The psychoanalysis of neurotics has taught us to recognize the intimate connection between wetting the bed and the character trait of ambition. - Sigmund Freud
The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers. - Carl Jung
Well, now that we have cleared that up, let us delve into the nether-reaches of psychoanalysis ala Tinky. Rickie Weeks, 2nd baseman for the Brewers, made a rare error last night. Over the course of 162 games, these things happen. It may have even cost the Brewers the game. But, again, it is one game of 162. So, clearly, the Brewers are not ready for prime time and should go back to making cheese or whatever it is they do to fund that park.
A psychological victory, you could call it, with the Cubs knocking out the heralded newcomer Sabathia after nicking him for nine hits and four runs, three earned, while making him throw 124 pitches. No one will win or lose a division title during these four games, but statements certainly are being hammered like the home runs leaving a stadium that fittingly resembles a power plant.
If the Cubs sweep the Brewers, that will be a statement. One game with some hitting and help from the opponent doesn’t cut it. Not to take anything away from the Cubs’ victory, they needed it, but no one calling Clark and Addison home is going to get fit for rings just yet.
If there were suspicions that this 6-7, 300-pound (at least) Sabathia was unhittable, impenetrable and extraterrestrial, they ended on the game’s second pitch Monday. A changeup is what CC threw to Alfonso Soriano, who crushed it so hard with his rubber-band-man swing that he admitted it and began a home-run jog. Alas, his pose was premature, with the ball smashing off a “Wisconsin Drives Chevy” sign in left-center field.
So, Sabathia is fat. Who knew? Since he toiled for years in the lesser American League, a land where Tinky dares not tread, he* missed that memo. As for Soriano, the only people who thought he “crushed” that ball were him and our little lawn gnome. The Brewers fielded it.
And almost threw his lazy butt out at 2nd.
So, next time up, Soriano made sure he didn’t embarrass himself and have to high-tail it for a double again. He parked a Sabathia fastball considerably higher, up by the “Waste Management” sign in the second deck of sold-out, Bob Uecker-as-Harry Doyle atmosphere of Miller Park. The Cubs were denting the celebrated pitching acquisition of the upstart Brewers, specifically with the one guy, Soriano, who actually might make more money ($136 million) than what Sabathia commands as an offseason free agent. Would this be the night when CC’s BBs were turned into ZZZZZZZs by the healthy, dynamic Soriano and the Cubs?
Well, it’s good to know that all those outfield signs are getting some pub. At least those Chevy driving Cheese-heads are getting their trash picked up regularly. We will never know if he is insulting the Brewers by referencing the drunk Harry Doyle from the beginning of the movie when the team sucked, or lauding them by alluding to the sober Harry Doyle who was reporting on a revitalized team. And I have no idea how comparing Soraino’s pay to Sabathia’s has any relevance. Simply put, that last sentence should be taken out and shot. I have a four year old niece who rhymes better and more coherently than that.
But, he* has not tortured the English language or your psyche enough, he* has to bring something up that has no bearing, in any version of reality, on last night’s game. Yes, (Thick McRunfast is cringing) Kerry Wood’s finger is the focus of his* .... well, his* something.
All of this came on a night when Kerry Wood’s finger blister, once thought to be a 48-hour injury, officially became one of those weird crises that only happen in Cubdom. For those keeping score at home, Milwaukee is the hometown of the Violent Femmes, who wrote a famous song about a blister, “Blister in the Sun,” although I’m told it’s not really about blisters. The down low on Dr. DL is that he won’t be appearing in this series, either, now that it’s apparent he can’t pitch without a protective pad. “He threw with it on it for a while, and it felt OK. He took it off and tried to throw without it and he couldn’t,” said Piniella, knowing a pitcher can’t use the pad in a game.
It’s okay. I’ll wait while you down those bottles of aspirin and bourbon. Nevertheless, a crisis is when you wake up naked in a rowboat headed for a waterfall. Kerry Woods’ blister does not qualify. Also, “Blister in the Sun” was released in 1982. All he missed was a good Polka joke to tie it all in. Although I am glad he* actually took time out of his busy day to ask someone what the song meant. Next week we will get a dissertation on Chumba Wumba and their relationship with Cubbie Occurrences. And, Dr. DL? What? Was his credit line at “Nicknames-R-Us” overdrawn? As to pitchers not being allowed to use any foreign substances on their hands, good to know that Lou finally got a copy of the rule book.
I kid, Lou. We know that you know what the hell you are talking about.
Anyway, after he* takes time out of his* busy day to screw up the URL for Jeff Samardzija’s web site, insult fellow ESPN reporter Jayson Stark and call Jim Hendry an idiot for not doing what he* wants, we get to this uplifting bit of journalism;
Consider it a chance to breathe, if only for a few hours, until Ben Sheets takes the mound for the scary team from up north.
Sheesh. It’s enough to make you enter therapy. New member, Mr. Gaudino, has already started a thread, so CLICK HERE TO JOIN THE FUN!