Best of 2007: Triumph of the Little Guy

Sure, every season has its little guy. I'll never forget little Don Beebe vs. Leon Lett. Or the 2004 Red Sox stunning the smug and detrimentally complacent Yankees. Unfortunately, Boston's credibility in the Little Guy department has been severely damaged by the fact that whatever they were the day they beat the Yankees in 2004, they no longer are. Now they ARE the Yankees. Evil Empire, meet your clone. Go easy on it, New York. It spent so many years blaming you for its troubles that it isn't ready to admit that it has usurped your title as the Monster. Never thought I'd say this, but in the next go round I may root for the Yankees, as they may now be the lesser of two evils. But in 2007, at least for this Clevelander, backstage behind the curtain while the Yankees and the Red Sox took center stage and put on their usual game show spectacle of Who can spend more money?,  the little stray dog in Cleveland was having his day over and over again. 

My team, as the ignorant AL East fan will tell you, has no stars. Perhaps if we define stars as media darlings and nationwide fan favorites, this is true. But our little band of unknowns, groomed by our farm system rather than bought for a king's ransom after they were already proven playmakers, came together to form a team that wasn't propelled to the playoffs by one guy, or by a fat wallet, or by the allure of past success. No one stood out because no one wanted to. And the little guys who formed the little team, captured the division title no one outside Cleveland even remotely considered they might win. I'm pretty sure Detroit was the only place where they even entertained the possibility, and that's only because they had to consider how scared they should be of every team in their division (well, except Kansas City. Duh.).

Detroit's assessment clearly failed them because they weren't scared enough. Or maybe they were terrified and we were just better. But my money is on door number one. No one is scared of The Little Guy. So our secret weapon of being ourselves let us take the central playing their little game, in front of their little loyal crowd of fans. The Little Guy played by his own rules. The Little Guy was calling the shots. No one heard him because no one bothered to listen. 

The little Tribe did it with diving catches in the outfield and heroic snares of infield grounders, fittingly dubbed more "democratic" than strike outs by the fictional god of Little Guys, Crash Davis. The Tribe did it with headfirst dives into second and working the count, rather than giant home runs clubbed by a giant multi-million dollar power hitter knocking in other big money hulks waiting on the bases after receiving their fear-motivated intentional walks. They did it with a bullpen that held tight leads for 4+ innings 162 times, each guy doing his little part, rather than relying on big ticket fireballers ringing up complete games. Or their steroids ringing up complete games. Still a little fuzzy on how the credit is divided up. 

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