Echoes From The Field
Episode #17: Rise From The Dead

San Diego Padres vs. Colorado Rockies Friday, September 3, 2004, 7:05 P.M. Petco Park, San Diego

There's a lyric from a Lostprophets song: "Even through your doubt/We will still be here..." And the San Diego Padres, despite all the smack and the tears, are very much definitely still present in this fast, furious battle for baseball's afterlife.

Don't talk to me about difficulty. I was there as the Cardinals swept us, even though three of our best stepped up against them and gave it everything they had. There was pain and a good deal of frustration, because no one has ever had to tell us what's at stake and that we cannot afford to go down in the way we went down over that St. Louis series. We need to strike back, regain our ground, and refuse to surrender.

And I'm the one with the gaping wound across my soul since I'm still worrying about Sterling Hitchcock, trying to deny the writing on the wall.

The perfect person to live and let die is unmistakably David Wells. Boomer's critical playoff experience bolsters the Disaster Squad, his attitude is more than enough for all of us, and no one can question his intensity. He lives hard, he plays hard, and he's going to bring it hard as my boys come home. That's exactly what we need: someone to take this series by the throat and make us all pay attention.

Maybe that's why I'm here, too. My boys have just taken a windfall and need to be told that they don't stand alone (as cool as that Godsmack song, which is also Brian Giles' anthem, is). It's my job, as Boomer marshals the boys, to dig in and be there and get their back no matter what might happen. These are the Colorado Rockies. We should take them out and celebrate later. I tell myself that there is no fear, only the knowledge that there's something more important than fear. Boomer's going to strike, and I'm going to be right in there helping him land the blow.

I'm a little disappointed that Wellsie doesn't stick with Mudvayne's "Not Falling," because not only is it a very cool song that is a great motivator, but it's also the song from Ghost Ship, which starred my muse, Desmond Harrington. Heck, I think Boomer would do a pretty good impersonation of Desmond's character, evil soul collector Jack Ferriman. At least, he's got the death glare down.

For Boomer, for me, for my hero Mark Loretta and everyone else, it's time to make one more stand.

Things don't look good in the bottom of the first frame when a sacrifice fly, followed by a double, plates two for Colorado. Still, I don't let myself sweat. Remember in Episode 6 when Adam started out down by two only to help the boys post eight unanswered runs? Anything can happen in nine innings of baseball.

But it'll get worse before it gets better...

In the third, the Rockies tack on a two-run homer and add a fifth run in the fourth on a mishandled ground ball. Scarier than that five-nothing deficit is the fact that Miguel Ojeda, trying to cover the play, goes face-first into the home dugout railing -- and not the padded portion, either. I've had nine concussions and I was a mean goalie in three years of street hockey, but that makes me wince.

Andy Ashby said it best: Padres fans pull for their players on a personal level. And with the same intensity with which I've screamed as Brian Lawrence was almost hit by a pitch, or when Adam Eaton was, I'm now hoping that Miguel is all right. It doesn't matter that sometimes I've been disappointed in him - I want him to be okay. Jim Daniel, the trainer with two first names, checks him out, but Miguel shakes it off and gets back behind the dish, to a round of relieved and respectful applause, including mine. That's the toughness we need right here, right now.

Yes, Van Halen's "Right Now" is playing in my brain.

The boys must've been listening.

In the fifth, Ojeda gets a little retribution with an opening single. Pinch-hitter Robert Fick (who I'm going to refer to as "the new guy" forever, I think) gets a free pass off Jennings. A single by Kerry "Satan" Robinson loads the bases, but there are two outs. We need someone to be clutch. No one has to tell anyone that this is the crucial moment in the game. And who better to handle crucial moments than the all-star "Captain America" himself, Mark Loretta?

I love watching Mark Loretta hit. It's the kind of amazement at beautiful hitting that only T. Gwynn ever inspired in me. I don't care if it's a base hit or a home run, I just love seeing that fluid swing. And I especially love when I hear the crack of the bat and see the ball heading my direction. It goes to the wall in right-center, driving in two runs, and when Clint Barmes tries to throw out Satan and the ball gets away, Satan scores and Mark takes third.

It's a one-run game now. It's anyone's ballgame now. It's a perfect example of the whole year: against all odds, we fight back, led by the premiere example of what we stand for -- someone of impeccable character and heart.

And we're not done.

Fittingly it'll be Loretta who puts in the final spark with a single in the seventh. Brian Giles battles to earn a walk. Here comes Phil Nevin, with whom it's all or nothing. He's been coming around, but he's still frustrated a lot of people. I cross my fingers, hoping for the better part of Phil.

He gives me everything, literally.

An 0-2 pitch goes into the Friars' bullpen to make it 7-5, and everyone in the stadium lets Phil know how much we appreciate what he's just done. As he, Mark and Brian come home, we are on our feet. I'm cheering with everything I am. I needed this. After the lost promise and stinging pain of the day before, I needed the rush, the release, the faith. They've found their faith, and they've given me back mine.

It's that faith that keeps me from losing it when the formal announcement is shown on the FriarVision: Sterling Hitchcock has announced his retirement. The fear I've had since he came back, which over the last few days became an almost psychic dread, is right. When they show him over with John Moores, I make the best eye contact I can across the stadium and salute him with my soda. Here's to the heroism we made -- this one will be for you.

Ramon Hernandez replaces Miguel in the eighth, and I worry about him like Hitch before him, but he'll be okay. We know the drill from here on out: Linebrink to Hoffman. Scott's been shaky, and he gives up a solo shot to Vinny Castilla, just enough to make me nervous. But that's what the legends of the Padres are made of, right? A little good drama. A little importance. The exhilaration of a lifetime when Trevor shuts the door.

It's a victory we needed - for the standings and for faith. It's a healing experience I needed -- to be reminded that things would be okay in life after watching a hero fall in front of my eyes. Now we've fought back. Hitch has been sent off with a victory. As for me? I keep thinking of The Calling's "Our Lives," which I hear for the first time that night and which will become an important song to me: these are the times worth living.