In a surprising move Thursday, the defending National League Champion Philadelphia Phillies traded their team and the contents of their farm system in order to corner the market on starting pitchers called Roy.
Is it actually possible to play the game of baseball with only a pitcher? Does defense truly win championships?
We’re about to find out.
Godspeed Roys, the faith of fifty hundreds or so of people is riding on your back. Hope you f**kers can hit.
As I settled into sleep last night I calculated in my head what time my waking up time would have been in 1863 and concluded that by the time I woke up, the battle would already have started. Shots are fired, men die and the biggest scrap of the war is underway.
Who knew that July 1 was such a day of battles? I knew Gettysburg started today and somewhere in the dark recesses of my historical memory I recalled that the Battle of San Juan and Kettle Hill was today in 1898 – the 35th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg. I didn’t know today was also the beginning of the Battle of El Alamein.
I wonder why July 1 is such a day for fighting. For me, I’m usually railing against the heat as I prepare to again don the wool and sally forth. Why on earth anyone would want to fight in such heat is beyond me.
Happily it’s a gorgeous day, clear and cool. It would be a fine day for fighting if there were any to be done.
A long time ago the Good Lord and I made a deal. Mostly the deal involved trading happiness for good luck. Then I got greedy and thought I could have happiness and luck and the Lord decided I might not deserve either.
Case in point: I decided I’d take my time today at lunch so I could eat outside, relax and enjoy the bee-yoo-tee-full day. I wandered up the road to have a meal at Sonic and felt pretty damned mellow at the end. Mellow enough that I thought I’d use the five minutes or so left on my lunch break to browse the liquor store next door. Been reading some books on booze and wine and thought I’d take a look around and see what there was to see.
On my exit, I find an old dude passed out on the ground next to my car, bleeding from the head and elbow with a cluster of folks around him and paramedics on the way. Thirty minutes or so later, they have him loaded up and on his way and I’m about ready to sneak out around the ambulance when some other ass clown parks directly in front of my egress. So I sit a while longer and wait.
This is how my luck works. I have a rough morning, I take a little break to improve my mood and the Lord throws something in my path calculated to send my mood plummeting to the depths. It’s some kind of big cosmic joke. Let’s try to find out where the man’s limits are. Let’s take him right up to the edge of the abyss and give him a titanic kick in the pants to see if he can keep his balance.
Well it ain’t goddamned funny. I don’t drink much anymore. Can’t take as much as I used to.
So knock it the hell off.
I’ve been struggling with my impending move to northeastern Pennsylvania. I don’t much like the Philadelphia/South Jersey axis that I live in now but can’t generate much enthusiasm for the northeastern corridor and I can’t figure out why. There are a hell of a lot less people. Traffic isn’t nearly as bad. There are nice towns and good restaurants, plenty of stores and cheaper prices. Taxes are lower, insurance is cheaper, rents are reasonable. All in all there isn’t much reason to dislike living up that way compared to, say, Gettysburg. Where I was relatively happy and content.
Then I realized – nothing happened up there. Allentown and the Lehigh Valley have no direct ties to any of the historical events that I groove on. There’s no Civil War battlefield, no Revolutionary War connection, no historical event of any significance. Just a whole lot of flat-ass normal people living their normal lives in normal times. I’ve never lived anywhere momentous things didn’t happen. Everywhere I lived had an energy in the air. But up there, there’s nothing. No entrepreneurial spirit. No drive. No sense that great things are or were in the offing. Just a plodding determination to keep on living where you live and doing what you’ve always done.
In short, it’s boring. Oh well.
It didn’t take more than a couple of hours in Nashville and a short walk to a bar I’d only visited once before to remember why I love this place so much. Put simply, it’s the center of the Universe.
Sitting at the bar and staring at the taps I’m presented with my choice of: Yazoo Pale Ale, Shiner Bock, Fat Tire, and Abita Purple Haze. Toss in a PBR pounder and the occasional pint of Yuengling Lager and a man could die happy.
