Well, Brooklyn faced a big, Roger Clemens-looking mother f-er who pretty well whooped our boys. Ceciliani knocked the first pitch back through the middle for a lovely base hit, then doubled his next go-round and later singled to begin an unavailing ninth-inning rally. Batters 2-through-9, for their part, nearly matched Darrell's three hits with two of their own, using up 27 chances to Darrell's 4 to accomplish less. Ohhhhhh welllllllll.
Bursting off the top step of the visitors dugout, the Champions threw their mitts as high as they'd go and did the thing where somebody signals "pile on!" and to a man all heed the call. It was the wrong team, but it feels genuinely splendid to watch such a thing. There's only so much bitching one can do about baseball if you have a chance to see minor league games by the boardwalk in Coney Island. Off-beat and nice things still abound in this world.
I felt something special for this team, so I hung around after the game to give our heroes a shout as they took that last walk to the team bus. (I wonder where they all stay?) Greedy little kids were ruining the vibe for awhile, but as the ballplayers emerged all the real fans lifted their rad, throaty voices and had the day.
This guy, for instance. He wears a yellow-haired troll earring, came up with the nickname "Wild Cherry," and I don't think an opposing runner has ever stood on first without him screaming, "Let's get two!" He also taught me this:
So it's root root root for the Cyclones
If they don't win WE WAS ROBBED!
I only hope I'm as completely nuts one day.
Anyway, long story short, we all said, "Hurrah!" and I shook hands with a bunch of ballplayers about my height who have acne and seem very kind. In the end I even got Darrell's autograph, and I got to tell him that it was a real pleasure watching him play.
On the way home I calculated Darrell Ceciliani's line in the 8 games I watched him play, and it comes out .515/.590/.848. That's an OPS a touch higher than the Babe's in 1921. Small sample size, but you can see why the two of us have a little thing going.
Next year, Cyclones. This one was a blast.