Sunday, July 29, 2007


I Believe In One Or Two Things

First, I believe that it can be your birthday if you want it to be.

Second, I believe in the baseball gods. You see, not only is life akin to a game of baseball, so is SUPERNATURAL LIFE. That's like life but like whoa. This is important, because in the baseball gods hall of fame, they right the wrongs of Cooperstown, and Roger Maris is in the hall. And Pete Rose never will be. Y'hear me?

But those are diversions. Happy birthday!

There are omens, there are portents (and any good PAB reader knows that I don't know the difference - but it's the little references that make us happy. Is there a Ralph's anywhere around here?) and there is RAGNAROK.

Yeah, because it's time.

Look, you don't just happen to have a martini with Charlie Leibrandt's daughter on a weekend excursion down to Charlotte. That's a SIGN.*

*Editor's Note: RK did in fact have a martini with Ms. Leibrandt, this is not a hypothetical, at a bar called Therapy in Charlotte. Therapy, get it? What will they think of next?

And we need these signs. The boys had a rough patch this past week, and luckily, so did Clevelandia and the Motor City Kitties.


I don't know if that part of the Triune Jasoncreature's middle name is actually freaking, but I hope it is.

And the Cubs made a wacky deal involving Jason Kendall. Stupid. Stupid. Ichiro got an insane contract. Stupid. Stupid. This could be a stretch...

Perhaps Torii Hunter will NOT be traded. Except come on. But doesn't a little part of you hope that's not true?

I fully believe that Johan would pitch 5 games in a row, strike out at least ten a game, take no decisions in all 5, but as long as the team won, he'd put the ball in Scott Baker's hand, slap him with all the passion and rage he has, and say "NOW PITCH."

I don't want to hear about next year. Except about Kiko Liriano coming back. God that makes me salivate. Next year is too far away - there might not be a next year, what with all the global warming (just kidding, you crazy liberals! psych! Also, the earth is only like, 100 years old so how do you even know?)

But really, I believe in fossils. But not enough to warrant it being on the list of one or two things I really believe in, because who thinks a lot about fossils? Geologists, perhaps, and god bless 'em. I don't believe in the Fossil brand, however. Shoddy shoddy, says I.

It's going to get worse before it gets better? Hells no! It's been worse; getting beaten like that by the Toronto Matt Stairs and what's left of Troy Glaus's knees is gut-wrenching. Embarrassing. BEAT CLEVELAND. Like we just did twice in a row. Cleveland is beatable. Detroit is beatable. The White Sox are a joke.

But you have to pitch. You have the throw the ball in such a way as that they don't hit it out of the county... Boof, do not avert your eyes.

You have to keep the pitch count down. Rocket Bats, be healed!

You have to find the 2004 version of yourself. Silva, deep down, he's in there.

Garza strip, you're cool. Expectations are pretty low.

Santana is about to flip his shit. Can you see that in his dark, smoldering eyes? He's going to turn in Sandy Koufax numbers, you watch. He's gonna beat opponents so bad, they'll give him two wins and offer alms to the poor in his name.

Y'know, the royal "they."

Or you could skip everything I just said and go with Gardy, and recommend that the team battle its tail off.


Dear PAB:

Your wish that Tyner's middle name could be "Freakin'!" is pretty close to the reality of his middle name being Renyt. I think you knew this, but temporarily lost your fragile grasp on reality in the excitement of the home run. Many, many things about Tyner as a ballplayer could be improved (like, he could be playing for any other AL Central team), but his middle name is not one of them.
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