This wasn't supposed to happen for at least another couple of years, and I'm not prepared.  WTF?

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ELP sucks.  I digress...

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"Act like you've been there before." ~ Every sports broadcaster/professional athlete who played before 1980, on success and how to handle it

:^/

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I have no thesis for this post.  But I just read the series preview and, well, there's still approximately twenty-seven hours 'til tomorrow's game. 

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So...Aaron Rowand.  Huh; who would've guessed?

It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?  ROWAND CONTINUES TO SWING THE BAT WELL !!!!11!!1, and I need to atone for posting NSFW Googled images of ball thongs and gushy happy fun-time prose about our beloved Gigantes.

We all know Rowand is streaky.  It could be argued that he's been on an extended cold streak since he arrived.  It could also be argued that he's fixed whatever was ailing him when Grant posted this, and he may have at last "arrived."  All of this begs the question:  If presented with a plausible trade scenario, what do we do with him?  (OK, so maybe all of this only gently asks the question; I digress.)

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I awoke this morning to a fright: bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, Faux Hawk on the mound, Giants up 5-3 over the bums.  A routine fly ball to right; Eugenio Velez, nervously awaiting its arrival, proceeds to trip over himself, the ball landing about five feet behind him.  In his haste, Velez jumps up, just as Winn is coming over to retrieve the ball, and plows Winn in the gut, allowing three runs to score.  The fat pig bum fans in the all-you-can-eat section of the LAtrine go nuts.  :(

Alas, 'twas only an invention of the slumbering subconscious; cemented into my imagination by six years of "really!?", provided courtesy of Dave Roberts making $800 trillion/month and Shea Hillendbrand and Fatnitez and the aforementioned Red Cross Relief Fund poster child, Velez. 

Nevertheless, a few brief moments later, consciousness regained, I remembered something: Now is a good time to be a Giants fan.

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I've never been a stat-head; never will be a stat-head.  This, however, doesn't mean I fail to recognize the importance of 'em.  Thus, a call to all the resident McC statisticians (and computers and software programs and whatever other technoloigical innovations to which we refer as Xanthan.)

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I was wrenching my back in my seat listening to Barry get interviewed.  Kruk and Kuip, God bless 'em; I had to get up and go in the kitchen during the 5th and 6th (I'm typing this damn thing to avert my mind.) 

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The city itself was typically beautiful, though way hotter than I expected.  I knew it was gonna be hot, but c'mon!  Whatever happened to the old ninth grade geography lesson about self-regulating bodies of water?!?!  Fuckin' Corporate America with their big factories and ozone emissions!  Also, I saw the subject line documentarian at the hotel bar, and he was a dick with a "D" (yes, as in, "Dick" should be his proper name.)  Caught the game that night and, for the first time since forever, they actually won in my presence AND Zito didn't pitch (maybe those two are synonymous [pre-yesterday's start].)  And I defiled my favorite sports bottle with approximately thirty ounces of piss at the start the Bay Bridge toll plaza.

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Rare is the occasion during which you'll find me with prose about baseball that hasn't already been covered here.

And forgive me if this off-topic topic has been covered.  I've scrolled through the old threads and found nothing similar, so I thought it might bide some time 'til tomorrow's Gameday thread.

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In a dimly-lit, newly-leased second story condo surrounded by adolescent palm trees and foreclosed dreams, a forty-five year-old woman will curl up in an oversized gray sweatshirt with a pink kitty on it, sipping on a warm cup of her favorite Earl Grey tea, and tune in to her favoritist radio show ever, Delilah.  From here, she'll drift off, if only for a few hours, listening to the softly-voiced radio host's soft musings about soft things in soft places with soft music interspersed within, to the place where it doesn't hurt as much.

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I'm gonna be up there next month and I'm planning on attending a game (Apr. 21st.)

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So, I'm takin' Luke (my nearly 4 year-old kid) to his first Opening Day, and I want to immerse him in all its glory.

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'bout baseball, and why I love it. 

(Actually, I've been thinkin' about it, what with Spring's sunshine piercing through the wintery clouds of late.  And my little guy, all of 3 1/2 years: how I want to bestow upon him the visceral lure of baseball.)

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seemsto methaat the team from phyllie needs a little hlp in tHe pen abnd a xnter feeldEr...throuOghTs.  /lulz

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