SB Nation User Blog: infallibleopiniongenerator

positive drinking

infallibleopiniongenerator — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 07:05:59 -0000

I haven't been a seen presence in the community, so it's presumptuous to create a fanpost, particularly when it's devoid of insight, statistics or poetry. Alas, I've had a few beers (not a connoisseur, but I'm enjoying a Hoegaarden at the moment) and after a night full of that beautiful brand of anxiety that postseason-baseball-when-you-care-about-the-team offers, I want to say something (and my cats won't pay attention right now.) So come along on a journey: I'll type some words and even try to make sense (no promises).

Oh for that moment of magic that could have happened: Rick Ankiel toes into the batters box. Cardinal nation collectively prays for a performance that will be a remote dot on this gifted but struggling (and perhaps Harrison Bergeron-style hindered) athlete's clutchiness scatter-graph. GOBs hear these prayers and decide that sportswriter's/commentator's haven't paid enough attention to Ankiel's story. They stroke their mustaches and twirl their half-eaten hotdogs: Rick Ankiel steps out of the batters box. He asks the catcher if someone with a syringe just snuck up on him. The expression on the catcher's face makes clear just how absurd Ankiel's query was. "My shoulder," Ankiel purrs.

The umpire is startled. He decides to make the strike zone a little bigger, unless, he reconsideres, the amount of lightbulbs displaying the current time on the scoreboard amount to a prime number. He looks up to count the lightbulbs and Broxton throws one 99mph fastball down the middle of the plate, a pitch he expects to be taken for a strike. He plans to throw the 2nd pitch low to the right handed batters box. Then for strike 3 he plans to send it eye-level over the middle of the plate. Then he will celebrate a game 1 victory with his teammates and insist that they go, once more, "big boy buffet style". He's thought too far ahead though. The umpire was on lightbulf 38 and has no clue where the ball crossed the plate. "It's a whole hell of a lot of fun to make that strike motion with my hands," he thinks. But in times of need any good umpire consults only one source. And with the color of his moodring a definite green, he whispers, "ball one." J. Martin says, "LOL, wtf. Broxton chews some meat in anger and J. Martin calls out from behind the plate. "It's all right Broxy baby baby baby, pitch two ten feet outside, pitch two higher than Geovany Soto, and strike three, oh, how about same spot as pitch two. Then we get your buffet baby baby what do ya say."

Broxton settles himself. Ankiel smirks having cunningly deduced that they're going to work him way outside on the next pitch. (Beyond that he's not sure, he plans on guessing changeup down the middle for pitch 3.) His mind begins to chant, "Don't swing, Dick, Don't swing, Dick"...the ball is a split-split-second from leaving Broxton's hand. Even though he knows he's not going to swing he thinks it would be iffy to alter his pitch recognition method, so he closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. Only one thought (DON"T SWING) flashing in red on his eyelids, and then the crack of the bat. J. Martin jumps to his feet astonished at how badly Broxton missed location. Ankiel starts jogging toward first base instinctively, a classy homerun trot for sure: it's all gifted ballplayer instinct at this point. But his mind races, he turns to the dugout, "What's happening, foul ball right?" But Boog is storming the field on Tony LaRussa's shoulders. Teammates follow, and as the ball smashes Pat Sajack's stretch Hummer's front winshield well beyond the stadium's fair territory Ankiel realizes his success. "You're starting forever Ank!" Tony screams. Eventually the umps are able to file the Cardinals back into the dugout, reminding them that the game is not over. But then Joe Thurston hits an inside the park homer on a blooper that Matt Kemp let up on only for Manny, dutifully backing up the play, to pick the ball up and draw a funny face on it. The Dodgers contend that Thurston missed 1st, 2nd, and home on his trip around the bases. But the umpires respond by wondering aloud if certain numbers are prime. Franklin pitches the bottom of the 9th, three pitches three groundballs handled by Brendan Ryan.

"Got some pork roast on the ball Coach," Broxton says as he files into the dugout, heartbroken for letting down his team and the fans.

So I'm nearly certain none of this actually happened, but if it had we'd be feeling pretty good about the series what with this year's Cy Young winner going tomorrow. Instead, one crucial game down the drain, a lot of us feel pretty terrible about it. A Carpenter start has been wasted, and by Carpenter himself no less (though obviously the offense joined in the losing effort tonight. So it's a lot harder to think positive right now. But there is plenty to pin some optimism too. ( Here's to 9 total bases tomorrow El Hombre!) Perhaps I should offer some cause for optimism, so I'll start with the aforementioned Wainwright.

To wrap this up with the obvious, It all rests on Wainwright now (all of it also resting on the offense too of course).

Here's to several more night of Cardinals' playoff baseball.

PS Screw you Dennis Eckersley!

sentimental conjuring

infallibleopiniongenerator — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 07:15:04 -0000

Dear Diary,

Excuse me, diary, for the frivolity.

And forgive me for being so forward with the details of such an unappetizing abnormality, but each offseason my body goes through a tortuous fourteen week cycle of expansion, rashes, reduction, boils, inexplicable sunburn, hammerfist, gas, and finally, locusts. This series of miseries enables me to forecast without fail the rudimentary rate and counting stats of certain beloved Cardinals. I have found one foil to my infallibility: injuries. Only the proverbial or literal strained groined fogs up my mucus-filmed future-seeing machine. Combat your curiosity by following me into the void:

My belly, already distended, and the flies that it harbors, say that Jim Edmonds will surprise an ocean of red skepticism with 140 games played, 31 homeruns, a renewed ability to hit lefthanders (though still not like the glory days), and a .269 BA. Other details remain fuzzy (Obviously the cycle hasn't completed its vicious run). But despite the protests of my brain, I'm confident in the reemergence of Jim Edmonds batsmithery. Refute me at your peril.

Good day.

Poll

The author most likely resembles:

a platter of genetically engineered vegetables

3 votes

Montgomery Burns

7 votes

an abstract painting of a flying toad

5 votes

a platter of genetically engineered fruits

1 votes

Santa's Little Helper

5 votes

his father

3 votes

a lincoln logs representation of the Alamo

6 votes

his mother

3 votes

any random monocle-clad cad

4 votes

a fax machine

3 votes

40 votes | Poll has closed

vivaeltypos

infallibleopiniongenerator — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 21:02:01 -0000

Dear Diary,

I've long been an admirer of this site, but, up till now, reluctant to fan my own of wafts of wisdom into the flaming pyre we've erected in remembrance of this spectacularly grim (for baseball) season. Many times I've been tempted. Once, with Scott Rolen homerless and on deck, I smelt the undeniably reek of the longball. I hurried to create an account so that I might shout adjective-laden descriptions of my prophetic vision. Of course, Internet offered her typical acid-spewing hurdles, and so I was denied my chance at infamy.

Anyway, I've been compelled to tiptoe into the fray. So I'm going to try this:

Lboros's analysis of the impact of ligaments, shoulders, and grief on the season seemed sound to me, and is certainly a reasonable perspective (meek and unseeable gestures indicate my non-patronizing tone), but I'd be inclined to believe the impact more severe. (This is probably less worth writing than I think it is: while Lboros relied in large part on silly old "evidence", I offer my perspective from the murky depths of assumptions and optimism.)

First, so that I might further demonstrate my inability to bring worthwhile or fresh (or indeed, any) analysis this bloated old diary page: Injuries are part of the game. The Cardinals have been hit ridiculously hard, but the loss of Carpenter was enough to decimate their chances in any non-NL-central division. We know their roster wasn't built with margin for error. But, I think their roster was built to be pretty good if they could avoid error. (Which, again, obviously wasn't a strong bet for leadership to make.)

Prior to the season I was intoxicated by the possibilities of this roster. Maybe I can tighten this mess up if I implement bullet points for my assumptions/hunches/hopes:

Chris Carpenter maintains his acehood and health.
Adam Waiwright becomes an ace. **
Anthony Reyes becomes an ace.
Kip Wells outpitches any bottom half rotation member in the league.
Braden Looper is a quality number five starter.
Jason Isringhausen rebounds. ***
Scott Rolen builds on an his good 2006.
Jim Edmonds is a second half force, slugging with the upper tier of the league.
Adam Kennedy has, mildly, a career year.
Chris Duncan hits 30+ dingers.

With the season only several dozen runs-allowed from ending, those bulletpoints are embarrassing, and obviously the delusions of a fan who might have been better off had he avoided celebrating the first Cardinals World Series Victory since he was infant by indulging in a four month opium, doughnut, and sourball binge. But, my blissful misgivings aside, I don't think it would have taken the miracle of full bulletpoint accomplishment. Rather, I think I can haphazardly sling one facet into focus. Indeed, pitching.

Allow me a few more glazed-mouth moments to ponder the ramifications of one of the more reasonably-attained goals. If Chris Carpenter misses no more than a handful of starts throughout the year, this rotation holds up.^ Adam Wainwright did become an ace. Surrounded, or at least bordered, by success, I think Kip Wells avoids Kippian levels of ineffectiveness. In light of Reyes newly-divulged aches it's obviously not likely Carpenter's presence would have been enough to make that changeup appear. A team with a Carpenter, Wainwright, and good-Looper could, in theory, have winning streaks.

So, I'll now offer the abridged version of this diary: Irrationally and Pointlessly I think the 2007 Cardinals, Carpenter in tow, are a 90 win (or close to it) team.

^I've unfairly avoided mentioning Josh Hancock's death. Of course that is enough to render a game null.

I have another eighty-thousand words to type, but I could really use a sourball right about now.

Breathless,

Clearly spending the offseason opium

1. Chris Carpenter