There is no crying in baseball...

just absolute girlish-like sobbing.

Last Wednesday, the Dodgers lost a heartbreaker to the Pirates. We lost by one run, which was given up in the bottom of the sixth inning...with two outs.

And for the first time, truly, all year, the Dodgers didn't look like a team full of suburbanites hopped up on too much of their mommies' lil' helper.

They cheered. They supported each other. They even talked a little trash since they were winnning the whole game.

Then they cried.

Well some of them did, and it was embarrasing.

One kid, our star pitcher, started to cry on the mound as his father--our head coach--pointed a stern finger and his direction while uttering "Don't do it. Don't you dare do it."

He did it.

And when he was still crying after seeking sympathy from--geez get this--his little sister, his dad said, "Son, it was a tough loss. But the team played well and this just makes you stronger and tougher and wanting to win even more."

The response: "Nawww...snifff...it...snifff....dawsn't.....bwahhhh....."

However, Willie, who you have all become familiar with for complaining about various joints, ligaments and all around wussy-ness, bit his lip like a man, held it together, and earned even more respect from me than when I told him he would like Blue Crush more than Point Break because the whole movie was about hot chicks in bikinis surfing instead of dudes surfing and he said, "Sweet."

As much as I could have done without the tears, I was glad to see that the kids--win or lose--actually gave a damn about the game, and playing well for themselves and their teammates.

But, this is a double elimination playoff, so the D-girlies live to fight another day. Saturday to be exact.

Weather calls for dry weather. I hope it stays that way.