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.

We told you not to hand the A’s the World Series just yet . . .

Aybar, Otero, and Moss, seconds before the obstruction that may or may not have begun packaging Oakland's fate-to-be . . .

Aybar, Otero, and Moss, seconds before the obstruction that may or may not have begun packaging Oakland’s fate-to-be . . .

When the Oakland Athletics dealt for Jeff Samardzija and Jason Hammel prior to the non-waiver trade deadline, there were those ready to hand the World Series rings to them on a platinum platter. And there were those others, myself included, who cautioned not to do it just yet. Not that it stopped them, especially after the A’s landed Jon Lester out of Boston.

Brandon McCarthy, Scored By a Liner

Especially for a pitcher, keeping your head in the game is not supposed to mean to the point where your head nearly gets taken off.

Oakland Athletics righthander Brandon McCarthy throws Los Angeles Angels hitter Erick Aybar a 91 mph cutter practically down the chute in the top of the fourth Wednesday night. Aybar hits it on the proverbial screws. The ball slams into the right side of McCarthy’s head like a bullet, knocking the righthander down on the mound.

Herb Score and Gil McDougald, call your offices?

Boys Will Be Boys, But . . .

Apparently, it is now acceptable baseball code to taunt and show up the pitcher off whom you just crushed a monstrous home run, because said pitcher objected to a teammate’s possible showboating on a similar bomb four innings before you delivered yours.

That pitching duel between Justin Verlander and Jered Weaver was crusing along nicely enough—if you didn’t count Magglio Ordonez’s one-from-the-memory-banks bomb and his uncharacteristic slow step up the line to watch the ball disappear—until Carlos Guillen unloaded on Weaver.