Quiet red machine is a silencer

This is why you go to the ballgame.

This is why you get out of the lawn chair in the backyard, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, pack the kids in the car, stop at the ATM, drive the freeway and pause on the way to your seats for hot dogs.

It is the eighth inning at Angel Stadium, a strange 3 p.m. game time dictated by television, which now teams with the Internet to dictate just about everything in our lives.

Lots is going on. Much is at stake.

The Angels have the best record in baseball. They are quietly special this season. No huge winning streaks to get everybody's attention. No players having career seasons, except for a relief pitcher named Francisco Rodriguez. None of their players being seen with Madonna.

Just a lot of two-out-of-three series, quietly building to a 60-38 record.

They had beaten the 2007 World Series champion Red Sox on Friday and Saturday. A Sunday victory would, to some, be a sure indicator of postseason success.

The Angels don't bite. They are poster boys for even keel, led by their Captain Focus, Manager Mike Scioscia.

"This was no statement series," Scioscia says. "I don't see any carryover here. We've got lots of challenges ahead."

The eighth inning begins more than two hours into the game. The Angels, outside of two mighty consecutive swings for home runs by Vlad Guerrero and Torii Hunter, appear to be either befuddled or lulled into a coma by Boston's Tim Wakefield.

Wakefield is a knuckleball pitcher whose speeds vary from really slow to molasses. His pitches dart and dip, and hitting them is like trying to swat flies with a toothbrush. Catcher/broadcaster/comedian Bob Uecker once said it was easy to catch a knuckleball.

"You just wait until it stops rolling and then go pick it up," Uecker said.

Going into the eighth, the Red Sox lead, 3-2, and Angels hitters look befuddled. Wakefield's little offerings are floating like butterflies and couldn't sting a bee. The crowd is quiet, maybe also befuddled by what Wakefield was doing to their Angels.

Then Juan Rivera leads off and slaps a butterfly just inside the bag at third base for a double. Reggie Willits, dressed for speed with red knee socks high, runs for him. Quickly, Howie Kendrick ties it up. He waits and waits and waits for a moth to fly into the strike zone and then lines it to left field for a double. It takes Willits less time to get home than it did Wakefield's pitch to get to the plate.