Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Yankeetorial: We can put a golf cart on Mars and find the Higgs Boson, but we can't decipher the mysteries of Brett Gardner and Eduardo Nunez?
Posted by el duque at 7:53 AM
Good grief, what are they using to analyze it, a divining rod? Who's running the show, the team midwife? Gardner's been crocheting in front of the daytime boob tube since Tax Day, his arm wrapped in tin foil, but when he visits Marcus Welby for a monthly checkup, the veterinarian looks in his mouth and says, "Take two aspirin and come back in September." What color beads are we shaking over this guy?
Yesterday, word circulated that Gardy's elbow not only still hurts, but it picks up an AM radio station from Fort Wayne. That means 2012 looks like a wipe-out, and even though we're nine up - (As a rule, I never relax until we're 20 ahead) - everybody can imagine the September outfield pileup when Raul Ibanez - age 40 - and Andruw Jones - 240 (pounds that is) - run out of diesel. Suddenly, Cashman is back to sniffing for trades, which means overpaying for some warm body who is barely a blogger widget better than Chris Dickerson.
Personally, I blame our chronic inability to develop position players in the minors, which is epic when you consider all the Jed Lowries and Will Middlebrooks who vault from the Redsock primordial loins. (Not to mention the Rays full tap spiggot.) Our Scranton OF - now with Fukodome!- is roughtly the same age as most outfields in the Central divisions.
But one last mystery haunts me: Where TF is Eduardo Nunez? What happened to him? He's like Trini Lopez in "The Dirty Dozen." One minute, he's singing a song; next, he's gone from the movie. Last I heard, they sent Nunez to the Traveling Wilkes Barres to play SS every day. Then... poof, his parachute doesn't open, and he's vanished.
I think he's stuck in one of those Thruway rest stop toilet booths, where the latches get jammed. He could anywhere between Batavia and the Montezuma Swamp. I hate to even think of it: The guy is smelling that delicious Sbarro lasagna and those Roy Rogers Triggerburgers, but the automatic flusher keeps gurgling, obscuring his tortured cries for help. This is like that 2003 movie "Open Water," where a cute yuppie couple is left behind in the ocean to do a "My Dinner with Andre" conversation while playing shark soccer. It takes 90 minutes in the movie for the boat captain to realize that Ken and Barbie are missing. Do the Yankees even know Nunez is gone?
HEY, YOO-HOO, EVERYBODY: NUNEZ IS NOT ON THE BUS! DO YOU REALIZE WE LEFT HIM SOMEWHERE BACK THERE AROUND WEEDSPORT? HE COULD BE IN SOME TREADWAY RIGHT NOW, STILL WAITING FOR THE CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST. WE GOTTA GO BACK AND GET HIM!
Yeesh. We'll find life on Mars before we find a leftielder. Quack.