where i muse about my mistress
as pathetic as it sounds, my greatest regret in life is failing to put it all together as a pitcher. “pitching is 90% mental.” i’ve heard that phrase so many times it has become cliché and have internalized it to such a degree that it is now dogma. i suspect that phrase, “pitching is 90% mental,” is scratched in the margins of the new covenant that has been carved on my heart. but no matter how many bullpen sessions i endured or critiques of my mechanics i absorbed i simply could not adequately reconcile my b+ arm with a f- head. i understood the concepts of pitching well enough, had carefully studied grips and schematics of mechanics in my head, but this knowledge never enabled me to pound the zone or keep my cool when i failed to do so. i think there’s a metaphor for concerning the relationship between theology and praxis in there, but i’m too tired to flesh it out.
maybe next year i’ll get in shape, cut it loose and see if a more developed head can make use of my rapidly declining ability. until then, i’ll continue to serve as a coach and ball bitch for the beverly brewers.
well that was a sappy way to introduce a spankin’ new storyline. last night the brew crew had our second game, but the first one i was able to attend. although i have to admit that returning to a dugout after a ten year absence was relationally (i knew the names of 3 players before the game began) and physically (damn, these kids are big. i’ve never felt more like a pencil neck than i did last night) intimidating, after a couple of innings i was screaming at umpires and muttering imprecatory curses at my players like an old pro. good times.
here’s a sporting question for you baseball fans. if your team is getting no-hit in the bottom of the seventh and has failed to hit a single ball out of the infield all evening, do you drop a bunt down to break up the no-no?
of course, this is a theoretical question. we didn’t get no-hit last night or anything…
okay, so i confessed that i’m currently the brewers ball bitch, but it’s not a responsibility that i treasure. so, if you have thirty some odd free evenings this summer, enjoy taking the shine off of brand new baseballs with a little bit of dirt and don’t mind scrambling down a rocky cliff in order to pluck game balls out of a forest bog, feel free to apply for this open position. although this is a non-paying position, it is not without benefits. our ball bitch can expect to be constantly hit upon by our hormone laden, adolescent bench warmers and so reap the fruits of a revitalized self-esteem, develop sumptuous calf muscles while scratching for balls and, after the game, receive one free drink for every three rounds that she carries to the team table at the pickled onion.
if you’re interested in this position, you’ll want to apply soon since aime is already winning the hearts of our bench warmers and has her heart set upon fraternizing with our starters.
fortunately lboros is neither a prophet, nor the son of a prophet. bonds did not hit his dinger in the first or second game of the series and did not play in the third (a lop sided affair which featured more footage of drunk fat men trying to get in and out of mccovey cove without cracking their skulls than it did of the game itself). unfortunately, albert pujols has now decided to be barry bonds’ chief advocate – he has publicly declared that he hopes bonds breaks the hammer’s record and has openly wondered whether ‘roids are really that beneficial for players – and new found chum. i have to agree with Bernie miklasz when he asserts that pujols harms his reputation by bonding with bonds.
does my incessant baseball chatter annoy people as much as american idol conversations annoy me? if I hear one more comment about kelly clarkson, wolfgang puck, and/or the startling use of a lobster, my head’s going to explode!
by the way, i now believe that american idol has usurped the WWE’s place at the bottom of the culture pool. if we ever have to deport members of our society for the purpose of population control, i think the pecking order will look thus:
a) american idol fans. sorry mom!
b) the regular viewing audience of wwe raw.
c) nascar fans. just so you know: those who have the number “3” stuck to their car windows, honored in their dead drivers memorial gardens or shaved in their hairy backs, will go first.
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