Ryan Howard, You Want A Piece Of Me?
Cole Hamels took the mound with the poise and confidence of a rock star on a blind date. He sailed through the first inning—three up, three down; beaned A-Rod with a pitch to staunch any intention he had of snuggling up to the plate, and then held the Yankees to one hit over three innings. But the night snuck up on him like a light weight on cheap booze. And by the fourth inning, hitting Hamels was like an Irish lass on Russian vodka—easy. Not that I’d know anything about that. He took the loss on Halloween, no less. Like they say, candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. Just ask my husband. Whoops. Was I thinking out loud? Where were we? Oh, postseason pitching. I hoped Andy Pettitte would lose his cool after the Philly lineup had its way with him in the second inning—putting three runs on the board off four hits. But Philadelphia's lefties failed to do what AL left-handers had done against him all season—hit. Utley, Howard, and Ibanez were 0-for-9. Coming into Game 3, Alex Rodriqu...