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the skunks of los feliz
Opening day has come and gone (it actually came and went last week when the Yanks played the D-Rays in Tokyo. What, you didn't notice?), and the Dodgers lost again! They put a twist on last year's debacle by adding poor pitching to anemic hitting, and reached exactly the same result. A loss. Or, as Jim Tracy might say, not as much of a win as they would have liked.
Ah, but wins and losses are secondary at this point of the season. It's just good to have baseball back. Vin Scully dribbling all over little babies, Adrian Beltre grounding out with men on, and a chorus of boos for a lackluster offensive effort. Truly, this is bliss.
Why?, you may ask. Isn't the object of the game to win? How can you suffer the indignity of a loss so easily? Well, I will tell you, my blue fright-wigged, Gagne goatee-wearing friend. The worst thing in baseball (as well as life), is mediocrity. I say, be the greatest, or be the worst. As Yoda said: Do. Or do not. There is no try. Notice he did not say: try your bestest.
Why? Because nothing is more boring than a .500 team. Win 'em all with sparkling defense, stifling pitching, and god-like prowess with the bat, or lose 'em all in as heartbreaking and mind-boggling a manner as possible. Put a little spark into it! Lift us up, only to let us down. Don't limp along, excuses trailing out behind you like damped, chewed up sunflower seeds.
Lose, and take it like a man. And pass the mustard, my Dodger dog is barking.
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