Thursday, July 20, 2017

This Is The End, My Only Friend, The End . . .

...by which I mean this has got to be the end of this losing streak. Looking at the stats last night, we won five in a row after our Opening Day loss to the Dealers. Now we've lost five in a row. There should be some kind of beautiful symmetry in turning things around while we face the Ghosties for the second weekend straight.

And we got close to winning this last one. In fact I'd say out of the mostly nightmarish losses in the last month and a half, this was the clearly the most winnable. We did what we set out to do at the onset of the game: don't give up first inning runs, and get on the board first. Oh buddy, was we ridin' high. A wave of ecstasy rushed over me when we had an early lead for the first time in forever, but that could also have been the cava, who can say really.

I'm wondering what the hell we did to piss off the baseball gods so much, because that lead just withered away behind extremely questionable defense (and, yes, hey! you guessed it: bad baserunning!). So I guess it's irresponsible to blame the BGs at all then. We are our own baseball . . . demons? Shit, I don't know, you try writing this stuff.

I will say, although it's often a chore (an enjoyable chore but a chore nonetheless) to sit down and spell these things out, it does help to process our team in a more thoughtful (how thoughtful it is is up to you really) and somewhat rational way. There are usually feelings during a game—or during a losing streak more accurately—that are complex: things beyond the scope of angst or frustration or disappointment that become even more difficult to locate after a few at Rock Bar. Occasionally, plopping down in my chair and forcing myself to go through this does help alleviate some of the psychic confusion that accompanies a rough spell.

Occasionally.

Not this time, though. I'm about ready, in fact I am ready, to throw my hands up at this point. I was turning it all over in my head last night. There's this sort of hokey casual street definition of insanity that goes something like "trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result." Your mileage with the truth of that definition will vary, to be sure. But let's pretend for a moment that it's at least a working definition.

According to that, we are like, batshit out of our minds crazy.

We have got to change things up. Don't take my word for it. The stats are at the bottom of the page (though I suspect most of you scrolled down to look there first); have a look and tell me what you see. I'm pleading with you: we MUST shuffle the deck. Beyond three or four guys in the lineup, I'd argue, am arguing, that everyone get a moved around a bit. Rickey and Bob are the only guys hitting over .300, and while batting average is kind of an old school stat that doesn't really provide a complete picture of a hitter, it is at least a snapshot.

Moving the order around also helps to keep our opponent on their toes. When they play the same exact lineup every game, they know little bunches of shifts in a row. Changing that up makes them get creative in different ways, and may catch them by surprise. That can be the difference in a ball being caught or not, which itself can be the difference in a W or another L.

All I'm saying is, it's the easiest thing to change and what's the harm? We hardly have anything else to lose, really. It's time to change things up, guys. And what if that really were the spark we need so desperately? Anything else would be, well, crazy.



Yeah. You know, I'll wear this one. I will. In the sixth, with plenty of time left to close a small gap of three runs, I unexpectedly lead off with a hustle double over the third base bag. That's runner on second, no outs, and your 3, 4, 5 hitters coming up. You're definitely thinking you're scoring here. But you'd be wrong on this day.

Rickey hits a looping line drive to center, and I, for some reason (could have been Craig yelling "TAG!" ((but no excuses from me))) went back to the bag. At least to bluff a tag and get a throw. But the problem there was when that happened, the ball came in to the cutoff man at short, who then back-doored me and poof! no more runner at second an one out, but bases empty and two outs.

This is the funeral I'm holding for that rally I killed. I try to hold myself as accountable as anyone else. Most of the time.

But I'll be damned if you don't see me trying to gnaw and scratch my way out of this subterranean hell this coming Saturday. I'll be like a Viet Cong comrade with a long series of interconnected tunnels digging my ass out of here, emerging, victorious and smiling, into the forecasted sunshine of Saturday's game.

You do not want to repeat BotB.

Here're your stats.



I've not cropped out the team totals column at the bottom. Uh, have fun checking those out. I'll add that one of the hallmarks of a good hitter, or one with good discipline, is having more walks than Ks. We are ... not doing that as a team right now. Little things to work on, guys, little things to work on.

* I'm not writing any player of the games or plays of the games until we're back in the win column. We're gonna lose as a damn team right now, just how we win as a team, as so totally trite and cliché and dad-vice as that is. Let's win a game and we'll get back to shout-outs.

**Andy hasn't gotten back to me with an A'sC so we'll have to wait til next time.

Thank you for your time. I'm gonna put on some underwear and a shirt now.

Happy visual!

NEXT GAME

Oakland Ghosties

@

29ers

Sat 22 July
Noon
Balboa
BIG REC



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