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Soylent Green is People: April 5

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Check yourself before you rec yourself.


Throw a hand or two up if you're excited for the return of Soylent Green!

Bats right like Thornton, left like Hargrove.
by ethorn on Apr 4, 2013 | 10:07 AM up reply rec (10) flag

Sweet! I'm loving the early enthusiasm. This is going to be a learning experience for all of us as I work through my various cut-and-paste options to get the formatting as aesthetically pleasing as possible. My editorial comments will be scattered throughout in italics. To the recs!

The literary critic Jonathan Yardley spoke for me when he said, "There are only two seasons: baseball and The Void." The Void is about to end.
by mainstreetfan on Apr 2, 2013 | 4:27 PM reply rec (5) flag

If we have a two-diaper inning, several things have likely gone wrong
by APV on Apr 2, 2013 | 9:36 PM up reply rec (5)

I know APV has a very young baby (congrats!), but it's more fun to think that he's so invested in the team that he loses bowel control when things go wrong.

"Yu almost pitched a perfect game."

"No, I didn’t. He did."



"That’s what I said!"

"No, you said I almost pitched a perfect game"

"No, Yu didn’t say anything. He pitched an almost perfect game."



"Lotta heart in Cleveland." - Ian Hunter
by Denver Tribe Fan on Apr 3, 2013 | 12:25 PM reply rec (10)

Do you think it's cool when someone predicts something? Then check the timestamp on this comment against your DVR:

If things go as planned, Reynolds is hitting one out here.
Let's Go Tribe
by Ryan on Apr 3, 2013 | 10:18 PM reply rec (9) flag

Pretty impressive, huh? Yeah, until you consider that Justin Higgins called it an hour and a half earlier.

So is the plan to hate Reynolds until he has a clutch homerun, talk about it for a couple days then hate him again until he knocks another key one out? Rinse, repeat all season?
by JustinHiggins on Apr 3, 2013 | 8:45 PM reply rec (3) flag

What can I say about that?

2013 Cleveland Indians: This is the baseball. This is a good.
by ahowie on Apr 4, 2013 | 7:04 PM up reply rec (4)

Gotcha. Let's wrap up, I guess.

From one of the little boxes in the exurb’s southwest arm,
Run riot now, but then a facade, behind which the tangle of oak and buckeye,
Growing in the gently rippled furrows of a long dead farm,
And from which tumbled the visiting raccoons. Our cats stole Jays from the swooping sky.

Other places called. Before the stories were even begun,
We were gone: a trail of tears, really, but what Pharaoh decrees is done.
From a cardboard box in the trunk, Wahoo bobbles a farewell,
Maybe knowing, in his plastery way, he would not, intact, outlast my youth.

Other lineups were studied, other stances copied:
KessingerBeckertWilliamsSantoBanks, safely from another league,
Lifted rocks off the ends of wrist-thick sticks into the weedy field.

The radio reaches for my team in the scratchy night,
And they come in, a few pitches at a time, from Detroit,
And Texas, and Minneapolis. But it is other calls that come in clearly:
"Back. . . Back. . . Back. . . Hey Hey!" And later, "It will fly away!" And later still,
More egregiously, "It is high, it is far, it is gone!"
I wait, without knowing, for this era.

I wonder, in my wanderings, what will come of my benighted nine,
Threatened, now and then, with extinction, or exile. Will these men,
Wearing foreign garb, still hold me in their thrall? And I know: No.
My own removal requires their constancy. They must be the still pole
At the center of my travels.

Pharaoh mostly sleeps now. The shards of plaster Wahoo,
Scattered in some time of teenage troubles,
Reassemble in these pixels on my screen,
And whisper all the names: Romano and Horton, Heidemann and Bell,
Feller, Bagby, Alvis, Harrah, Heath, Swisher, Kipnis. The ranks swell,
And weaving among them, words playing off deeds, another rollcall,
Jay and Ryan, Choo and Ockus, Emily, Dorn, Junkballer, Fwembt,
Salome, Julie, FredOx, Cols, all kinds of Nicks,
All following the fortunes of this Erie-dwelling Tribe,
Tracing the intricate paths of four-seamers through a humid night,
Rising and falling with Hammy’s exploding teases,
Dissecting, disputing, discoursing, following a trail and forging one,
Like a steadfast Ohio farmer eight score years ago, trudging behind his plow,
Leaving a furrow.
by YoDaddyWags on Apr 2, 2013 | 10:21 AM reply rec (15)

It's only April, but YDW is always on song. Boy, did I ever miss baseball. That's it from me for this week, but I'll be here all season long or until my house gets swallowed by a sinkhole.