This observer thrown changeup

By Dan Shaughnessy, Globe Columnist  |  October 11, 2008

ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. - Welcome to Arena Baseball, also known as the American League Championship Series at Tropicana Field.

Early yesterday afternoon I was reminded that we're not in Kansas anymore. Or Kansas City. Or Baltimore. Or Chicago. Or (gulp) New York. This came over me when I was flipping through the vaunted St. Petersburg Times baseball playoff section, which included a "Pitching Primer" for the casual fan. The thoroughly researched feature included remarks from a couple of physics professors to "explain what you'll be seeing from the pitcher's mound this series."

A sample from the pitching primer:

Curveball: This is a fairly complicated pitch to throw because the pitcher must bend and flick his wrist while releasing the ball to create topspin.

Changeup: Often thrown after a fastball to throw off the hitter's timing, the pitcher uses the same arm speed as he does for the fastball, but the baseball leaves the hand at a dramatically lower velocity.

Yeesh. Something tells me that when the Super Bowl comes here in February, the Times won't feel the need to offer a clip-and-save manual explaining blocking, tackling, nickel packages, and third-down efficiency.

The ALCS came here last night, and more than 35,000 fans brought their cowbells and vocal chords to the ballpark. Their mission: tell the world that the pure premium Tropicana Field is no longer a Central Florida territory of Red Sox Nation.

There wasn't much buzz outside the ballpark in the middle of the afternoon. It was hot enough to work up a good Albert Brooks "Broadcast News" flop sweat, but there was little to inspire thoughts of Yawkey Way four hours before game time Parking lots charged $20 for spots amazingly close to the stadium, and scattered signs made it clear that ticket scalping is legal in Central Florida. Bomb-sniffing dogs checked bags of media members entering the park - a practice abandoned at Fenway in recent years.

A few hundred Sox fans gathered by the third base dugout during batting practice, but it was clear this wasn't going to be like so many of those regular-season games when the Sox were made to feel like they were playing at home. No toehold for the Nation. Not this time.

Rays fans promised a lot of noise for this series. And they produced. Indoor arenas are always louder than open-air venues, and The Trop at times approximated the noise level my ears remember when the Twins played in the World Series in the Metrodome in 1987 and 1991.

There was an unmistakable NBA "game presentation" feel to the proceedings. Before the start, young women fired T-shirts into the crowd from the back of a pickup truck that circled the warning track. A pyrotechnics show accompanied the introduction of the Rays' starting lineup.

After the great balls of fire, saxophonist BK Jackson performed the national anthem, then 11 original Rays season ticket-holders came out for the ceremonial first pitches. Hearty souls one and all. Imagine how many losses these folks witnessed through the years. Dick Vitale watched the first pitches from a box seat next to the Sox' dugout. Dickie V will be tonight's ceremonial chucker.

After the Sox went down in the top of the first, an annoying announcer boy commandeered the microphone, shouting instructions to the fans while his image appeared on the videoboard in right field.

Daisuke Matsuzaka managed to suck all the energy out of the joint with his unique ability to pitch interminable innings, without giving up much (he had a no-hitter through six). He loaded the bases on three walks in the first, but got out of the jam when Cliff Floyd grounded to second. Dice-K was Boston's best hope to keep the crowd out of the game. It's simply impossible to sustain any energy when Matsuzaka is throwing a couple of dozen pitches every inning.

The dome made its first impact when Jason Varitek lost a foul pop in the second inning. Varitek stood at home, glancing toward the ceiling, unable to pick up the baseball, which eventually plopped to the floor in front of the backstop. No harm. Jason Bartlett popped to third on the next pitch.

Happily, there were no catwalk moments in the first five innings. Since major league baseball came here in 1998, 96 fair balls have clanged off the four catwalk rings that help support the Teflon-coated fiberglass roof. It happened 11 times this year, including twice when the Red Sox played here in September - home runs by David Ortiz and Jason Bay.

Dan Shaughnessy is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at dshaughnessy@globe.com.