re: MLB Off-Topic
This was pretty funny.. excerpt from a short Grantland article about the Lester/Cespedes trade
This was pretty funny.. excerpt from a short Grantland article about the Lester/Cespedes trade
Billy Beane sits alone in a darkened room, bottle of Canadian whiskey in his fist. “My **** doesn’t work in the playoffs, they said.” Beane shoves a stack of books off the table and shouts at the sky like a wounded raven.
“I’ll show them **** working in the playoffs. I’ll make it work.”
Beane turns and grabs the phone. The effort of picking up the phone causes him to lose his balance. “FORST!” he yells into the receiver as he steadies himself. “Get me a pitcher … yeah, Samardzija. Yeah! Get him! … I don’t care, just get him!”
Beane slams the phone down, then immediately picks it up and dials again. He throws a glass against the wall, breaking it into more pieces than it took the Mariners to acquire Erik Bedard.
“FORST!” Beane shouts. “Get me Lester! … I know we’ve got pitching! Get me Lester, by god!”
Beane rips the phone cord out of the wall and throws the entire assembly through the window.
“My **** doesn’t work in the playoffs, they said.” Beane takes another slug of whiskey. “I’ll show them what happens when I have all the pitchers.”
Beane looks out into the night. Oil fields burn in the distance as sirens drown out the noise of birds and crickets.
“All the pitchers.”
“I’ll show them **** working in the playoffs. I’ll make it work.”
Beane turns and grabs the phone. The effort of picking up the phone causes him to lose his balance. “FORST!” he yells into the receiver as he steadies himself. “Get me a pitcher … yeah, Samardzija. Yeah! Get him! … I don’t care, just get him!”
Beane slams the phone down, then immediately picks it up and dials again. He throws a glass against the wall, breaking it into more pieces than it took the Mariners to acquire Erik Bedard.
“FORST!” Beane shouts. “Get me Lester! … I know we’ve got pitching! Get me Lester, by god!”
Beane rips the phone cord out of the wall and throws the entire assembly through the window.
“My **** doesn’t work in the playoffs, they said.” Beane takes another slug of whiskey. “I’ll show them what happens when I have all the pitchers.”
Beane looks out into the night. Oil fields burn in the distance as sirens drown out the noise of birds and crickets.
“All the pitchers.”
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