It's not a hill, it's a mountain...but we're gonna make it all the way to the light...

Welcome to "If I Were a Sportswriter," the game where I pretend like I actually get paid to write about baseball.

Cincinnati, Ohio (CoB) - Sweltering summer heat was no match for Cincinnati Reds starter Bronson Arroyo, who earned his tenth win on the season with a victory over the Colorado Rockies on Friday night. Arroyo gave up two runs in seven innings in front of a large crowd of 37,188 at Great American Ball(p)ark, most of whom had found themselves in the stadium after being sucked through a time machine back to 1990.

Arroyo himself nearly was transported through the machine back to Toronto, Canada. After six brilliant innings and one ok inning, he gave up a homer in the eighth to Rockies catcher Miguel Olivo, which was needlessly reviewed and left the Reds clinging to a one run lead. Shaken and stirred after the umpires confirmed the homer, the blond haired rocker put two on with no outs before Reds manager Dusty Baker went to rescue him, replacing the one time All Star with current All Star Arthur Rhodes, himself having gone through a time machine earlier in the season back to the days of his youth.

"I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him," said Baker to Rhodes as his badass self reached the mound. But some Reds fans in the stands, who had witnessed too many bullpen meltdowns even as they worshiped at the alter of Arthur, shouted such things as "Oh god! The Deadbirds are up four nothing on the Dodgers!" and "If we blow this, we're gonna be in second place!"

Arthur replied, "Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." A bunch of fans ran to buy hotdogs and topped them with mustard. And so, after walking the first batter, he moved those Rockies off the basepaths with a popup and two badass strikeouts to preserve the Reds' one run lead. "You can't touch this," he said as he strutted to the dugout.

The ninth inning was not without drama, as Caca Cordero took the mound and allowed his customary coronary before he sealed the game and recorded his 25th save in 400 opportunities. As the last out was mercifully recorded, Reds fans could hear the immortal words echoing through the depths of their souls, the most beautiful seven words in human language: "...and this one belongs to the Reds!"

I'll take the credit

I ate my last can of Skyline Chili last night in the hope that it would change the balance of the world and make the Reds win. It worked!

Nice to see Jay starting to hit some.

Pastaleaning Cabrera is just awful.

Remember that one game when Stubbs batted down in the order and actually got on base? Good thing we have Crusty Baker as manager so we can see what works and not do it that way.

Speaking of Crusty, when is Scott Rolen going to start batting cleanup? I remember when I used to hate that guy.

I really believe that Walt's put together a good team but this coaching staff is killing it.

I love Sundays when I can watch them live online for a mere $15 plus the cost of 1.5 liters of beer. It's a good way to fight the Sunday Dread that plagues each evening before the new work week starts, bringing the headaches and heartbreaks and general malaise of existence. It's tough working in the field of international development, because you never see the results of your work, as change is a long and painfully slow process, with periodic wars and conflicts setting you back or forcing you to restart from the beginning. Watching baseball helps like a crutch helps the walking wounded, but watching a loss feels like falling down and breaking all over again. A win is a painkiller, helping for a few hours but wearing off, leaving you wanting more.

Boy, wouldn't it be something to work for the Cincinnati Reds Baseball Club.

PATHETIC

If I save all the receipts for money I spend on Reds baseball, do you think I can send them to the Reds and get a refund?

Come on. I spent $10 for a decent enough internet connection to watch the game tonight (or today, in Cincinnati time.) I also drank a liter of beer during the game at a four star hotel price. The only reason I came to this bar was to watch the game in the only place in Hamra (the cool district in Beirut, the real cool one, not the faux cool one called Gemmeyzeh) that has a decent internet connection in the evening. I spent the same last week to watch that pathetic game against Pitifulsburgh where the Reds were swept. I'll probably do the same tomorrow because day games (which are night games for me) don't happen that often, and though I do watch many of the games the next day on archive, it isn't the same as being live.

And I can't help myself - it's like I HAVE to watch them when I can. I'm willing to bet that if I were to put myself through a series of medical tests, doctors would discover that my need to watch Reds baseball results from the same chemical imbalance that causes addictions. And though it is painful and seems to give me no pleasure, I still watch.

I mean, what even happened in this game? Nothing. There was nothing memorable. The offense stunk as usual. Cueto wasn't too bad but had a few lapses in concentration. But the game was just...BORING. At least Janish got to play, and man, can you tell a difference at shortstop. Too bad he didn't get like eight hits in four at bats to make Crusty Baker notice him.

I posted it the other day, but I did want to reemphasize that there IS something good coming out of Cincinnati these days - my favorite non-U2 band, The National, has their new album streaming on the New York Times website. They just keep getting better and better. This album is incredible. Buy it May 11.

I'm at a place called Vertigo

Dozens of sunworshippers lay fallow on plastic alters while the greasy smell of sunscreen and dissonant sound of splashing rise beside the electric blue of a swimming pool. Skin, bare skin, bronzed with the jubilation of impending summer, glows with the fire of youth beneath the glory of a sunburst sky, a sky that makes blue what clouds cannot steal. Soon, the smell of charcoal and the taste of beer will accompany this summer concerto. I may be sitting here still, sitting and watching the boys of summer play their silly game.

What is this game, where a loss in late May can feel so devastating, where woe and worry besiege the heart of a fan even as reason dictates patience? Or does it? Is it unreasonable to feel this loss could ruin a season? Is it unreasonable to believe that it's too late in the season to play the way this game was played, with certain personnel failing to do fundamental tasks necessary to winning teams?

Is it unreasonable to believe this team even has a 2009 chance?

The non-plays of the game? GIFDP in the eighth. Dusty bunts in every other similar situation for the entire season and the one time he should have actually bunted, he didn't. Talk about rally killers. And then Brandon Phillips bunts in the ninth? FTH? OMG! LOL. BRB...

...How can your stud pitcher give up only three hits in a game and lose? How can you let that happen?...

This beautiful sunshine, this breeze, this summer-like Saturday, none of it is consolation for the desecration of the holy game that took place last night, that satanic display of offense, that blasphemy! Catastrophe! It's trash for me! A rash it be!

Ok, it's just one game. And despite the offensive desolation of game one, the Reds are still batting league average, which is really something considering they didn't get a shipment of bats until May.

But is it really just one game?

Well, is it? I suppose that depends on tonight. The baseball gods are a forgiving bunch. There is the possibility of resurrection and redemption. But the bats have to stop sinning so damn much!

There is some comfort in the Deadbirds loss. The Reds can't afford not to take the next two from the Sausages before moving onto Taint Louis, lest it be the end of the season as we know it, and I won't feel fine.

We won! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Extra, extra, a hit and go home. Empty stands at 10:30pm, yet joy. Young Bruce, a hit. Dancing on basepath, then go. Kepp. Crack. Rounding third and heading for home. Edwin takes the helmet.

Johnny K, Johnny K eleven. One bad inning adds two extra frames. ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN PITCHES FREAK OUT. Cy Young is human in sixth. Big bats gone. No home runs. Run home. Score, score, score, SCORE!

Obscurity needs thirty stitches.

Too little, too late. No cards are wild for this one. Next year, maybe. Down with dead birds and sausage. Tomorrow, rock and roll with split end dead tone.

Bummer

The sky is falling.

Sometimes I wonder if it really is, if it’s just one giant ocean up there that has cracked and is unable to hold itself up any longer.

The Reds lost a pretty crappy game last night, crappy all the way through from the weather to the performance on the field with the exception of Jared Burton, who K’d four of his six batters. Stormy did his job, too, but it was all too little, too late, because Josh Couldn’t See through the Fogg and gave up six runs in four innings pitched. The Reds bats never caught up.

The bitter drear of a game started an hour and forty minutes late because the sky was falling down, crushing what is supposed to be spring and forcing androgyny upon the hooded masses who dared to brave the wintry weather plaguing this part of the world. (I wonder in what inning last call came after such a long delay…) They were not rewarded for their loyalty, for Mr. “I turned down a four million dollar contract thinking I could get more and had to sign for a million with the Reds” stunk.

His former Rockie teammate stunk a bit, too, giving up Chase Utley’s second homer of the night, which turned out to be the 100th of his career. Affeldt calmed down after that, but the three run deficit was never to be overcome. Indeed, it grew, for Todd Coffey made a couple mistakes in the ninth inning and gave up another run to seal the loss.

The mystery of the night – indeed, a move that was downright Morron-like – was when Dusty pulled Dunn in the sixth inning. I get the double switch idea. I realize the pitcher’s spot was up next. But pulling your big power hitter when you’re down three runs with four innings to go?

This game put me in a foul mood, no pun intended. The Reds had runners on base with zero or one outs several times but couldn’t get them in. Dunn grounded into a double play to kill a rally and missed two good pitches, turning hits into flyouts. Griffey had two hits and two RBI, passing Reggie Jackson to move into 19th on the all time RBI list. Mostly, though, the offense just stunk. Phillies pitcher Kyle Kendrick did not pitch well through five innings but managed to wiggle out of trouble nearly every inning.

George Grande was simply awful, which only exacerbated my irritation. For example, a flyball was hit to centerfield near the warning track and Grande said it went to second base without bothering to correct himself. There were so many of these little errors that you never knew if what he said were true or not.

So yeah, it’s game four. There are 158 more to play. The Chubs have lost three of their four; the Tigers have lost all of their games. We haven’t even played enough games to warrant a glance at the standings. Still, I feel like the sky is falling, like the season is lost because Edwin might lose his position and Votto might be sent to Louisville and Patterson played a whole game when Dunn was pulled and we have no catcher and we have no good fourth starter and I hope Chase Utley gets a both ends stomach flu tonight that lasts about four days.

I guess my disappointment stems from the feeling of invincibility I developed after watching Johnny Cueto dominate the defending NL West champs yesterday. May an outing by our stud ace Aaron Harang lift my spirits after today’s game!