Palmer Slipping

“Like Markakis, Barton knows how to find the opportunity to get some good wood into it and really sprays it all over the place.”
-Jim Palmer,
May 27, 2010, in the eighth ining of the Oakland-Baltimore game

Lima Time Comes To A Crashing Halt

Jose Lima is dead now.

OMG OMG OMG Jay Gibbons Watch! OMG OMG OMG

Lost in the fray of actual major leaguers doing awesome baseball shit and largely irrelevant to non-Orioles novelty fanboys, has been the re-emergence this season of none other than Jay Gibbons. The former Baltimore outfielder, Mitchell Report disgracee and sad letter writer has been hitting with purpose for the AAA Albuquerque Isotopes (in the Dodgers system, not animated former Springfield squad) this season, posting a line of .383/.395/.682 over 114 plate appearances entering Thursday’s games.

Not literally being the best hitter of all-time, Gibbons will likely not continue hitting almost .400, and plate discipline has never been a strong suit, however, that .300 isolated power and hitting for extra bases in about 17% of his plate appearances in AAA is nothing to press one’s dick against an elementary school window about.

With injuries to Andre Ethier and Manny Ramirez, could we perhaps catch another glimpse of Jay Gibbons, rising like a Phoenix from the hot New Mexico sun and spreading his rejuvenated wings in the glory of Los Angeles?

Sure, why not?

Reservoir of Book Titles Exhuasted

Howard Bryant came out with a book about Hank Aaron this week entitled The Last Hero for some reason. I’m not sure what is being implied by referring to anyone, especially a baseball player, as “the last hero,” but here’s a list of others who have been bestowed with the title:

Mickey Mantle
Roberto Clemente
Wild Bill Donovan
Bill Tilman
Charles Lindbergh

A Short Story

You know that feeling that you get when you’re eating cereal and you haven’t been eating it quickly enough so the cereal starts to get soggy and then your parents die and you stop eating because you are sad that your parents just died?

Unfortunately, I know that feeling really well because it happened to me just this morning:

There I was, enjoying an oversized mixing bowl of Cap’n Crunch when my little sister Karen comes running into the room shouting about how she had just killed our parents and that I was going to be next. We shared a good laugh about the unlikely prospect of such a tragic situation as patricide occurring within our own family, but our glee would come to a crashing halt as Carl — our sibling who is two years older than Karen and six years younger than I am – stumbles into the room, his shirt stained red with blood.

“Mom and Dad just got killed by a wild dog!” Carl exclaims, his voice trembling, presumably with shock and sadness over the sudden loss of our parents.

“No way, that doesn’t actually happen to people,” Karen coolly reasons, sounding wise well beyond her 27 years.

“What, you think I would joke about our parents getting killed!?” Carl responds, prompting Karen and I to trade smiles as we simultaneously recall having shared a joke about the prospect of our parents’ untimely death just minutes earlier.

“Well shit,” I offer as I rise to my feet.

I can feel Carl, Karen and our cousin Larry, who to this point hadn’t said anything over the course of the past couple of minutes during which this story takes place, looking to me for guidance.

“We’re going to have a funeral for our dead parents,” I begin, choosing my words carefully because diction has always been very important to me. “It’s not going to be fun, but that’s what you do when people die.”

I have Larry call the funeral home to make the arrangements because Carl doesn’t like talking to strangers, Karen gets really edgy and combative when she mixes OxyContin and Boone’s Farm and I don’t speak Spanish well enough  (we live in Ecuador).

I like to think I really helped out my siblings during this rough patch in our family history and we’re all closer for having gone through it together, however, I also like to have women call me by my father’s name during intercourse, so I wouldn’t put too much stock into any judgment calls I make.

Baseball Happening

Real:

Tampa Bay Rays: Best team in baseball.
James Shields, David Price & Matt Garza rule, Evan Longoria continues to make it ok that his name had already been claimed as a famous person name before he got here and Carl Crawford has that year that guys like Carl Crawford have sometimes where they hit .330 and win a weak-ass MVP award.

Albert Pujols: Albert Pujols
Of the 17 players rocking an OPS of at least 1.000 through Monday’s games, the man who the ghost of Jesus Christ couldn’t rape because it’s not rape if the person being penetrated consents to it currently ranks 16th. It will be fun to watch the guys above him on that list quickly tumble, Kosuke Fukudome, I’m looking your way.

Not Real:

Robinson Cano: Lou Gehrig
Yeah, he probably won’t continue hitting .380 over the next five months and apparently still hasn’t heard about that weird little technicality that allows a batter to automatically reach first base if they abstain from swinging at four bad pitches in a plate appearance.

New York Mets: Contenders
Teams on which Mike Pelfrey throws the second-most innings and Jeff Francoeur is fourth in walks don’t generally get to play baseball in October.

Ty Wigginton: Relevant
Nice month, at .311/.409/.689, but yeah, come on. It’s Ty Wigginton.

Miguel Cairo: Major leaguer
The pinch-hit out he made on Monday night against the Mets brought his season line to .100/.100/.100 through 20 plate appearances. Wow.