The Stud Gospels

Because the 2010 season has been tauted as a rebuilding season (btw, press, this whole 'It was hard to learn and prove yourself when Doc was here' is horseshit. Stop it. He was an excellent example. Doing 1/2 of what he did would be enough for many pitchers to be successful.) it is important to look for other things to kvetch about than the wins and losses.

Jon Lester is a stud. He is huge, he's a lefty, his curve is sick, his change is what some fastballs are, and he is anti-cancer. To hear that he was passed over in favour of drafting Russ Adams and Dave Bush by a certain former GM is a bit disturbing. I don't totally hold it against that guy because it is often difficult to see what the future will bring. But I have learned in the past from people in the know that the lefty with a pulse is perhaps the most valuable commodity in baseball. They will always be tradeable because teams always want them, and they will always find work because teams always want them. Looking towards the future (cause that's how we roll in 2010), I just hope AA makes wiser decisions. Cause I had some envy last night, after watching Lester tie our boys up in knots.

The Drunks have issues with the roof. I don't really give a shit, since I watch most of my games at home, but from what I understand is that the roof doesn't open all the time because if they did and it got effin' cold, it might get stuck open (kind of like how when you wash your car in the winter and the doors freeze shut.) So sitting in the cold is not really what concerns the Rog Mahal, it's having the roof get messed up. But like I said, I don't really care.

Notes

I've been insanely busy with real life that I haven't been able to write anything witty or interesting. Usually during Red Sox series, I let SOSH write the posts for me but since the Jays insist on losing to them (boys? 1 run loses are so 2009. Knock it off.) SOSH is not as fun.

But I do take pleasure in the fact that Boston is just barely beating them and generally looking bad. Looking average to bad against a team that many predicted would finish 5th in the AL East doesn't look so good for the Massholes and October baseball. Let's all take some satisfaction in that.

But about those pre-season predictions, the Orioles have looked like ass. I know it's been a month, but a lot of ass. I don't have lofty hope for our boys, but I think 4th can be ours.

Let's Gather Round and Love Lyle

Lyle Overbay was mired in some kind of funk. Like striking out and .080 kind of funk. And the 12 Torontonians at the game on Sunday, unable to boo a restored Vernon Wells, sought a new target for booing. Mercilessly. Pitch for pitch. Fastball boo. Changeup boo. Curve boo. Slider boo and probably some sort of slurve boo, too.

But for the fan BBQ, a handful of the boys wore Overbay's shirts to support their boy who was sucking. It warmed the cockles and Lyle looked a little like he was coming around last night. Maybe he just wanted his clothes back.

I Read A Book

"You can't grab at it. You have to caress it. Be gentle with it, or she won't call you back."

It was at this point, page 78 of Dirk Hayhurst's new book "The Bullpen Gospels" that I had to put the book down. I was alone in a Starbucks and was about to embarrass myself with an eruption of laughter. Hayhurst's coach, charmingly called Castrate, encouraged him to approach catching a baseball as one would caress a "titty."

It was then that I began to appreciate what this book was giving me. I've always wanted to know what happens in the clubhouse, in the dugout, in the 'pen. And I know I will never have that opportunity. I would never blend into that environment. I sometimes barely blend into the baseball blogging environment and occasionally feel invisible . And I realize that I am not really missing all that much (boobs, guns, boobs with guns) but it would still be nice to see it.


The book is hilarious and if the existence of the Garfoose wasn't evidence enough, the book makes it clear that Hayhurst has a fertile imagination and a natural gift for storytelling. What this book really is is a portrait of a man growing up. In an ideal world, you are already someone and the uniform you wear just identifies who you play for. You control what you can, let go of what you can't and don't get wrapped up in the bullshit. But the stench of bullshit is intoxicating and so much of one's identity is fed from external sources. What you do, who your friends are, who will sleep with you, who likes what you do. And this book is Hayhurst's very entertaining journey to move beyond that.

The Bullpen Gospels illustrates what I find fascinating about the game and what I attempt to do with this blog (although it usually just ends up being new nicknames and mocking Red Sox fans.) I don't have much interest in stats or flowcharts, but rather the idiosyncrasies and interactions that spring out from grown man boys playing a game and what that can teach me about life in general. Not that I am in need Coach Castrate's particular advice. I already know that bit of info.