`Tis the day of manufactured excitement. The Royals are coming to town. The Royals, folks! George Brett, Amos Otis, Willie Wilson, Dan Quisenberry...yowza! Well, those folks aren't exactly on the team anymore, but it's the Royals! For the first time! D'ya want a pin? Huh? Do you? Take the pin. Take the damn pin. TAKE IT!
I'll put on my pariah gear, and go on record as enjoying interleague play. The "natural rivals" aspect is a little tired, but I do get a small kick out of seeing the Twins or Orioles every three years. It's a teeny little deviation from the norm, and a few of those are welcome in the midst of a 162-game season. It's still two major league teams playing baseball, and hardly qualifies as offensive. I look forward to it. But it isn't the greatest thing since you taught sliced bread how to do your dishes, and the Giants were driving us all nuts with the promotion of the series.
Lessee...the San Francisco Giants pick....in the tenteeth-first round....some young player from a college or high-school. The rest of baseball is on the clock until the Giants come back with the eleventy-twelfth pick.
It isn't just the Giants who are trying to manufacture excitement. I'm crawling around on all fours, turning rocks over with my snout, trying to find something about the default first-rounder the Giants picked that might be of interest. Nothing. At least the guy they were able to get in the fourth-round seems interesting on the surface. Fast centerfielders who flash power in college are always in demand, and it beats drafting some projectable high-school pitcher.