Hanged By His Own Testimony

This blurb from Ladson needs very little commentary. It pretty much stands on its own. After the lessons of last season, and Bowden's constant preaching about the need for "Pitching, pitching, pitching," the son of a bitch has run out of pitchers already. We're not even a month into the season.

Who will be the Nationals' starting pitcher on Sunday? There are three scenarios. There is a possibility that right-hander Zach Day may make the start, but he has muscle spasms in the back of the shoulder. He is going to have a bullpen session on Saturday to see how healthy he is. If he's not, he will be placed on the 15-day disabled list.

There also could be the bullpen-by committee approach, but that will depend on how the relievers are used on Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

If the bullpen is overworked before Sunday's game and Day can't pitch, the Nationals are prepared to bring up right-hander Shawn Hill from Double-A Harrisburg. Hill has recovered from elbow reconstruction and is 2-1 with a 1.86 ERA in five starts. If he starts on Sunday, he will pitch on three days' rest.

"We are in a pitching nightmare," general manager Jim Bowden said. "We need a starter for Friday and a starter for Sunday. Our ERA is over 5.00. We can talk about all the problems on this team, but you have to pitch. You can't give up five runs a game and expect to win."

We can talk about all the problems on this team, which are YOUR responsibility, you drunken sack of crap. I'm sure that deep inside you feel bad and embarrassed about the pathetic state of the team that you've assembled, but that your overly large ego is going to prevent you from actually realizing it. You've had over a decade as a General Manager, and have never put together anything resembling a decent pitching staff. That's been your biggest failing. Don't give me that "pitching, pitching, pitching" crap because you've never cared about it.

I SINCERELY, from the very pit of my heart, hope you never get to work in a front office again. I hope you're laughed out of major league baseball, and that you're stuck working in some independent league in a dusty part of the country, where you're lucky if there're 200 fans in the stands -- somewhere where they're cynical enough of the fast-talking city slicker that they won't fall for your sweet talk, and treat you with the cold shoulder and disrespect you deserve.

Oh, and they're not laughing WITH you, Jim. They're laughing AT you.

(Yes, I feel better now; thanks for indulging me!)