Sam Donnellon: Phillies probably left Pedro in too long
NEW YORK - Ninety-nine pitches. That was the pitch count when Pedro Martinez walked off the mound in the bottom of the sixth inning last night.
Ninety-nine pitches. Two runs allowed, the second a tiebreaking solo home run by Hideki Matsui with two outs in that inning. Charlie Manuel met Martinez in the dugout, pushed his face into his pitcher's face, asked the question that Martinez has been asked so often in his brilliant and star-crossed career.
"I'm all right," Martinez assured his manager.
You wonder what Grady Little was thinking in his North Carolina home, if he was even watching. A similar conversation, in the eighth inning of the 2003 ALCS with the Yankees, cost him his job as Boston's manager. Then, Martinez talked his way into staying with a 5-3 lead in a Game 7. The Yankees tied that game, won it in extra innings on Aaron Boone's walkoff home run. This time, Martinez talked his way in with a simple statement, and all you could do is wonder how - and why?
In Game 2 of the National League Championship Series, Manuel did not ask. Eighty-seven pitches, a long fly ball to end the seventh inning.
Then, seven shutout innings did not earn him the chance at eight. "He was done," the manager said after the Phillies lost that game by a run, almost chuckling at the suggestion he be left out any longer.
Ninety-nine pitches last night. So why ask him this time? With J.A. Happ and Chad Durbin warmed up, with his entire bullpen sitting on a week's worth of rest, why, why, why?
"He said he felt good," Manuel said. "He said he was fine . . . The bottom of the lineup was up and everything, and I thought he hadn't lost anything."
He did?
"He asked me how I felt," Martinez said. "I never felt as strong as I would have liked because I was under the weather the last few days. That's not an excuse . . . I felt good enough to pitch."
Here's what the episode seemed to suggest: that Manuel, despite its postseason resurgence, really doesn't trust his bullpen. When he finally called on Chan Ho Park, after Martinez had surrendered consecutive singles to put runners at the corners with no one out, Park escaped with one run allowed and an inning-ending doubleplay.
Ryan Madson pitched a scoreless eighth.
The Yankees had the most potent offense in baseball this season, hit more home runs than everyone. Martinez did what any optimistic fan could have asked, pitched six-plus gritty innings, pitched his team into a chance to win on the road against the Grade-A A.J. Burnett. One curveball, and not a particularly bad one, had broken a 1-1 tie in the sixth, but the truth is that several Yankees had driven balls deep in the two innings before that. With his array of junk and judicious use of an 89-mph fastball, Martinez was fooling them - yes, striking out eight over those six innings. But he was also, um, using the whole field to get his other outs.
"We can't really choose our destiny," he said on the eve of last night's 3-1 series-tying loss to the Yankees in Game 2 of the World Series, but the truth is, he has made a bad habit of doing just that.
When Little left him in during that 2003 game? The next batter, Hideki Matsui, hit a ground-rule double. When fans first chanted "Who's Your Daddy" at him in 2004? Matsui went yard in that game.
The other day Martinez dubbed himself "at times, the most influential player that ever stepped in Yankee Stadium." That, too, is not true, but this might be: He is the most diversely interpreted player ever to walk onto either version, old or brand-new.
He once said, "I don't believe in damn curses. Wake up the damn Bambino and have me face him. Maybe I'll drill him in the [butt], pardon me the word."
A few years later, after a series of frustrating losses to New York, he issued his infamous "The Yankees are my Daddy" surrender.
Fans here tried a "Who's Your Daddy" in the first inning last night. It died after a few uninspired seconds. They tried it again a minute later and again it died. After 32 career starts against this team, Pedro had done the unthinkable. He wore Yankees fans out, made jeering the Phillies' 38-year-old righthander seem old and tired - older and more tired than their longtime nemesis seemed last night.
Martinez has now had two chances to make his name synonymous with this postseason. He might have left too early in one, and stayed a bit too long in the other. The first time, destiny was chosen for him.
Last night, he picked his poison. And Manuel poured it.
He's a first-ballot Hall of Famer, and he has had some incredible moments along his long ride. But the overriding impression is of nights like the one last night - nights of a little too much, or not quite enough. *
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