praying Hitler statue.
OK, I understand you're angry. That's good. But I was a catcher in Little League, thank you very much, so I certainly feel a kinship to my brothers who wear The Barred Mask of Yogi. But frankly, who cares what I'm thinking? I sure don't. And here's a workable plan for our dearth of catchers.
Right now, our catching corps consists of Austin Romine, Frank Cervelli and the batch of Molina clones that went haywire, forming Gus. Moreover, there's nobody out there in free agency, and if Cash has to trade for a catcher, well, we might as well kneel down and drop a few coins in the head slot of the praying Hitler. It's, "Good luck, Adolph."
But what if I told you there was a place in the world where catchers fall off the sides of buildings, like genetically enhanced Bobby Valentines! Because there is! The city of Boston - once known for cream pie, baked beans and Matt-and-Ben movies - has become Catchertown, hub to the tools of ignorance. Look up the coast, my friends, and you will experience a revelation of excess catchers akin to Carlton Fisk waking up in a corn field. There are all catchers we need, just waiting to be culled from the magical Beantown roster.
Look, LOOK: Right now, Boston right now has four catchers: Salty, Larnaway (the eternal prospect), David Ross (free agent signee) and - of course - Mike Nappoli (whom they're trying to screw in contract negotiations, before they even sign the guy. Yes, I know, they haven't fully cut the deal, but I gotta believe there'll be some splainin' to do if it falls through.) Somebody's gotta go. All we need to do is sit back, wait for Ben Cherrington to DFA somebody and swoop in. Problem solved.
Not only do we get a catcher, but we get a guy with a bone to pick with Boston. And even if Nappoli is playing 1B, do they keep three catchers on a 25-man roster? They have a catcher named Butler is coming of age for Pawtucket. Do they send Larnaway back? If they do, Larnaway will runaway. Just wait.