I'm going to go ahead and preface this by saying this is hardly comprehensive. Honestly, I was just doing some casual research while trying to think of the next witty Will Smith joke and found some info I wanted to share - but then I got tired and this probably will not even be coherent.

Anyway, is Dave Eiland doing anything?

As we know, Eiland was hired on as the pitching coach in October. He replaced longtime vagabond Bob McClure, who was sentenced to purgatory because the Royals could not throw strikes.

So, of course, the Royals now throw strikes, because we have Eiland.

• Strike percentage in 2012: 61.64 percent
• Strike percentage in 2011: 62.08 percent

... Oh.

Through my exhaustive research, I've deduced that good teams throw strikes (poorly constructed tables and more parenthesis to follow):

Best five teams by winning percentage (team, win percentage, percent of pitches that are strikes):

- Los Angeles Dodgers ...... .682 63.33%
- Baltimore Orioles............. .622 63.49%
- Texas Rangers ............... .600 63.48%
- Tampa Bay Rays ............ .600 62.98%
- Washington Nationals ..... .591 64.27%

Worst five teams:

- Chicago Cubs ................ .341 61.72%
- Minnesota Twins ............ .349 62.78%
- San Diego Padres .......... .356 61.67%
- Colorado Rockies ........... .372 60.64%
- Kansas City Royals ........ .395 61.64%

Not that those numbers are surprising. And while the difference may be only two pitches per 100, over the course of a game that may be three. That could be the difference between a walk, leading to a baserunner that can advance in a myriad of ways and a pitcher tossing from the stretch or just losing his sh*t entirely a la Hochevar.

So what's different than a year ago? Technically, we have improved in the league rankings overall, but that's deceiving (more shoddy tables below with arbitrarily selected statistics that are best suited to sway you toward a specific opinion):

2012 2011

BB% 9.6 (25th in MLB) 8.9 (27th)

BB/9 3.71 (25th) 3.45 (28th)

K/BB 1.97 (26th) 1.94 (29th)

BABIP .308 .299

FIP 3.88 4.27

WHIP 1.41 1.41

GB/FB 1.24 1.19

Obviously, that grouping of statistics skims the surface of the discussion, at best, but it's a place to start the debate. We see maybe a few improvements, maybe a bit of bad luck, but overall, much of the same.

One might argue that Eiland has had to work with guys such as Vin Mazzaro, Nate Adcock, Luis Mendoza and the Fresh Prince due to injuries, at times, to Felipe Paulino, Danny Duffy and Jonathan Sanchez. But those three guys that have missed time are all pitchers that have struggled with walks/command. I can't imagine three Dirty Sanchez starts would really boost the stats the other way.

A year ago, McClure had guys like Jeff Francis and Kyle Davies. Francis didn't walk many guys at all, and Davies wasn't atrocious in that department. But he also had worse BB versions of Tiny Timmy and Paulino. I don't know if it evens out, but I don't think McClure was blessed with demigods, either. Did a blend of Matt Treanor, Brayan Pena and a dash of Salvador Perez behind the plate really outdo Quincy and Pena?

Is Eiland a poor pitching coach? I don't think the above stats prove that. He's had a bit more than half a year to work with the staff. Potentially, he's establishing a program not only at the MLB level, but in the minors, as well, that will reinvigorate the tossers. But maybe he's not. Maybe McClure was not the problem.

So has Eiland done ... anything?

With Danny Duffman's mysterious yet ominous injury, postseason aspirations are coming ever-so-close to being nothing more than whimsical dreams. It is as crystal clear as a 1992 can of Pepsi that there is only one action available to save face for beleaguered Kansas City General Manager Dayton Moore.

Acquire Ryan Braun.

I know what you must be thinking. Can we afford Ryan Braun? Is there room for such a stellar talent on our roster? Will Jeff Francoeur be comfortable giving away leadership opportunities to another grizzled veteran?

Yet drastic times mean drastic transactions. GMDM must atone for past transgressions and turn to Braun, who can inject new life into the boys in blue.

The pride of Kitchener, Ontario, Canada, Ryan Zachary Braun is the consummate candidate to establish our pitching staff as one that strikes terror in opposing batsmen - a fear only he could manifest.

The Royals drafted Braun out of the University of Nevada - Las Vegas with the 162nd pick of the 2003 draft, and he would soon reward them.

In the mid-2000s, Braun received the telegram - telephone technology had yet to be established by curmudgeon owner David Dayne Glass - that he had been deemed of enough season to join the Royals' roster. Inexplicably, his MLB career ended after the 2007 campaign. His career W-L? 2-1.

You see, by acquiring Braun, we guarantee ourselves a pitcher that will win 67 percent of his games. That's just facts. Pitch him every day - CJ Wilson would do it - and this team clears 100 wins. Then the postseason? Winning two-out-of-three puts you on pace for a championship, baby!

The MLB.com 2003 draft page said Braun had a, "Large frame, athletic build. Fluid, quick arm. Fastball, slider, curve. Experienced college pitcher with two average pitches and third not far behind. Competes."

You see that? He competes. All he does is win, win, win no matter what.

As you can glean, Braun produced a devilishly delightful ERA in his time in the big show - one that would trump two current Royals starting pitchers! Stats are fun! ERA is meaningful!

It is difficult to pin down exactly where Braun is these days. The last apparent roster blessed with his precision pitching appears to be the Lancaster Barnstormers of The Atlantic League of Professional Baseball. Most likely, he is now honing his skills in a secluded part of the Appalachian Mountains as to allow children not to have to sleep in the fear of one day witnessing his fastball, which has been known to cause ocular damage in mere mortals.

Wherever he is, it is certain that he possesses the tools to save this team from the certain embarrassment it would incur were it to miss the playoffs.

What might it take to convince him to rejoin a franchise that once passed him by as common, middle-class filth? It is hard to discern. Possibly a plate of Oklahoma Joe's would entice him. Perhaps a lady of the night, as well - although one without herpes, as that disease has been known to cause issues for other major leaguers.

For this writer, I cannot fathom another name that would bring such immediate credibility, such performance enhancement, back to this organization than one Ryan Braun.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November ...

A mere 813 days ago, our lives as Royals fans changed forever. In the past 116 weeks, we have been bestowed the opportunity to watch one Christopher Ryan Getz play mistake-free baseball with the deft touch of an angel. His prodigal bag of tools amazes us to this day.

On Nov. 5, 2009, Dayton Moore pulled off a career-defining trade, shipping vagabond Mark Teahan to Chicago for Josh Fields and Chris Getz.

The Royals, without question, won the trade. Mark Teahan, forever trying to sell his Mark Teahan Show to franchises, was recently given up on by the Toronto Blue Jays. Josh Fields, sensing Chris Getz' excellence, has allegedly quit baseball to spread the gospel of Getz. As side work, he signed to infiltrate the Los Angeles Dodgers organization on Jan. 4 as a spy for one GMDM.

Yet Chris Getz continues his assault on the record books. Of note:

• He is already 109th all-time in hits among Royals - only three behind demi-god Eric Hosmer. With luck, we will witness Getz pass such true blue greats as Craig Paquette, Vada Pinson, Terry Shumpert and William Bloomquist this season.
• Getz is 110th all-time in triples among Royals, currently tied with such fleet-footed speedsters as Jose Guillen, Billy Butler and Bob Hamelin. Elite company, indeed.

Continue reading this post »

There was nothing special about this day, July 23, 2013.

There lay Kansas City Royals Manager Ned Yost on the dugout steps, sprawled in a halcyon daze of euphoria, gazing up at the heavens as the sun gently punctured his face.

On the field, the Royals were ahead 2-1 in the eighth inning on the division-leading Detroit Tigers. No. 3 starter Felipe Paulino had pitched a gem through 7 2/3 innings, outdueling counterpart Justin Verlander.

However, Paulino allowed a single to the enigmatic Wilson Betemit. Sensing struggles, longtime pitching guru Bob McClure leaped from his place on the bench, spilling Cracker Jacks all over the neatly swept dugout, courtesy of the always tidy, always bored Mitchell William Maier. It was, after all, a part of his daily chores.

McClure shook Yost with all his feeble might, trying to wake the manager to make the visit to the mound. This attempt was futile, as Yost cannot be disturbed to waste time with true baseball decisions. McClure, knowing not a second more could be spared, darted for the mound, flailing his left arm toward Jeff Z., the bullpen coach, to signal the masterful Timothy Collins.

…

Meanwhile, back in the dugout, Maier began to vacuum up Cracker Jack crumbs. As he neared the end of the bench, he saw Michael Christopher Moustakas sitting in the corner, staring, nervously shaking back and forth. The situation was odd to Maier, as Moustakas had just wrapped up a 7-for-13 road trip that included 4 home runs and three doubles, as well as two walks.

"Hey Moose Caboose, what’s the matter?" Maier beckoned.

Moustakas stuttered through almost indiscernible words.

"Must … hit … single … Seitzer … Seitzer angry … Bad form … Seitzer so … angry …" he said.

"Being single is fun!" Maier responded. "Girls have cooties and mom said I can’t be around girls ‘cause I haven’t found the birds and the bees yet but I’m still lookin’ ‘cause one time coach said he’d give me the bird if I ever asked to play center field again ‘cause that’s Milky’s spot but I bet coach would give me a bird if I asked real nice – hey Moose Caboose, you want some bubble gum???"

…

Back on the field, Collins took the mound. McClure made quite certain to put Collins in every high leverage situation, despite his ever-climbing peripherals. After all, his ERA was still a respectable 4.39.

Almost on cue, Collins proceeded to walk six consecutive batters, charitably giving away the lead. With the game getting out of hand, McClure made the long walk back to the mound to put the ball in the hand of his mop-up man, Greg Holland.

"Sorry coach, I just didn’t have it today," Collins said.

"Oh no, you had it. Don’t you apologize," McClure demanded. "That ump just has no idea what the strike zone is. You don’t change a thing – we’re gonna need ya tomorrow."

First baseman Eric Hosmer rolled his eyes in disgust. He gazed upward, and a heavy rain descended on Kauffman Stadium for six straight hours, ending the game.

…

Later that day, Yost stumbled into the office of General Manager Dayton Moore.

"CALL ME UP ONE OF THEM PROSPECTS," Yost shouted.

"Shhh!!! You’ll wake up Mitch!" Moore begged, pointing toward a bed in the corner of the office covered with rocket ship bed sheets and a Transformers night light.

"Get me Myers or Cuthbert or that Odor-easy guy or that Montgomery guy – and NOT Jeff," Yost said.

Moore chuckled.

"C’mon, Neddy, you know we traded all those guys so we could get Jair Jurrgens. Look how that turned out! I’ve got a process, you just need to trust it." Moore said.

"Ahh, to hell with it," Yost said, moving toward the door.

"You just wait, Neddy, I have just the thing for you," Moore replied.

Assistant GM Scott McKinney, knowing the impending move, opined "Please don’t."

"I must," exclaimed Moore, pointing an index finger boldly in the air. "There is only one that can save this season."

"But look at his FIP, his BABIP, his SIERA … it won’t work out – even he knows it," McKinney pleaded.

"TOOLS FOR FOOLS," Moore brashly stated as he walked away to his mission.

…

Moore knew there was, of course, only one way to find the one who could save the season. He hopped into his Toyota Scion and raced toward the nearest Panda Express, while being mindful of the speed limit – always three MPH under, of course.

Moore drove his car straight into the restaurant, shattering glass and severely injuring a customer. Moore climbed out of his car and asked the man "Are you OK?"

"Day … ton … I’m hurt … Why do …  Why do you hate me so?" the man asked, gasping for breaths.

"Do I know you?" Moore inquired.

"It’s … me. Loren … zo … C-C-Cain," the man, presumably Lorenzo, responded.

"Hmm … not ringing a bell," Moore answered, confused. "Listen, I’m in a rush. Here’s a $25 gift card to Walmart, compliments of the Glass family, and an autographed baseball by Jeff Francouer. Sorry about all this. Gotta run."

Moore sprinted to the counter, grabbed a young, 16 year old Royals fan named Jack by his ruffled work shirt and demanded, "Where is he …"

Jack, long trusted by Moore for his unique trade ideas, knew exactly who Moore wanted. Even Jack wanted to withhold the information, but he knew he had taken an oath to guide Moore in his process. Jack scribbled down the information Moore would need on a napkin. Soon after, Moore was on a jet to Japan.

…

Moore arrived at the address and examined the surroundings. The small apartment was well hidden and quite filthy. Undiscouraged, he knew what had to be done.

"Charlie," he said before knocking on the door, whispering the nickname he had bestowed on a former ally. "I need you."

Knocks fell on deaf ears, as no one answered the rickety wooden door. Moore would not be denied after such a lengthy journey. He burst through the door, just as he had at Panda Express.

To his dismay, he saw his fallen comrade coated in blankets and grime. Much had changed in only a few years, but Moore was ready to beg for the man’s return. The conversation was caught on tape, and can be seen here:

…

 On the jet back to Kansas City, Moore gave simple instructions to the man he had convinced to save the team, the franchise, the fans of the Royals.

"When we get back, I need you to go straight to the field. I can’t go … I’ve got a plaza to decorate," Moore said, snapping on his dark black Walmart sunglasses, casting a smirk of satisfaction, knowing he had found the final piece to the championship puzzle.

…

On this day, now July 24, the Royals were clinging to a 10-8 lead at 2 p.m., powered by two singles from everyday shortstop Christopher Ryan Getz and two grand slams from Hosmer. Kyle Davies, after pitching four innings and allowing eight runs in his continued attempt to remake his career, had reached his limit at 164 pitches, leaving the bases loaded in the top of the fifth inning with nobody out.

McClure looked toward Yost, who was enthralled in a competitive game of Battleship with Maier. Knowing he must make the decision, McClure popped out of the dugout, spilling nacho cheese everywhere and sprinting for the mound, again flailing his left arm for Collins to save the day, as he had on so many other occasions.  

Only this time, a dark figure stepped out of the pen, sporting a spiky haircut and large bifocals with a skull in the middle, right between the eyes.

"Is that Rick Vaughn?" asked Francouer, struggling to see out of his gigantic eye sockets.

"No," said McClure, grinning from ear-to-ear in joy.

"That’s Dayman."

"You’ve got to be joking, right?" questioned the no-talent vagabond known as Alex Jonathan Gordon, he who ranked dead last on the team in the critical Polk Points statistic. "Not this again."

…

Brian Bannister, champion of the sun, took the mound, three years removed since his last appearance as the ace of the Royals staff. His eyesight was not what it used to be, so he wore glasses to correct the problem. As he hid from the Yomuiri Giants, he had given himself a radical haircut as a disguise.

He glared down Austin Jackson in the batter’s box. Bannister knew everything there was to know about Jackson. He had studied the roster the entire plane trip, studying his own tendencies and those of his opponents. He readied his pitch.

Bannister hurled a fastball toward the plate, topping out at a cool 84 MPH. Jackson smoked the ball to the right field fence, clearing the bases with a triple.

…

Loud rumblings of disgust filled the air in and around Kaufman Stadium. The noise briskly traveled in and around the city.

Elsewhere, in the plaza, Moore began to hang another "Congratulations Kansas City Royals" banner from a storefront window. As he climbed the ladder to hammer in another nail, the clamors heard from the stadium reached the plaza, piercing his ears.

Unable to perceive the difference between boos and cheers, Moore smiled. He knew – or at least he believed – the Royals had just claimed another victory on the road to the World Series title.

"Process VINDICATED," he said.

As if calling into a radio show, I’m a long-time reader, first time FanPoster. I should be extremely nervous for the rash of unabashed judgment that will soon be unleashed on me, but I am not. My post is below, and if you don’t like it, go read your Jurickson Profar and Gio Gonzalez mega-trade scenario FanShots. Haterz gonna hate.

I have no idea if these commercials are seen by everyone. Doesn't matter. More than anything, I just wanted to bellyache about Jen from the Shawnee Mission Kia commercials. Below are the three worst and the one best commercial we are subjected to during Royals broadcasts.

The worst-

3. Sonic (commercial with the ghost eating a hot dog) – Despite having no apparent weight or mass of any kind, we are led to believe a ghost drove himself to a local Sonic, smashed the red button, paid for a hot dog with Boo Berry cereal pieces and can somehow hold the hot dog in his hand, despite BEING A GHOST.

A police officer approaches Casper’s car to ask if he had been disorderly, rattling chains and such. The ghost cannot believe why he is being questioned.

Finally, the camera cuts to a picture of Don Mattingly shaking chains in an apparent comatose ice cream blitz. The officer allows the ghost to carry on with eating a hot dog, yet ignores the greater issue, that of which is the “ghost” is made of blueberry Jell-O and Kool-Aid. Should a Jell-O and Kool-Aid ghost zombie army ever attack Kauffman Stadium, let us first place blame on this poorly trained police officer.

2. Royals Major League Moments (stealing bases) – The commercial starts out with a boy and a man each taking a leadoff from first base. Upon a close-up, I am convinced the man is Jason Kendall, although that is nearly impossible, because Kendall is never on base. Even if he is, he does not steal, as he does not do unto others what they have done to them when he is behind the plate.

The announcer proceeds to let us know that “Stealing is only illegal … if you get caught!” As such a clever line had never been conceived nor heard of in the history post-Hosmer, hilarity ensues and minds explode. Except the hilarity is reserved to Frank White giggles and death has wiped out every mind except for, of course, Kendall, who cannot be destroyed because he is made of substances like oil and construction hats.  

1. Shawnee Mission Kia (Jen with guitarist) – As if this comes as a shock to anyone blessed (cursed?) with sight and the ability to hear. After a long night of (alleged) heroin riffs and keg stands, the advertising department made a vow to make the worst series of commercials possible while still receiving a fat paycheck.

The utter disaster that followed was the creation of Shawnee Mission Kia Jen. On her own, outside of staged commercial backdrops, I’m sure she’s a pleasant person. For this commercial, however, she has splattered ruby red paint all over her lips while singing/talking through a song that helps us all understand how Nickelback got famous.

In the background, a blind and deaf old man, who has been tricked into the advertisement, strums an ugly melody (not that he cares/can tell the difference). After cackling out the rest of her corporate drivel-song, Jen asks Frankie to “bring it on home.” In disgust, Frankie cranks out a few more notes. Jen puts the finishing touches on the song by impersonating the late (may he rest in peace) Macho Man Randy Savage with an “Oohhh yeeaauhh!”

Then I cry myself to sleep, curled up in a ball of self-loathing.  

Honorable mention: AT&T (flash mob) – Because I narrowed this to three, it gets a free pass, but how the guy has mistakenly started the same flash mob, in the same train station, at the same time for what is probably three straight months is baffling to me.

The best-

1800 Tequilla – I am not promoting drinking (although I don’t have to, because you’re Royals fan. You have your reasons). However, the simplistic nature of this commercial is perfect. A hardnosed dude, who probably plays a lot of poker, spends the whole ad railing on cocktails. He proceeds to inform us his cocktail is called “tequila.”

And that’s it. Straightforward. The guy seems angry the entire time - which he probably should be, since he’s surrounded by commercials containing Ben Franklin ghosts and SMK Jen.

Honorable mention: Toyota Tundra – The commercial isn’t memorable, and that’s OK. They’re all good. It’s just a 30-second blip of trucks doing awesome jobs like pulling concrete mixers. I could watch that for 30 minutes.