Tennis Anyone?

Well, well, well. Near dead last in some pretty meaningful categories defensively. Not to say that the defensive problems are what’s causing the torrential drought in the offensive categories, but, hey, we need an explanation as much as the next guy. Far be it from the one that nobody wants to speak audibly, but there is still, as was discussed at length last year, an inescapable void in the middle of the batting order and it is just back burnered once again.

Oh yeah, I forgot, it’s April and we can’t expect much yet, those guys will get it going and we will be fine. Just like the way they got it going last year, never at the same time and not until the last month and a half of the season. So sure, let’s ignore the fact that Jason Bey and Oliver Perez are performing at major league levels while we overpay for their less productive replacement that pulls off the baseball during his swing the likes of which I have never seen. Can someone get Mr. Gwynn down there to help these guys with their swings? Perhaps if we can get them all to a mildly lukewarm state by June, there may still be some gas in the tank to perform like all the most fabulous, expert, pundits predicted we would and win the damned division. Can you hear that? That’s not the wonderful springtime rain you’re hearing, those are frustration drops folks! Yeah!

Tomorrow marks a great day in my life. It seems as if one of the members of the crew happened across four, count ‘em, four box seats to the game tomorrow night. Now, fortunately for me, I manage to fit into the top four, how the hell I managed that I don’t know, but I am on my way to Petcoland to triumphantly declare my faith publicly for the above mentioned team in person. Perfect in so many ways. An early evening trip to the historic Gaslamp District, followed by a happy hour somewhere in the vicinity of the park, preferably one serving icy cold bevies at price. Followed by a short trek to the baseballing Holy Land, to be supported by more nice, icy cold ones. As we are directed to the privileged seating area, (if they only knew me they’d be directing me to the exits) we are to be treated like Golden Gods and showered with riches, and virgins and overwhelming feelings of happiness until our black hearts are content with significantly high levels of debauchery. We are to be seated in cushioned thrones to see the one and only Miss Anna Kournikova bounce and jiggle her way to the mound to ceremoniously heave the first strike in the general vicinity of the home plate area. Hopefully it’s cold, windy, raining profusely, and she insists on wearing white. Oh, and then the whole game thing...it’s beanie night too.