Sunday, May 22, 2005

The Lost Weekend

That went swimmingly, didn't it? For the first time since the beginning of April, I didn't catch any baseball -- other than a combined five minutes on the car radio, where I learn that the entertaining Charlie Slowes STILL refuses to give the freakin' score. Charlie, if you're reading this (HA!), it wouldn't hurt to let the people listening know what's actually happening, ya know?

Friday night, I was at dinner with the prospective parents-in-law. I could've stayed home and watched I, Claudio (Thanks, DS) give up a veritable orgy of baserunners. Unlike most Claudian orgies, I don't believe there was any sodomy involved, but, like I said, I didn't really watch the game.

Regardless, I, Claudio, is the Lame Duck.

Saturday afternoon, I went to the movies (Good Stuff!) and tracked a skink (Not at the same location). But, before I left, I had posted a comment at Yuda's to the effect of, "We've made crappy pitchers look like Cy Young winners. What are we going to do when we face a real Cy Young winner?"

Well, Roy Halliday did his best Helen Thomas impersonation, further weakening our already impotent bats.

Hmm... we need a scapegoat for the Lame Duck. Tony Armas helped improve Toronto's batting numbers, but Vinny Castilla took an 0-4, and left four men on, with a GIDP. Works for me.

Sunday afternoon, I spent traipsing through the woods. I didn't pet any skinks, but I did see a few. Apparently the Nats won. Ryan Church , AKA Patches, went 4-5. That's good stuff! And, probably Whip-worthy.

Apparently Brad Wilkerson has a strained forearm, and Vinny Castilla had some sort of knee problem, which required him to be pulled early. Great! This sort of reminds me of the Washington Capitals. They were notorious for leading the league in man-games missed. I'm starting to wonder if it might just be something in the water.

Given DC's spotty history, it certainly could be something in the water.

Road Trip Goal:
4-5

Road Trip Record:
1-2

It's time to done our finest hosiery and go all J. Edgar over those sorry-ass Reds.