ST LOUIS, MO – Each year, from the time the last pitch of the World Series is thrown, I gradually start entering a state of withdrawal – something I can only imagine is similar to a crack/heroin addiction. At first I am angry. Then I get depressed. Then around December I just start to twitch. Come January my body enters near shutdown. The only thing keeping me going inside is the fact that Pitchers and Catchers are on the horizon. In all reality I don’t even care about pitchers and catchers. I just care about the Grapefruit League. Every team I despise is in the Cactus League and my beloved Redbirds are not only in the Grapefruit League they are just a few miles away from the Mets. (Yes. This is a ploy for a MTM Road Trip). From my perspective, the leagues are named perfectly. Who likes cacti? No one. What is to like about a green prickly mess that is full of hot air? On the other hand, what isn’t to like about grapefruit? Most men spend their entire lives striving to consume things that have soft skin and are pink on the inside. That said, let’s look at the upcoming season with a game called Grapefruit or Cactus.
Stephen Strasburg: Grapefruit. The 6 Million Dollar Man is back and presumably, he is going to pitch the entire season. Personally, I can’t wait. The NL east is prime for a Cy Young winner, as most of the teams in the division have lineups that resemble the cast of the Bad News Bears.
Dusty Baker: Big Fat Cactus. Dusty Baker has more things in common with a cactus, literally, than I care to mention. Dusty Baker could not win with the 1999 Yankees. How has he not done more with the talent he has had in Cincinnati? I predict the Reds are something like the KC Chiefs were this year in that they have 5 All-Stars and a losing record. If the Commissioner wanted to do what was good for baseball, he would force some other teams to hire minority coaches so that the quota could be filled. That way Walt Jockety could finally put Dusty in a Dusty-assisted living facility where he belongs.
R.A. Dickey: Spoiled Grapefruit. Look, Ladies and Gents. I know it pains you to hear this, but Rufio Alcatraz Dickey is not going to have any more than a 12-win season this year. He may be throwing knucklers but the fact that his arm has been rebuilt and he is 39 cannot be overlooked. He is also entering the big boy division as opposed to the bantha fodder he was fooling last year. That’s right bantha fodder.
Yoenis Cespedes: Ruby Red Grapefruit. This kid is in heat… er, I mean hot. Red hot. The AL west is going to be red with blood after he takes them for a ride that none of the other teams expected when they take the A’s on at home.
Brian Wilson: Peyote Cactus. If you thought throwing a no-hitter on acid was impressive then you probably don’t know what everyday life is like for Brian Wilson, post-arm surgery. They guy was bat-guano-crazy beforehand. Now after surgery and without a team or contract, he is poised for a blend of Ken Camminniti/Jose Conseco type meltdown. My prediction: By the All-Star break he is doing yoga with Jeremy Piven as his pre-game warmup for the Jackson Generals (Angry Ward’s Mariner’s affiliate in Jackson, TN). For those of you lucky enough to be in Jackson this summer, my cousin will be the unfortunate soul that is inside the taco costume for the “Tackle the Taco” promotion:
That’s it for me, comment below and come back for Cookie’s Corner, tomorrow.
