Furcalamity

I can't often say I agree with anything a Fox announcer says. Joe Buck's face gets longer by the day, and his schtick was never any good. Tim McCarver is ... well, not liked.

Last night's announcing team of Thom Brenneman and Steve Lyons is somewhat less loathsome, but that's like saying herpes is better than syphillis. Which it is.

But Brenneman was spot on in his criticism of one Rafael Furcal during last night's telecast. Furcal, the non-Bums' shortstop, had a fantastic chance to get his team off the hook during the sixth inning of Game 2.

Recap: Metsies up 2-nil, they've just loaded the bases with nobody out on a pair of base knocks and a misplay by the fabulous Brett Tomko. Endy Magic comes to the plate and literally throws his bat at a pitch low and outside (bad Endy rearing his head) , grounding back to Tomko and into a force at home. One down.

Fine. Up comes the Ancient One to pinch hit for Glavine, who's only thrown 93 pitches of clutch shutout ball to that point. He was absolutely in for another inning, so it's not an easy call to yank him there. But Willie has to do it, in my opinion.

Franco, though, with the bases still juiced and the crowd going nuts, uncorks a weak-ass grounder right to short. "Double-play ball!" screams Brenneman, with just a tad too much enthusiasm for my taste.

But Furcal doesn't charge it. He stands there aimlessly. Maybe he's thinking about the season premier of "Lost."

Maybe he's wondering if there are any good bars near Shea, or how much he's going to drink later (quick answer: a lot).

Maybe he's thinking about Jabba Lasorda, and why the hell anyone lets him anywhere near a camera.

Whatever the reason, he waits for it for a beat too long, and while his throw to Lugo at second was just fine, Lugo is a shortstop/third base-type turned utility player for the stretch run, and not a very seasoned player at second. So, his relay is also a beat slow.

Which results in one of the most curious sights you can imagine, as the oldest player in the major leagues; a man who baby-sat for Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown; a man who predates the invention of movable type; a man who went to grade school with the bookkeeper in the Miller Lite "Man Law" spots; beats the throw to the bag.

It doesn't go down as a 6-4-3 inning-ender. It goes in the books as a fielder's choice, RBI, and the Mets have an extra run. I couldn't have been more certain at that point that Mr. Glass was going to deliver, and sure enough, there it were.

4-0. Game changed. And the Mets' bullpen can basically chill the fuck out for the rest of the night, at least relative to a 2-0 game.

This, my friends, is why playoff baseball is so fun. A tiny moment -- a split-second, really -- that changes the course of a season. It can't be taken back. It can't be made up for later, as so many gaffes and mishaps can be during the regular season. It simply is.

So, Brenneman jumps on his ass for the rest of the night, tossing around phrases like "troubling defense" and "missed opportunities" at every juncture. "Prison Break" promo? Man, has defense let the Dodgers down. That sort of thing.

And why not? Like the rest of the Y2K staff and the overwhelming majority of our readers, I revel in watching the failure of others. I love seeing dreams crushed and expectations dashed. It's part of what makes the game so nasty, and so fun to follow. Especially when it happens to an insufferable bunch of losers like the Dodgers.

Now, all that stands between us and a sweep is the flabby arm of Greg Maddux, he of the career 11-14 postseason record. 6-4-2 blames Kenny Lofton, and I'm not going to argue with him. Dodger Thoughts says it ain't over. You be the judge of that.

Quick hits:

• So ... how 'bout that Joel Zumaya? Don't you just feel a little sorry for Deej, who has to try to catch up with that in a key spot? No? Not sorry? Hoping Zumaya will plunk him on the wrist with one of them 103 mph heaters? Me too.
• Sean Casey, you disgust me. Why, pray tell, are you hitting in the No. 3 slot for the Tigers instead of the vastly-superior Carlos Guillen? And it's not, as the increasingly senile Joe Morgan would have it, that you've "done a great job for the team since coming over." A .650 OPS is AA material, chump. Not getting Granderson home from third in the seventh inning could have hurt. Where, precisely, is the sainted Jim Leyland on this one?

• AFOMG hates him with the fire of a thousand suns, but Pudge becomes a key weapon in big spots. Ninth inning, Yanks down a run, Hideki leads off with a single, and Melky comes in to pinch-run. And ... that's it. No steal attempt. No nothing. This with Todd Jones, who's about as good at holding runners on as I am, on the hill. Honestly, how many guys in the league do you green-light to run on Pudge in that situation? Three? If you're the manager, it takes stones of steel to call for that. I don't think I could.
• Woo-hoo! Saturday night in L.A., and the combined age of the two starting pitchers is about four Thrilledges. Let's not forget the suitcase with the essentials, ok?