Mr. Owen? Mr. Branca? Mr. Niedenfuer? Meet Mr. Broxton

I have a friend named Jay who not only bleeds Dodger blue, but drinks a tall glass of it for every meal. He still hates the Braves because Atlanta was the chief Dodger rival during the 80s, and he can still argue for hours that Steve Garvey should be in the Hall of Fame.

After last night’s debacle in Philadelphia on the 27th out, I couldn’t bear to call him, and resorted to a semi-humorous e-mail this morning which he responded non-suicidally to. Now the Cubs and Red Sox have a long history of famous collapses, but for whatever reason, maybe due to their small closet of championship trophies, the Dodgers never seem to get included in the all-time choking circle.

Following last night, that may have changed. Rarely has there been a more exciting and shocking conclusion to a game than Jimmy Rollins’ laser gap shot, and for one night at least, longtime Dodger fans were able to put the dark fates of catcher Mickey Owen (1941), Ralph Branca (1951), and Tom Niedenfuer (1985) aside, for Broxton’s meltdown was on a nightmarish par with those. Even more incredible, it was actually a two-part story.

I’m never one to agree with the ill-informed blatherings that pass for Bill Plaschke’s baseball columns in the Los Angeles Times , but this morning’s was actually right on target. Broxton unraveled, said Plaschke, because he was haunted by the home run pitch he grooved to Matt Stairs in last year’s NLCS. Last night he said to hell with this and threw him four “unintentional” wide ones. What did that do? Well, after getting the much tougher Ibanez on a grounder to start the inning, it threw him off his game. He hit Carlos Ruiz with the first pitch, and had suddenly put himself in an unnecessary pickle jar, which Rollins would subsequently smash open with one swing.

I’m a Red Sox fan, so Papelbon’s 9th inning collapse against the Angels last week brought back nightmares of another “closer” at an ’86 Shea Stadium contest, an affair I will forever call the “Schiraldi Game” as opposed to the Buckner one. So I can feel deeply for Jay and other loyal Dodgerites, although my grief last night was more due to the fact I have tickets for Games 6 and 7 out here, an experience (should it happen) to be certainly recounted for this Web site.

When a baseball moment like Rollins’ hit happens, though, it’s always fascinating and sometimes comforting to look at it from the opposite perspective. My brother lives in downtown Philadelphia, and here’s his account of how it all went down for him:

“I was falling asleep during the final 2 innings (east coast time), and could no longer keep my eyes open in the ninth. I assumed that Broxton would blow away the bottom of the order, so I set up the tiVo and went to bed. And just as I was falling asleep, my neighborhood suddenly exploded. I started hearing male screaming and whooping and various testosterone outbursts on 16th and in the apartments in the back alley….and I knew instantly. I ran down four flights of stairs, and played the entire inning back…then watched it again.”

As always, the sweet with the bitter.

You can find more of Jeff Polman’s work at http://1924andyouarethere.blogspot.com/ where he’s conducting a fascinating replay of the 1924 season.