Like many of your favorite posts of mine, this one is coming to you live from the Admiral’s Club, in this particular case the one opposite Gate 30 at Macondo International Airport, en route to Albuquerque for a few days to frolic at the Southwest Popular and American Culture Association Conference. It’s the most fun a semi-retired academic can have with his Depends on. Across the lobby from where I sit preparing to extol the annual ritual of pitchers and catchers, there is a “Complimentary Device Charging Stand” with a photo of the tail end of a 737-800 showing orf its auxiliary generator exhaust port. Although this isn’t nearly as intriguing as the anatomically detailed cloacal bursa at the base of the tail of the life-size fiberglass Tyrannosaurus in front of the Frankfurt natural history museum, it is, nevertheless, sufficiently suggestive of an asshole to display to a room full of rich people.
Speaking of which, the initial flush of ecstasy that greeted the news Scrooge McLoria had a “handshake deal” to sell the Feesh to one of Hair Hitler’s in-laws has subsided when news of the situation clarified and it became apparent the potential “buyer” was illiquid. Better the evil you know than the one you don’t? Macondo returns to its ignore-and-wait basis.
Meanwhile, in an annual ritual doubtless being repeated in pagan communities well beyond Roger Dean Stadium in Jupiter, batteries are assembling to enact the only rites of spring that matter anymore now that GMOs have made seasonal planting irrelevant. These aren’t the same batteries, by the way, that right-wing Cubans used to throw at Gonzalo Rubicalba when he tried to perform in Macondo for toadying to the late unlamented Jefe. No, these are peechers and cachers! The front orifice has spent the orfseason gathering together a mostly mediocre rotation around dinger kind Wei-Yin Chen and Mr. Inconsistency hisself, Tom Koehler. The exciting new acquisitions include four-plus ERA Jeff Locke and onceuponatime effective Edinson Volquez. Behind them, the Feesh have assembled a bloated boolpen most of whom will spend the season clawing for opportunities to mop up after the rotation like the proverbial land crabs in a bucket:
“Me! Me! I wanna pitch today!”
The bench benefited temporarily when Jeff Mathis took his VETERAN PRESENCE and wimpy wand to Colorado, where somebody must have told him his popups would carry farther. The front orifice promptly replaced him with old Jar Jar Baseball buddy A. J. Ellis, who doesn’t even hit as well as Mathis did – ostensibly to be a great guy in the clubhouse and handle the Rainbow Warriors’ school of hard-throwing puer aeterni. I dunno, but it seems to me that the Feesh hurlers never stop being “young” or needing a veteran catcher who can’t hit his weight to nurse them along. Ah well.
The Feesh say they’re trying to keep their “core” together, which sounds a lot like what the press representatives for the Japanese Atomic Energy Commission used to tell us about Fukushima. What it means is, is that they have done absolutely nothing to bolster a lineup that finished 27th in run production in MLB last season. In all fairness, they did bring back the 43-year-old Ichiro, the only member of the “young core” who has discernibly aged even though Jar Jar Baseball keeps insisting he really hasn’t. Watch the stats for inferences of early onset progeria in June.
Okay, time to scuttle orf to my flight. Yes, as of today baseball is upon us once more. Only a couple of weeks to go till the first spring games. We’ll root for the Feesh – all sixteen of us who are left – with synthetic enthusiasm. After all, “It’s called the laugh of recognition when you laugh but you feel like dying.” – Detweiler and Bergquist.