Mile-High Momentum
By BOB DIDDLEBOCK / DENVER
Over the past 14 years, the Colorado Rockies were so awful that they could have signed Denver Broncos football legend John Elway to play left field and it wouldn't have put any more fans in Coors Field's 50,000 seats. Or hurt the team's performance.
Indeed, the high-altitude, low-achieving franchise had finished an average of 18 games out of first place each season since its National League debut in 1993. Awful field play, lousy free-agent signings, stupid trades and ownership bumbling had sapped the lifeblood of an organization that had launched with so much promise.
But much of that was forgotten or forgiven Monday night when the fresh, young Rockies tromped on the Arizona Diamondbacks 6-4 to win the National League Championship Series in Denver and sweep into the World Series--a development as unfathomably pleasant for Denverites as Mayor John Hickenlooper changing his last name to Jones.
That compelling victory and the joyous celebration that has echoed throughout the Mountain time zone was yet another milepost in an improbable finish that began in September's long shadows. Since then, the rockin' Rocks, who finished in the division cellar last season, have ripped off 21 wins in 22 games--a heart-pounding joyride that included a sudden-death victory just to get into postseason play, as well as playoff sweeps of the powerful Philadelphia Phillies and the lethargic Diamondbacks.
Clutch hitting, superb defense, sharp pitching, a buccaneering spirit and more luck than any team deserves have lifted the Rockies from obscure awfulness to America's best-kept baseball secret. "It's a dream come true," first baseman Todd Helton wrote on his blog. "It's tough to put into words."
Now, as it heads into its first World Series, Colorado is a loose, nothing-to-lose crew led by a cadre of green but muscled troops named Troy Tulowitzki (a possible Rookie of the Year at shortstop), Brad Hawpe, Jeff Francis (a 17-9 regular-season pitcher), Garrett Atkins and Matt Holliday (the probable NL MVP), who can still stroll unrecognized down Denver's 16th Street Mall. Then there are the older hands: Helton, speed burner Willie Taveras, Yorvit Torrealba and Kazuo Matsui (of Tokyo by way of New York City, cast off by the Mets).
They're a droll, quiet outfit; they don't argue or slam their flinty, flattopped manager Clint Hurdle or talk cosmically about the streak, which has propelled them to a place no one expected when the season began at the end of a snowy Colorado winter. "We're young but good players and a good team, and an organization headed in the right direction. I expected to win from Day One," the whip-armed Tulowitzki said.
The players even get along with Denver's snippy media, which have long branded the team's primary owners--brothers Dick and Charlie Monfort, of Monfort Beef fame--as dunces. The Rockies were born in 1993 after 30 years of snubs from baseball's pooh-bahs, who were concerned about the metro region's slight population, lousy stadium, capricious weather and high altitude. When baseball finally caved, its reward came swiftly: the Rockies' opening day drew 80,227 to old Mile High Stadium--still the largest single-game turnout in baseball history--and first-year attendance totaled 4.5 million. These were happy days, particularly when hitter-friendly Coors Field was christened in 1995 and the team scooted into the NL playoffs.
It all fell apart quickly. Inside the organization, arrogance, then chaos, was the rule, while a roster of castoffs, clodhoppers and kids tried to imitate major leaguers. Season-ticket holders dropped from a high of 34,000 to less than 14,000. The NFL's Broncos, who had won two Super Bowls under quarterback Elway--a former New York Yankees farmhand--would take center stage in Denver. Scalpers hawked $5 tickets for seats behind the dugouts at Coors Field.
Oh, that field. The thin air in mile-high Denver turns ordinary baseballs into missiles, adding 40 ft. (about 12 m) to a 400-ft. hit. But it did little for the Rockies, who tried to compensate by loading up on sluggers and pitchers. One colossal mistake: signing two gimpy pitchers in 2000 for $172 million. Come 2002, the Monforts were in trouble. Rumors of bankruptcy or a fire sale abounded amid a multimillion-dollar cash call from the other partners.
The solution to the thin-air problem, it turned out, was to put the baseballs in a humidor, where a little added moisture would keep them earthbound. And the solution to the performance problem was to get better baseball players, but on the cheap. Thus, the new Monfort doctrine: No more free agents; more investment in the farm system. Yet the franchise continued to sink, and fans grew more vocal. The Monforts' defensive reply: Tough.
Strikingly, if this season is an indication, the Beef Brothers may prove right in the long run. The farm system, which produced Tulowitzki and Holliday, is paying dividends, considering the Rockies' annual payroll is $54 million, among Major League Baseball's lowest. The Yankees paid out $190 million; they're now spectators.
"Euphoric" is how Charlie Monfort says he feels today. "It's happened so fast," he told kusa-tv. "Baseball's a game of runs, a game of confidence, a game of belief, a game of faith." No doubt, that faith will soon be tested when Torrealba, Matsui and Holliday file for free agency.
The exclamation point for the Rockies came on a rainy, frigid Sunday night more suited to a whaling expedition: after Torrealba's three-run homer in the sixth inning unstuck a 1-1 nail biter, the next Rockie up, Jeff Baker, lined a single. Then he tried to steal second base. Hurdle had sent a subtle pre-Series message to the American League: We never rest, we never quit, no matter the circumstances.
Neither, it seems, will the fans who clogged Coors in the past month. Elway can keep his legendary self on the shelf. Denver's a baseball town again.