“Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.” – Red, Shawshank Redemption
But here we are, towards the third of week of June, still grasping on to hope. From a pure mathematical sense, the season is lost. Almost 30% of our total payroll is on the DL, we are six games out of first, our farm system lacks any MLB ready talent and management has to make a decision on CC by July 31st. Yet we cling to the notion that AAA ballers and journey-man pine riders can put together a winning streak and hold on long enough for our key personnel to get healthy and their bats to get hot. We hope our bullpen that currently serves up more runs than a bowl of Texas-chili will revert to their hitless forms, and that somehow JoeBro’s deal with Satan hasn’t expired. On a statistical basis, there is probably a better chance that Paris, Lindsay, and Britney all wear underwear this week than we have of winning the division.
However, hope lingers on, in part because of what transpired last year. Last year was like getting a date with the homecoming queen, and then after the dance the two of you sneaking into her bedroom, only to get busted by her dad right before any fun happened. Then she moved to Boston and you found out she hooked up with a townie. Screw Boston.
We hope that maybe she’ll move back and give us another chance. The only problem is that we just had multiple elbow surgeries, cortisones shots for our shoulders, bad hips, and now sprained fingers. Everyone knows there is no way to get to third base with sprained fingers…. But alas, we can’t help but hope that she overlooks our faults and comes back, no matter what the odds. And after all, grasping on to hope is better than being Kansas City.