Angels 2, Red Sox 0.

Final Score of Game Two: Angels 4, Red Sox 1.

As important as winning game one on Thursday night was to the Angels, winning game two on Friday, against Josh Beckett, was double that. No, triple that. OK, quadruple that. We had to win game two. Just had to. Going away, into game three up 2-0 in a best-of-5 series is eons different than going into game three all square at 1-1. The confidence, the motivation, the excitement, the optimism, everything just seems to work in your favor when you're up 2-0.

The list of teams who have come back from a game one loss to win a five-game series is relatively long. The list of teams who've come back from an 0-2 deficit to win a five-game series is much shorter. Four, to be exact.

Winning the first game of this '09 ALDS got the nagging postseason monkey off our back. We had finally beaten the Red Sox in October. Our celebrated starting pitching finally showed up when needed and stifled a once potent line-up to the tune of four hits and zero runs. Our emotionally-jacked, indispensable center fielder came through with the clutch hit we'd been missing since 2002. And our bullpen didn't surrender the five-run lead, which, isn't always a given. Yep, game one had everything you could ask for in a postseason victory. The theatrics, the pitching, the atmosphere, the timely hitting, everything. But we didn't come this far just to prove we could win one lousy game against the Red Sox. That'd be preposterous.

Well, with game one in the rearview mirror, last night's contest would ultimately be the defining game of this series. Either we'd be heading into Boston with a seemingly-insurmountable 2-0 series lead, or we'd be landing in Boston demoralized with a two-game, home split. In other words, either we were going to put the Red Sox out of their misery in Boston, or come back to Anaheim for an electrifying game five.

The emotional contrast between the two scenarios cannot be downplayed here. At all. Not with this specific Angels team. And certainly not with these more-than-capable opponents. Had we lost game two and left Southern California tied 1-1, the collective optimism in the clubhouse would certainly be bleak. At least for the time being. The overall sentiment on the cross-country plane ride to Massachusetts would be as low as that of a DMV walk-in line. Or a WNBA game. Something bad like that.

(What do I mean? Well, you can only predict everyone on the team [following a crushing game 2 loss] would begin questioning their current situations and contracts while secretly planning for the imminent offseason. Figgins would suddenly realize he's being extremely underpaid and hire super agent Scott Boras immediately leading to a "Jon and Kate" like separation from the Angels. Vlad would finally realize what every Angels fan realized half way through the season, that he's in the twilight of his career, his body's breaking down, he swings at too many bad pitches in big spots, and would probably be best served finding some real estate in New York or Boston. Napoli would start devising ways to "Nancy Kerrigan" Jeff Mathis in Spring Training to get his rightful amount of playing time. Lackey would start envisioning a life in pinstripes. Howie would finally see how hilariously bad all the "Howard's TV and Appliances" commercials are. Ron Roenicke would be polishing his resume for the Washington Nationals managerial position. And Scioscia would be trying to figure out which player let one rip in the clubhouse the night before.

Everything would be all screwy. It just wouldn't be a team, at that point. It'd be a collection of individuals. Self-served players forced together by a common job. Like the Yankees.)

Instead, we're heading to Boston up two games to nil with a plane full of guys who are hell bent on sweeping the Sox in Fenway - offseason issues on the backburner. Quite a difference.

Last night's victory all but assured us a berth in the American League Championship Series for the first time since 2004. Our pitching over the last two games has been dominant. Simply, dominant. LeBron James 2007 Game Five Eastern Conference Finals dominant. They say pitching, much like defense, wins come playoff time, well, we finally have some. Finally.

Thursday, Lackey's 4-hit gem guaranteed him the huge paycheck he's sought for the last two years (whether it's from the Angels or someone else, we'll just have to stay tuned). Friday, Weaver one upped Big John, tossing a two-hit, diamond of a game. TWO HITS!!! Boston scored the third most runs of any team this season and Weaver held them to two hits and one run. There's nothing fluky about those mind-boggling numbers. Those are solid, big game numbers reserved for the greatest pitchers to ever play in October. And we had back-to-back mind-blowing performances. Remarkable.

Now, as the series shifts to Boston, everybody has all but predicted an Angels sweep. In prior seasons, I'd be throwing my remote through the TV and searching for a mammoth sequoia to knock on. But not this year. Not with this team. From Opening Day, this season has just felt different. There's no panic with this team. Led by future manager Torii Hunter and a slew of pesky, undervalued speedsters who routinely reek havoc on opposing pitchers, we've been able to avoid the huge, demoralizing letdown all season.

Then again, is that a good thing or a bad thing? We'll have to wait and see.

Angels 1, Red Sox 0.

Final Score of Game One: Angels 5, Red Sox 0.

Isn't it amazing how one, seemingly effortless swing of the bat can erase 23 years of mind-boggling misery?

Well, that's exactly what Big-Game Hunter's 5th inning, 3-run home run in the opening game of the 2009 American League Division Series did for the Angels Thursday night. As the ball cut through the thick marine layer sheltering Angel Stadium on a cold yet electrifying October night, a jacked Hunter flipped his bat damn near to the moon in jovial celebration. He knew. That ball wasn't coming back. The poor ball cleared the center field fence by a good 20-feet and damn near put another hole in the center field rocks. As soon as the ball cleared the fence the sell-out crowd erupted - erupted!!! - in unison. I'm pretty certain in a span of five minutes we set the unofficial record for most awkward high-fives and Monster energy drink spills. I'll have to check on that. I'll get back to you later.

For once, if only for a couple seconds, everyone in attendance and every Angels fan watching at home forgot we owe Gary Matthews Jr. $9 million this year and another $10 million next year. Man, what a feeling.

Finally, we had something to cheer about. My god, after years of constant year-end disappointment, we had something to celebrate. For those of you who still think I'm talking about Matthews Jr.'s three-year Angels career, I'm not. Well, not entirely.

Add a timely RBI single by Angels-superstar-in-the-making Kendry Morales, accompanied by a Jason Bay throwing error and you have yourselves an impressive 5-0 victory and a 1-0 series lead. Finally, a lead in something other than the American League West. Finally.

As Torii's mammoth shot skied over the center field fence it was like Andre the Giant weight was lifted off everyone's shoulders; players, coaches, fans, vendors, Rex Hudler, everyone could finally take a sigh of relief. We could finally feel good about our World Series chances again, regardless of opponent. The Angels, at least for one night, made the Red Sox look vulnerable. We chipped away at their ace and consistently put pressure on their crummy defense. Over the course of the game the Red Sox committed silly errors and made uncharacteristic mental mistakes. This was the team that has routinely knocked us out of the playoffs every year? Couldn't be. Same jerseys, different team.

Sure it was only one game, but we HAD to win it. Sure it was a game we were supposed to win, but we HAD to win it. Sure a couple botched calls (most notably by the first-base umpire, C.B. [wait for it] ... Bucknor) went the Angels' way, but we still HAD to win the damn game.

On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being "If we don't win this game we're toast," this game hovered somewhere around the upper 600s. We had to find a way to win, we just had to. Had the Red Sox come into Anaheim and beaten us in another game one for the second consecutive year, we'd be cooked, 97 wins down the toilet. Every media outlet in the western hemisphere would be chalking up another humiliating Boston sweep and steadily preparing for another Yankees-Red Sox American League Championship Series.

Well, courtesy of John "I never do well against the Red Sox in the postseason, or really ever" Lackey's 4-hit gem, the Angels are now only two victories away from getting the King Kong sized monkey off their collective backs. Seriously, whatever you do, please don't downplay the importance of this victory. We needed this game more than anything. Had we lost this game, on this night, with this team, we may have never beaten Boston in the playoffs again. Like, ever.

With 45,000-plus rocking Angel Stadium Thursday night the Halos couldn't have asked for a better atmosphere to begin their 2009 World Series run. From the second the Angels took the field you could tell there was something different about this team, something special. Though most of the key players from the disappointing '07 and '08 teams still remain fundamental parts of this squad, this 'o9 version boasts off-the-chart chemistry and an unmistakable swagger. And if you don't think chemistry is important in baseball, particularly playoff baseball, you're crazy. Or a Yankees fan. Whichever one.

In the days leading to the postseason, when it was clear we were going to play the Red Sox in the ALDS for the third consecutive year, the media predictably and relentlessly beat the "The Red Sox have the Angels' number" angle into the ground. But rightfully so. History speaks for itself. You can't hide from the facts. There's no getting around it, we've sucked come October. Like Michael Lohan sucks being a father, but even worse.

Heading into the '09 ALDS, the Angels had only beaten the Sox once in their last ten playoff match-ups. Brutal. Wile E. Coyote numbers. But that's the great thing about sports, there's always next year. As Danny O'Shea preached, "And even if those Red Sox are better than you guys, even if they beat you 99 times out of 100, that still leaves ..." Yep, one time. (Note: O'Shea really said "Cowboys" in that speech, not Red Sox. But you get the point.)

Anyway, like I was saying, everything seemed to disappear when we took the field Thursday night. All the negativity, gone. All the pessimism, gone. David Ortiz's steroid supplement, gone. It was evident this particular Angels team wasn't paying any attention to all the "These guys can't beat the Red Sox come October" crap.

For once, we looked as if we were having a little bit of fun out there. Enjoying ourselves, even. You know, like baseball was a game meant to encourage fun. Whatever it was, we took the field as a collective bunch of kids primed to erase the past.

And with Torii's 3-run bomb and subsequent unforgettable, "Top 10 Most Pumped Home Run Celebrations Ever" helmet slam, we did. Once and for all. Well, until game two.

(Sidenote: Watching the game on TBS is horrible. Just godawful. The run-of-the-mill announcers carried this monotone pitch all game. It not only weakened the broadcast as a whole, it damn near lulled me to sleep. Good for a locally televised Pirates-Nationals late-August game, not good for a nationally televised Red Sox-Angels October playoff game. Come on guys, I know if you had your choice you'd be in New York or Los Angeles, but at least give the home fans some flavor. Some pizzaz. Something!!!)

The Nature of the Game

"Business? It's quite simple. It's other people's money."
-Alexandre Dumas


I would never wish bodily harm on anyone - well, except maybe Mark - but when I traded Ryan Zimmerman, Manny Ramirez, Brad Hawpe, Jermaine Dye and others, I wanted to see each one of those guys shred every important muscle in their knee, Shaun Livingston-esque. When I dropped Jason Kubel, Adam Lind, Brian McCann and Miguel Tejada, something inside of me wished they'd get pulled over at 3 a.m. with two hookers, 5 kilos of coke (the drug Thomas, not the soda), and T.I. artillery in their Cadillac Escalade. Harsh, I know, but fantasy baseball does that to you.

It goes the same for every owner in every fantasy league known to man, when you trade/drop a player you intently wish to see their name scroll along the bottom of Sportscenter followed by an "out for the season," "is facing criminal gun charges" or "the dumbass shot himself" exclamation. That twisted feeling isn't generated because you have a personal grudge against them or anything, it's just fear of colliding with the worst feeling in fantasy sports. That fear? Watching a player who absolutely flatlined on your team resurrect his season on a different one.

Then again, there's no better feeling in fantasy baseball than trading away one of your best players only to find out the next day he was caught trying to get pregnant. It's glorious and mind-numbingly hilarious at the same time. It's like nailing a game-winning three pointer, hitting a walk-off homer, catching a game-winning touchdown and landing a crisp knife edge chop on your best friend, all rolled into one. If anything calls for a Tiger Fist Pump, it's that. Well, that and watching Mark self-destruct on the golf course.

But in the world of fantasy it's not all lollipops, gumdrops and rainbows. Sometimes players don't land on the DL or take maternity leaves. Oftentimes, like fine wine, players only get better with time. That's good and all, but unfortunately none of us are patient enough to sit through five consecutive 0-4 3K, "{insert player's name} you motherf*****!!!!!" games. Patience may be a virtue, but immediate productivity is an necessity.

Throughout the course of the season, we've all accepted our players for their strengths and weaknesses. By now, we've all come to realize that most players - with the exception of Albert and Hanley - are only good for two or three categories. For instance, if there was a Celebrity Women fantasy league with multiple categories including "most men dated" and "longest relationship," we all know Kate Hudson or Jennifer Aniston would help us excel in the "most men dated" category but kill us in the "longest relationship" one. It's just the way it is in fantasy sports. You just have to accept it.

With 50 or so games left in the major league baseball season I've released and traded my fair share of quality players. One thing is certain, no matter how healthy I look in the standings I will never lose the desire to see them all at one point or another limp around second or take a fastball off the chin.

It's nothing personal, it's just business.

A Reverse Jinx For The Ages

Let me make this painstakingly clear: the Angels are NOT -- I repeat -- NOT going to win the World Series.

Oh sure we've scored about a billion runs since the All-Star Break but look at our favorable schedule: four against the A's and Royals, seven against the Twins, and three against the Indians. Come on, that schedule is softer than a freshly-drafted 7 foot European center. Benny Rodriguez' squad could've taken three of four from each of those teams. Just wait till we play the Yankees, Red Sox, and Tigers, you'll see. We simply don't belong. We're just not championship material.

I'll admit it, we're playing more than 50% of our games against inferior American League West teams who seem to switch managers every other year. When it comes to competition, this division is as competitive as a Clippers-Grizzlies game. The only time the Rangers were taken seriously was when Josh Hamilton was hitting moonshots at last year's Home Run Derby, the Mariners are well, the Mariners, and Billy Beane hosts an annual outdoor swap meet at every trade deadline. Needless to say, the Angels have it made. Winning this sorry division is cake. The reality is we wouldn't be the 3rd best team in the AL East.

Sure we have the second best record in the majors, but when it comes down to it we're not even the best team in Los Angeles. Just down the 5 Freeway the Dodgers are the talk of the town, and why not? They have Manny, Scully and Torre; we have Abreu, Hudler and Scioscia. Wouldn't you be talking about the Dodgers too? They're pining for their 7th World Series Championship, we're gunning for our 2nd (Keep in mind, they've been around since 1883 when there were less teams and no parity). Of course division titles don't mean squat so I'm not even going to mention that we're on our way to our 5th division title in six years. The fact of the matter is, the Dodgers don't even hang division title banners (For good reason, they've only won the awful NL West three times since 1988).

(To get back to the year 1883 for a second. The president? Chester A. Arthur. World War I hadn't begun yet. Football had just modified their scoring system: four points for a touchdown and five for a field goal. The radio hadn't even been invented yet. What am I getting at? Of course the Dodgers should have more World Series titles than the Angels, a team that was established in 1961. Stop hiding behind your titles Dodgers fans. Let Yankees fans be the face of ignorance. You haven't been good for a long time. It's ok, it happens. Nobody is taking away your seven titles anytime soon.)

In the end, we are to the Dodgers what the Clippers are to the Lakers. We play in the same city, share the same name, but when it comes to history the Angels can't hold a candle to the Boys in Blue. So let's just avoid entertaining the possibility of a Freeway Series. If it comes to that the Los Angeles Joe Torre's would humiliate of the Halos. Four games, tops. And that's only if the Angels don't throw in the white towel after three.

Then again who's even saying we're going to make it to the World Series? In recent years, we've shown an inability to get past the Red Sox come September, getting embarrassed then eliminated in 2004, 2007 and most recently in 2008. Who says this year is going to be any different? Not I.

Fact of the matter is, in 2008 we were the first team to reach 60 wins (on our way to a franchise record 100 wins). Unfortunately since 2003 only one "fastest to 60 win" team did not make the World Series that same year. Yep! You got it! That was us! Any idea how bad that graphic looks on ESPN? It's worse than Jennifer Aniston's dating record. Sure we weren't the first team to 60 wins this year (ironically, the Dodgers were) but we'll make the playoffs then quietly bow out in the American League Division Series to the Red Sox in four games. If we're lucky we'll get no-hit in one game and blown out in the deciding one. Any other way would just be unnatural.

But enough about our imminent demise in October, let's talk about this current run of luck we've stumbled upon. We've been on this run for about a month now. During that stretch we lost Torii Hunter, Vladimir Guerrero and Juan Rivera to injury. Gary Matthews Jr. and Reggie FREAKIN' Willits were their replacements. Our middle infielders were Erick Aybar and Maicer Izturis. Our catcher was Jeff Mathis. My beer league team's pitching tandem surrendered less runs than the Angels' promising young pitching staff. Last but not least, after losing Scot Shields to injury and Jose Arrendondo to Dallas McPhersonitis earlier this season, we haven't had a dependable reliever all year long. The only bright spot was the unveiling of the 2010 All-Star Game logo. Yet, we kept winning.

Now, we have Juan Rivera and his .531 slugging percentage back in the middle of our lineup (not to mention my fantasy team). Kendry Morales ($1.1 million salary in 2009) has evolved into a formidable and much much much much cheaper replacement for Mark Teixiera ($20.6 million). Erick Aybar is one of the best five shortstops in the American League and Chone Figgins a poor man's Rickey Henderson. Bobby Abreu is one of the top five players in all of baseball and Mike Scioscia is going to win the AL Manager of the Year award. All this and Torii Hunter is still sitting on the DL. Yeah our starting pitcher has been shakier than Jessica Simpson's mental state, but John Lackey has finally rounded back into shape after an injury-plagued first half of the season. Now, granted the Gosselin kids will have dependable mother and father figures before we have dependable relievers, all is looking good in Anaheim.

Don't worry, I'm not getting too excited for the 2009 playoffs. I mean let's say we don't collapse like the Mets have these last two years, we'd have rookies starting at first and catcher, a number one starter who's only playoff victory of note happened in 2002, question marks at our #2, 3, 4, and 5 pitchers, a DH who's running on fumes, a center fielder who's years of running into walls with reckless abandon are finally catching up to him, an infield who's average height is an outstanding GPA, and a closer who has an INFINITY earned run average over his last two apperances.

To make a long story short, we have no shot at winning the 2009-2010 World Series. We're playing in an inferior division and are currently breezing through Triple-A teams. Once we make it to the playoffs we're going to run into the big bad Red Sox, let them push us around as they always do and go into the off season wondering what happened to our 100-win team. And when all that happens I won't be the one to blame because I'd been saying it all along.

But if this reverse jinx doesn't work, I don't know what will.

The Foul Ball

In sports there are a handful of things you rarely get a crack at: breaking 80, bowling a 200 or better, hitting a game-winning three pointer at the buzzer, taking an interception to the house for the game-winning touchdown in your Thanksgiving day flag football game, and catching a major league foul ball.

Last night I had the opportunity to cross one of those off the list, but instead I'm reminiscing and wondering what could've been.

It was the 5th inning, I think. I can't really remember any specifics about the inning or what eventually came of Vladimir Guerrero's at-bat. What I do remember is immediately standing up, instinctively reaching sideways in anticipation and coming up mere centimeters short. To tell you the truth it was all one big blur.

Sports thrive on adrenaline. Whether you're playing a pick-up game at 24 Hour Fitness or NBA Live from your couch, once a challenge is presented the blood starts pumping and your adrenaline takes over. Boxing is the best example of a sport that thrives on adrenaline. They oftentimes say boxers have a hard time remembering anything about their fight once the match is over. Things we as sports fan can recollect and repeat with astounding accuracy; what happened in each round, how many punches each boxer landed, how many punches each one took, what punch was the final blow, how many times each boxer got hit in the groin, how many cheap shots were taken. For them however, they're like Tara Reid trying to remember a night in Acapulco, they can remember a few things but for the most part the specifics are forgotten.

Adrenaline does that to you. It filters out the less than memorable, irrelevant and embarrassing moments while leaving a skeleton of the entire event. And that's exactly what happened once the foul ball landed in section 423, seat 15.

Let me start off by saying that in ANY other circumstance I'm sitting in that seat. (As partial season ticket holders my family gets four tickets at about 20 Angels home games. Some are duds, some are blowouts, some are disappointments, but for the most part we're always able to catch quality games. Sitting in the first section of the upper tier of the ball park about five rows up five strides up the first base line, we get very few cracks at balls leaving the field of play. Conversely we have a Birdseye view of foul balls landing amongst the crowd with rare opportunities to make plays of our own sprinkled in.) If my whole family goes, I'm sitting in that seat. If just my girlfriend and I go, I'm sitting in that seat. If my girlfriend, my mom, my sister and I go, I'm sitting in that seat. If my girlfriend, my cousin, my uncle and I go, as was the case yesterday, I'm sitting in seat 14.

Looking back on what happened it's quite intriguing because it all started due to something I condemned in this article about proper fan etiquette at ballgames. My girlfriend was coming down the steps and as the pitcher went into his windup we all stood for her return - a HUGE no-no by all accounts. Then it happened.

Guerrero ripped one foul which was practically on dead aim for our row. Since we were already standing for my girlfriend we had a crucial and decisive head start on the competition. We were Chad Ochocinco and the rest of our section was Rags to Riches. As the ball majestically floated into our section I went through four stages of anticipation. First, I slowly realized the ball had enough juice to make it into our section (we've seen tons of foul balls come our way only to fall short, so for a ball to have enough juice to reach us is quite an accomplishment). Then, I realized it was heading right to us (and by "right to us" I don't mean "two rows down causing us to lose our balance as we reach out for it and end up crowd surfing amongst unsuspecting fans with our shorts halfway down our butt"). Then, I'm pretty sure an unusual, awkward and downright scary look manifested on my face as I reached sideways for the ball (a la the face Mike Dunleavy made after Zach Randolph launched a 25-footer with seconds left in a game against the Cavaliers earlier this season). Then, just as my heart started beating heavily and my adrenaline started flowing I consciously realized my cousin was going to grab it so I begrudgingly pulled my hand back. Immediately I was looking for the ricochet, but there was no ricochet. The ball had landed dead center in the palm of his gloveless hand. I, on the other hand, was left empty-handed.

It took a good half-inning for my adrenaline to give way, but once it did I was searching for answers, one in particular: Why did I pull my hand back at the last possible second?

Only after the fact did I realize the rarity of the moment. A moment I will rarely, if ever, get another crack at. I don't recall what Vlad did in the at-bat. I don't remember if the Angels scored or not in the inning. I can't remember how many "Good catch!" and "Can we see the ball?" exclamations we heard following the catch. All I remember is this little inkling telling me not to jeopardize the possibility of my cousin catching the foul ball in hopes of us celebrating the catch together.

But as he rose the ball in triumph I couldn't help but think, "that should've been me."

Red, White & Blue ... And More Red

Fourth of July family parties are a cornucopia of activities, laughs and memories. First you have the very healthy yet not so delicious pre-meal snacks (i.e. chips, veggies, nachos, etc...). After eating your fair share of celery and Doritos out comes the delicious yet very unhealthy main dishes; the hot dogs, hamburgers and the juicy steaks. Then, after stuffing your face like you're Joey Chestnut and proclaiming you can't stomach another bite, you dive into the desserts faster than Jessica Simpson dives into an all you can eat buffet.

Then comes the illegal fireworks, the healthy laughs, the jokes, the "Kid X, GET AWAY FROM THE FIREWORKS!!!" scare, and most importantly the lasting memories.

With all that said, it's fitting that the Fourth of July capped off an up-and-down week for the Boys in Red. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it as the Boys in Blue, does it?

After taking control of the AL West for the first time all season the Angels began the week with an inspiring win in Arlington against the rival Rangers (oops, I guess they're just the Rangers considering the Angels aren't allowed to have any rivalries considering we've only been around for 30 some odd years and other storied franchises have been around since the dawn of civilization so they can't take us seriously. My bad.) This win inspired me to write a piece about how the Angels are just about ready to separate themselves from the rest of the pack. You won't see this piece in my archive because I never wrote it. I was this close to writing it but decided to play 18 instead. Luckily I didn't because as the series continued the Angels reverted back to their April and May selves with back-to-back losses to erase any glimmer of hope for a stress-free second half to the season.

The one game that stood out to me was Wednesday night's game, or at least the little bit of it I watched live. Picking it up in the top of the ninth Juan Rivera continued his string of 'Eff You' homers, blasting a clutch 3-run bomb that tied the game 7-7. (At 31 years of age Rivera is on pace for 30 home runs and 100-110 RBI's, both would be career highs. Luckily Rivera is hitting home runs in Anaheim and not New York, Boston or Philadelphia or else he'd be getting asked more than a few questions about his sudden peak in performance. Come to think of it, does anyone outside a 30 mile radius know that Anaheim even has a baseball team? Or that Anaheim is even city? Or that we won a little thing called the World Series in 2002? Yet I digress.)

However with any positive comes a negative, correct? Well Mike Scioscia, in a last ditch effort to win the series and steal a game we had no business winning in Texas against a hot hitting Rangers squad who had already plated seven runs put in ... Justin Speier?!?!? The same Justin Speier that can't seem to avoid the inevitable "hanging slider" that ends up landing in the upper deck of a ballpark near you? The same Justin Speier that whenever he trots to the mound elicits a Jigsaw-esque "Game Over!" from Angels fans? The same Justin Speier that draws more F-bombs in disgust from Angels fans than hearing the name Dallas McPherson? That Justin Speier? I mean, it's not like we have the major league saves leader in our bullpen or anything.

But no. The excruciating "Justin Speier is on in relief" announcement was enough cause to change the channel and forget about any possible extra-inning rally.

Sure enough Hank Blalock deposited a "hanging somethingorother" into the grassy area behind the center field wall. Three things happened as that poor baseball flew into the abyss: 1) the stadium erupted in elation, 2) every Angels fan said "See, I told you so" and 3) the Angels lost their lead in the AL West. I will never get over the Justin Speier signing. I just won't. And you can't make me.

But true to form the resilient Angels bounced back from a deflating loss to take the first game of a four-game set against the lowly Orioles. Come to think of it, have the Orioles ever been anything but lowly? Sure they play about 1/4 of their games against the Red Sox and Yankees, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes. I mean what do they gotta do to switch divisions? With the way the Red Sox and Yankees spend money the Orioles are not only over matched on the field, they're over matched off it. If the Red Sox are "Terminator Salvation" and the Yankees are "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" then the Orioles are "The Proposal." They're not good enough to earn the big bucks at the box office but they'll entertain you for a while with what they got, but half way through the movie you'll realize you should've spent your money on a better cinematic adventure. If that made any sense.

If the Texas series was the chips and dip and the first Orioles game was the nachos and veggies then Ervin Santana's less-than-triumphant return to the mound on Friday was the "Oh my god Timmy has a lit firework in his hand" moment of the week.

Santana went 16-9 last year as the number 2 starter on a very deep Angels squad. Loaded with oodles of swag and a You Can't Hit This mentality Santana looked like the Next Big Thing in Anaheim. Then two words no pitcher, young or old, wants to hear floated into his limited English vocabulary: elbow injury. Suddenly, Santana was staring down the barrel of the same fate as fellow countryman and up-and-coming phenom Francisco Liriano. Liriano underwent Tommy John Surgery in 2006 and missed the entire 2007 campaign and has yet to round back into shape.

Luckily Santana avoided Tommy John Surgery but the lingering effects of his elbow injury have been evident in his last two starts. In his most recent outing he gave up 6 runs (4 earned) on 8 hits in 5 innings. As of right now Angels fans are trying to find a glimmer of hope in the 26-year-old right hander with the chinstrap beard and short dreadlocks, but the future isn't looking too endearing. I hope I'm wrong. I really hope I'm wrong.

If the Texas series was the chips and dip, the first Orioles game the nachos and veggies, Ervin Santana's return to the mound the "Oh my god Timmy has a lit firework in his hand" moment then Saturday's Fourth of July extravaganza was the lighting of the first illegal firework. And man was it a beauty.

First of all, I'd like to say the return of Vladimir Guerrero as a legitimate home run threat has to rank up there with the returns of Michael Jordan in 1995, The Rock and Michael Jackson in 2001, and Robert Downey Jr. with "Iron Man" and "Tropic Thunder" in 2008. It ranks just above the returns of New Kids on the Block, Manny Ramirez, and Britney Spears. And it ranks lightyears ahead of the irrelevant returns of Lindsay Lohan and "Paris Hilton's My New BFF."

Ever since I prematurely buried Guerrero's career he's started mashing the ball. Better yet he's not swinging at bad pitches (OK, I made that up). But at least he's hitting the good ones out of the park. There's no better exclamation in sports than the "Vlad what are you swinging at?!?! {pause} Wooooohoooooo!" response to a Guerrero home run. (OK, I lied about that too. The only other better exclamation is the "GET IN THE HOLE!!!!" exclamation after every Tiger Woods shot. That will forever be the best exclamation in sports. Bar none.)

The reemergence of Vladimir Guerrero must have done something to my golf game because just as he began jacking dingers out of Angel Stadium I began sticking irons and wedges into the green with ease. Is it silly to believe Vlad's reemergence in the batter's box and my improvement on the golf course is somehow mysteriously tied together? Of course. Do I still believe it? You betcha. Believe me, with my inconsistent golf game you'd be looking for anything positive to grab on to. I'm doing everything but wearing the Jason Giambi golden thong at this point.

A gutsy come from behind victory against the lowly Orioles on Sunday and a 5-2 Texas win Sunday night combined to put the two ballclubs in a first place tie in the AL West. If the Texas series was the chips and dip, the first Orioles game the nachos and veggies, the second Orioles game the "Oh my god Timmy has a lit firework in his hand" moment, the Fourth of July the first illegal firework, then the Fourth of July weekend as a whole must have been the big firework finale.

And if this patriotic weekend was any indication of the near future, this upcoming Texas series in Anaheim starting Monday will be a combination of the healthy laughs and lasting memories.

It's About Time, Angels

Well, what a weekend for the Halos, wouldn't ya say?

First, we get a Nationally televised game on FOX, much to the dismay of millions of sports fans across the United States then we get a thrilling, back and forth Sunday afternoon game against the lowly Arizona Diamondbacks.

Sunday's tug-of-war 12-8 victory over the Diamondback's Triple-A affiliate - oh wait, that was the Diamondbacks' professional team? Oops, my bad - did two things: 1) it wrapped up interleague play for the 2008-2009 Major League Baseball season and 2) cemented the Angels' third three-game sweep over opponents from the horrendous minor league division that is the National League West.

The win also boosted the Angels' interleague record to a Major League best 14-4. Sure the 14 victories came via NL West foes but don't laugh, these NL West teams are {trying not to laugh myself} quite, hmm how can I put this nicely? Competitive? All in all we swept the woeful Padres at home, the Giants on the road, lost 2 out of 3 at Angel Stadium to the Los Angeles Joe Torres (ouch!), took 2 out of 3 from the Rockies at home and swept the dreadful D'Backs in Arizona.

With the combination of an Angels victory and a Rangers defeat on Saturday the Angels leapfrogged Texas to take over sole possession of first place in the American League West for the first time all season.

Ah, there's no place like home. Ah, and a warm seat to boot! Thanks Texas!

Over this 18-game interleague stretch, it looks as if all question marks are finally beginning to stabilize. Namely, Juan Rivera.

I'm guilty of being one of those who buried Juan before the season, saying the following: "So you're telling me this summer we decided to invest our money into a mediocre outfielder who's never hit more than 23 homers in a year and has had a history of injuries instead of chasing one of the greatest right-handed batters of all time? Did we at least get some free balls in the deal?You can't tell me signing Manny Ramirez wouldn't have re-energized the Angels faithful. And all this talk about Manny possibly not being happy in Anaheim ... we're right next to Disneyland for God's sake! The Happiest Place on Earth! How could Manram not enjoy living next to Disneyland for two to three years? Instead, he's hitting dingers for our hated crosstown rival and we're left with Juan Rivera (a fourth outfield, at best) hitting .200 for three years. Grrrrrreat."

(In a perfect world, The Weakest Link lady would turn to me ever so slowly, glance coldly at me as if I was dressed in drag, and deliver the patented haymaker: "You ARE the weakest link, good-bye!")

Needless to say, Rivera has already surpassed my underwhelming expectations with 73 hits, 12 home runs, 41 RBIs, a .305 batting average, a .504 slugging percentage and a cemented spot on my fantasy baseball squad. All this while Manny Ramirez is hitting longballs for the Inland Empire 66er's. Do I wish Manny Ramirez was hitting dingers for the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes (our single-A affiliate) and still secretly visualize him in an Angels uni? Of course I do.

More importantly, Vladimir Guerrero is starting to show signs of a pulse. I'll admit, about a week ago I was getting ready to throw in the towel on Big Daddy Vladdy's illustrious and historic career. He was below the Mendoza line and showing no signs of life. His swing was flatter than Nicole Richie. He had less pop than Carson Daly and less pizazz than Heidi Montag (damn right I made a reference to The Hills). But I still had hope. Hope that one game we'd see him golf a ball over the outfield fence, clumsily trot around the bases, give a few Tiger Fist Pimps along the way and give an unadulterated DX Chop to all the fans who buried him.

However the reality was he was carrying around this glazed, Blake Griffin "I can't believe I'm going to be playing for the Clippers for six years" look on his face the whole time. That is until this past week. During the Rockies series, Guerrero finally delved into his emergency power supply and emerged a balder, yet rejuvenated hitter. Yes he still swings at pitches that bounce five feet in front of the plate at an alarming rate, but we Angels fans have come to expect and accept that from our future hall of famer.

You see, what makes Guerrero so unique is his uncanny ability to step up to the plate and hit the ball 400 feet after such a debilitating and humiliating swing. But all of a sudden he wasn't doing that. He was just swinging at bad pitches. You could tell Guerrero's leash was getting a little tight - much like the David Ortiz situation in Boston - and we were all left wondering what had happened to our goofy, yet lovable right fielder.

As his 2nd home run of the season glided over the right field wall on Wednesday, you could practically hear Angel Stadium let out a collective sigh of relief. Now even though we didn't embarrass him by asking for a curtain call (cough, Boston, cough) we did let him know that it was good to have him back - even if it was only for one night.

As for the positives, if Chone Figgins continues to play the way he's playing right now, next season he's going to be Oprah rich. Unfortunately it's not going to be the Angels who are paying him. What's going to happen is we're going to cut ties with Figgins (because he's more than likely going to be asking for too much) after this year and hope one of our highly-regarded prospects pans out, bidding an Au Revoire to another proven major leaguer in the process. It sucks. Lucky for Angels management, they're not going to have to pay Figgins a bonus for making the All-Star team considering the only spots reserved for Angels players in the Mid Summer Classic are the team's leading homerun hitter (Torii Hunter) and incumbent closer (Brian Fuentes). Hopefully Figgins catches on in a big market city in 2010 so more people will recognize and appreciate his irreplaceable contribution and astounding consistency. We're keeping his nickname though. That's ours.

Though our bullpen isn't exactly on par with the Red Sox' or the Dodgers' it is beginning to come around. We were dealt Mike Tyson blows when the durable and dependable Scot Shields went down with an arm injury and Jose Arredondo all of a sudden switched bodies with pre-glasses Ricky Vaughn. However, with the help of some serviceable arms from Salt Lake, the bullpen isn't quite as bad as it once was. Don't get me wrong, our bullpen isn't "great" by any means, but for where it started it's much improved.

So, as of June 28, 2009 the Angels are riding a 5-game win streak (winning 14 of their last 18 overall. Thanks NL West!) and are in sole possession of first place. After a rocky and frightening start, it's hard to argue that the Angels aren't once again the team to beat in the American League West.