As we turn toward spring training’s final week . . .

Fifty cent fines for mental mistakes . . .

Fifty cent fines for mental mistakes . . . may not be as chintzy as they look on the surface . . .

. . . And, there’s a little ill-placed ill-will in a certain clubhouse

Is Wilson's elbow spurring a little internal Angel friction?

Is Wilson’s elbow spurring a little internal Angel friction?

Unless you’re Mike Trout, even on a day during which you got iced by Clayton Kershaw sustaining a scoreless inning streak, it must suck to be a Los Angeles Angel these days. Even when you’re in the thick of the American League West races despite being swept by the now-first-place Astros before dropping the first two against the Dodgers.

Dipoto’s departure: So who’s really running the Angels, and into where?

Jerry Dipoto (right) with Mike Scioscia, before the smiles died between them . . .

Jerry Dipoto (right) with Mike Scioscia, before the smiles died between them . . .

In his 1970s days with the Milwaukee Brewers, George Scott, the big colourful first baseman who’d been a Red Sox favourite, had a chat with the team’s then co-owner Edmund Fitzgerald, about whose team Gordon Lightfoot did not write “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” “If we’re gonna win,” Scott told Fitzgerald, “the players gotta play better, the coaches gotta coach better, the manager’s gotta manage better, and the owners gotta own better.”

Spelunking with the Angels; or, watching the detectives

Ventura (second from left) trying to pick a battle with Trout (second from right) is only the least of the Angels' early-season issues.

Ventura (second from left) trying to pick a battle with Trout (second from right) Sunday afternoon is only the least of the Angels’ early-season issues.

Merely six games have passed in the new season but there are questions as to whether the Los Angeles Angels’ 2015 might be dying before it really begins to take shape. And whether their own owner and front office hasn’t detonated a poison gas bomb that will take months to clear.

The Royals sweep the Angels with more than mini-ball

One down, the Orioles to go . . .

One down, the Orioles to go . . .

Forget the payrolls, as Kansas City outfielder Jarrod Dyson rightly points out. They don’t matter when you hit the field or step into the batter’s box. The wealthiest teams in baseball have been known to collapse like insolvent counties.

The Los Angeles Angels joined their ranks ignominiously Sunday thanks to a Royals team that seems to know nothing of the meaning of rolling over and playing dead. And these Angels, who’d run roughshod after the All-Star break and turned into a threshing machine while all around what remained of the American League West deflated, looked and played like zombies in a division series game they had to win just to stay alive.

A clearer postseason picture, without the Angels . . .

Mike Trout—The should-be AL MVP did what he could and then some, but even he couldn’t bury the Angels’ 8-15 season start . . .

Late surges did the Detroit Tigers all the good in the world and the Los Angeles Angels none of it after Monday’s proceedings were finished. The Tigers stood with the American League Central in their hip pockets and the Angels stood with no place to go the rest of October other than playing out a two-game string with the Seattle Mariners and praying what they managed to do down the stretch this time would mean anything better than what they didn’t do in the season’s first month.

Pujols on the Side of the Angels

The Hilton Anatole hotel in Dallas has been there before. That’s where Alex Rodriguez accepted $250 million of then-Texas Rangers owner Tom Hicks’s misspent money, once upon a time. Hicks had a club three-to-thirteen-deep in pitching woes, and he decided the most surefire way of plugging up the leaking runs was to commit the near-equivalent of a solid pitching staff to . . . a shortstop.

For Your Reading Pleasure . . .


RIP, Bob Forsch

* Bernie Miklasz (St. Louis Post Dispatch) remembers Bob Forsch—who died at 61, a week after he threw out the ceremonial first pitch for Game Seven of the World Series—as a straight shooter who was an underrated pitcher . . . and maybe one of the few Cardinals who went out like a professional when the rest of the team was too busy imploding in Game Seven of the 1985 Series . . .

RIP, Matty Alou