I sucked in little league mostly because I shut my eyes at the plate. But I walked a lot. My father's most frequent compliment? "Good eye, son."
God bless him, that poor bastard must have been so bored it's a miracle he didn't run into traffic. Sure hope he "Irished"-up that coffee before first pitch.
As important as walks seem to be to the philosophy of this ball club, I may have had a future in the majors if Maddon was my coach back then. Going into the series against the Rangers, Cliff "Stud"-Lee would be no such pitcher to respond favorably to said philosophy.
Monday night was yet another test. And it appeared after seven innings to be yet another frustrating sign of the Rays' luck running out. Lee retires the first 11 batters, five on strikeouts, and is sitting comfortably on a commanding 4-2 lead going into the 8th. I was already tickling the jump button on my remote checking out the Giants/Jets game for a series or two and ready to finish my couch play-date with some football.
But something drew me back. Was it intuition? A hunch? A stubborn child-like blind optimism? Or did my dog's ass sit on the remote? The point is the bats woke up, began swinging and for those with faith left watching, triggered a rally that reminded fans how much fun this team can be to watch ("cough" dog's ass). Keep on swingin, Rays!
Black-out-eers. In a countdown with all the excitement of a 24 episode (after a case of NyQuil), if the Buccaneers' demands are not met by Wednesday, Saturday's game against the Kansas City Chiefs will be (da-da-Daahh!) blacked out locally. That's right, Buc Nation. If not enough of you saps fans pony up full price for an exhibition of what promises to be the most exciting rebuilding season ever before a lock-out year, you'll have to drive 75 miles away to catch it on the boob-tube. I think the nachos at the ESPN Club at Disney World is cheaper than Ray-Jay. With considerably less diarrhea.
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