Sadly, my baseball writing drive has not been very, um, virile lately. I think of something to write about, but never quite get to the climactic posting moment, you know? However, our latest string of suck shocks me out of my torpor.
I hereby demand that we bring this latest bout of inefficacy to an immediate halt, okay? I mean, there is no rational reason that this team should lose 6 out of 8 games. We have not been gutted by injuries. Our roster is not full of glorified AAA guys. Ahem, well we have some ball players that are not glorified AAA guys. You are acutely aware of the grossly underperforming nature of some of our roster. Yes, this is well-travelled territory. I will make another wagon rut in the trail of tears that is Delmon Young’s career. This is an overall number one draft pick. I defy you to find a bigger bust. Slight hyperbole perhaps, but every baseball great from Ty Cobb to Ted Williams has rolled over in his grave 1000 times over this bloke’s underachievements. Dmitri himself probably holds his head in his hands every evening over drinks as a dirge plays hauntingly in the background when he reflects on what might have been with his brother.
Last night. I can hardly put words to my blind rage. The game should never have started, in all seriousness. The rain was AUDIBLE on the broadcast, it was coming down so hard. Noone could function properly, and it’s a blessed miracle tendons weren’t torn all over the diamond. In a show of class and sportsmanship beyond all reason, the Tigers have not protested the game. I’ll speak no more of it, then. Grumble, whine, gnash.
To change the subject, I’ll whine some more about how I am suffering from severe Tiger baseball withdrawals. And due to the inopportune indisposition of a friend, I won’t be at this weekend’s series, either. /Sobs.
To top everything off, so-called Tiger fans have been belly-flopping off the band wagon by the hundreds. It seems every caller in to sports talk radio now believes the Tigers will not make the playoffs. Let us wish a good-riddance to these block-heads and fortify the band-wagon with electric wire to prevent them from attempting to climb back on at a later juncture.
I swear, if tonight’s contest is rained out, and I am forced to watch Olympic water polo instead, things may get rather desperate around here. I’ll put the fireplace implements out of reach as a preemptive measure.
Oh yes, a word about the trade deadline. I know many of us were hoping for another acquisition, due to the afore-mentioned lack of production from certain players. But what could we possibly hope to gain with such players as trade chips? A bag of rosin and some pine tar? I mean, sadly, the value of a Don Kelly or a Brennan Boesch is rather bottom of the pickle barrel right now. Our only real hope is that someone, ANYONE begins to perform at a rate more befitting a major league ball player. /grabs megaphone. I’M TALKING TO YOU, DONNIE, DELMON, BRENNAN, JHONNY, RYNO. HELLO? YOU DON’T VIEW ME AS A VOICE WORTHY OF YOUR ATTENTION? oh. Ok then. See you next year when you’re toiling away in the obscurity of the minor leagues.