ChiSox Win

Words count; or pairs of words at an instant, or words that you link with a dash until nobody can know just how many sit in a row.

With insults or put-downs, words push along in a train. Today you can say “Bob is an (a).” Tomorrow, “a” is out, it’s too hurtful. But to talk about a guy such as Bob, you call him a “(b)”. Until, with a not okay, taunting kids say, “oh, Bob is a b” with a wink. And so adults stop using “b” in a non-insulting way. Bob is, from now on, a c. And so on.

But for us with faith in a jinx, no such supplanting occurs. No, our substitutions occur through broad words. And now, in short spurts of words, information skips along quickly, without slowing down to watch grammar. On any random day, I could go “sox struggling to hit, chisox anyway, bosox with lots of runs but yanks catching up. that’s your junior circuit. also cubs won which was good. all-star ballot box is a thing right now and wait what. it’s april.” That’s stuff, that small a thing; it’s too long to fit as a twitting thought, anyway. It’s off of a cuff, on a fly, I wouldn’t stop to put in many dots or commas or capitals.

But now watch this, a bit of focusing: “sox Struggling to hit.” Just through typing, my nod is in my words, saying “look at this.” As data go flying, this is a saying with a saying: “watch this, now.” Possibly, if I do not do much talking to start with, anything I say is a sign.

Or not. But still, I pass my words along.

(Stick around for a follow-up post that talks about what I’m doing with this forthcoming string of posts.)

2011…Summer of the letdown?

Question. How complex must some phenomenon, X, be before nobody deems one specific revolution of the sun “the time of X”? I’m not referring to the UN or whoever dubbing something “the time of X” prior to the time, to promote knowledge of X. (2011 is for forests, it looks like–I Googled.) I’m not referring to the Chinese system, either. No, I’m thinking (on one end) of 2010’s “for pitchers! for no-hitters!” discussion.

I’ve posted on this subject before. I think it’s dumb to dub 2010 the property of such constructs, if it’s still 2010. It’ll just predispose you to squinting, bending numbers so you might point, going “ooh, see! More excellent pitching!” I don’t deny it, we witnessed excellent pitching in 2010. But the gun-jumping occurred too quickly.

I’m risking committing this error, now, for I wish to point out some events which feel linked to me. Possibly not. Possibly it’s just me seeing “oh, wow, how weird these twists were!” Or “this would be so upsetting, were I on the losing end.” Or “I should blog on this result, but is there something new to point out?” I put these off for some time (except the third, which only just occurred), but I do see some kind of trend.

June Twenty-fourth through Twenty-sixth. I get some of the criticisms. “Junior versus Senior Circuit competitions will not work. The schedule is not even. You will get weird results between divisions. Don’t do it.” So, I see the need to work on preserving even schedules for such encounters.

But, the U2 rock tour pushed NL Fish out of their preferred environment, up to the other corner of the country for one series. They hit second. The pitchers hit. Senior Circuit rules…inside some Junior Circuit field. The Fish lost two of three, the third in the tenth due to Steve Cishek’s wild pitch while they were letting someone go to first uncontested. (Someone once wrote this goofy list (bottom of 81) to prohibit the suggested move of just sending people to first without throwing. Now we see why it’s truly useful!) This hurt the Fish’ home record, ESPN’s website notes, for they were the home side. Kind of. Their 2011-long ticket-holders will go to 78 contests. This is not in itself weird (you could skip some contests due to inclemency, even in their legit home), but still feels like letdowns do.

Did things get less weird for the “hosts”‘ Senior Circuit encounters?

No. No they did not.

July Third. Hosting, truly this time, fellow West Divisioners, they lost in nine innings. The only run scored in the fifth inning, with the runner on to begin with from pitcher Doug Fister’s BB. How did this occur? Fister missed the strike zone with the count seeming full. The true numbers were 2-2, the score sign being off.

I’ve been to this field. I’ve kept score there. I’ve used the electronic signs to help me (I didn’t get in on time, so needed to copy down the first few results). I decided, with no field I’ve seen since then convincing me otherwise, it is the uncontested best field for keeping score in. Plenty of helpful things.

But then this occurred.

Letdown? I’m thinking.

July Twenty-Sixth (into the morning of the twenty-seventh). Pittsburgh loses in the nineteenth inning, definitely exceeding the Boston/New York thing I posted on recently. Nine, plus nine, plus one. The kind of scoreline worth discussing just for being long. However, we discuss it due to controversy over the winning run. Not some utter blunder like the non-full full count, but something which turned out to be wrong, or possibly right in the end? We’re not sure. Third big letdown, just from those I’d kept thinking of to possibly post on.

So is 2011 the summer of the “oh, come on?” result? Could be. But I could still be rushing into things. It’s possible I only remember these for their interesting occurrences. When records get broken or blowout wins occur, those become big news–very telling, in terms of wins or losses, versus these stupid flukes. But writing’s got much to do with the funny things to pick up on, thus remembering.

One more note. You might wonder how decided to write on these results, right now? Well, when I viewed someone’s comment on some other encounter, I went, “Ooh! This gives me the theme I need to combine this fourth contest with the preceding three, to write some epic blog post!” It turns out I misinterpreted their comment. So now I’m just left with these three. Letdown four, surprisingly enough! Possibly my thoughts on this new contest will show up in other posts. Possibly not.

Rhyme scheme weirdness

So after all the game 163s
(And who’s to say there won’t be more of these?
Given the way the NL West goes
At the moment, we might need one. Who knows?)
I guess it shouldn’t be a big surprise
To see a walk-off in a strange disguise.
It might not be an out, but what it was
Seems like it should be called an out, because
It makes for drama. “Three outs don’t suffice!
There are more ways to come back!” And that’s nice.
Even a game with ways as much as this
Still stops at the last swing and the last miss.
But here’s to special ways it can amaze.
Here’s to comebacks, and here’s to walkoff Ks.

Crown of sonnets

Would you rather see beginnings or ends?
I haven’t given you enough to say.
Unless you know who’s playing, it depends
On many things; the sport, the round, the day.

If you were rooting, you’d watch from the start.
Loyal no matter how the game turns out.
Perhaps you’re busy, and need to depart
Halfway through. But when endings are in doubt

You live with hope. There’s no need to assume
Things won’t end well just because you’re behind.
Wonder what’s going on, fend off the gloom,
Uncertain what you will come home to find.

When there’s something to cheer for, win or lose,
Each moment matters. No news is good news.

Each moment matters. No news is good news
If all you want is for the game to take
As long as possible. You don’t know who’s
Playing. But when web sites show a mistake,

Unable to display the score, it draws
Us in. Though I can’t quite appreciate
The craziness of the scoreline, it awes
Me nonetheless. Even I know it’s great.

A play or two are silly wipeouts. Most
Are strangely simple; unreturned serves, aces,
Or sometimes vollies to another ghost
Sharing the same white clothing and pale faces.

Fast in its way, though saying that feels wrong,
The games quickly wrap up and move along.

The games quickly wrap up and move along,
Especially with four crammed in one day.
Accompanied by the same tuneless song,
The same at every tempo, you could say.

I wondered which to watch that afternoon
And chose neither, of course. They almost got
Done what would have been relatively soon,
Before adjournment. That said, they did not.

There had been games that morning. I saw part
Of one of them, although not very well.
The live video screen would stop and start
So erratically, it was hard to tell

What was occurring. Still, I sat alone,
Trying to keep up with a far time zone.

Trying to keep up with a far time zone
Can be easier than it might appear.
The times that has shown
Are rarely mine. I’m relatively near

To my team even when it goes away
Out west. Eleven-thirty’s not too late
(At least it’s not right now) for me to stay
Up and listen to them meeting their fate.

Is this how West Coast fans feel all the time,
Made blatant by the road trips to Seattle?
The surety that there’s always more time
So settle in, ready for a long battle?

“Nite game”, this would be called in our home park.
Tonight, there’s nothing there; the scoreboard’s dark.

Tonight, there’s nothing there; the scoreboard’s dark.
Turned off as if in respect. Numbers don’t
Do justice anymore, as each old mark
Is obliterated. Some watching won’t

Understand much, but elegance, we get.
Polite applause, scores read in monotone,
The darkened board, the white clothing–and yet
The players make their images their own.

A necklace, here and now? And more bizarre
To me, at least; a backwards baseball hat?
Yet Nike swoosh and all, that’s what they are.
A rally might help, if you put it that

Way. So into another night they stay,
Hours pass; the score creeps up as they play.

Hours pass; the score creeps up as they play,
Becoming more urgent. Without a goal
It’ll be over. There’s more than one way
To qualify; it isn’t like the sole

Hope is a stoppage-time goal. That’s the stuff
Of stories for children, far too cliché
For the real world. A draw would be enough
If…Slovenia could tie it up, say…

The timing is the fourth official’s whim.
And at this rate, officials? You can’t trust
Them very far. I wouldn’t count on him
To help you out. This year might be a bust.

Ninety minutes gone. Hope, worry, guess, pray–
They can’t keep going like this. Or can they?

They can’t keep going like this. Or can they?
I don’t know. I saw fragments, heard defeat
A couple nights. But that is not to say
I missed it all. I saw part of a feat

Unsurpassed–yet people could surpass that.
That’s the thing about sports. You never know
What the future will mock as just old hat,
Nor how much longer anything can go.

And I could read about it, after all.
I could see highlights, if I wanted to;
The journeys in distant times of a ball
Hit, pitched, or kicked, until at last you’re through.

And so we ask ourselves as play suspends;
Would you rather see beginnings or ends?