Tuesday, May 17, 2005


Inexplicable Sufferings

On my last night in NH, I watched NESN on a 53" projected screen. I hate that streaming video feed I get in CT, as I can never see the pitch clearly - or anything else for that matter. Oh, last night I had a good view, as Captain surely was thinking, "I didn't mean that far inside."

It troubles me that the location-bug has found Bronson. It seems to have permeated the entire staff. Even Mike Myers couldn't get his job done last night. I'm sure it's a fluke. Still, innings like the 5th last night have become all too common in these parts lately, coinciding in Red Sox Nation with much wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth. We have good pitching. Our pitchers are blessed with a good game plan (master-of-charts Captain.) Our suffering is inexplicable.

Our hitting seems similarly afflicted. Yabu seems like a name for some fraggle-looking criminal in Star Wars, using the dark power of The Force to smite our batters with his trickery. With the bases loaded in the 7th, I could see just how much 'Tek wanted that grand slam... He could taste it - we all could - and yet Yabu's eyes held that ball, sneakily dodging it around the powerful bat of our dear Captain, sending him back to the dugout as we slumped back into our seats at home.

The man does not have a MLB grand slam. Sometimes a zero can give me a lot of hope. Like when a good hitter (not in a slump) steps up to the plate, and you see on the screen he is 0/3 on the day. He is bound to get a hit. It does not always work this way, but it sure helps me keep the glass half-full. And so I tell you: Jason Varitek will hit a grand slam this season. Every time you see him a the plate with the bases loaded, you had better be watching; the man is due.

There weren't too many bright spots in my late night of viewing, but at least we can cheer Mark Bellhorn. Every time he didn't strike out, he got a hit. The swings he misses would be a lot easier to stomach if he could just keep up that 50/50 ratio. There's something about the kid that I like, even though he calls for way too many outfield pop-ups that trot could get to much more easily. He's got that early 90's grunge look that reminds me of high school boys competing for how many consecutive days/months/years they can wear their baseball caps without washing them. He strikes me as earnest. This trait always gets me, and it breaks my heart to see him walk away from the plate so often with an empty swing. So keep hitting the ball, Bellhorn; I love to cheer for you.

One person's look is another one's lifestyle.

Viva la cappe filthe!

(That's not a real language.)
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?