The kickoff for the Todd Linden Era was delayed, and was rescheduled for tonight.
"Hey, Todd, welcome back to the big leagues! By the way, you're facing Johan Santana."
Kinda makes me think of:
"This is your first day here, eh? Fantastic. It's a good job, being a liason for the artists who play this venue. Most of the the time, you're just running around, picking up drycleaning. Every once in a while, you'll end up picking the brown M&Ms out of a bowl, but you shouldn't pay attention to the nutty urban legends. Most artists are pretty mellow.
So, here's your list of what Prince wants by noon. If you need help finding 'sixteen pheasants, each with a magisterial gait and sage green disposition', let me know."
It took last night's game to realize how bad this horrific stretch has been. There was something about it, something unique to this latest chapter of pain and suffering. After some deep thought, the answer washed over me. The Giants didn't get humilated. They played, scored a little bit, didn't catch some breaks, and lost. That's it.
When the Giants have lost over the past two weeks, they have been thumped without mercy. On the rare occassions the Giants hung close in a game, there was bound to be an undignified ending. LaTroy Hawkins giving up a grand slam after two were out against the Phillies, for one example, or the tying run getting up to the plate in the ninth only to pop out. This game against the Twins didn't have much of that; it was nothing but a boring, vanilla loss.
This team makes me want to start blogging about professional ice skating.
