Indubitably that wasn’t precisely the performance any of us were pining to see from the local nine coming out of the All Star getaway. And, agreed, Bret Boone wasn’t quite the shot in the bum we all so desperately hoped he might be. And yes, yes, I did see that the Chicago lumbermen were victorious again this evening. A wee bit discouraging, I’ll grant you, but it all adds up to so much stuff and nonsense in the long run.
Let’s try to be patient with the local lads, shall we? It’s early yet. They were bound to be a tad fagged after the holiday, and, good heavens, poor Bret Boone has barely had time to sort through his luggage and find his way to the ball yard. He probably hasn’t even managed to locate his neighborhood pub or Cracker Barrel. I don’t suppose, in fact, that he even has a proper neighborhood yet. So let’s give the fine fellow a chance to settle in and unpack his tea set, shall we, before we start passing judgment on his acquisition. This is, after all, a true gentleman who is also by all accounts a cracking good ballplayer, or at least was once upon a time, before he lost his way and wandered into a paper bag and discovered he couldn’t hit his way back out of it.
This sort of thing happens to even the worthiest of wandsmen from time to time, and I’m sure Boonie –that’s what the other fellows around the circuit like to call the new lad sporting the Minnesota togs– will be just fine. I’m certain of it, in fact. He is what the baseball insiders like to call “a gamer.” That means…I’m not certain, actually, what exactly that means, but I do believe it means more or less the sort of chap you’d like to have in the foxhole with you when the Huns come charging with their muskets, the kind with sharp objects attached to the end. Very dangerous piece of weaponry, that, if I’m not mistaken. A gamer, I should think, would come in right handy at just that moment.
As for tonight’s admitted disappointment, let’s try to look on the bright side. The fellows struck for two runs against a most crafty southpaw, which is more than they very easily could have struck for. They could have struck for zero runs, which would have been, no doubt about it, absolute rubbish. But, no, two runs! Much better than zero! Jolly good! Etc.
The Lohse youngster “pitched his tail off,” as the salty skipper of the Minnesota club is fond of saying. Indeed he did “pitch his tail off.” Not half bad, I say, not half bad at all. In fact, a bit better than not half bad, if I don’t say so. The others, the hurlers who were summoned from the bullpen (a charming and colorful bit of the parlance, that), acquitted themselves most handsomely as well.
The other fellows across the way were just that much better tonight, and there’s not a thing in the world for that other than to hoist a cup and salute the victors for a valiant effort. Well done, worthy adversary, well done!
And to our local batsmen I can only say, as I have said so often in this long campaign, ‘Chin up, my lads, be of stout heart and stern resolve, for tomorrow’s another day, and even a blind dog’s likely to turn up the odd bone now and again.’
