An Open Letter To The University of North Carolina Baseball Team

Dear Coaches Fox, Forbes, Holbrook and Howell; dear Cardiac Heels:

Thank you for giving us a team like you gave us, a team we could love completely and obsessively and probably a little unhealthily. Thank you for making us love college baseball so much that the only place we'll be in June next year is Omaha. Thank you for getting thrown out of games on the force of your convictions; thank you for trusting your players enough to leave them in the lineup.

Thank you for being bad ass new gods and studs who hit bombs. Thank you for the black uniforms. Thank you for ERAs under 2.00 and double plays and catches made against the wall, for sacrifice bunts and doubles off the warning track and home runs when we need them. Thank you for the at-bat music that made us laugh, thank you for nicknames both of your making and our own.

Thank you, Joshie, for putting yourself on notice, for loving the the game more than anyone else in the world, for always smiling. Thank you, D.Ack, for being the best freshman in the country, for breaking aluminum bats on grand slams. (shep. would also like to thank you for being hot like burning.) Thank you, FedEx, for being the heart of the team, the one we always believed in no matter what. Thank you for proposing at the CWS, Benji, even if dex. did want to marry you herself. Wooten, thank you for wanting to always be on the field, and for the sacrifice of the tooth -- you're the one we want watching our backs in a fight. Thank you, R.Wood, for coming back for your senior year, for career victories, for the face you make when Coach Fox takes you out of the game. Thank you, little Timmy and Kyle, for being part of a freshman class that scares other teams. Thank you, Reid Fronk, for being the kind of lead off hitter we needed, thank you, Chad Flack, for swinging the big bat at the most crucial moments. Thank you, Mike Cavasinni, for coming back, for continuing to play, and for making a backup catcher at Georgia Tech think that shep. loves him.

And thank you, Andrew, for being the kind of player -- committed to his teammates above anything else -- that we're proud to have playing for our university. Thank you for being the bad ass new god; thank you for coming back with your head high and your fastball in the 90s.

Thank you for proving, over and over again, that the game is never done until the 27th out in the ninth inning is recorded. Thank you for being a team we could love like we do love you.

Regardless of what happens tonight -- thanks for being awesome.

dex.

I can say: REIDFRONK is totally on notice.

I would live-blog tonight's UNC/Miss State College World Series game from my pineapple couch here in the CH, just to stick it up the NCAA's ass, except that a live-blog involving me and shep. would mostly involve a lot of commentary on who wears the high socks for Carolina, who should wear the high socks for Carolina, who shouldn't wear the high socks for Carolina, and also a lot of discussion of catchers', uh, assets.

So you're spared. Count your blessings. Go Heels.

Now I have to go make another drink. A strong one. A really strong one.

ETA: Carolina has now scored 26 runs in the 6th inning or later over their last four games; they're 3-1 in that time. I'm okay with this, because they keep winning, but come on, guys, can't you score some earlier just so my heart catches a break?

San Diego: the MLB team I always forget exists.

In an effort not to make a flailing all-caps post about the Tar Heels' excellent College World Series advancing victory over South Carolina tonight, I share with you my favorite story about a major league ballpark, which was triggered in my mind by seeing a reference to Petco Park elsewhere on the internets:

Seattle relievers were dismayed to find out when they got here that the beautiful, still-new Petco Park does not have a bathroom in the visitors' bullpen, which is down the right-field line, on the opposite side of the field from the visitors' bench.

No one was more dismayed than lefty Matt Thornton, who had go to the bathroom during the game Friday night. To do so, he had to climb over a fence to reach a public restroom, where he had to stand in line.

"I met a guy named Stan, who invented a baseball cap with a handle so you can take it off fast to catch foul balls," Thornton said. "He said he tested it at a batting cage on pitches at 75 mph and caught five before the seams started to give out."

Closer Eddie Guardado said that the visitors' bullpen in San Francisco doesn't have a bathroom, either.

"It's not that bad there; the dugout is closer and you can run back," Guardado said. "Maybe it's just they didn't think of it, or maybe they're trying to be cute. It could be tough to pitch well if you gotta go, you know?"

From The Seattle Times. Stan! I'm sorry, two years later, that story still cracks me up. He had to wait in line! In full uniform and spikes! Ahahahahahaha.

In conclusion, I leave you with the text message I received from shep. upon her viewing of the Tar Heels' celebration: THAT IS A BIG PILE OF DUDES I LOVE

And it was, dear readers, it really was. It was a very large pile of dudes that we here at Coming Up Carolina love, and I can only hope that no one bit Andrew Carignan while he was on the bottom of the pile. He's got to go to Oakland in a couple of weeks and learn how to be a hippie from Danny Haren, after all.

And the Heels have to go to Omaha and give shep. a College World Series title for her birthday, so I feel teeth should best be left out of it. The victories can continue.

(ETA: I just watched the large pile of dudes again -- thank God for TiVo -- and, hilariously, Tar Heels outfielder Kyle Shelton, who usually spends games sitting in the bullpen by himself to shag foul balls, completely overshot the large pile of dudes and went flying over the far side of the pile. Kyle Shelton, I love you, and I feel sad for you when you have to sit by yourself in the bullpen. In case you ever Google yourself to know if people love you.)

Day 4 of the NCAA Baseball Chapel Hill Regional (a day late and several dollars short)

I got no numbers for you today, except for these: UNC 6, WCU 5.

If you wanted to recreate Game 6 of the Chapel Hill Regional in your own home, here's a recipe: gather 2000 of your closest friends. Put them all in a ballroom that's mostly made up of metal. Turn the heat up to 90 and hang sun lamps from the ceiling. When your 2000 closest friends get thirsty, charge them three bucks for a bottle of water. Invite a couple of people who will make your 2000 closest friends whisper and point every time they do anything remotely interesting (local celebrities would work). Spend three hours showing your 2000 closest friends a film that's primarily disappointing but has a surprise happy ending. Have them scream and wave their arms and clap their hands and leap onto the metal sculptures you've provided for them, assuring that your 2000 closest friends are so slippery with sweat that at least a handful will fall right back off after having leapt up.

Listen to the sounds of 2000 of your closest friends being deliriously happy. Scream until you're hoarse. Wish you could go back 5 days later and do it all again.

And then you've got yourself Game 6 of the Chapel Hill Regional. And, also, probably a sunburn.

Photos here.

Day 3 of the NCAA Baseball Chapel Hill Regional, By The Numbers

Games delayed by rain on Sunday: 1
Hours delayed game was delayed: 6
Games postpooned 'til Monday by rain: 1
Number of event staffers needed to dispel standing water with brooms (and a mop): 4
Number of people photographing event staffers dispelling standing water with brooms (and a mop): 2
Number of event staffers who flirted with us: 2
Hours spent in dex.'s car, waiting for the rain to stop: .75
Former ACC athletic directors seen: 1
High school coaches of Brian Roberts sat with: 1
Foul & home run balls shagged by shep.'s new nine-year-old BFF: 3
Half-innings delayed by umpire bathroom breaks: 1
Annoying ECU fans going home tonight: many, many, many

Four games in three days, and tomorrow we go back and do it one more time.

Day 2 of the NCAA Baseball Chapel Hill Regional, By The Numbers

Runs scored by Jacksonville University in this regional: 0
Hotasses on the Jacksonville University team: 20+
Coaches ejected from the ECU/UNC game: 2
Bad calls made by the umpires in the ECU/UNC game: 14,007
Innings during which it rained: 3
Earned runs given up by pitchers with ERAs under 2.00: 2
Earned runs given up by pitchers who were catching during the at-bat previous to their moving to the pitcher's mound: 1
Pitchers who caught the 1st through 6th & 8th and 9th innings after throwing the 7th: 1
UNC third basemen remaining ON NOTICE after the game: 1
Other UNC players remaining ON NOTICE after the game: 0
UNC players who would be ON NOTICE if they were not Dustin Ackley: 1
Teams that will be wearing purple and yellow during tomorrow's first game between ECU and WCU: 2

Every day should include desperate bottom-of-the-ninth rallies that result in victory, and end with burgers, beers, and the greatest manager shit-fit EVER THROWN.

Day 1 of the NCAA Baseball Chapel Hill Regional, By The Numbers

Temperature at game time, Game 1: 91 degrees
Temperature at game time INSIDE THE BOSH, Game 1: 105 degrees
Bottles of water consumed by shep. and dex.: 7
Pitchers used by ECU in their 9-8 victory over WCU: 6
Pitchers used by UNC in their 6-0 victory over Jacksonville: 2
UNC starters who were probably annoyed that they didn't get to pitch a complete game: 1
Batting line for the top three batters in the UNC lineup: 1 for 11, 2 K, 1 BB
Batting line for the rest of the UNC lineup: 9 for 19, 6 RBI, 0 K, 2 BB
UNC basketball players surreptitiously photographed by dex.: 2
Jacksonville baseball players' asses touched by dex.: 1
Old guys who told dex. that her hat was "very nice": 1
Number of new underage BFFs made by shep.: 1

dex.: Reid Fronk sounds like something you do in the dark in the bedroom.

shep.: Those were some good looking college boys getting off that bus.
dex.: They just kept coming. It was like a fucking clown car.

The only real thing we have to say about anything other than the fact that Robert Woodard is a badass new god is that it was really REALLY hot today. REALLY HOT. But as a whole, today was A+, would watch again.

And, oh yeah, the Heels are ACC Champions, bitches.

I woke up this morning in my childhood bedroom with an inexplicable hangover and the feeling that shep. and I had done something truly ridiculous yesterday, which was odd, since the sum-total of my drinking on Sunday amounted to a single beer at the O's/A's game and I always adhere to the Rule For Drinking Beer During Hot Weather At Baseball Games (half a bottle of water for every beer, which is only problematic when you miss ninth inning rallies because you're in line for the women's bathroom), and also since, honestly, when do shep. and I ever do ridiculous things, especially when we aren't even in the same state? NEVER. Well, hardly ever.

Once I downed two cups of coffee and shoved the cat in his carrier to start the six hour trip home to the NC from the parentals' place in Baltimore, I remembered: oh, yeah, yesterday shep. bought us All-Session passes to the NCAA Chapel Hill Regional.

So that's what we're doing for at least a good chunk of this coming weekend: watching Carolina play WCU, ECU and Jacksonville for the right to go to the Super Regional. If you're going to be at the Bosh for any of the games, we'll be the people sitting down by the opposing team's dugout hassling on-deck batters and assessing catchers' ... talents. shep. has big sunglasses. I will be wearing a spectacular hat, and will have a digital camera in one hand and a scorebook in the other. We promise to make lots of off-color jokes about the fact that WCU's mascot is the Catamount, and possibly embarrass ourselves horrifically, like always.

In other news, if Daniel Cabrera promises not to suck like a Hoover anymore (like he didn't yesterday), I shall make myself present at all of his starts. Luckily, I think that the likelihood of Cabrera not sucking is low, so I can save on game tickets.

Even Tahmoh Penikett would look wretch in these robes, I cannot lie.

Fact: even if you have Reyshawn Terry's arms, cheekbones, and sweet 16-foot jumper, you still don't look good in Carolina blue graduation robes. I don't think anyone looks good in Carolina blue graduation robes. (This is not the only reason that I attended my own recent graduation as an audience member, but it was one of them. Except graduate students get to wear black, BUT I FOUND THAT OUT LATE, OKAY?)

Regardless, congratulations to the Tar Heel basketball class of '07 -- Reyshawn Terry, Warren Weston Miller, and Dewey "Biscuits" Burke (our nickname for Reyshawn is not fit for a family friendly blog, alas) -- on their graduations and to Coach Dean Smith on his honorary doctor of laws degree. Y'all make me proud to share a graduating class with you.

Sometimes, things related to the White Sox are not all bad.

I have two Tar Heels on my fantasy league (where shep. is already soundly kicking my ass) team this year. Two! And if BJ Surhoff hadn't gotten old, I would have three. I have a great love for the Weej, as my high school boyfriend called him. I miss him and his old-man knees and the fact that he caught until his knees got too bad, then he played third base until his knees got too bad, then he played in the outfield until his knees got too bad, and then he DH'd for a while after that, until he couldn't stand up anymore. That's dedication to the game, man.

... Wait, what was I talking about? Right. Tar Heels on my fantasy league roster. I have two Tar Heels on my fantasy league team, Andrew Miller (RP, Detroit) and Chris Iannetta (C, Colorado Rockies). This pleases me, because it speaks volumes for Carolina's baseball program.

My point was: this year, the Tar Heels baseball team has a starting pitcher who pitches out of the bullpen on his off-days, just because he can, who lists Guitar Hero as his favorite video game, and who was a chess champion in middle school. Seriously. Is there anything not to love about this baseball team? I THINK NOT.

The joy of watching this team this year hasn't been that they're good (which they are) or that they win (which they do) -- it's been how they win. On Friday night, against Duke, they won 7-0 on a complete game shutout by Robert Woodard, and they had one extra base hit, a late-game solo homerun by Chad Flack.

One. One extra base hit. They scored six runs on the strength of walks (good eyes at the plate, because the Duke pitchers were good), singles, and smart, smart base-running. It's a textbook definition of small ball -- solid hitting from everyone in the lineup (well, not really; Tim Federowicz is slumping, and slumping bad, lately, and it was really the very very top and the very very bottom of the lineup that won the game on Friday night), smart baserunning and a quick (read: lots of stealing) starting lineup, and solid if not inspired pitching. Woodard gave up a bunch of hits, but it didn't matter, because the defense was good and he never got rattled. (He does, however, have the weirdest motion on the face of the Earth, and Dontrelle Willis, I'm looking at you -- Woodard kicks, pauses, and finishes delivery, when there's no one on base. It's supremely strange to watch, makes him look like a robot.)

Carolina Baseball has been fun to watch this season because they're playing smart baseball. To steal a line from the White Sox, they're playing grinderball. Play hard, play smart, play fundamentally solid, and trust your pitchers. And you'll win. (I still think that Benji Johnson has better rapport with his pitchers than Federowicz -- Johnson is a smart, gentle sort of catcher, who knows exactly how to call for each of his pitchers, and knows how to adjust on the fly -- but Federowicz hits better and has a better arm, so I guess it's a trade-off.)

Grinderball -- it's the kind of baseball that looks boring on paper but turns out to be a hell of a lot of fun to watch.

(Photos, such as they are, are here.)

Just slighter nicer than if Greg Paulus decided, in this thin NBA point guard class, to go pro.

Sometimes, when we're really, really lucky, shep. and I do get nice things.

an open letter to the university of north carolina basketball teams, plural

I only have one word for the University of North Carolina men's and women's basketball teams right now. It's not a complicated word. It's not a word they'll have to look up in the dictionary, if they want to comprehend its meaning. It's a pretty simple, everyday, ordinary sort of word.

That word is finish. As in, finish off a game.

As in, don't collapse as the pressure goes up.

I watched last night's women's Final Four semifinal on the TV in my bedroom, with sort of a growing dread in my stomach for most of the second half. It was like a horror movie -- where the heroine is going to open the door/go down to the basement/run outside of the nice safe house, and there's nothing you can do to stop her except shout helplessly at the television.

When Carolina shot out to a 12 point lead with 7 minutes left, I could see it coming.

When Tennessee closed the gap to six, I could see it coming.

And when Ivory Latta started missing every shot she took, I put the covers over my head and turned the sound off, watching the last two minutes of the game with one eye, barely peeking over the top of my comforter, and only the sound of my own breathing for company.

It was like some horrible kind of deja vu. It was like watching the men collapse against Georgetown all over again, except worse: in the Final Four, with a starting lineup made up mostly of upperclassmen, against a team that's won more national championships that any other women's team. I mean, honestly, what's Pat Summitt going to do with her 7th trophy, put it in her guest bathroom? At least I could hope that JT3 could stop riding his daddy's coattails if Georgetown won the whole shebang on the men's side. Pat Summitt can win titles on her own, without any help from Sylvia Hatchell's team falling apart in the final minutes.

So seriously, basketball teams: what gives? So much talent, and so little ability to put an opponent away. Look, there's no shame in routs -- if you can rout a team, rout them. I'm a fan of the good old fashioned rout. It's harder to climb back from 25 down with four minutes left than from 4 down with 6 minutes left. But instead you guys never managed to give that final killing blow, and I just don't get it. And the photo of Ivory Latta on the front page of the Daily Tar Heel today made me cry.

And because I would be remiss to call these teams out without thanking them, as well: thank you both, for seasons that went above and beyond my expectations for fun, and heartbreak, and spectacular behind-the-back passes. Thank you for Ivory Latta, popping her jersey and flexing her muscles and running her team like a machine. Thank you for Erlana Larkins, and Camille Little, and LaToya Pringle. Thank you for Rashanda McCants, who reminds me of her brother more and more every day, and who's going to be a force to be reckoned with next year. Thank you, men, for bringing me a new appreciation of the running game, and for letting me love this team so much that my heart did break when you lost. Thank you for reminding me that there's always next year.

And thank God baseball started yesterday. If I'd had to wait for baseball after these last two Tar Heel games, I might have developed a bigger drinking habit than I already have.

An Open Letter to Bobby Frasor, Point Guard for the University of North Carolina Tar Heels.

Dear Bobby,


It's going to be okay.

No, really, it will be. It will! I doubt it feels that way right now; you may be a little more pessimistic than me, and you've certainly earned that right. But, all things considered, these last four and a half months were by no means a waste of time and effort. In lieu of all the obstacles you've faced, I think you did rather well this season. You did! I refuse to believe otherwise. I mean, come on. Stress fractures! Back spasms! Freshmen usurpers! (We all love him, but don't tell me he couldn't be seen as such.) That's rough, my friend, and I've never seen it get you down. You've weathered it all -- and now, in these last moments, this final heartbreak of a loss -- and it sucks. I know it sucks but I promise you, you'll get through it, and it'll make you stronger, and you will be amazing.

We don't know each other so this letter probably offers little in terms of comfort or reassurance, for either this season or the next, but I wanted to thank you. Thank you, Bobby, for 2007. Thank you for keeping your head high, for keeping your eyes open, for nailing those inside passes to Tyler, for sinking those three-point shots at the beginning of the season that were pretty enough to make me cry. Thank you for your bad jokes; thank you for busting on Wes Miller; thank you for laughing at yourself. Thank you for cheering just as loud as I did.

Next year, kid. I'll be there, cheering for you.