacks are just the natural growing pains of a club that doesn't have an owner. The expansion Senators of the 1960s didn't become a championship team overnight. Keep hammering home the message that as new Nationals authorities stand up, Washington's suckiness will stand down.

Washington at Houston. Series Report.

Astros 6, Nationals 1.

Nationals 12, Astros 8.

Astros 7, Nationals 3.

Astros 4, Nationals 5.

OK, guys. BallWonk gets it. You're not the 2005 Nationals anymore. Which is terrific. Your pitching isn't anywhere near as good, and your batting is better.

But "better" isn't the same as "more productive." Just look at that Houston series. Only once in four games did the Nationals pitching keep us in the game through nine innings. (BW's rule of thumb is that if your pitching gives up 5 or more runs, and you win, it's your batters what won the game.) Last year, the Nationals would not have lost 6-1 or 7-3; we'd have lost 3-1 or 4-3.

And the hitting is much better. More guys getting more hits for more bases than a 2005 Nationals fan would ever have dreamed possible. A slumping Officer Schneider aside, every batter seems to be a legitimate threat. In fact, the new-look Nationals are regularly outhitting their opponents.

Outhitting, but not outscoring them.

And that's where the productivity comes in.

The Nationals are like a team that gets 18 hits a game, but evenly distributed so that it's two hits per inning, with no home runs, so all 18 guys get stranded. Better to get five hits in one inning than two scoreless hits every inning for nine.

Frighteningly, what little productive hitting we had this first week came with long balls. Stringing together singles and homers may be a winning strategy in Houston, with its short lines, but at RFK Canyon National Monument it just means a lot of inning-ending fly-outs to the warning track.

Still, we avoided the sweep in Houston, and that's good enough for third place in the division after a week, and third place in the NL East is a pretty good goal for the Nationals this year.

Washington at New York. Metropolitans 10, Nationals 5.

One of these days, Pedro. One of these days.

Speaking of justifiable homicide, BallWonk would like to expound on the horrors of the umpiring, where not only did the band of boobs in blue blow every major call in the entire series to the benefit of the Metropolitans, but New York's pitchers were allowed to bean our three best sluggers, one in the head with a fastball and the other two twice each in the same game, without so much as a warning, to say nothing of a much-deserved ejection. But BallWonk fears he cannot so expound without causing his head to explode from rage.

BallWonk just hopes that the Barbarian bottles his own rage deep down inside and sips from that bottle of sweet, burning vengeance-nectar regularly, not just when he faces Pedro. For all we know, Florida could have put the umps up to their official misconduct as part of a scheme to cheat their way to fourth place in the NL East.

And another sign that we're back to 2005 with the Nationals: With another 3-run homer, Riker is again the most valuable player, but only in games we lose.

PS: BallWonk spent the game switching between MASN and ESPN to see who is worse, our local Tweedledum and Tweedledee or Joe Morgan and Ed McMahon. As bad as T-dum and T-dee are on MASN, Morgan and whoever his chubby white-guy sidekick happens to be in any given broadcast are worse. At least the MASN announcers actually notice what's happening on the field between their minutes-long bouts of uncontrollable laughter at their own japes.

One moment in particular stood out. When the home plate umpire finally left the field in shame to commit seppeku, the only way any member of Rick Reed's crew could restore his honor after the horsecrap calls they inflicted during the series, MASN viewers had a pretty good idea what was happening, even down to whether the Metropolitans pitcher would get more warmup pitches and why Tim Tschida took the ball from him. ESPN viewers got to listen to a quarter hour of Joe Morgan and Ed McMahon talking about how, gosh, they just didn't know what was going on and gee, isn't this unusual.

Plus there was Joe Morgan interpreting the tiny puff of dust from Ramono's foot hitting the ground while taking a direct strike from a line drive as "proof" that the ball hit the ground. Apparently, in Morgan-land, a pitcher finishes his stride by gently setting down his back foot upon the mound without disturbing a single grain of dirt.

Just another aggravating circumstance to file away for the sentencing phase of Comcast's trial: Forcing hundreds of thousands of innocent Nationals fans to watch the game on ESPN.

Washington at New York. Nationals 9, Metropolitans 5 in 10 innings.

"I bet I can load the bases and still get out of the inning," the Chief said when he watched Zimmerman's shot sail out to left in the ninth, the game now knotted at 4 apiece.

"I'm sure you could, Chief, but let's not find out, huh?" John Wilkes Majewski replied.

"What, you think I'm chicken? I'll do it, man."

"I don't think you're a chicken."

"I'm not a coward. I'll totally do it."

"Cowboy Randy will kick your ass if you do that again," Joey Eischen chimed in. "You did that way too often last year. He knows you do it on purpose."

"I'm not afraid of him. Do you dare me?"

"No, we don't dare you -"

"Double dare me? Triple dare me?"

"Chief -"

"I knew it! I am so doing this. This is gonna rock. One of these nights I should give you all cameras so you can film me putting on my show and then we'll make the first concert movie of me closing out a game. Yeah!"

"Um, Chief, you need to go take your warmup pitches."

"Right. Thanks."

...

"Suh-we-heet! Did you guys see that? Man, I wish there was another base out there. Fourth base. Then I could have put four guys on before I made LoDuca pop out to the Barbarian like the punk he is. Am I right, guys?"

"Um, guys? Damn. Everybody's fainted again. Hey! Bat boy! Tell Cowboy Randy to send out the smelling salts! Looks like another round of mild heart attacks out here!"

Washington at New York. Metropolitans 3, Nationals 2

Well, hello, 2005 Nationals. What are you doing here? We thought you had retired. Really, you had a good run, but you deserve some rest. Please go away now, and let the 2006 Nationals play.

What's that, 2005 Nationals? You don't know who the 2006 Nationals are? Well, neither do we, not exactly, not yet anyway. But they're certainly not the team that manages to outhit, outpitch, outhustle, and downright outplay their opponents but still squander every meaningful chance and lose the game anyway until every Nationals fan's heart is as broken after a single game as a Red Sox fan's is in a year.

No, the 2006 Nationals aren't like that. That's what you were like, 2005 Nationals, and as much fun as we had, we're kind of over you.

Oh really, 2005 Nationals? If only the umps wouldn't have blown that call at home where LoDuca dropped the ball but then recovered enough to overact his way to a call like William Shatner in an off-broadway show, then you'd have won the game and we'd be thanking you for coming back this year? Well, no. See, 2005 Nationals, if you didn't play like the 2005 Nationals that you are, you'd have been up 5-3 before Fonzie got railroaded by the boys in blue. That's the point: When you strand like 18 runners through the first seven innings, it's not bad luck when a blown call costs you a run.

So please, 2005 Nationals, no more encores. Go home, order DirecTV, and join the rest of us in watching the 2006 Nationals. Because even if the 2006 Nationals get blown out three times a week, at least it will be something new, and novelty goes a long way when the alternative is getting your heart broken 3-2 to the freakin' Metropolitans.

Sincerely,

BallWonk