This being playoff time, I have gone back and consulted a crucial piece of Indians scripture: the movie "Major League." …

I have already mentioned here that I think the Indians have taken on the form of the 2004 Bosox, and that is proving quite enough to beat Boston's 2007 model. (I should probably say "so far," but I remain serene.)

But it also appears that the Rockies are taking a cue from Cleveland baseball lore, or at least fictional Cleveland baseball lore. And since that story rightfully belongs to the Indians, then any World Series confrontation should go to the original lore-holders.

Now, what on earth am I talking about? Sports fans will note that the Rockies' current narrative arc has them left for dead late in the season, only to launch an incredible winning sequence — now 21 or 22 games, counting playoffs — on their way to the playoffs, the NLCS and now the World Series.

Fans of "Major League," meanwhile, will recall an Indians team that was not only left for dead, it was being shoved six feet under by its evil owner, played with such zest by Margaret Whitton.

Learning of their own's scheme, the splendidly beat up Jake Taylor (Tom Berenger) said, "I guess there's only one thing left to do … win the whole (bleep)ing thing."

There followed the scene in which team manager Lou Brown, played by James Gammon, unveiled a Whitton mannequin from which a piece of covering would be taken each time the Indians won a game in their playoff search.

I would love to say that the "Major League" Indians' goal was a streak just like the Rockies went on. It wasn't. Their goal was 32 wins. (Yes, I have gone back and looked at the DVD of the movie.) But the idea was the same: Our backs are against the wall, we need to win a bunch of games, and we'll do it in defiance of the odds.

There's even the idea that, like the Rockies, the Indians are basically unknown. (Insert your own snarky reference to TV announcers obsessed with the Yankees and Red Sox here.) They even do an American Express commercial starting, "Do you know us? We're a major-league baseball team." Pretty much the same can be said of the Rockies. Still.

So the Rockies stole a Cleveland story. And that's just wrong. And until they have their own myth, whether real life or celluloid, they don't get to win the World Series. At least, not against the Indians.

And they'd better not try any of that calling-a-shot-and-then-bunting stuff.

(If you're looking for a "Dancing With the Stars" recap, it's below this one.)

The gnats at Jacobs Field on Friday had people from NPR to Sporting News Radio looking at it as divine retribution against the Yankees. Which tells you something about the way the Yankees are viewed in most parts of the world.
But hey, one guy's plague is another's opportunity, as I explain after the jump …

This is from a piece I've written to run in the Beacon Journal sometime in the next couple of days:
All right, Indians fans, which plague do we use next?
The biblical descent of flying creatures on Friday certainly made the Yankees cringe. But the Indians are not done, so let's not put away our Old Testaments yet.
There are 10 plagues of Egypt, and Friday's bugs could actually count as three — gnats, flies and locusts. The Yankees certainly made it sound as if they had encountered some triple-threat disaster.
As Ryan Garko said, "The other guys were acting like bullets were flying at them."
Hey, they're from the Bronx. Bullets would be routine.
Of the remaining plagues, one — the death of the first-born — is too harsh no matter how much you love the Indians. But that still leaves six other possibilities.
Water to Blood. Suppose that the ballpark beer suddenly went blood-red. Not exactly appetizing. Take away liquid courage, and the opposing fans will have less reason to cheer — especially in Jacobs Field. Of course, Indians' fans may not imbibe either, but they're hardy stock. They can actually get excited by what's happening on the field.
And, to make it worse, throw in the plague of frogs — with them chanting "Bud"-"Weis"-"Er," just to remind the brew-deprived what they're missing.
Thunder and Hail. This being Northeast Ohio, rotten weather is always a possibility. Those of us still repairing hail damage from summer's storm wouldn't at all mind seeing players from out of town get a pelting. See how much they cry about that.
Darkness. The Yankees were apparently not the only team dealing with some divine intervention during the playoffs. Consider this Associated Press description of the third Rockies-Phillies game: "A cold front hit the stadium just moments before the Rockies took the field, dropping the temperature 15 degrees into the lower 60s, with gusty winds stirring dust and trash around the stadium. The eerie level went up another notch one pitch into the second inning, when the lights went out and cameras started flashing around the stadium."
That was in the Rockies' park. And you know who won that series. So how about some creepy atmosphere in the Jake? Hail optional.
Boils. And you can guess where we'd love to see those appear. No sitting in the dugout, thank you very much.
Diseased Livestock. Now, why does that make me think of Jason Giambi?

That's the end of that piece. But let me also address some of the folks who have called about my Sunday column on TBS and Indians-Yankees. Several readers thought it was a review of coverage, and said I failed to comment enough on the announcers' seeming bias toward the Yankees.

In my piece, I did throw in one Chip Caray line from Friday that was badly pro-Yankee (and wrong), but the piece was not meant to be a review of coverage. Instead, the assignment as given was to explain how a telecast worked — the meetings, the preparation, the hand signals, the adjustments to the unexpected. So that's what I concentrated on.

Still, while the telecasts included some props for the Indians, there were times it skewed Yankee. The third game, which took place after my piece ran, seemed especially pro-pinstripes; my Indians-loving bride was snarling through quite a bit of the early coverage that night. That could be the subject of another piece down the road. It wasn't the aim of the Sunday column.

I was in bed pretty early Sunday night, passing on both the Emmys and — more surprising for me — the later innings of Red Sox/Yankees. Problem with the Emmys is that usually, by the time I've gone over the nominees, I am more than sick enough of the process to shrug off the actual winners. Even a look at the winners' list this morning has the usual mix of righteous choices and head-turners, although I would have been interested in all the censoring of the show. (I can catch up. This is why there are DVRs.) Problem with the Red Sox/Yankees was just that after a weekend that included a Friday performance by Chrissie Hynde, Saturday chores, an attempt at attending a Saturday concert, a Sunday morning drive to Cleveland for an Indians game and a few more obligations, I was just wrung out. Details after the jump …

The longish weekend kicked off Friday night with a reception for VegiTerranean, the new restaurant the Pretenders' Chrissie Hynde is opening here in Akron. Chrissie, as you may know, is one of Akron's own, and has had a sometimes difficult relationship with the community (notably in her bitter ode "My City Was Gone"). But the restaurant has had her reconnecting in a big way, including a weekend of events.

It wasn't entirely necessary for me to be at the reception, since we had two other writers — Lisa Abraham and Malcolm X Abram — covering aspects of it, but there was a spare pass available, and I do write that people-in-the-news column, and I'm a Pretenders fan. I did put in some work time. Picked up three story ideas from talking to people. And when Lisa and Malcolm had to depart before the end of Hynde's performance because of a deadline, I could call in later with some notes about the end of her show. (Closing song: "My City Was Gone.")

As I've said before, this was one of those cool-job moments. We're talking an audience of between 50 and 100 people, Chrissie and guitarist Adam Seymour playing and singing — snippets of local jingles, as well as 11 songs, including some of my favorites ("Talk of the Town," thank you very much. And Chrissie said that title was suggested as a name of the restaurant — before she vetoed it.)

A close look at Chrissie at work, in her stovepipe jeans and Akron T-shirt, and as she mingled a bit with the guests. Brief chats with Dan Mathews from PETA, and with Seymour. (I asked if Chrissie had thrown him any curves during the performance. He said yes. He also said, even after 15 years of playing with her, there are always curves.)

I was puzzled by one thing, and the puzzlement only grew on Saturday night. Why did some people come to this reception and then chatter through much of Chrissie's performance? I have a partial answer, gauged from talking to folks there. A fair number just weren't fans of Chrissie's music. Yes, some were fanatical. But others were there for the event; the music wasn't in their system, whether because of age or taste or another reason. Still, the talking — a semi-constant buzz from the back of the unfinished, ninth-floor area in the Northside Lofts building — seemed more than a little rude. But it was a grand evening nonetheless, a major piece for the memory bank.

Saturday morning was eaten up by home work: The bride and I did some banking business, then were off to a home-supply store for shutters, paint and outdoor lights. We're finally getting repairs to our roof and siding because of hail damage earlier this summer, and we're using that as an opportunity to make some other changes. Lots of discussion, some second-guessing — I am always convinced that any home-improvement choice I make will turn out to be wrong — but the back of the car was well-filled by the time we were done.

Then came outdoor work — me mowing the overgrown lawn, the bride weeding. Then I wrote a brief Sunday HeldenFiles before we got ready to go to the "Chrissie Hynde & Friends" concert at the Akron Civic. I love the hall, which has been beautifully restored. But this was not my kind of show. Well, I should say it isn't my kind of show anymore. In my reckless youth, I hit a few concerts that were more like parties — long lists of acts with audience members drifting in and out, and talk during the less interesting portions of the show. But since I don't go clubhopping, I was curious about the likes of the Diffi Cult (or Diffi-Cult, or Difficult, depending on which reference I checked), Patrick Sweany and Judah E, and aware enough of the Bizarros to be interested in seeing them live.

There were other acts on the bill, of course, including Chrissie Hynde again and closer Jerry Lee Lewis. And rumors about Paul McCartney had been flying for days. But once we got our tickets and found our way to our balcony seats, the four acts I mentioned were all we managed to see. It wasn't just that we were tired. Or that I was nearly decapitated by a woman behind me, as she tried to point out something to her friends. Or that Sweany got the hook from concert host Billy Soule, trying to keep to what looked like a very tight schedule.

It was mostly that that woman demonstrated astonishing breath control by talking nonstop through the four acts I mentioned. She was vaguely aware of what was being said onstage, but was far more interested in what she had to say than in what the musicians had to play. Still, after an hour of her gab, my ears were bleeding.

I considered asking her which acts she planned to shut up for, just so I could be ready, but there was no point. Her companions prattled with her, and I didn't have the stomach for a scene. Besides, there was enough wandering around of other spectators — not to mention lobbies loaded with people — that the consensus was that this was a party, not a concert. And, since I had seen Chrissie Hynde in splendid form the night before, I was only mildly torn by the idea of leaving. Would have loved to see Jerry Lee Lewis, but I reminded myself that his greatest days are long gone. The Macca rumors were strong, but still only rumors. And so the bride and I went off into the night, in search of peace and quiet — and a piece of pie.

And, eventually, Sunday. Indians game. 1 p.m. start. Same time that the Browns were playing the Bengals at home. (Say it with me: 51-45. 51-45.) At about 9 a.m., Channel 3 was showing footage of tailgaters parked and cooking outside the stadium. We were on the road by 10. We beat most of the traffic to our favorite parking, near Tower City, by about 11 a.m. Most of the stores were closed, but the food court was busy with Indians and Browns fans on their way to their respective games. We were at Jacobs Field when the doors opened at 11:30.

One funny thing from standing in line: This was kids' fun day, so there were games and giveaways outside the Jake. One of the giveaways was a Frisbee-like disc. Verboten at Indians games. So people who had gotten the discs moments before had to throw them into trash cans as they entered the ballpark.

Still, the early arrival was actually a pretty good way to get to a game. Though we were hardly alone, the crowd was somewhat thin at that time, making it easy to do an early run to the concessions and to have a relaxed view of preparations, and to see the players as they warmed up. (We've had workday night games where we spent so much time in traffic that we missed the first pitch.) And I like the hanging-out aspect of baseball games.

It is striking, though, how much modern sports have blended themselves with pop culture. The kids' giveaway on Sunday was a SpongeBob bobble-head, and one of the jumbo-screen videos included SpongeBob footage. Another video used "I Don't Dance" from "High School Musical 2," mixing footage from the movie with big-leaguers saying "I Don't Dance." Surely some do!

The game was blah. The Indians did not seem all that interested in beating the lowly Royals. At the end of the seventh inning, the Royals led 4-3. We were worried about the blending of traffic from the Browns game. (Although the Indians did not put up scoring updates for their sporting neighbors, the Browns' astonishing progress was being tracked by folks with radios, portable TV sets and cell phones.) So we departed, and on the way home kept track of the Indians and the Browns on the radio. Got home in time to see the last few dramatic minutes of the Browns on TV.

Then I wrote a Monday column and threw together some dinner. After dinner, the bride and I did our weekly grocery run. (We'd made the list before going to the ball game.) By about 8 p.m., we were back home, with baseball on TV. Until, that is, we wore down. Can't imagine why.

The semi-season finale of "The Sopranos" on Sunday was a frustrating hour. As much as I understood what the show was doing, I wasn't crazy about the way it went about its business.

To be sure, I came to it with an increased longing for satisfaction. I watched it at about 11:30 Sunday night because the bride and I had spent the earlier part of the evening at a Cleveland Indians game. A very bad Indians game. It's a good thing we filled out our All-Star ballots before the game was under way. But I'll come back to that.

Once we got home, I had the DVR playing back "The Sopranos." This was the last new episode for a bit. HBO has shown 13 in this cycle, with eight remaining for telecast in 2007. That in theory creates an extended final season, but Sunday's telecast felt like a season finale. The Soprano clan had gathered the way it tends to for season finales. And most of the big drama had happened in the episodes leading up to this one.

As I said, I know what the show was trying to do. These episodes have come back repeatedly to the issue of whether people can change or not, especially Tony, whose shooting earlier this season should have been a life-changing experience. In some ways, the show has demonstrated, Tony cannot change. He has tried to stop his infidelity, but just can't do it. He is drawn to women for mere lust (as was the case with his brief encounter with a Bing dancer) and for more complicated reasons (most recently embodied by the real-estate agent played by Julianna Margulies). But, in his meeting with a hospitalized Phil, Tony did indicate that he has changed, that he has no stomach for pointless feuds and macho posturing. There was a further indication of it when he took no action against Christopher upon learning that the real-estate agent and Christopher were canoodling; the old Tony considered women his possessions even if he was no longer involved with them, and he was still in pursuit of Julianna.

Change was also a factor in the different view we got of A.J., whose surliness at last diminished when he met a woman who gave him a comfort zone, an older woman who was domestic in a way that he had not seen with his club-hopping contemporaries. To see A.J. bond with her son was to remember that somewhere inside the younger Soprano was a sweet kid who had gotten lost in poses and attitude.

But as much as we saw those characters change, they were counterposed against the ghost of Vito (whose inability to change ended up killing him) and Christopher's dark shadow. As much as any character on "The Sopranos," Christopher has wanted to believe in change — to believe that he can change from a thug into a writer, or a producer, or a decent married man. But as much as he dreams of change, he cannot change his most basic self — an addict.

Not just a drug addict, either. Christopher seems addicted to self-destruction; he knows his drug habit risks his future with Tony, and that taking up with one of Tony's women has, in the past, been as great a risk. At the end of Sunday's episode, it's not clear if Christopher has once again given up his habits. (We know he has gone to an NA meeting, but we don't know if it's a stopgap or a real step back to recovery.) But even if he has done that for the moment, odds are that Christopher will lapse into drugs once again, because that's what he does. And sooner or later, it's going to kill him.

And in between, we have Tony's rival Phil, put in a place where he needs to change, but still full of rage over past grievances. (And I loved the way Little Carmine unknowingly pushed exactly the wrong button with Phil — proving Carmine's inability to change into the wise leader he wishes to be.) Tony has brought him the message of change. Now we'll have to wait to see if Phil learns from it.

So there was a lot of thematic business in the episode. But it didn't play out well dramatically. For most of the hour, we were offered a mood of dread and danger — that Phil's guys were going to take out one of Tony's, that Christopher was going to make a fatal error, that Tony was going to revert, that Phil's illness might pass power into the hands of guys trigger-happy enough to firebomb Tony's home during the holidays. (At least, after all those threats, I wondered if that would be the episode's end.) And then? No power, no force, no shock. Just ideas, and a long wait to see where the story goes.

Unfortunately, I knew where the Indians had gone.C.C. Sabathia gave up two home runs in the first inning, the Angels were leading 7-0 by the end of the third. When we left, midway through the seventh, the score had ballooned to 11-0 and the lackluster Indians gave no hint they would mount a memorable rally. In fact, they let the score go to 14-0 before they scored a couple of meaningless runs, and we were home in time to see the final out on TV.

We still had fun at the ballpark, and the rain that threatened early in the game never became more than a few drops. Good seats. Good junk food. But the Indians disappointed, not so much because they lost, or because the pitching staff was way off, but because some of the players seemed to decide the game was over long before it really was.

When Jhonny Peralta declined to give maximum effort to prevent a base hit, an angry fan a few rows above us yelled, "Omar would have dived for it!" Not only that, Omar probably would have stopped the ball. As I said, we left early. But a lot of fans were gone before we were; it was a work night, after all, and the Indians weren't giving fans anything to chat about happily on the job the next day.

SportsTime Ohio, the new TV overseer of the Cleveland Indians, hoped that the Adelphia/Time Warner merger would happen soon enough that its deal with Time Warner would also apply to the other cable system. But STO said it was talking to Adelphia just in case the merger didn't move quickly enough, and here are the key sections in the announcement of a deal:

SportsTime Ohio and Adelphia of Northern Ohio today announced that the new Indians television network will air on Adelphia beginning Thursday, March 16th with the telecast of the Spring Training Indians vs Minnesota Twins game at 8 p.m. The pre-game show will air at 7:30 pm. …

Adelphia customers will be able to view Cleveland Indians games on the following channels:

Cleveland and suburbs: Channel 17

Ashtabula Area: Channel 30

Lorain Area: Channel 23

Macedonia Area: Channel 97

Port Clinton Area: Channel 17

Adelphia subscribers in Northern Ohio will see five spring training games, 130 in-season games during the 2006 season and other original local programming centering on the interests and passions of Northern Ohio sports fans.

Now these guys need to complete deals with the satellite-dish services…

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