“Mantener esperando y soñar y usted soar. Con una poca fe y suerte, usted soar.”
The Marlins thought that a trip to Puerto Rico and a Spanish translation would help Scott Stapp’s fight song suck less. Unfortunately, it didn’t. Instead it made the Marlins suck less against the Mets. Maybe it was the short outfield. Maybe it was the astroturf. Or maybe it was because the U.S. Department of Agriculture confiscated R.A. Dickey’s knuckleball thinking it was a pre-Columbian artifact. Who knows.
The most surprising thing about Monday night’s game is that astroturf still exists. I almost thought that Omar Moreno was going to lead off first base with those black jerseys and yellow caps and that Keith Hernandez was going to have a plaid sport jacket sprout from his back and envelop him like saran wrap. I mean, is grass one of those things you can’t bring on the island?
Well, certain grass.
(Editor’s note: Technically, it’s Field Turf. I personally don’t buy it. 66% sand and 34% “rubber infill” doesn’t exactly remind me of grass. And did you see the way the ball was bouncing around? I thought it was the Sesame Street pinball.)
And where were Los Expos? When I think Puerto Rico, and Hiram Bithorn, I think Expos. Because nothing says Boricua quite like Tomo Ohka. No, instead we get Los Marlins (at least that’s what the jerseys said) who just couldn’t learn from the vuvuzela incident and had the P.A. play the “charge” theme while their players were still running the bases after the many hits Dickey gave up in the third. This from the same owner who goes through managers like used tissues, and has somehow botched the Bobby Valentine negotiations. (You like how I automatically blamed the Marlins for all that without any base or real insight? C’mon, you enjoyed it. You feel dirty reading it but you enjoyed it.)
I know what else you enjoyed too: You enjoyed it when Keith went on and on in the eighth about how he had heard that Mike Stanton had trouble catching up to the fastball and that once pitchers went back to that from the off speed stuff that Stanton couldn’t adjust. At that moment I held on to my seat because I knew something was amiss. Sure enough, Ryota Igarashi’s fastball that Stanton allegedly couldn’t catch up to was headed towards Aguadilla. It soared.
Damn you, Scott Stapp.
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