The empty seats and subdued mood at Coors Field fade into the background for a moment, and Gregory Rodriguez is suddenly drifting back to fall 2007, when Denver was drugged by pennant fever.

Opening his camera phone, he pulls up photos from the playoffs, marveling at memories that still seem out of character for the Rockies, who unexpectedly became baseball's newest fairy tale.

Twenty-one wins in 22 games.

The first World Series game in Colorado.

Grown men running around in the stands like kids.

Fans spilling off the sidewalks into LoDo streets.

Rally caps, white towels, brooms, a circus of purple and black.

"There was so much energy," said

Rodriguez, of Denver.

But the buzz fizzled months ago, even before the National League pennant affixed above Coors Field became a taunting sign of what might have been.

Although a crowd of 25,296 showed up for the game against the San Diego Padres on Monday, there was a palpable lack of atmosphere and noise.

Ushers stood with not much to do. Fans drifted to and from concession stands, pining for excitement. A man on the center-field concourse started a conversation with a catcher in the Padres bullpen before the opening pitch, their words rising above background noise. A saleswoman in a deserted souvenir shop stifled a yawn.

Outside the park, a man couldn't give away a surplus ticket. A sign outside a sports bar beckoned fans to watch Monday Night Football. A memorabilia shop advertised slashed prices for Rockies merchandise. Scalpers scrambled on Blake Street, unable to peddle prime seats for $5.

"It's rough out here," one said.

No need to remind the Rockies. When the Padres jumped to a six-run lead, a fan yelled, "Put in Eddie Royal to pitch!" - a salute to the newest Broncos star and a sure sign that order has been restored in Denver sports.

"Last year, it was baseball, baseball, baseball," Rockies right-hander Jason Hirsh said. "Now, the Broncos are 2-0, and it's football, football, football. It's just the nature of the city. When I walked into the stadium today, I saw a guy who works here wearing Broncos gear.

"In a lot of places, not just Denver, there are a lot of fair-weather fans. We started winning and, all of a sudden, Rockie fever caught on. This year, we didn't start off winning, and Rockie fever kind of stayed in the closet."

Tough act to follow

After the Rockies' inaugural World Series, season-ticket sales increased more than 25 percent, with a renewal rate of 99 percent. Tickets for the season-opening game against Arizona sold out in February, 30 minutes after they went on sale.

During pregame festivities on Opening Day, the Rockies celebrated their NL championship with a festival of fireworks, flybys and tributes to a run that included a one-game tiebreaker win against San Diego for the wild card and playoff sweeps of Philadelphia and Arizona.

Then Colorado went out and lost to the Diamondbacks 8-1, managing only two hits, a preview of many listless days to come.

Stuff happens. Things change. That's baseball.

Choose your cliche, but even empty seats seemed to yawn this week, as the Rockies lost for the eighth time in nine games, dropping 15 games below .500.

Though attendance is up overall from 2007 and a big crowd showed up Friday for fan-appreciation night and fireworks, nothing can compare with the giddy journey of a year ago, when the Rockies and their fans painted the town purple.

"It was electric down here last year. Just crazy," said Leonard Garamella, of Denver, a fan who attended the game Monday. "Everyone was psyched, everyone was beeping their horns. I hadn't ever really experienced anything like it.

"It's a little more subdued now. But we'll make it through this. The guys are playing hard. Besides, it's baseball, there are highs and lows. Look at the Cubs - they're on what, a 100-year drought?"

Magic is missing

For a moment Monday, it seemed like old times for Troy Tulowitzki.

With one bold swing, the 23-year-old shortstop temporarily escaped the wreckage of a lost summer, belting the second grand slam of his career.

The first came during the final days of the Rockies' pennant run, one of the high points of a rookie year in which Tulowitzki emerged as one of baseball's rising stars.

This time, there weren't chants of "Tu-lo, Tu-lo" rolling across the grandstands and into the box seats, as there were a year ago when he hit .291 with 24 home runs, a record for an NL rookie shortstop, 99 RBI and 104 runs.

"It didn't bring back any memories," Tulowitzki said. "It's a completely different atmosphere out there. Everybody can see it. It's weird. Last year at this time, you didn't hear the ball off the bat. You were just kind of reacting. Now you hear it."

Tulowitzki missed 46 games this season because of a torn thigh tendon, then returned to the disabled list after he pounded his bat in frustration, slicing his right palm.

He's back now, playing out the season, but the magic is missing.

"You can almost hear the guys touching the bag when they're running down to first base," he said. "It's sad, tough to take."

After the Rockies swept the Diamondbacks to win the NL pennant, Tulowitzki led children of older players in a snake dance through the clubhouse, a display of spontaneous exhilaration that Jeff Francis understood as well as anyone.

The left-handed pitcher, a Sports Illustrated cover boy with a franchise- high 17 wins, reveled in Rockies fever, which left all its victims colored purple.

"It's something all of us will never forget. I'm sure it goes through our heads all the time, whenever we're out there," said Francis, who has a 4-10 record this season. "I'm sure we're thinking about it a lot. When you're sitting in here, you're always thinking about it, because it's a pretty special time."

Expectations unfulfilled

At 19th and Blake streets in the shadows of Coors Field, it's eerily quiet, which is why Craig Hamilton, owner of Break Time Management Inc., a vending service, is packing up his truck and heading for home.

"I think their support is dwindling," he said. "If they don't bolster the team and do something good, they're probably in trouble with their following. Fans had expectations this year. They're disappointed."

On the same corner, Chris Breznay struggled to get rid of an extra ticket - at no cost.

"A year ago, you couldn't get a ticket," he said. "But wait till next year."

Unwilling to wait for the final out in the Rockies' 11-5 loss Monday, thousands of fans drifted toward the exits early, a mass movement that didn't include Troy Hergenreter, of Greeley, who became hooked on Coors' ambience a year ago.

"It was one of those deals where we ended up coming down for the World Series not even having tickets," he said. "It was amazing."

As Rodriguez looked over his playoff photos, he seemed less interested in the Rockies' future than in their exhilarating transformation a year ago.

In the heat of an NL playoff game, he phoned a friend, Cathy Lee Crandall, and, as it turned out, it was a waste of Verizon minutes.

"He could barely hear me," Crandall said. "The crowd was just roaring. It was so loud.

"Tonight, it's a little quieter."

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