It's the middle of November, and the gray Midwestern drear seems to have finally settled in. I have that inner chill that comes with winter, a sort of iciness like my blood is close to freezing. I'm not good at cold. Right now, my hands feel like ice. I'm thinking gloves. I find a stretchy glove. I find some batting gloves. I find a thick pair of winter mittens with no fingers. But how am I to type?
As you know, I hate winter. I hate the absence of light in the days. I hate the absence of warmth. I hate the absence of baseball. It isn't enough to read a four paragraph article speculating about trades. Trade rumors aren't real. Trade rumors send more worry than anything. We in Cincinnati baseball land have had some pretty crappy off-seasons in the last few years. Several years. Off the top of my head, the only recent noteworthy off season transactions seem to be the trade for Bronson Arroyo (he of the double-eared batting helmets fame), the contract extensions of Arroyo, Aaron Harang, and Brandon Phillips, the signing of Dusty Baker, and the trade of Josh Hamilton for Edinson Volquez. The other noteworthy moves involved getting rid of players who had no business in Major League uniforms, like Eric Milton and Corey Patterson.
Every morning I wake up wondering what disaster the Reds have bestowed upon us. I know I am not alone. It's some sort of syndrome unique to Reds fans, some psychological scar we bear.
We've heard speculation about trading for some crappy players on the Rockies and possibly giving up Edwin Encarnacion in the process. That would be a huge mistake. Edwin is only 25 years old - he hasn't hit his peak. There's no telling what kind of player he will become. If only people would have some patience.
I hope we don't lose Edwin.
___
Commentary on baseball and society, baseball and philosophy, baseball and history, and baseball and baseball.
No comments:
Post a Comment