Every Once in a While…
And then, there are weekends like this past one, where you start to think maybe, just maybe. When Juan Lagares throws out another runner at home, Travis d’Araund comes up big late in the game, when the quartet of Vic Black, Josh Edgin, Jeurys Familia and Jennry Mejia look like world-beaters and when Zack Wheeler matures before your very eyes. A weekend when down on the farm, two top prospect pitchers twirl gems and the middle infielder your GM swiped from a team starving for a post-season berth hits and fields like a young Robbie Alomar (that was the good version of Robbie). You forget that the Wilpons are the owners, that your manager has never won anything and that the GM will probably snooze through another trade deadline. You forget that your ace pitcher is still recovering from serious arm surgery and that your top lefty has just gone back on the DL.
This is the beauty of baseball, that the game is always right in front of you and that when played well, the possibilities seem endless. In one of the most brilliant pieces of prose ever written by an American writer, the great William Faulkner described how every southern boy 14 years old can always get to the place just before two o’clock on that July afternoon in 1863, when the charge hasn’t happened yet and there is still all that much to gain. Baseball can be like that too.
Speaking of the south, I think that the Atlanta Braves will march in and ruin this feeling and we will soon be back to fire Terry, cut Chris Young and why don’t they make a trade for one of those Cub shortstops.
Meantime, savor the feeling.