Posted on Mon, Oct. 06, 2003

 

Marlins have magic touch in Magic City

Florida 'Merlins' executing a miracle on grass

BY GREG COTE

gcote@herald.com

 

 

Greg Cote

 

 

 

 

Do you believe in magic, fate or karma? How about kismet, luck, destiny, alchemy or serendipity?

 

Do you believe you have discerned, in the clouds, the faint yet unmistakably epiphanic outline of Jack McKeon chomping a cigar?

 

Do you believe a 20-year-old rookie with four hits including the game-winner?

 

Do you believe a pitching staff so deep that Dontrelle (D-Train) Willis is only your fourth starter?

 

Do you believe Ivan Rodriguez would hold onto a baseball even if run into by a full-bore Amtrak train?

 

Do you believe in The Little Team That Could . . .

 

that could be fashioning itself a baseball miracle?

 

This is the way it works in sports, ever so rarely.

 

You win believers by defying belief.

 

You turn make-believe into real.

 

''The pressure was getting into this thing,'' McKeon, smoldering stogie in hand, said in the Marlins' riotous, winning clubhouse Saturday, meaning the postseason. ``There's no pressure on us now. None. Because nobody expected us to be here.''

 

Everything about Florida's 11th major-league season has been as surreal as real.

 

A disregarded team -- nobody's contender in March -- marching through a thicket of wild-card rivals, then marching through Barry Bonds and the defending National League champion Giants, marching to one giant step of the World Series.

 

A forlorn franchise -- once on the scrap heap of contraction talk -- inspiring passion, finding its future, drawing 126,952 fans . . . in two games! How to explain this without sounding insane? Here is a stadium the club can't wait to swap for a better one, a stadium too new to have any charm of history, too old to be called state-of-the-art, too empty for too long -- but suddenly the fiercest home-field advantage in baseball.

 

It could all end this week, sure, but, for now, these aren't the Marlins.

 

Too much enchantment in the air.

 

These are the Florida Merlins.

 

Ascribing ethereal qualities or the hint of fatefulness to any team always sounds like quackery, of course, or a script requiring background violins.

 

But so many improbabilities have intertwined this season, it's enough to make you wonder. So many negatives have turned to sweetness and light.

 

Remember the preseason trade with Colorado that seemed to backfire big when pitcher Mike Hampton refused to come here and Florida somehow ended up essentially paying him $9 million to pitch for the Atlanta Braves?

 

Well, the Marlins got a guy in that trade named Juan Pierre, who won the team's MVP award, whose defense and speed personified this team. (Oh, and the Marlins faced Hampton four times this season . . . and were 4-0.)

 

Remember the reaction when the team spent $10 million to sign Rodriguez for one year? Experts laughed. Critics criticized.

 

We know where Rodriguez is today. Not so sure about the critics. The past couple of games alone, he has seemed like a bargain. Like Puerto Rico's best export since rum.

 

Remember when opening-day starter A.J. Burnett was lost for the season and other pitcher injuries followed?

 

Dontrelle Willis happened.

 

Remember when Todd Hollandsworth slumped, then Mike Lowell got hurt?

 

Miguel Cabrera happened.

 

Remember when the team fired its manager and stunned the sport by hauling out of deep retirement a 72-year guy who had never in his long career been to the postseason? McKeon arrived all but carrying a neon sign that flashed, INTERIM! But who knew those small wood boxes he brought with him were full of victory cigars?

 

The low point of the season surely came just after McKeon did, with Florida at 19-29 and carrying a six-game losing streak to Cincinnati, and with scheduled starting pitcher Brad Penny vomiting in the clubhouse before the game.

 

Penny couldn't go, so career minor-leaguer Tommy Phelps became the emergency starter. And won. And the Marlins swept the series.

 

And never looked back.

 

Everything has seemed to work, including the trades for Ugueth Urbina and the reacquisition of Jeff Conine.

 

Despite the latter's return, though, comparisons to the Marlins' 1997 championship team could not be more wrong.

 

That both teams made the playoffs is the only commonality.

 

The '97 team was a bought squad of mostly proven stars. The clubhouse was not a love-in. There were some sour personalities in there, like Devon White and Kevin Brown and Gary Sheffield. ''Won'' and ''fun'' did not always dance hand-in-hand. The prima dona quotient was high.

 

This team?

 

This is a largely young, farm-grown team that has grown together. The camaraderie you see in those postgame celebrations is born of a tight-knit team, of players who genuinely like each other. There is a joy, a selflessness at play.

 

''We play like we have nothing to lose,'' said Lowell, a cancer survivor, another wave of magic.

 

Fresh back from his injury but still rusty, Lowell sat the bench in Saturday's game and watched his replacement, Kid Cabrera, bang four hits.

 

Bitter? Not this man. Not this season.

 

''He's such a good kid, how can you not root for him?'' Lowell said, smiling. ``Jack's making all the right moves right now.''

 

On the other side of the jubilant, winning clubhouse, McKeon stood in a cloud of cigar smoke and champagne spray, taking in all the noise. Incongruously, rap profanities by Snoop Dogg boomed from speakers.

 

Old Jack didn't seem to hear, or care.

 

''Give us an opening,'' he roared to anyone listening, ``and we're coming through!''

:notworthy That was awesome!!

 

 

 

Shows you how much this team has been through this season alone and to be where they are now is......incredible!!