COLUMN: Tampa Bay Rays Defying The Odds

Tampa Bay’s roster is void of stars. The Rays’ combined team payroll of $43 million ranks 29th out of 30 teams in Major League Baseball, and is spare change when compared to the Goliath-like $209 million shelled out to pay for the 2008 New York Yankees and $100 million-plus rosters of the Boston Red Sox, Los Angeles Dodgers and New York Mets, among others.

And Tampa Bay plays baseball in a city – and stadium – that leaves much to be desired when it comes to the history, tradition and passed-down fanaticism of the love-it-or-leave-it game of baseball.

Right now, the days are becoming shorter, sunlight is fading, leaves are softly falling off trees and the World Series – still the grandest and most-respected stage in the world of sports – is approaching.

Right now, the Rays should have called it a day. Their season should be over. October should be cold, cruel and unforgiving, even in warm Tampa.

Just look at the numbers: Heading into the 2008 season, Tampa Bay had posted an unsightly 645-972 cumulative record since entering MLB as an expansion franchise in 1998. This God-awful mark included three seasons with more than 100 defeats. And as recently as 2006, the Rays were still producing 100-loss seasons.

Moreover, the (Devil) Rays had finished no better than fourth place in the American League East division since 1998, annually beaten up, frisked and robbed by the Yankees, Red Sox and every other team willing to knock around a minor league-like franchise that played its home games inside an amusement park.

The Rays were losers. Deadbeats. A poor, sorry excuse for a major league baseball team. And the finicky fans in Tampa Bay knew it. Next to no one showed up when Tampa Bay hit the turf at Tropicana Field. And when they did, it was usually loud, rich, spoiled Yankees or Red Sox fans.

Cut to 2008.

The Rays roll off a 97-65 regular-season record. They crash the rich man’s party that is MLB. They capture the American League East title. They pull off perhaps the greatest and most unbelievable worst-to-first climb in the history of Major League Baseball. And all the while, they endure and outlast disbelievers, cynics, injuries, critics, setbacks, analysts, the Red Sox, media know-it-alls and the pitiful Yankees.

Now, Tampa Bay, up 3-1 and hammering away on the once mighty Red Sox and the Green Monster in the American League Championship Series, is one game away from stealing a ticket to the invitation-only Fall Classic.

And, in the process, the Rays are saving baseball.

Tampa Bay has made baseball new again.

Baseball is fun. Bright. Shining. Modern. Interesting.
A chess match within a chess match, wrapped in strategy, insight, luck and God-given talent.

Rays manager Joe Maddon plays hunches. He draws on inspiration and strange, unique ways from French existentialist writer Albert Camus. He drops references to Seabiscuit – a horse that ran its last race 68 years ago – as if Seabiscuit is still alive and pumping.

Most importantly, Maddon believes in his team. He has all along: Maddon, with his horn-rimmed glasses and mad scientist-approach, was printing up Confucius-like 9 = 8 T-shirts for the Rays while the rest of baseball was still soaking in the rays of Spring Training. And Maddon lets his young, talented, dynamic players play.

And, man, do they play.

The Rays play the game the old way. The smart way. The fast way. The right way.

They play small ball. But they play it with pop.

Rays rookie third baseman Evan Longoria, with his five postseason home runs, nine RBIs and .813 slugging percentage, is bigger than Boston’s David “Big Papi” Ortiz.
Rays outfielders Carl Crawford and B.J. Upton glide through the grass, sucking up fly balls like a vacuum. And when the duo isn’t patrolling the lawn, they’re slapping singles and extra-base hits, collecting bases like Vince Coleman.

Add in 26-and-under hurlers James Shields, Andy Sonnanstine, Scott Kazmir, Matt Garza, J.P. Howell, Edwin Jackson and David Price, and, suddenly, the old, aging, slow game of baseball looks vibrant and brand new.

Nine-inning, three-hour plus marathons speed by. They pulse and sing.

And it’s not just the annual lure and intrigue of postseason baseball that has the Rays looking magical. It’s the fact that the young, addicting Rays are the perfect antidote for a Major League Baseball season that began in disappointment and disarray.

Remember the Mitchell Report?
The disgrace. The shame. The questions.

Where does baseball go from here? What does this all mean? What about the records? The statistics? The numbers? The history?

And the names: Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Gary Sheffield, Miguel Tejada, Rafael Palmerio, Andy Petitte, Juan Gonzalez, Eric Gagne, Jason Giambi, Lenny Dykstra, Jose Canseco …
Now, there are new names.

Maddon. Longoria. Crawford. Upton. Shields. Sonnanstine.

Get used to them.

Baseball is back.

And the magic’s only just begun.

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