“The no-hitter thing… He wasn’t going to pitch a nine-inning no-hitter.” – Nostradamus Snitker
NEW YORK, NY – Great Caesar’s Ghost! What a week it’s been! But you are busy and your time is precious, so let’s get right to today’s stuff: World Series No-Hitter, Nostradamus Snitker, Rats In The Engine and Travis d’Arnaud
World Series No-Hitter
Unless we change the rules, a pitcher must throw a complete game (9 innings) of no-hit ball to achieve that rarest of baseball feats, a no-hitter. Five innings doesn’t cut it – even in a World Series. This may change, as per the Stat Geeks who are calling the shots. Last night Ian Anderson, taking time out from his Jethro Tull Reunion Tour, went five hitless innings for the Braves. His manager, who comes across as a character from the Andy Griffith Show, wasn’t relying on stats nor an established statistical game-plan when he yanked his lead singer off the stage. Instead, he went with his gut. No hold on thar, Quick Draw! Tim Keown of ESPN calls the above-quoted Brian Snitker “Nobel-level folksy.” Maybe he is. But he sure as hell ain’t no rocket scientist. Pulling a guy tossing the game of his life as per your gut, guy?! I guess a 1 or 2-hitter over 8 innings wouldn’t be worth the effort. How about 7 innings of 3-hit ball? See, now the bitter, miserable cynical me now wants to see you fail, pal. And there are others just like moi. You said Anderson wouldn’t throw a no-hitter and you’re right – not with you calling the shots at least. Remember, Yogi started Seaver on short rest, rather than giving him an extra day and a potential Game 7. He went with his gut. He was folksy, too.
Rats In The Engine
This is sports-related only in that the events kept me from pinch-hitting for an over-served Different Matt yesterday, forcing Angry Ward to take the hill on two days’ rest. See, yours truly went to pick up the ’98 Crown Victoria in the morning for a scheduled drive to the in-laws house in Alexandria, VA. Problem was, the back left tire was flat for the 2nd time in 2 weeks. A call to AAA got the doughnut tire on… then a trip to the flat-fix place on 131st and Broadway. What I didn’t know – as I don’t have any sense of smell, is that some critter had made it’s home in the engine. The flat guy spoke very little English and kept trying to convey something, waving his hand in front of his nose. I thought nothing of it and picked up the wife with the new “used” tire humming underneath. She got in the car and immediately started complaining of odors combining pee, poop and carcass. I pulled the car over, popped the hood and nearly tossed my cookies. Calmly, however, I asked the wife for a couple of poop bags, removed the fricasseed varmints – one had feathers – and doused the area and engine with windshield wiper fluid, which I was VERY proud to have in the trunk. We then set forth for Virginia in biblical rains, during which the windshield cracked. Did I mention the car sputtering or misfiring when we stopped at any lights? It was the 2nd worst drive of my life.
He sucked, essentially, in New York City. He had ample chances to prove himself and didn’t. He also couldn’t stay healthy for more than 5 minutes at a clip. The change of scenery worked out for him. Godspeed. I’d boot his ass out again in a heartbeat. That is all on TdA.
With that, we’re out of time! Feel free to comment below and come back tomorrow for a guy that has a Brian Snitker bobblehead on his dashboard, Grinding Ax Walt.