….begin to smell after six games. The depleted Rainbow Warriors collapsed like the Grand Banks cod population, winding up a homestand 2-4, sinking to 67-63 (and you know what that means – see below) by losing 3-1 to the woeful Padres. Thus they remain bobbing at an infuriating 1.5 games out of the wildcard race where they seem to have been stuck since the late Pleistocene as the Cardinals continue to play the genuine game awfully as well. On Friday the Friars showed the Feesh what a classic implosion looked like, and Jar Jar Baseball’s eager ephebes demonstrated their inaptitude (aptitude + ineptitude) for learning by scoring exactly one run over the next eighteen innings.
In the process, they wasted yet another good start – this time by Justin Nicolino – and hit into a team record six double plays. Six was a sacred number to the Babylonians, but not to the fans, who walked out en masse by the seventh inning because they could sniff how little was coming. Of course, the bright side of the team’s exercises in futility was that they didn’t leave many on base – they got six hits and a couple of walks. One guy scored. And, to paraphrase Captain Quint’s summary of the Indianapolis sinking, double plays took the rest.
No good words on any of the wounded Warrior batsmen, either. The Iron Giant is looking less and less like he’ll be back until February (you can tell because he’s trying to make optimistic noises), Pazuzu is still running up and down and around Justin Bour’s lower left leg disguised as a cross between an ankle sprain and a Cuban rafter, and Derek Dietrich is just beginning rehab. This all reminds me of the scene in Reds where John Reed’s train rumbles through a Russian army field hospital full of groaning amputees. They sound like they’ve been reading the scores too.
Now the Feesh migrate to Nyorc where they send forth El Keed to do battle with the equally bruised and battered Mutts. Regardless, he can’t win without a couple of runs either. I don’t expect much from either team until Thursday when the ever entertaining Bartolo Colon lumbers to the mound.
And at four beyond the strange attractor, can ye feel those gossamer reality waves, laddies?