Custer Wins Little Big Horn!

That's right.

The boys in orange turned out to be true Dodgers, stepping out of the way of another loss and coming from behind to beat the Braves 2-1.

And I thought I was going to have to post a picture of an Indian scalping a frontiersman. Instead, we can soak in the gory magnificence of this fine piece of art.

Now, I don't want to take too much credit for my managerial skills. However, I will do more than hint at them.

All season, D.G., Mike (our head coach) and myself have been letting some kids who are not necessarily good pitchers...ok, some have never pitched before...take the hill to start the game. It's great to give the lil' guys a chance to chuck, but, the result has often been a huge deficit that the Dodgers have had to crawl back from right from the first inning.

So, on Saturday, I told Mike to throw our best pitcher first to keep the Dodgers from deflating and losing enthusiasm before the second inning. He agreed. Our best pitcher threw 3 innings, giving up two runs (much better then the 5 or so usually given up by the second). The Dodgers stayed sharp and upbeat and I have to believe even if we lost, the kids would have had fun because they wouldn't have been blown out.

So what does new strategy mean? Well, two things. First, that we should start our stud like every baseball team since the game was invented. Second, D.G. wasn't at the game. He was closing on his new house while our steal of a player, Ethan, closed out the last three innings. So, without his mind, we won. I heard rumblings from the beat reporters and that some coaches are talking about sending D.G. down to the minors.

Alright, they're my rumblings. But I don't pull the strings. Yet. No need to give up moustache wax yet, broham.

The infield was once again superb, looking like pros. The outfield, however, continues to react to fly balls like sloths. They just don't move for anything. Ever.

If the Dodgers can start swinging bats with arms instead of wet noodles, we might be on to something here.

But that can wait till next game. Till then, I'm just going to enjoy the lingering scent of my victory cigar on my fingertips, and the taste of my victory Sam Adams Summer Ale on my lips.

Meet the Mets, meet the Mets, step right up and greet the Mets

...as they beat the bejesus out of your baseball team.

In a game that featured many webgem-like plays by the Dodgers, they fell to the Amazin's 9-0.

The score doesn't show it, but seriously, it was a defensive clinic.

Our first basemen, Raheem, who once tripped over the bag in grand Don-Knots fashion trying to make a routine put-out, had no less than 4 put-outs Wednesday, including catching a screaming line drive. Just to show off his new sure- footedness, he tagged first base anyway.

The Dodgers are nothing if not thorough.

I say this without any exaggeration:

If, in fact, a baseball was the size of Mr. Mets' head, the Dodgers would still find a way to miss striking it with a baseball bat. Look at him. He's daring you to take a swing. Lousy son of a ...

However, the morale has continued to improve. The Dodgers hustled on and off the field. They did not get down on themselves. They seemed to be playing baseball, and liking it. I'm a happy coach.

As much as I enjoyed the defensive prowess, what made my day was seeing the chipped-tooth grin of Marquise bounding towards the field in Dodger orange. We lost him due to an unpleasant incident with a mechanical pencil for one game, and was told by his mother that he would not be playing anymore because he was acting up in school.

When I told him I was glad to see his finger was better, and that he must be behaving since his mom was letting him play, he puffed out his chest and said "I'd play anyway. My mom don't tell me what to do."

He then looked over his shoulder, twice, to make sure she didn't hear him while she sat in the bleachers.

Saturday we take on the Braves. Pray the photo that accompanies that blog entry isn't the scalped head of some poor frontiersman.

Pirates attack!

Last Sunday, the Dodgers were so whiney, so miserable, that I began to wonder if I cared more about being at the ballyard than they did. And, if that was the case, why the hell was a I there?

But on Wednesday, as D.G. and I pulled into a parking spot, I almost went blind due to the amount of bright orange Dodger jerseys that were dashing in front of me, playing catch, swinging bats...and smiling.

The Dodgers were ready to play some ball. The Dodgers had pride. The Dodgers had heart.

The Dodgers had only one run the entire game.

We lost 9-1.

Those heartless Pirates took our bats hostage and there were no Navy snipers in suburban Philadelphia to rescue them. We just couldn't get a hit all game. However, not one out was caused by a thrown bat, which was a nice, calming change of pace for the umpire, who also noticed that the Dodgers, although magnificent losers yet again, were a different team.

"Damn, baby, when I got to the field and saw those orange uniforms, I was like "oh no baby, duck and cover"," said the umpire. "But these boys look so much better, better attitude, better attention. Glad to see it, baby."

Baby was happy to see it too.

Injury update:

Marquise: the only kid to catch a ball in Sunday's massacre is on the DL after injecting himself in the finger with a mechanical pencil. When will baseball get serious enough to keep these substances out of the game, or at least out of boys' pockets business end up?

Willie: famous for uttering "This is Wilie's house!" after tagging a kid out at the plate in game 1, showed us exactly where Willie's house is this past Wednesday.

An assisted living facility.

The boy made the best throw of his life to second on a steal attempt, only to shout at the coaches after we congratulated him, "I'm not throwing like that again, it hurts my back!" He then yelled for his mother to massage him when they got home. He then complained about his shoulder, then his, ankle. He then drifted off to sleep behind the plate, awoke suddenly, and screamed "Damn Jerry's! I'll get you but good!"

These kids crack me up...
...it just takes a few days for my blood pressure to settle down.