San Diego's Grand Finale

A final apology to my handful of readers for falling down on the blog in the Classic’s climactic weekend. The easiest excuse is that I was traveling on business all week and using my few spare moments to catch up with my brother in Los Angeles and San Diego. In truth, I may have run out of blogging steam, far preferring to pore over every printed detail about the final weekend rather than spend valuable time in southern California online.

 

One of the reasons I had so much to read was the extensive coverage published by Tim Sullivan and others at the San Diego Union Tribune sports desk. They devoted at least four wrap-around pages in each day’s sports section in addition to several front page photos and at least one front page story on the championship.

 

My brother Zach and I drove from L.A. to San Diego on Saturday in time to catch the much-anticipated semi-final game between the Dominican Republic and Cuba. We opted out of the Japan-Korea semi (a little cold and haggard after four hours of Cuban pitching procrastination), but returned to Petco Park for the Japan-Cuba finale.

 

Rather than repeat so much of the enthusiastic national and international coverage, let me offer a few eyewitness details and a few final observations.

 

While all three final games managed to draw larger-than-expected crowds (mid to high 30’s is my guess and I have not seen official gate figures), there is no doubt that many ticket holders like myself sort of expected a U.S. appearance in the final weekend. Much of the scalping action we saw had the appearance of U.S. fans unloading tickets at or below face value. This was not because there was a serious shortage of Cuban, DR, Japanese, or Korean fans. There were about as many in southern California as one would expect for this event with Koreans representing the most and driving up tickets for Saturday’s second game. Those U.S. fans that decided to use their tickets to see what would happen were richly rewarded—and quickly drawn into the enthusiasm created by the other team’s fans.

 

Despite all that was written about ethnic music and cheers, face-paint, and flag-waving, the passionate pockets of fans were not as striking to me as some of the other atmospherics within the stadium. Hearing a variety of national anthems played inside a very American (and very pleasant) new stadium conjured up an Olympic ambience. Seeing all of the flag displays, as well as the WBC video montages for each team, and hearing three simultaneous P.A. translations was also striking. On Saturday afternoon, Spanish was definitely the first language of the stadium. On Monday night, the pleasant voice of the Japanese translator confirmed the global significance of this single game. Add to that the player music between each at-bat--an international mix of Latin salsa and meringue and Asian pop—and it was hard even for white, rhythmically-challenged American fans to avoid swaying in the aisles.

 

Major League Baseball did a terrific job with the pre- and post-game ceremonies, honoring all of the participating countries and teams and combining streamers, confetti, fireworks, and pageantry to validate the passion and excitement displayed by players on the field. Watching Sadaharu Oh escort Hank Aaron to throw out the finale’s first pitch and Ichiro carrying the Japanese flag in post-game triumph were among the visual highlights.

 

Between these moments (and during most of Saturday’s semifinal), the actual baseball games were excellent. It would be an overstatement to say they were great ballgames that rank among history’s classics. There was too much sloppy play (nerves?) and too much delay to sustain a dramatic narrative. But each game featured several innings of tight, suspenseful moments, outstanding fielding, clutch hits, and above-average drama. I became a Japan fan when I began to appreciate how well they execute every aspect of the game from double-steal, hit-and-runs, to drag bunts, perfect cutoffs, and nifty double-plays. Cuba’s third baseman and Japan’s shortstop each made several standout plays even though both committed costly errors as well. Cuba’s situational hitting continued to come through and they created the most dramatic moment of the weekend drawing to within one-run in the bottom of the eighth inning last night. But Japan’s combination of contact hitting, patience, superb bunting, clutch hits, and superior D ensured that Cuba could not pull off the big comeback. Japan was just too well-rounded and a very deserving world champion.

 

Despite the aggravating pace of Cuban pitching, which made some innings tedious and others (with multiple pitching changes) seem endless, fans remained extremely engaged in games that only a minority had a vested interest in watching. The combination of curiosity, novelty, normal enjoyment, and commitment to the Classic’s ambitions produced a fan experience that was extremely satisfying. What truly united the spectators of this inaugural world championship of baseball was an appreciation of baseball pure and simple and a willingness to share this experience with an odd mix of spectators and an unprecedented assemblage of the world’s best talent.  This may be a self-validating observation, but my brother, who would never indulge undeserved flattery, summed it up well on another chilly March night in San Diego: “This is a crowd of baseball fans. There’s no doubt about that.” Amen brother. Thanks for sharing and see you in three years!

 

Postgame notes:

 

Watching the Cuban-Japan handshakes afterward was a nice reminder that sportsmanship at all levels is always worth seeing.

 

It is surely a function of my station in life, but I noticed an awful lot of fathers and young sons at the games. We were all united in a belief that this was one for the ages and I am quite confident that history will prove us right.

 

Caps from New York, Boston, and Chicago almost equaled those from San Diego. I think David Ortiz easily had the largest fan following and that would have been the case even if Jeter or Matsui has made it to the final weekend.

 

Watching Cuba’s ace Lazo put down Albert Pujols, David Ortiz, and Alphonso Soriano—in stituations where all three could have tied the game—was memorable. Ichiro (the lone MLB starter in the final) represented major leaguers well when he delivered when most needed. He hit safely in every Classic game.

 

The Korean team made no errors in the tournament. Japan pitchers issued only 11 walks in 7 games. Cuban DH Garlobo hit over .500 for the tournament.

 

Amidst rumors of a Cuban defection, Zach and I joked that Castro had strict orders for the Cuban coaches: Be sure to bring every pitcher in from the bullpen (using frequent substitutions) by the last out. We wondered if the distance from the home dugout to the bullpen was the furthest some of the Cuban players got from their teammates all wee.

We also wondered if the reason Cuban pitchers slow the game down so much is because they have little else to do and no television breaks to get to.

 

For historical posterity: second tier tickets to the inaugural semi-final (behind third base) cost $55. The same seats at the championship game cost $60.