Editor's Note: From his home on the Northern California coast, Page 2's Eric Neel is keeping a diary of the 2002 pennant races involving the Giants, Dodgers, A's and Angels. This is the 12th installment of Neel's journal.

Sunday, Sept. 22
Saturday's scoreboard: A's defeat Rangers, 6-3; Angels lose to Mariners, 6-4; Giants win over Milwaukee, 3-1; and Dodgers take Padres, 5-3.

Status: Oakland 2 games up on Anaheim in AL West; San Francisco 2 games up on Los Angeles in NL wild-card hunt. A's have clinched a playoff spot. Angels' magic number is one. Seven games to go.

Game one

It was one of those moments when Vin Scully likes to say "the deuces are wild." The Angels had runners on first and third with two outs in the ninth inning, Kaz Sasaki facing Tim Salmon, two balls and two strikes, the Mariners up by two, 6-4.

The Safeco Field crowd was on its feet, clapping, hoping for a strikeout. Sasaki stepped off the rubber, took a deep breath, took a look at the runners, then stepped back on, came to set, and leaned in toward M's catcher Dan Wilson for a sign. Salmon pulled one foot out of the box, arched his back a little, exhaled and then stood back in and took his stiff, vertical stance, his bat twitching just a little.

Everything was charged, full of possibility.

The fifth pitch went foul. So did the sixth.

The seventh pitch was ball three. Deuces were no longer quite so wild, but otherwise things stayed at a sweet, high pitch. The crowd, stomping and swaying, knew it. Sasaki, squinting and sighing, knew it. Salmon, glaring out at the mound, trying to anticipate the angle and arc of the next ball coming through dappled light, knew it.

The eighth pitch was ... ball four.

A moan and a cry rose up from the crowd. With the bases loaded, Garret Anderson, a doubles-hitting machine, came to the plate. A base hit would tie the game, a ball to the gap might win it.

Sasaki gave him a high fastball. Anderson fouled it off. The next pitch was center-cut but falling. Swing and a miss. The third pitch was up a bit, maybe tailing away a little, but it looked like a ball to hit. Anderson thought so, too. He flicked it to left. It didn't look like much, but it looked like it had a chance. It was dropping quickly, M's left fielder Charles Gipson was coming on, Sasaki was looking anxious, the runners were looking eager. And then ... Gipson got it. Held it in his glove with two hands and came running toward the infield. Ballgame.

It was a weird sort of non-event. The way the Angels have been going, the way every day seems to bring a new hero for them, the way they've kept pace with the A's -- I fully expected Salmon to take one deep, like he'd done with two on and two out in the fifth inning last Saturday against Texas. When he walked instead, I just knew Anderson, who has 190 hits -- 56 of them doubles, would poke a ball to the wall.

But he didn't. It's been an exciting race, I thought -- you're spoiled. Some days, nothing happens. Some days, guys just make outs in key spots. All the heat and longing surrounding those at-bats, that actually doesn't count for much. ABs are ABs, most of them are outs, even the ones that feel destined for greater drama and heroism.

Game two

Flash forward several hours. Dodgers and Padres, 3-3 tie in the ninth inning.

The Giants had beaten Milwaukee, 3-1, earlier in the day. The Dodgers stood 2½ back in the wild-card race. And it was 2½ with a sinking stone, with an anvil tied to their ankles. It was 2½ caught in a riptide, about to be carried out to see and lost forever. They'd lost 10 of their last 14 in the last two weeks and looked terrible doing it. Timely hits were the stuff of myths and legends to them -- they'd heard tell, but had never actually seen one. And now they were locked up with the Padres who, it just so happens, have been Dodger killers these last few years.

So in steps Marquis Grissom in the ninth. The bases are loaded, after Padres closer Trevor Hoffman has hit pinch-hitter Mike Kinkade with a pitch. The bases are loaded, with two outs, and the way things have been going for the Dodgers, and knowing that Grissom isn't exactly the most disciplined hitter you'll ever meet, and that Hoffman is, despite the plunk of Kinkade, a vicious scientist, I knew what was coming. I knew -- because I'd see Garret Anderson's ball die in Charles Gipson's glove, and because I'd listened to the Dodgers hit into three rally-killing double plays in this game already, and because Dave Roberts, who hit a home run in the first, had to leave the game with a pulled oblique muscle, and because Kevin Brown wasn't going to pitch the rest of the way, and because Andy Ashby's blistered finger wasn't healing -- that Grissom would tap one back to Hoffman or strike out swinging or some such thing, and the Dodgers would fall 3 full games back of the Giants and this race thing wouldn't feel nearly so much like a race.

So, even when Hoffman's first pitch missed, there was no excitement or kick in the air. Just dread and resignation. Just the sober recognition that at-bats are just at-bats and most of them are outs. Just the wistful thought that it's been nice, this September race, nice while it lasted.

And I waited on the 1-0 pitch, knowing that on some days, on most days, nothing happens. I waited and I told myself that I was spoiled. There would be no drama, no heroism today. Things were just going to unfold in their steady, unspectacular way.

Then came the 1-0 pitch from Hoffman, and I think I actually sighed, just certain it would dribble sadly back to him for an easy out, and ... it was the damndest thing ... Grissom yanked it to left for a two-run single. Grissom off Hoffman. A hit instead of an out. Two games instead of 3. Heroism. Hope of a race again on Sunday. Huh. Go figure. Now I am spoiled.

Previous entries: Sept. 20 | Sept. 19 | Sept. 18 | Sept. 17 | Sept. 16 | Sept. 15 | Sept. 14 | Sept. 13 | Sept. 12 | Sept. 11 | Sept. 9-10

Eric Neel reviews sports culture in his "Critical Mass" column on Page 2. You can e-mail him at eneel@cox.net.