FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Posted by Alphonso at 9:13 AM
I might just go back to the Greyhound counter and buy a one-way ticket to Mexico.
Last night, Michael Pineda had barely placed his ridiculous "iconic" cap on his head and we were six runs down. He just got hammered.
His expression lost all serenity, his eyes glazed and popped, his confidence went in the toilet. I thought for a moment there, that he was going to ask for a bathroom break. Talk about a panic moment.
I thought I was watching an act; a parody of baseball done in a theater in the west village. Death of a Pitcher.
It was better than batting practice for the red sox. It was like dunking your high school physics teacher at a, " hit the bullseye," game at the county fair.
The game was over. As Yogi would say, " It got late early."
Where the hell is Nathan Eovaldi? All of a sudden Luis Severino is our best pitcher?
Jesus, Mary & Michael.
A team to blow the one game wild card play-in spot if I ever saw one.