Opening day in the House that Rudy Built.
One game up in the AL East, with only 156 left.
A staff that has yielded six runs in 54 innings.
A looming cupcake caravan - the Marlins, A's, Rays, Angels and Royals - until Boston on April 22.
Leading MLB in umpire-torturing ABS overturns.
MLB's second highest BA (among qualifiers): Giancarlo, at .500.
The MLB leader in saves: David Bednar (with 3).
"Original" Ben Rice, with an OPS of 1.289.
In first, despite Aaron Judge batting .160.
Trump threatening to bomb Iran into the stone age.
A government that prefers Kid Rock to Bruce.
A country that - oh, hell with this.
Why bother? You get the picture. The Yankees are winning, and nobody wants to hear me whinny about Brian Kashman Patel. We all should just shut up and enjoy April, the month of Yangervis Solartes and tornados, when every team is a contender and - besides, whatever we do this month will be eclipsed by the looming slumps of July and August, when the lineup's advanced age goes from Advantage to Liability.
Why fret over August and September? It feels like they'll never get here. What will happen is what always happens: We will wake up around the July 31 trade deadline, with the Yankees is a few players shy of a wild card slot, so a bunch of prospects will be loaded onto a bus and sent to Pittsburgh or Milwaukee, or wherever the front office believes will be safe from immediate embarrassment.
We will wake up on one of those endless summer days and realize that everything has changed, and the tomato cans of April, the teams that valued youth over creakiness, are ready eat our lunches. As for the world? Here's what the poet, Charles Bukowski, said...
"sometimes, you've got to kill 4 or 5
thousand men before you somehow
get to believe that the sparrow
is immortal, money is piss and
that you have been wasting
your time."
Okay, it's opening day and, frankly, we're doing better than we had a right to expect. June looks a hundred years away. A lotta shit is gonna fly. Better enjoy this while we can. And how 'bout that Giancarlo!
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4 comments:
WE are the April fools - every year now.
Great Bukowski poem, Duque—and so appropriate for Good Friday. Or as Paul Simon would say, "on this strange and mournful day." Unsullied by false hope, we go forward to suck the marrow out of this season, buoyed by our comradeship, inured to the follies of Hal & Pal.
How do I know?
Maybe you're trying to use me
Flying too high can confuse me
Touch me but don't take me down
Re: Stanton. Looking like the switch to Pringles is yielding some good results! (-:
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