A longtime baseball fan, I’ve seen a lot of exciting games and come-from-behind victories, but yesterday’s Phillies-Padres battle was the one that came closest to a made-in-Hollywood ending.
As was the case throughout the series, the lead changed throughout the game, a game that, if won, would send the Phils to the World Series. A victory would also allow that improbable bunch of post-season over-achievers to celebrate in front of their notoriously passionate fans.
But the Phils were down 3-2 going into the bottom of the 8th. J.T. Realmuto, the former Marlin, led off the inning with a single, bringing the winning run to the plate. This, in true Hollywood fashion, was Bryce Harper, the superstar acquired by the Phillies for $330 million. The thought in the minds of everyone in the stadium was of a home run; Harper had already hit four in the post-season. Watching at home, I was also thinking home run, but I was also thinking that that was the sort of thing one sees in movies, not, usually, in real life.
Harper swung and missed a fastball. He took a couple pitches, and fouled a couple off. With the count 2-2, he hit a towering fly to the opposite field that – whaddaya know! – landed in the stands. He rounded the bases as the place erupted, and I thought: For once in baseball – at least with the team I’m rooting for – life imitates art. Though in a movie it would have been the ninth inning.
The Yankees advanced to the ALCS yesterday thanks to home runs by their two sluggers, Stanton and Judge. The Phillies won their first game in the NLCS on home runs by their two sluggers, Harper and Schwarber. Here's hoping they meet in the World Series.
Andrea Petkovic played her last match at the U.S. Open yesterday, the tournament at which I met her in 2011. I had gotten a one-time gig covering the Open for an online tennis magazine, a privilege that not only got me great seats but allowed me to request player interviews. The big names of course were unavailable, and among the lesser players there was only one I wanted to talk to, and that was the woman who, on her website, listed Goethe and Oscar Wilde as her favorite writers.
I was hoping for a one-on-one but had to share the interview room with two other reporters. For some reason, I arrived late, something I almost never do, especially when meeting a German. As I entered the room, Petkovic finished answering a question, took a few steps in my direction, stuck out her hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Andrea Petkovic.”
Obviously, I knew who she was, having requested an interview with her. But this act of courtesy and graciousness, exhibited by a well-known athlete, astonished me, and made me feel welcomed in a place I had the vague feeling I didn’t belong. Tennis has lost one of its better angels.
The MLB game played in Williamsport, PA (home of the Little League World Series) is like the one played in Dyersville, IA (home of the Field of Dreams): hyped by announcers as a contest that gets to the true meaning of the sport. Yet I wonder how many of the players (i.e., spoiled millionaires) moan about traveling to these two backwaters.
Hania, taking a quick glance yesterday at the women's tennis match I was watching: "Ova versus ina."
Last weekend I was on the court with our neighbor Petra, who not too long ago played on the WTA tour. I was struggling more than usual, especially when she worked on my backhand, and I mentioned this to her during one of our breaks.
"We say in Slovak, 'Not every day is Sunday,'" she said. Then with a smile she added: "But today is Sunday."