Tito’s tear ducts mean Dice-K stays forever
I’ve figured it out.
I’ve figured out why we’ve kept Dice-K for the past two years.
And it’s not the Timlin effect.
It’s much, much more base than that.
It’s Tito’s tear ducts.
“Josh pitched such a great game and I wanted to keep the momentum going, but I wasn’t able to do that,’’ a contrite Matsuzaka said through an interpreter, haltingly. “I’m sorry to my teammates and to the fans.’’
He has this look. You know the one. With the big eyes and the single blink, straightfaced to camera. That downward tilt his head takes as the shade of the cap hides his face. That boyish innocence is hilarious when he’s just struck out three of your batters in a row. It’s heartwrenching when he’s just given up a trillion runs. Yep. A trillion.
It. Breaks. Your. Heart. It makes you want to boo the booers (even when you were a booer). It makes you want to reach into that claw crane game and wrench out that teddy bear yourself, hand it to him, and then fetch the boy icecream. Turn that frown upside down, Dice-K! Want a hug? How ’bout five? See, he (unlike you JOHN LACKEY) ACTUALLY LOOKS SORRY. You want to squish his cheeks. It makes Tito cry in the locker room.
But baseball, my friends, isn’t about participation ribbons. It’s not about tacking that goldstar to your jersey just ’cause you’ve got a good attitude. And it sure as hell isn’t about hugs. It’s about this crazy thing called…
WINNING GAMES. Or at least playing them.
Time to cut the cord, Tito. It sucks. I’ll cry with your wallet, but it must be done. It’s like that time when Sophie chooses between her children. Okay, it’s not exactly like that time, but it DOES suck.
Speaking of sucking. Johnny Damon!
This looks like a job for… Crazy Pitch! That’s right, folks, Dennys Reyes. Plop a cape on him, stick him on the mound, and with a few crazy pitches, we wouldn’t have that Johnny Damon problem anymore. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s an irrationally ill-conceived hail storm! It’s… *da-da-da-da* Crazy Pitch! Raining crazy pitches on a batter near you.
I didn’t mean that.
He could fight crime.
So, Jon Lester, ladies and gentlemen. The Nation turns its lonely eyes to you. It’s tired, beleaguered, droopy, red, red rimmed eyes (from the tears, Stanks, from the tears).
By the way, I just figured out I have subscribers. Neat. And thanks.