Sunday, October 12, 2014

A Different Song

"The Song Remains the Same"
by Led Zeppelin

I had a dream. Crazy dream.
Anything I wanted to know, any place I needed to go.

I don't do drugs, and I don't remember my dreams. So why do I keep pinching myself?! Probably because every conventional bone in my body tells me this can't be real. The Kansas City Royals - the same franchise that hadn't been to the postseason in 29 years (more than the days of my walking this earth)...the Kansas City Royals - the same franchise that lost 100 or more games in four out of five seasons in the early 2000's...the Kansas City Royals - who had been mired in a losing culture so thick and disorienting it was hard to separate the garden-variety shit from the bull kind...those Kansas City Royals have taken the 2014 playoffs by...storm is too mainstream...hurricane? ...tornado is perhaps more regionally appropriate? ...by the big red spot on Jupiter, since it all just seems so otherworldly?

Quite literally nothing about this makes any sense. A winning pedigree isn't the only thing the Royals are lacking. The 2014 Royals seemingly possess a number of deficiencies that would make them overwhelming underdogs against the rest of the playoff field. They don't have the lineup, yet they've scored more runs than any other team in the playoffs. They have a manager who's a lightning rod of questionable moves, yet his witch's brew has proved quite unsavory for his opposition. They don't hit homeruns, yet they are hitting homeruns. What in the actual eff is going on?!

All the while, the Royals continue to steal bases, bunt guys over, and play elite defense. These are the Royals we have all come to know and love but who are going through a bit of an identity crisis. Should we hit homeruns, or should we play small-ball? Or should we just do both? It's the best kind of crisis.

Coinciding with the power surge and playoff success, we've witnessed a spike in Royals charisma as well. Everyone seems to be falling in love with the excitement and energy that this team displays in the dugout and on the field. Even Alex Gordon - the lone stoic (and a hell of a stoic at that!) - found himself swinging a triumphant arm through the air when he found himself at third base after having cleared the bases on a broken bat blooper to right in Game 1 of the ALCS. These are the Royals after receiving a Vitamin B shot (a steroid analogy seemed distasteful). These are the Royals while dawning The Mask. It's beautiful and terrible to behold.

It's not just the way the Royals have been winning; it's how they've been winning. First of all, let's just remind ourselves that this 2014 Royals team - without any kind of postseason experience whatsoever - is undefeated through half of the games needed to win it all. That alone deserves a pause, followed by a what the eff. Though this team is prone to the hot streak, this is not your run-of-the-mill regular season streak, where your competition is peppered with losing teams. A postseason streak seems exponentially more difficult to sustain. Against the likes of the A's, Angels, and O's, you're not supposed to do this.

In reflecting upon the ride, let's return to the Wild Card game, which had enough what the eff cache to it to fill an entire playoff run. Down 7-3 in the bottom of the eighth with Jon Lester on the mound - the same Jon Lester who has not only historically owned the playoffs but also the Royals - the Royals were mathematically given a 3% chance of victory over the A's. Their record this 2014 postseason shouldn't be 6-0. It should be 0-1, as they had no business winning that game. But they fought back in the eighth and scored three runs, though Salvador Perez failed to capitalize on sacrificing the runner on third with one out to tie the game. They scored another in the ninth, though they subsequently failed to score in the next two innings after getting the leadoff man on base. After so many missed opportunities, only to see Oakland score in the twelfth, it would not have been shameful to lose heart...especially after Lorenzo Cain grounded out to start the bottom of the twelfth, and the Royals had only seen one extra base hit to that point in the game. But the unpredictable kept happening. Eric Hosmer hit a triple. Holy crap. Cristian Colon singled in Hosmer on a weak ball hit to Luke Donaldson that couldn't have been bunted any better. Holy crap! Colon, certainly not one of the Royals' speedier base runners, then proceeded to steal second on a pitch-out that was muffed by Oakland's catcher. HOLY CRAP! But then, buzzkill: up comes Salvador Perez, who to that point in the game had looked about as poor at the plate that one can possibly conceive of a professional baseball player looking. Knowing what we now know, of course this would happen: he reached out towards the same low-and-away slider that he had looked so poorly swinging at all game and managed to pull it down the line, inches away from Luke Donaldson's outstretched glove. HOLY SHIT! - a phrase that could not be more apropos, as the twelfth inning alone constituted the type of play that can only be described as an amalgamation of junk and divine providence.

That was just the Wild Card game and the first of four extra-inning playoff victories the Royals would win en-route to beginning this postseason 6-0. Just let that sentence sink in for a moment, as it is nothing short of ludicrous. The Royals have already become the only postseason team to win four games in extras. If I were a sports fiction novelist, I couldn't conceive of a story more magical or compelling than this. This is Rocky type shit. The song I've been hearing from TBS's post game commentators has remained the same the past several days. Pedro Martinez and Gary Sheffield - seasoned veterans and stars who have spent most of their lives around the game of baseball - have only been able to reflect upon this postseason run by the Royals with such insight as: I've never seen anything like this before. This has been a crazy dream indeed.

Hear my song. People won't you listen now? Sing along.
You don't know what you're missing now.
Any little song that you know,
Everything that's small has to grow.
And it has to grow!

Amid this magical run, the Royals have endeared themselves to the nation and become America's darling. All the compelling story lines are present: the agonizing playoff drought, the small-market team, the unprecedented playoff success. The Royals are the best underdog story in a generation and a half, and we all know how America loves a good underdog.

In addition to the numerous headliners that make this team a fun story, they're also a peculiarly fascinating and enjoyable team to watch. Kansas City plays a rather unconventional brand of baseball that has been lost in the haze of the steroid and moneyball eras of the sport. The Royals play small ball, which for non-baseball aficionados, is the phrase given to the style/strategy of play involving the manufacturing of runs via stolen bases, bunting, and timely hitting. It's called small ball because you have to execute so many small maneuvers in order to get that damn run across the plate. Needless to say, it's the more onerous path.

Modern baseball strategists and sabermetricians prickle at the mere mention of "small ball" because they have statistically proven that it's an inferior strategy. But what such "experts" might not understand is that small ball might indeed be the wiser alternative for a club that lacks the components with which to play to the homerun and extra base hit. Kansas City does not have a huge market; therefore they can't afford the payroll to sign the superstars of the game who generally possess the skills needed (power) to play towards the long ball. Remember that in the Wild Card game, the Royals only put together two extra-base hits in twelve innings. Neither of those were homeruns, and the second, a triple by Eric Hosmer, came in the twelfth. In hindsight, it would have been folly to leave all the runners they had on base stranded, waiting idly for a big hit to come. Instead of waiting, they made scoring opportunities come to them by stealing seven(!) bases - five of which came around to score. Without a small ball approach, the Royals would have scored about half of the runs they did and lost the game. They also lack a cozy ball park such as Baltimore's Camden Yards; therefore it's quite hard to even hit homeruns in cavernous Kauffman Stadium.

With such circumstances as these, it behooves an organization to value other, more unconventional traits in ball players, such as speed and defensive prowess. In other words, if the baseball gods give you lemons, make lemonade. General manager Dayton Moore and the Royals have made blended margaritas - and tasty ones at that. And while homeruns are perhaps the most exciting thing in baseball, there is a different kind of excitement we find with the speed and audacious base running that the Royals bring to the table. We as fans are on pins and needles seemingly every time a runner in blue gets on base. The rest of the nation is finally coming to understand why baseball in Kansas City has been so much fun to watch all season long. It's something that fans haven't truly experienced in many years, and it's refreshing.

The resurrection of small ball isn't the only trend the Royals have bucked this season. Yes, they're a particularly exciting team to watch, but they're also an excitable bunch. Baseball, above all the other sports, is known for the way in which its players carry themselves in a noble, reserved fashion. Within the confines of the fraternity, it's rather frowned upon to show raw emotion on the field. The Royals, however, are very emotional - once again with exception to Alex Gordon, who exhibits about as much emotion as someone in a catatonic state.

It all began when Dayton Moore traded for starting pitcher James Shields several years ago. He not only had acquired a much-needed ace of Kansas City's staff, but he also had instantaneously filled the vacancy of a vocal team leader. Ergo, with the ever-increasing success Kansas City has seen during Shields' short tenure with the team, it can be argued that James Shields single-handedly changed the losing culture of Kansas City's clubhouse. That is perhaps another blog in and of itself, but for the purpose of the point being made, James Shields wears his emotions on his sleeve. Shields doesn't shy away from the emotion with which he feels during the game; he instead harnesses it and uses it to his advantage. It has set precedent for some of the Royals' younger players such as Eric Hosmer and Mike Moustakas, also emotional players, to wear their emotions as well. Currently, the whole team seems to reflect the sentiment of the city it represents, in understanding the sheer gravitas of the situation. Every run scored and every run saved is of utmost significance to a city that has pined for postseason baseball for thirty years, and in such moments the Royals dugout embodies in perfect unison the excitement and joy that transpires in every Kansas City home. The spirit with which the Royals play baseball resembles the beauty of the game when we played it as kids, before money and fame adulterated it. They've rediscovered that spark and enthusiasm that only comes when you play the game for something bigger than yourself.

The Royals' spirit is contagious. Their song, which started small, has grown and continues to grow. And unless you're from St. Louis, Maryland, or Northern California, I invite you to join the many of us who are now singing along.

California sunlight, sweet Calcutta rain,
Honolulu Starbright - the song remains the same.

From the sun and heat of Southern California, to the chilly rain in Baltimore...night and day games alike, the song remains the same for the Royals. They've played the small market moneyball gold standard in Billy Beane's A's. They've played (and swept) the big market Angels, whose lineup features some of the best players in the world. They've now gone two games head to head with what is considered one of the game's top managers in Buck Showalter. The song, however, remains the same.

Sing out Hare Hare, dance the Hoochie Koo.
City lights are oh so bright, as we go sliding...sliding...sliding through.

This last stanza is going to be fun. Thank you, Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. Little did you know you were portending the 2014 Royals...

The Royals are singing out Hare Hare on the basepaths, which I will remind you is a quick rabbit. If you don't know what the Hoochie Koo is, just watch the aftermath of Jarrod Dyson's theft of third base in the ninth inning of the Wild Card game. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-YdFiUES8o In front of sellout postseason crowds, the city lights have become oh so bright. And is there any question as to what sliding, sliding, sliding through means?? If you prefer not to follow along with my literal translation, allow the trippy lyrics to reflect just how gnarly and fantastic this journey has been.

This 2014 playoffs is more than a dream for Kansas City. It's an elixir. It's a healing balm that has been rubbed into wounds and scars of the past twenty nine years. These last several weeks have changed the posture of a city from crippled to upright. If you could bottle up the equalizing force of karma from the past twenty nine years and unleash it on one postseason, it would probably look something like what we're seeing.

With each exciting and dramatic victory that ensues, the song remains the same for these unlikely Fall Classic heroes. But in the grand scheme of Kansas City Royals baseball, this song is so beautifully different. Keep dreaming, Kansas City. No city deserves it more. May we be singing for another six games...