At Heaven’s Gate

The Angels have wandered through the desert for more than four decades, sometimes aimlessly and always fruitlessly, in search of the promised land that is the World Series. Today, they stand before the door to the promised land, armed with big red Thunder Sticks, ready to pound that door down.

Yes, they can: The Angels are one victory away from their first trip to the World Series. These Angels are oblivious to the history that says they can’t and quietly aware of the magic that says they can.

In 1982, and again in 1986, the Angels had three chances to win one game and advance to the World Series. They blew all three games in ‘82, and again in ’86.

New team, new millennium. In a 7-1 victory over the Minnesota Twins on Saturday, unlikely heroes sprouted all over the place. Rookie John Lackey, who spent most of his youth as a first baseman, pitched the game of his life, throwing seven shutout innings to conquer Angel nemesis Brad Radke. Rookie Francisco Rodriguez, the kid with lightning in his right arm, got his daily ration of two strikeouts per inning.

And the defining image of the series might be this: The Angels scored their final two runs in the eighth inning, on a fly ball that sent Gold Glove center fielder Torii Hunter into the fence and left him rolling on the ground. All the while, Angel catcher Bengie Molina, perhaps the slowest runner in the major leagues, huffed and puffed his way to a triple.

“You can’t help but think everything is lining up,” outfielder Tim Salmon said.

For six innings, the teams matched zeroes. Troy Glaus singled home a run in the seventh inning, Scott Spiezio doubled home another, and the Angels poured across five runs in the eighth. Suddenly, almost too fast to believe, the Angels led the best-of-seven series, three games to one.

After 41 years of watching the World Series on television, and after finishing 41 games out of first place last season, the Angels are one victory from their third champagne bath in three weeks, one victory away from the Fall Classic.

“It doesn’t really register,” Salmon said. “It’s not something that seems real. The last 10 days to two weeks have been kind of dream-like. You see so much emotion. You almost need an off-season to make sense of it.”

If the Angels win today, the Twins’ offseason starts tonight. If not, the series returns to the Metrodome.

“We don’t want to go back to Minnesota,” second baseman Adam Kennedy said. “They want to get us on their turf. Their crowd wants to get after us. We want to put a stop to it here.”

Said Hunter: “We’ve got to hope we have three games left. We have to come out fighting.”

But the Twins played their ace -- Radke -- on Saturday, and they lost. Lackey pitched seven innings and gave up three hits--all singles--and no walks. He struck out seven, and the Twins never got a runner past first base against him.

Had he ever pitched a better game?

“Not in the big leagues,” he said.

The tension mounted with each inning, with each zero posted by Lackey and Radke. One big hit -- or one bad pitch -- could decide the game.

“I’m surprised I have nails left,” Angel pitcher Jarrod Washburn said. “My hands were sweating like crazy in the dugout.”

In describing the feeling that the game could turn on the next pitch, every pitch, Glaus coined a new word.

“That’s fun,” he said, “when every at-bat, every play, every possible thing that could happen could be monstra-mental in the outcome of the game.”

The Angels finally nicked Radke in the seventh, when Glaus singled home Darin Erstad. They nicked him for another run in the seventh and beat up the Minnesota bullpen in the eighth, and the edge-of-seat tension that had filled Edison Field was rapidly replaced by an eruption of joy and relentless noise.

“This is awesome. The atmosphere is unbelievable,” Angel reliever Ben Weber said.

“The atmosphere is better than Yankee Stadium, better than the Metrodome. Our fans are louder. They’re into it more.”

The final inning was nothing so much as a group therapy session for the sellout crowd of 44,830. Everyone wore red, and banged sticks that made loud noises, and hollered themselves hoarse, everyone trying to exorcise four decades of frustration all at once.

The fans remember 1986, and 1982, even if the players would rather not be constantly reminded of their predecessors’ failings.

“It’s a different group of guys,” Kennedy said. “We’re trying to make a little history of our own--in a positive way.”

The Angels are one victory away from the World Series. The pounding from those big red thunder sticks sounds awfully loud right about now.