Baseball is a game of numbers.
But the number that struck me about last night's - actually this morning's! - Phillies game did not have anything to do with what happened on the field.
It wasn't the sparkling 8 innings tossed by Phils' starter Jake Arrieta, giving up just 3 hits and exiting with a 2-0 lead.
It was not seeing skipper Gabe Kapler stick with the analytics and pull Arrieta for a pinch-hitter in the 9th, with Andrew Knapp promptly hitting into a double-play.
It was not the solo homer surrendered by reliever Seranthony Dominguez, who promptly coughed up the lead.
It was not the fact that the game stretched to 14 innings beforer a walkoff homer by David Peralta ended it.
The game lasted 4 and a half hours, ending sometime around 1:30 a.m.
None of that was what grabbed my attention.
My focus was on the number going on outside the stadium.
114.
Yes, it was 114 degrees in Phoenix yesterday. That ties a record set in 1995. How hot is it in Phoenix? The low yesterday was 91, at 3:30 a.m.
Yeah, I know, 'but it's a dry heat.'
Have you ever been in Phoenix in August? I have. It's like living in a microwave.
No one goes outside after 10 a.m. People scurry from their air-conditioned homes to their air-conditioned cars to their air-conditioned offices.
Hold on a minute, you might ask. Aren't you the guy who is always raving about hot weather? It's true. That is me. But I like it hot AND humid. The thicker the better.
That's not what you get in Phoenix.
Of course, when our kids were small, we did all our traveling in the summer. So naturally we were in Phoenix, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas and Palm Springs in the dead of summer.
I have a picture somewhere of me standing in front of one of those numeric signs outside a bank in Palm Springs reading 118 degrees.
And the hottest I have ever been in my life was actually standing under a mister at Hoover Dam outside Las Vegas.
Dry heat?
Yeah, right. They don't call it Death Valley for nothing.
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