Monday, August 31, 2009

Walk Up, Walk Off

Hello again. Vacation over, back at the office. Not. An. Easy. Day.

A lot of stuff happened over the week.

1) Robbie Cano walked it off the old-fashioned way Friday against the (White) Sox. Yanks swept to avenge the miserable weekend in Chicago a month ago and win the season series 4-3. Magic number to win the division is 27.

2) The Little League World Series happened. The main thing I took from this is that I really hate Moises Arias, the young sideline reporter from Hannah Montana or something. Also, these fucking kids are awesome. I have memories of old LLWS where basically every other grounder would produce an error, but the class of '09 were legit in the field. They also have great hitters top to bottom, so the era of the tall fat kid striking out 18 by throwing only fastballs is over. The best pitchers this time were the ones who mixed in breaking balls and changes, and the ones who stuck obstinately to the 70+ mph fastball got touched the second time through the order.

The kids are also crying less, which is verrry interesting. I think it represents a trend, because the same thing happened at this year's spelling bee. What's with all this poise? The only ones to shed any tears were the players from the affluent American teams like Mercer Island. I didn't see one foreigner cry, and the grittier American squads, like the Italians from Staten Island or the Hispanic kids from the eventual champs, Chula Vista, California, seemed to have a precocious toughness. It sorta makes me wish I'd grown up as a poor city kid. As it is, I cry if my stapler isn't full in the morning. And I'm 26.

3) I think I had a third thing, but I forget now. Sorry for the short and late entry today. I came in and had all the usual make-up stuff to do. But I'm back in the saddle. Speaking of that, I leave you with some words from Eli Cash, "the James Joyce of the west."

"The crickets and the rust-beetles scuttled among the nettles of the sage thicket. "VĂ¡monos, amigos," he whispered, and threw the busted leather flintcraw over the loose weave of the saddlecock. And they rode on in the friscalating dusklight."

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