The year's most meaningless game, - a fraudulent pageant of nothingness, and a showcase to Greg Bird, Zolio Almonte, Jackson Melian and countless others - happens today in the toxic MAGA swamps of Sarasota.
The spring training opener.
Aaron Judge won't make it. You don't compel a 6'7" giant to ride on a bus for 90 minutes. Same with Giancarlo, Oswaldo, and others. Among the pitchers to go are Elmer Rodriguez and Carlos Lagrange, the Hollywood "It" Girls of camp thus far. Whatever they do will be celebrated or mourned, and none of it will matter a single, solitary whit.
Here's what happened last year. The Yankees beat Tampa, 4-0, with Marcus Stroman getting the "win." (Fun fact: The Markster recorded three other wins in 2025.)
So, why bother? Honestly, I have no choice. It's molecular. Baseball is Pavlov. I am his poodle. We bark and bluster all winter. We condemn Prince Hal. We blast Cashman and his groveling gum-chewer, the Bane of Boone. We vow to quit. There are birds to watch, stamps to collect, TV news shows... Then comes the pop of a mitt, the crack of a bat, the sight of a millionaire pitcher jogging the outfield, and we follow the scent like a glue-sniffing frat hobo.
Tomorrow will bring us a box score.
No redactions.
Here we go.
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3 comments:
ONWARD!
This comment has been redacted by its author.
i certainly hope that JM didn’t choke on one of those pesky comment bones that seem to sometimes get lodged between the swangle and the thoramix.
They can surely mess you up.
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