Angelic Tribute: Shall I compare thee to my Toyota truck?

OK, to start, you're just gonna have to keep the Peter Gunn theme running through your head for the whole time you're reading this.  (dun dun dah duh, dun dun DAH duh, dun dun dah duh, dun dun DAH duh....)  Consider it surround sound.

This is me and my truck:

I bought it new in `88 when I lived in LA, from a Toyota dealer behind the Orange Curtain.  I figure it's been with me in 40 states, and just about every town in California anywhere.  In particular, the miles of I-5, 101, and the PCH between here and there are as much a part of me as my favorite books or checkered employment record.  The story of how I see most things Cali, north and south, can't be told without my truck.

So the A's won the West this year, of course, but I lost my bet with yeswecan as the Angels took 11 of 19 head-to-head against Oakland.  And I knew that somehow, when I honorably satisfied my obligations, that it was all gonna come back to me and my truck, bouncing between the sociogeopolitical poles of this great state.  Bi-polar, if you will.  

In any case, what follows are some of the things I sincerely admire about the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim circa 2006.  Shall I compare thee to my Toyota truck?

The corporation:

My truck was birthed at New United Motor Manufacturing, hard by the 880 in Fremont (gasp), but it was sold to me in the OC.  Toyota and NUMMI are corporations with strong reputations for quality and customer satisfaction.  In Anaheim, owner Arte Moreno seems about as tolerable as a billionaire gets.  Cutting beer prices on day one of his regime was way cool, points for both style and substance.  I like the way he largely keeps himself out of the public view.  And whatever one might think of the Los Angelesification of the Angels brand name, I'll say this:  that one titular move is part of a market hegemony strategy more effective than every regionalization attempt the A's have ever made, put together.  What's more, Arte brought some diversity to the ultimate insider club, MLB owners, who traditionally make the U.S. Senate look like my kid's class picture at Malcolm X Elementary.  Honestly, the list of mega-wealthy Americans that I like pretty much starts and ends at George Soros, and Arte ain't crashing that party.  But by the standards of MLB owners, and for that matter, owners of AL West teams located in California, he's alright.

The chassis:

Toyota trucks are virtually indestructible.  The British TV show "Top Gear" tested this by putting a Toyota Hilux into the ocean for a complete tidal cycle, completely engulfing it in flames, and setting it atop a condemned building which was then demolished.  The truck started and drove after each assault.

The chassis of a baseball team is its ballpark, and though the Big A isn't going to make anyone think Camden Yards West, consider this:  Anaheim once played in a symmetrical dual purpose sterile concrete bowl.  By way of refurbishment, the stadium was opened up, oriented to a baseball friendly viewing configuration, prettified with water and rocks and seizure-inducing wraparound digital color ribbon scoreboards.  Oakland refurbished its dual purpose sterile bowl too...by closing it in, adding more grey concrete, and purchasing two new giant scoreboards which were so cutting edge that replacement parts can no longer be obtained, as the technology was obsolete out of the box.  If the Big A is a reliable Toyota truck of ballparks, the Coliseum is a 1987 Plymouth K-Car, restored with spoiled beige housepaint.

The engine:

My truck is powered by the famed 22R engine, 227,000 miles and counting, which ain't even that much by Toyota standards.  The engine of a quality major league team is the starting pitching staff, and on that front, the Angels are the class of the league.  I mean, sure, you could go with some Über-expensive boutique engine like the new Jaguar 8 cylinder, 32 valve, 400 hp model.  Looks pretty, sounds great, kicks ass...except for the 11 months every year when it's in the British engine shop, putting the kids of four mechanics through dental school.  The Yankees are Jaguar XJR engine of pitching staffs.  The Angels, by shrewd contrast, throw veterans like Colon, Escobar and Lackey, with good stuff and better knowledge.  Like `em or not (and I'll pick not), those three guys know how to pitch and get hitters out whether they've got their A material on a given day or not.  And Santana and Weaver...young guys with nasty stuff who are only going to get better.  The A's have shown in recent years that a tip top engine like that can cover up a lot of other vehicular shortcomings.  Unfortunately for us green-gold types, LAAAAAA doesn't appear to be suffering from many of those, either.  Such as:

Top notch replacement parts:

For DIYers, Toyota parts are the best in the world.  The classic Toyota manufacturing mentality means that multiple models use the same part over many years, so they're both cheap and plentiful.  I have extra fuel pumps, alternators and even an extra cylinder head in my garage just because I can.  The 2007 model year Angels are poised to restock their vehicle with the highest quality new components.  The aforementioned Jered (sic) Weaver springs to mind.  Ditto Mssrs. Kendrick and Kotchman.  Even Mathis and McPhearson, early struggles aside, are evidence of a team committing to a plan of developing talent from within, despite having the cash to go the Jaguar route if they so desired.  Look at it this way:  when the Yankees were really dominating from 1996-2000, they did so in large part on the strength of homegrown talent like Bernie Williams, Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, and Saint Jeter.  Since then, not so much (and don't be surprised to see Cano go the Soriano exile route in a year or two).  Not only is the "salvation from within" approach the most economical, it's the best approach period.  And whatever one might think about GM Stoneman's unwillingness to part with a prospect to get a bat for the '06 run (my take:  appreciation), at least he's sticking with a plan which looks like it could pay dividends for many years to come.

Geography:

As I said, my truck is a product of NoCal and SoCal, seasoned on roads from I-5 to PCH, from the Angeles Nat'l Forest to the Eel River, blessed by geography.  I lived in LA in the 80's.  Beverly and Western, biyotch!  Many nights at Hollywood Billiards, house parties with Black Flag members jamming in my backyard.  To this day I sport a scar on my forehead from a Schlitz 40 dog bottle wielded by nazi skinheads trying to bust up our anarcho-syndacalist punk show.  And that was a great night.  LA gets a bad rap up here, and Hollywood crap aside, it's a city which can be very real, in many ways more like Oakland than SF is, as "The City" devolves into an upscale 7 x 7 mile square limited to those who can pay the increasing ante.  Incidentally, my truck was busted into more times in two years in SF than it was in 16 years in LA and Oakland put together.  Anyway, I like LA.

And I like Orange Coun...I like Orange Cou....hell, I can't say it.  I like oranges.

The Mechanic:

I don't like `em.  High priests of forbidden wisdom recommending absurd crap like new brake drums, coolant flushes, and 30,000 mile service intervals designed to make you feel like a responsible car owner when you open your wallet for four-figures every two years.  (Hint:  if the mechanic says you "need" something, you might really need it.  If he "recommends" you have work done, that's code for "you don't really need it but the R word is a get-out-of-fraud-free card.")  Buncha snakes.  But sometimes you've got no choice, you gotta have one, and like a personal injury lawyer, if you absolutely must purchase their services then you might as well hire the biggest jerk there is...'cause he's your jerk.

I imagine that's what Angels fans think of Mike Scioscia.  The guy reminds me of Duke's Mike Krzyzewski, alpha-prick of another team I despise.  Both work every angle, argue every call, push every button, because ultimately, whether an ump or opposing pitcher want to admit it, it works.  Scioscia gets in umps' heads in the second inning and gets the calls in the eighth.  He ices pitchers, hollers from the dugout, stomps with fury, plays amateur groundskeeper.  It's irritating as hell.  And painfully effective.

And last, but certainly not least...

The Clutch:

I'm still riding on my original clutch, which is preposterous.  It's like the Methuselah of clutches, and it comes through when I need it every...single...time.  (AN'ers can fill in their own "standard tranny" joke here).

The Angels are a team awash in clutch, and heart.  Unmeasurability doesn't mean these things don't exist.  Chone Figgins alone brings an emery board's worth of grit to every pitch...and if he loans the emery board to Lackey, well, who's the wiser?  Bad Vlad evokes a visceral reaction of fear in me, sitting miles away; I can only imagine what pitching to him must feel like.  John Lackey dominates the A's seemingly just because he knows he's going to.  K-Rod actually closes games, and if the price of reliability is childish histrionics, well, the A's only wish they could make that deal.  Childishness is undervalued.  Tim Salmon was a great Angel and I was genuinely touched by the appreciation he got from the Anaheim crowd and organization those last few days.  And while it's easy to laugh at the cult of Darin Erstad, frankly, when the ledger is complete down the road I'll bet his accomplishments outshine those of his closest A's clutch comp, young Marco, who has probably never even once punted a football.

The Angels are strong and getting stronger, and I admire much about the players and the organization.  And I fear them, as they may be nearing a sustained run of dominance in the AL West.

yeswecan, consider yourself paid.