Ninety years ago, Senators conquered the field

Joe Judge (right) sliding into third base in Game Seven, 1924 World Series---he'd be stranded and the game went to extra innings and mythology . . .

Joe Judge (right) sliding into third base in Game Seven, 1924 World Series—he’d be stranded and the game went to extra innings and mythology . . .

So you think the Kansas City Royals won a wild card game the weird way? How about a team winning a World Series by way of a Hall of Fame starting pitcher throwing four shutout relief innings into the extra innings and the Series-winning run scoring when an infield grounder took a high bad hop over a third baseman’s head?

These Nats are Werth It

For what it was Werth, the thirteenth was his and the Nats’ lucky pitch . . .

Jayson Werth went home Wednesday night to flip on the Orioles-Yankees American League division series game and got a powerful enough message from a former Philadelphia Phillies teammate.

“I got a little something last night,” he huffed happily Thursday afternoon. “Watching my boy Raul Ibanez do it, he gave me a little something today.”

Ibanez, of course, blasted a game-tying bomb in the bottom of the ninth and a game-winning bomb in the bottom of the twelfth. Nowhere near twenty-four hours later, Werth—the high-priced Nat who’s struggled to live up to his mammoth deal for most of his time since—showed just what Ibanez gave him.

Homer Bailey, One, None, and Done

Spreading his wings after no-no-ing the Pirates . . .

“Late success,” Sandy Koufax once mused, “is quieter.” I’m not entirely convinced it’s true in Homer Bailey’s case, since he’s gone from a seventh-overall 2004 draft pick to a shaky major league beginning despite the ballyhoo to standing on top of the world, or at least the PNC Park mound with his Cincinnati Reds owning the National League Central, and himself proving, at long enough last, he belonged in any serious Reds rotation plans.

Not Quite, Bobby V . . .

He’s no September historian, either . . .

Bobby Valentine’s bicycle seems to spend more time backpedaling than anything else when he’s aboard. And he has no better sense of direction than when he’s trying to pedal forward.

A few days ago, when a reporter had the audacity to ask in which if any areas the Red Sox needed improvement, Valentine delivered yet another remark the kind that has Red Sox Nation and Red Sox critics alike wondering when, not if, Valentine gets pinked. Not because he’s wrong, necessarily, but because he has a need, apparently insatiable, to take the low road, implying he can do nothing much past playing what he’s been dealt.