Sunday, August 31, 2008


The Sickness Unto Oakland


Labor Day weekend is supposed to be centered on relaxation, smoked meat and cheaply made beer emanating from Wisconsin and Belgium (by way of St. Louis, MO). Well, under that logic, I should by all means skip this game. After all, Labor Day celebrates the end of summer, but paradoxically the 2 warmest months in the Bay Area are just beginning. Similarly, this Labor Day will eschew rest in favor of consternation. The blog's title, after all, is not a reference to the band Disturbed, but to Kierkegaard. Let the despair ensue.


Smith, with 13 losses, clearly proves that the SF/Oakland metro area is where left handed pitching goes to die. Hopefully his Zito impression will persist (though kudos to Oakland for spending far fewer greenbacks in their quest for southpaw inadequacy).

Dr. Yes--Filling whatever prescription it is that cures ass-bat-itus. A little luck, a little science and the result is a elixir of 1 to 0.


Like analog media in the digital age, Buscher's utility has disappeared during this interminable stretch against left-handid pitching. His last 2 ABs against lefties, however, have resulted in hits, so......

SANDCASTLE POWER. That's one way to break out of his post-tendon tearing slump.

Span, reminding everyone of Cargo's exiled lead-off regime, K's for a second time.


Well, Scotty. A fine mess you'd be in if Dlmon didn't have a flash of fielding brilliance. YOU OWE HIM JIMMY JOHN'S.

This strike zone is shrinking up like a scared tortoise retreating into its shell. Mr. Emmel, my eye's on you. As a lefty myself I do like preferential treatment, but not on this laborious day.

Aaron Cunningham, the long lost Jonas brother now playing dress-up with the Oakland A's. A steady stream of high fastballs, por favor.

Lead-off double stranded at 2nd, natch.


A'S COLOR GUY: "Between Gladden and Bert Blyleven, you'll probably laugh....4 or 5 times each telecast." It's true! It's backed up by an article in the New England Journal of Medicine.

That comment only serves to highlight the dullards that I'm subjected to, being stuck with an away market broadcast. Seriously, nitrous oxide and a guest appearance by the guys at FJM couldn't save this ennui fest.


To evidentiate this claim to tedium, most of the excitement provided this inning comes from footage of some kid announcing the upcoming hitters. Now, this practice is pretty widespread, and I wonder, why? Wouldn't getting a monkey that does sign language or a Peter Frampton cover artist be an improvement? Perhaps I'm simply a misanthrope. Though, Peter Frampton cover artists are bona fide human beings.

Judging from the infielders' reactions to each and every pop-up, you might think this game were being played on the surface of Mercury. But no, just Oakland.

Also, someone explain in very simple terms the meaning behind "1-2-3 inning" to Baker.


Dlmon and Dharma from that shame of the late '90's Dharma and Greg are both free [swinging] spirits, and not by accident, both are also extremely irritating.

Redmon earns his West Coast Road Marathon stripes with his GIDP.


Contrary to popular belief, Kurt Suzuki can be retired, though it takes a non-display of the obtuseness of the new replay system to do it.

Like when someone hits their head and momentarily speaks fluent German, Dlmon quickly reverts to his clownish fielding self. Luckily, Casilla keeps the damage to 1 run with a diving tag better suited for a game of 2-hand touch.

I guess it takes a while for concepts like the convoluted "1-2-3 inning" to seep into Baker's skull.


OK Rocket Bats, their guy gets it, now let's see an inning "without a hit or a walk or a reached base by way of an error" from you.


Moments after Span makes a sliding catch in shallow left field...

Dlmon: What the hell was that!

Denard: Uh, that's called adept fielding and covering a lot of ground.

Dlmon: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa whoa. There's more to baseball than lunging at first pitches?

Also, after another 3,000 pitch inning, Baker's pitch count and the national debt are in a neck and neck race to see who can reach infinity first.


DR. NEAU----Dealing in some seriously good ass bat medicine. The baseball season, like the home run derby, is a marathon and not a sprint. And before you know it, Morneau's '08 numbers will be better than everyone's favorite prodigal son, Josh Hamilton. And more importantly, his team is in contention.

And the floodgates shall be opened. Foulke comes in, and this dalliance with right-handed pitching must seem like an 80 degree day in January to the Twins' 9.


With the Yankees' loss today, they're now 12.5 out of first. I'm not content with them missing the playoffs---I want last place, baby.

It took a 7 run cushion, but God bless it, we got that 1-2-3 inning.


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