Jays 2, Twins 1, Indians 1, Rays 0

Nobody owns 2010 and nobody will, but young bats also stand with arms as standouts so far. It’s an individual activity, hitting. Or pitching, actually, though an ally must catch. Throwing without pitching also can’t occur without an ally, or can’t occur in a good way. If you blow it, if you plural blow it, it’s still going down as a flaw with a particular individual, though choosing is now and again arbitrary.

That choosing is a hard task; it can’t occur in a vacuum. Not that far into finding out about a sport, you find out about its most dazzling days, find out what has a quick shorthand to pin down how good it was. And it’s a long, long way from that day until you could obtain a job and say what was, or was not, a hit.

If anything is a hit, without doubt, it’s a hit that soars far. Fair and out of play, into distant stands, for a hit and a run to boot. Such was on display from Toronto, slug and slug again, and in particular from a youth. That said, Tampa Bay too hit and got runs; 11 runs, to just 9 hits. Hitting, obviously, is not your only way to build a scoring opportunity. But Toronto was too strong, smacking 20 hits, 8 going far out. If anything’s obviously a hit, it’s that sort of blast.

Right?

Actually, no. You can fight, saying a ball did go out, against a ruling that it didn’t. And what’s lost in that  fight, you don’t gain in confusion following that loss–it’s not hard to claim that it wasn’t fair, in a splashy first-paragraph blurb, but it is hard to say that what you’d want still wouldn’t stop you from losing.

But if any squad shouldn’t complain about quirky ballparks, it’s our Twins that can’t. Not following a hit off a catwalk, prompting complaints from Maddon. Who’s crowing about moving outdoors now?

…Probably our Twins, still. That’s a pity.

So it’s Tampa Bay, again, that was flirting with historic futility. From what I saw (look-ins on MLB.com, I’ll admit, not all that much), this was similar to Jackson’s win–not as wild, but with many throws, and also finishing 1-0. Just having a run to work with can focus brilliant jobs, but if that won’t occur, with first and third full, why stay with Morrow?

But it paid off.

And so fans look towards morrows, trying to find out what this wacky August 2010 will throw us.

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Diamondbacks 1, Rays 0

It’s a linguistic paradox: is a mountain a mountain? A hill a hill? A sport a sport? A chair a chair? “Duh” sounds glib–what is a mountain but mountainous? But “mountain” is a human division, a word to try and pin down our natural world.

Vocabulary, though, grows in import as you grow familiar with it. Not looking out, pointing to an unfamiliar thing, and asking “what’s that?”, you look in and try to fit your world to words you know.

And math isn’t that good in comparison. A formula found, digits turning into a solution, and you look at all that follows in that light. If nobody had a right pinky, would a normal coach start to worry upon watching…what you or I would call 81 throws?

You can look at stats on a day-by-day basis. Claim that a good limit on a particular night is not valid all nights. In fact, you probably should. But to say “no, count your own silly digits, I will stop at an arbitrary point, la la la I don’t know what that guy is saying”, is going too far.

That said, it’s not all so bad. A chair is a human construct too; with our ability–our craving to put words to things, humans can look at old chairs, build stuff, and say “this, too, is a chair; you sit in it also”. Lots of things I look at–a cup, a laptop, a pad for writing down a draft of this post, a toothbrush, this chair–had human construction, and I can rightfully say that I am sitting in a chair. A human with my pull towards vocabulary built it and now all of us call it that. I don’t think a Platonic mountain and a Platonic hill float in a Platonic land, two distinct things that all high points in our world match up to, but humans’ ability to craft things points to “Platonic” artificial things. In a human sport, shouldn’t all worlds sound just as artificial? Arbitrary, in our control?

A “hill” is sort of innocuous. It’ll still stand tall, though not so tall, if you know what a “hill” is or not. But if words control actions, it’s risky. A coach should go to an arm good for short durations for important matchups: losing by a bit, trying to not allow winning runs, or facing tough outs. But with a short word for “holding on to a win by an arbitrary margin”, many a coach will ration arms suboptimally.

Still, inaction for too long is risky too. How long is too long? It’s a function of conditions; round digits stand as shortcuts, but nobody knows cutoffs for all situations. A string of losing blowouts might prompt long hours to stop mop-up guys from working too much.

That said, facing Tampa Bay’s Rays, this might not worry you so much.

And still, words count. Against swirling loads of data–pitch count, walks, only scoring a run of your own (though isn’t that lack of room for tripping up what can push you forward?)–all that stands is a word or two, with punctuation, and all its glorious connotations. If you can’t say a word, but think it anyway, and allow such thoughts to control you, you know how much words count. Slap a tag on a night, and though it’s tiring or wild or a risk, that tag is what stands out.

But if I can only say it through words, any criticism is hypocrisy.