So, to commemorate the approach to Memorial Day, I was going to list everything we lost today in an FDR-like litany from—yes—the very last time an American president asked the Congress for a declaration of war as mandated by the Constitution. (Thank goodness we haven't had any wars since!):
Tonight, we lost a game to the miserable Texas Rangers, a team so low they are starting a man named Rouged-knees Odiferous.
Tonight, we lost first place, as the Red Sox defeated Tampa Bay for the 66th time this season.
Tonight, we saw our promising young pitcher pummeled into looking like trade or Scranton bait.
Tonight, we saw their decrepit, mediocre old pitcher puffed up into looking like one more inappropriate object of Brian Cashman's desire.
Tonight...we almost lost Gary Sanchez.
The official report is leg cramps, to which we can only say, "Hydrate, Gary, HYDRATE! It's Texas, for cryin' out loud! The state flower is dust!"
Of course, had Mr. Cashman alertly jumped to and taken up my audacious proposal to trade Sancho and the still spiraling Didi for deGrom and Syndergaard—or "legroom and Cinderella" as my spellcheck would have it—well, we wouldn't have to be worrying about Mr. Sanchez's hydrogenic habits.
Since, however, Coops is inexplicably ignoring my every suggestion for the 21st season in a row and Sancho is still with us, we must all breathe a great sigh of relief.
December 7th still holds the title.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
"May 22nd, 2018, a date which will (almost) live in infamy..."
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11 comments:
The small-sample panic society strikes again. It would be interesting to compile the copious comments calling for the jettisoning of Severino when he as struggling a couple of seasons ago. So many on this blog plead for Cashman to give young talent a chance but then seldom heed their own advice in their blog rants.
Yes, but so many people are just here to rant and have fun and complain to no avail about everything, as most New Yorkers do. Luckily, most people here are not bile-driven, humorless, stat-head drones who take everything seriously due to their mental illness and who are identifiable via their anger, even when hiding behind a cloak of anonymity.
~ Senor Eatshitanddie
All darkens, a strangling gloom settles, all is lost ...
where are my damn single edged razor blades?
German has revealed himself to be a young pitcher who can lack control. Gasp.
I was once calling for Severino's head after watching him flame out and implode, I admit it. And I was wrong. Hopefully, German will follow the same trajectory and overcome whatever he goes through this season to become a solid or better member of the rotation. He's not supposed to be doing what he's trying to do, after all. He's a stopgap forced into place by injury and the at least current failure of other youngsters.
So this time, I won't lose my patience. His temporary stint may be coming to a close, anyway, and he can go back to developing at a normal pace.
Well said, Señor, well said.
That's the great thing about baseball. As I think Woody Allen described it, "It doesn't have to mean anything, it's just beautiful."
We go crazy, we rant and rave, we go up and down—especially me—and at the end, the ballgame is over, and we settle down and watch "The Americans" or some such.
It's mostly a virtual reality. It's sad when players are hurt or don't realize their potential, but as many have pointed out about Hughes, they are now compensated for whatever comes by vast amounts of money.
As long as you're not one of the fans physically acting out—throwing stuff on the field, getting into fights in the stands, or attacking Yankees players like fans of a certain team we shall not name here—it's no big deal.
Baseball's not a metaphor for life. It's an idealized version of life.
Señor Comer mierda y morir,
Esa fue una de las reflexiones más perspicaces aquí en mucho tiempo.
¡Muchas gracias!
STRANGLING GLOOM AND DSRKDARK!!!
DARKNESS AND STRANGLING GLOOM !!!
Hey other anon--you're just jealous that I can compose more than three sentences of coherent baseball analysis, and all you can do is vomit up rivers of diseased bile aimed at strangers on the Internet--the pastime of someone fit for institutional confinement. As for that cloak of anonymity that you repeatedly deplore: you're awfully brave spewing deranged invective behind your OWN cloak, aren't you, tough guy? So lead the way: publish your address and phone number, tough guy, and I'll be right over to shove your teeth down your throat. Deal? I've made the same offer several times before--but you're too much of a tormented little worm to accept. Poor other anon--small penis, shriveled balls, beaten by his Mommy--now hurls nasty words when he knows no one can hurt him. Keep it up, tough guy--I'll find out who you are, and you'll regret the day you were born.
Now--as for the repeated plaints that this blog is really just all about fans being fans, antic catharsis, jape after jape, blah, blah, blah. That is simply horseshit. To his credit, el duque composes thoughtful, serious essays of baseball analysis almost daily--most of which hit the mark, and some of which do not because of his resistance to advancing beyond the dark age of traditional, flawed baseball stats. But he at least makes the effort--and mostly it's a sterling effort. Pun intended.
The psychopaths who hurl bric-bats at anyone who ventures even a sentence of serious reflection--anyone besides duque, that is--are therefore guilty of a monstrous double standard. Their target is not serious baseball analysis because it is somehow at odds with the spirit of this blog--because duque's serious essays, the very lifeblood of this blog, make it clear that such puling is just so much horseshit. The real target of these psychopaths--and there are only about four of them (LBJ, Lonely-Please-Notice-Me-Killer-Doc-Warblist (has he re-posted his comment that catchers are supposed to catch the ball for the eightieth time yet today?), the other anon (who deplores anonymity only to post deranged invective . . . under the cowardly veil of anonymity), Rufus T. Shitfly (my nominee for the title Blog Caliban), and so on--is something else entirely. It's sabremetrics.
So let's cut the crap--half of the featured posts and comments on this blog are serious, thoughtful comments on the game and its players. by duque and others. The four or so prowling psychopaths start foaming at the mouth ONLY at the mention of advanced statistical analysis. That's their target, not serious comments in general.
Since they're too stupid to imagine that anyone sees through their hypocrisy and their emotionally warped sputtering, they keep repeating the same Big Lie.
To quote Philip Roth--they are, collectively a human stain. A stain on an otherwise terrific blog.
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