Reversal

by Joshua Worley

It was a moment of electric blue, and then he crushed the ball. In those first moments after contact I just hoped it would be a double, that I wasn't fooling myself with hope over a ball that would be caught in the gap. I wasn't yet thinking about Abreu scoring: I just wanted to see the ball come down without being caught. But it didn't come down. It just kept going, until, with the same sense of unreality with which I had watched so many plays in the previous two days, I realized that the ball would never come down in the field of play. All the anguish of the last two games was washed away. It was pure joy. This time, they couldn't take it away. It was ours. We had our moment, our victory. Saenz!

rewind ...

At first I didn't notice the ocean of blue and white. I was so intent on the moment, the man at the plate, that I was missing the moment. Everyone was waving the giveaway Dodger beach towels, prompted by the diamond vision. Wave your towels, it said. Surround the field with a humming blue sea. It was slow and beautiful, unlike any towel waving display I had seen before. It was electric, hypnotic, to see it, to be inside of it, creating a small part of it. We were an ocean. No matter what Saenz did at the plate, it was a moment to remember. Saenz took a strike. The count was 0-1.

rewind ...

As soon as Abreu walked, I thought it, but I didn't dare even say it. As Saenz came up to the plate, I was cynical, ready to be disappointed. I started to say to my wife, "He's going to hit into a ... you know." Double play. We'd seen it before. But I didn't say it. It didn't feel right, to be so negative. As for the other, the dream, I barely even thought it. Now that he was actually coming up to the plate, and a man was a first, I didn't want to face the disappointment when it didn't happen. There was no way I would say it. Home run. But I did think it, in a small voice. Not even the crushing disappointment of losing two leads in the last two games would erase all of my hope. Home run ... maybe.

rewind ...

Just get on base, I thought, as I always do in that situation. Get a walk, Abreu. I favor the walk, because it's so certain. A ball hit hard can still be caught. I like the perseverance and grit of working a walk. And Abreu needed to get the walk. He hadn't been walking at all. He needed to walk for the team and himself. Give the Dodgers a runner, and give us a reason to think he might belong in the big leauges. As he worked the count, all the way to 3-2, I thought about what I would write for the blog. In spite of the small hope I had now, defeat felt inevitable. What would I write about such a disappointing game, the second in a row? I thought about writing nothing, or writing something scathing, negative. The season is over. The Dodgers can't win. They've rolled over. But no, what I would really be saying was that I can't handle it. I've rolled over. It's just one game. I thought about the positive things I could take away from the game, that I could write about. And then ball four came, inside. A man at first, because Abreu had walked! I truly hadn't expected it to happen. One more positive thing to write about. They were still fighting for the game, and I was still fighting not to lose hope over a couple of disheartening games. Abreu had walked! Just one more reason not to roll over in defeat.

rewind ...

"The Tomato!", I said to my wife, pointing to Saenz, as Abreu was about to step up to the plate. It was a comforting, reassuring sight, to see him waiting for his at-bat. It was exciting too. There is always hope when Olmedo is at the plate. Usually the best moments of his at-bats are before the at-bat, when anything is possible, when one can still dream of a home run, of a booming double, of a hapless pitcher throwing a fastball over the heart of the plate and the wolf Saenz lamb-chopping it to Pasadena. What a comfort it is to see Saenz come on-deck, to be able to dream. Even though we were about to see the Dodgers lose, things didn't seem that bad. Saenz would be coming up after Abreu. At least we got to dream.

rewind ...

The ball seemed to go through his glove. I thought he had it. I thought Abreu's dive had stopped the ball, stopped the run from scoring. For a moment it seemed that it was in his glove, just as it had seemed when Kent got his glove around the ball flared down the right field line. But it went off the glove. No! It went skidding past Abreu, down the line, as if it was a single down the line. It was a single down the line. With a sense of unreality I watched the runner come around third. It was happening again. He was scoring the go-ahead run, and the Dodgers were going to lose again. A ninth-inning lead blown again. The defense had failed them again. An elite reliever had failed them again. Why was I surprised? Why was I so disappointed? I tried to shield myself from it. I knew it would happen. I told my wife, "Gregg Zaun is going to get a hit and drive in the run." It was inevitable after Kent's misplay. Was it really? Of course not. But I said it, and it happened. One thing doesn't have anything to do with another, except to show that how divided I was, how hope and despair warred inside me. I knew the RBI hit would happen, and yet when Zaun hit the ball I thought Abreu had it. How could I think both these things?

rewind ...

Nope, I said. Not a home run. It's hit too high. He's going to catch it at the wall. Not for the first time, I was wrong. Everyone else thought it was gone, though. They were already cheering as if it would go. It did. In fact Gonzo hadn't hit it too high. Luis Gonzalez delivered a home run, a 2-run shot to turn a one run deficit into a one run lead. Six innings of frustration were washed away. The previous horrible defeat was washed away. The game was soon to be won. Fortune was reversed, finally. I thought all this, I really did. And again, I was wrong.

rewind ...

We talked about not going to the game. After that 6-5 defeat to the Padres I didn't want to even think about the Dodgers again, not for a long time. But we decided to go. It was our one year marriage anniversary. We both loved being at Dodger stadium. It was a two hour drive to get there, but it was worth it. Even when they lost, it was always worth it. And we might see Matt Kemp. I made sure not to find out the eventual starting lineup before we left for the game, because I wanted to preserve for as long as possible the chance that we might see him start. The Bison! What a gift it was, that he had been called up. Maybe he would start, or maybe he would pinch hit, and hit a come-from behind game winning home run. Anything is possible at a Dodger game. A heartbreaking defeat, or an impossible victory. There's nothing like going to Dodger Stadium. There's always the possibility for despair to be reversed, for time to stand still in a moment of electric blue.