Today's drop is part of my continuing effort to double-bluff Jimmy Rollins into being, well, not the utter and perfect reason why my rotis team is 10th out of 12 clubs. I could, of course, put the blame on people like David Price, Matt Wieters, Ryan Ludwick, Joey Votto, Ricky Nolasco and a dozen other guys I used to really like... but, really, Rollins is the be-all and end-all. Since I had a stud shortstop (and second baseman, where Ian Kinsler has also disappointed after a white-hot start), I didn't set myself up with other good middle infield options, so I've had to just sit and endure it. Since I had locked down a huge runs and steals guy, I went more for RBI men in the rest of the lineup, and have subsequently underperformed in those categories. And since I'm local enough to Philadelphia to catch the occasional Phillies game on the television, I've watched any number of weak opposite field pop ups from J-Roll this year, punctuated by the occasional false dawn home run.Well, no more. Jimmy, I'm through being your victim. Meet me at Camera Three.
This last weekend, I pulled the chute on this train wreck and picked up something named Everth Cabrera, a 22-year-old guy from, according to Yahoo, Nandaime. The Internets tell me this is a municipality in the Granada department of Nicaragua. Baseball Prospectus, who profiles literally thousands of players, doesn't list him. In 2008, Cabrera played in freaking single-A ball. He's 5'-8", 160 pounds, and owned in a whopping 1% of all leagues in Yahoo.
And this week, he's starting on my team, instead of you.
You hear that, first round pick? You hear that, guy with the largest auction value on my team? Your ass is benched for some *PADRE*. Some guy that plays half of his games in a freaking mausoleum for hitters, whereas you play in a bandbox. Some guy that sets the table for a team with 1.5 professional hitters (Adrian Gonzalez and the occasional burst of usefuleness that is Kevin Kouzmanoff), whereas you play for a team with multiple recent MVPs. Or, more accurately, not play, since even Charlie Manuel has decided he's seen enough of you this year, at least for now.
Oh, and no, I'm not going to release you. I'm going to own you into the fires of hell, J-Roll. I'm going to draft you again next year for the bounce-back that will never come, and keep you on my bench until you're platooning with freaking Eric Bruntlett.
Because this, my dear Jimmy, has become personal. You've cost me too much for it to be anything else. So we're stuck with each other, and no, I'm not dealing you, because I just don't make deals, because that would be cheating, really. We're just going to have to learn to live with each other; me, with my broken dreams and simmering hate, and you, with your sub-Eckstein OPS.
Best wishes,
Your Pal Shooter
I hope it has occurred to you that this is all your fault.
ReplyDeleteOf course. But not nearly as much as J-Roll's. When you sell your soul to Satan, you need to get more than the year, dammit.
ReplyDelete