Bottom of the ninth, 1-0 score, one out. Up to the plate strolls Todd Hollandsworth. He has to face no less than Padres ace closer, Trevor Hoffman. It’s a nailbiter for sure and then the camera catches a shot of the Todd Hollandsworth fan club in the stands. Are they cheering wildly for their icon to be a hero? Are they encouraging him with chants of “Let’s Go Todd, Let’s Go Todd?”
They sit there, looking bored. One guy even yawns. Yawns? The announcer is perplexed. I am perplexed, even somewhat agitated. Hey fella, did you get the memo? There’s one outstanding baseball game in progress and it’s coming down to the wire and your guy is up! WAKE UP!
But Todd strikes out as he does in the 7th. Michael Barrett flies out and that’s the ball game. All right, fella. You can go home now and take a nap. An outstanding effort by Ryan Dempster is wasted, shades of the 70’s when Fergie Jenkins and Rick Reuschel lost so many 1-0 deceisions.
Why am I so irritated anyway? Because the Cubs lose? Possibly. Is it because I am jealous that while I am working that guy is enjoying himself within the Friendly Confines? Perhaps.
Is it because Todd Hollandsworth is starting in left instead of Jason Dubois? No, you will have to visit my fellow Cub bloggers for that complaint.
Maybe it has something to do with the first seven games. This team is still somewhat enigmatic and finding itself. A 3-4 record isn’t panic time but aside from a 16-6 blowout to start the season the bats have yet to come alive.
I don’t care if it only April. I don’t care if we are a generation where “chicks dig the long ball.” If ever there was a time in this fledgling of a season that called for excitement, even hysteria, this is it. The game is on the line. Man, give me something. Give me frustration over the Jeromy Burnitz error that leads to the game’s only run. Give me vitriolic apoplectic rage over the team’s best hitter, Todd Walker, going on the DL because yesterday Carlos Lee chose to gun for him with his spikes up.
The point is, for the love of everything that is sacred about Cub Baseball, feel something, anything.
Even Bartman did more than just sit there.