One of my favorite things to do is take the first round of projected stats I get and wildly extrapolate what the Royals' record will be in the coming season.
Yesterday, Dan Szymborski released his first projections of the year, which he calls ZiPS.
I immediately dumped the Royals' projected starting lineup into David Pinto's Lineup Analysis Tool to see what kind of run production could be expected from the team this year.
4.7 runs a game.
Last year, the Royals averaged 4.5 runs a game overal, and 4.68 from August to the end of the season, when the team was almost the same as it projects to be this coming year.
For what it's worth, Lorenzo Cain projects to hit 259/314/370 and Melky Cabrera is looking at 284/330/435. If Cabrera replaces Cain in the projection, and moves Giavotella from the two-hole, then the Royals should score 4.8 runs a game. You can see the revised projection here.
So, what does all of this mean? Well if the pitchers can hold steady at their overall rate of 4.7 runs per game last season, then the team should be a .500 ball club, which is what I think most analysts will agree is a reasonable goal for this team.
If the pitching can get just a wee, tiny, teensy-weensy bit better... Then, I can plan to take some days off in October to watch the boys in blue in that postseason slot at 10a.m. on a Tuesday that all of the non East Coast teams usually get when the playoffs start.
No, I don't have any naked pictures on my site. Quit asking.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 9, 2012
Budweiser's New Beer for Scumbags
Something has been bugging me about the recent Super Bowl, and it isn't the misguided chatter about how Eli Manning is now a better quarterback than his brother just because Tom Brady threw one bad pass and too many San Francisco 49ers were capable of intercepting him at the same time two weeks ago.
No, it's the spot for Budweiser's new "Platinum" beer.
You might have forgotten the spot, since it was the first one aired once the game started, and it lacked a certain nut-cracking quality of previous InBev efforts.
Here it is if you need a refresher.
Being an ad man, you might suspect I'm appalled at the lack of product insight in this spot. How there is no way to tell what it is they're even selling other than beer. How they reference gold for a product called platinum, but put it in a blue bottle. (Bud Light Cobalt, anyone?)
But, no.
I forgive those things, because this is a Super Bowl spot, and they are not supposed to make sense. Because, this is Budweiser and let's be honest, if the consumer isn't smart enough to go online and find out what makes this particular blend of hops and water taste different than any other, then they are probably drinking moonshine anyway.
No, the thing that bothered me is the music track: Kanye West's "Runaway."
No offense to Mr. West, who is a fine artist, if not always the most eloquent human being come award show time, but I am somewhat curious about the particular executive who green lit using a song about being an asshole to associate with his precious new brand.
I mean, did anybody involved with this commercial actually listen to the lyrics of the song?
Kanye promoting jerks:
"Let's have a toast for the douche bags"
Kanye promoting sexual harassment:
"I sent this bitch a picture of my dick"
Kanye explicitly telling the listener to "run away as fast as you can."
I'm guessing it went down something like this:
The creative director wanted the song because it was moody, but he told the client it sounded aspirational.
The account guy pitched it as a popular artist, and a low level employee at the client remembered seeing it performed on MTV.
The main client asked if he could hear the whole song, but the agency only played the instrumental track. The client made a mental note to find the video on YouTube, but quickly forgot about it when told his box seats for the Big Game weren't as good as Chrysler's.
And then, the world watched the Super Bowl, most paying little attention to the spot as they cared more about the cost of the ad time than they did the fact Kanye West made more money for some tinkling piano keys than the entire crew filming the commercial probably got for making a blue bottle of beer look appetizing.
Of course, I will be ordering one up the next time I'm out to see if it was worth the effort, so I guess everybody wins in the end, anyway.
No, it's the spot for Budweiser's new "Platinum" beer.
You might have forgotten the spot, since it was the first one aired once the game started, and it lacked a certain nut-cracking quality of previous InBev efforts.
Here it is if you need a refresher.
Being an ad man, you might suspect I'm appalled at the lack of product insight in this spot. How there is no way to tell what it is they're even selling other than beer. How they reference gold for a product called platinum, but put it in a blue bottle. (Bud Light Cobalt, anyone?)
But, no.
I forgive those things, because this is a Super Bowl spot, and they are not supposed to make sense. Because, this is Budweiser and let's be honest, if the consumer isn't smart enough to go online and find out what makes this particular blend of hops and water taste different than any other, then they are probably drinking moonshine anyway.
No, the thing that bothered me is the music track: Kanye West's "Runaway."
No offense to Mr. West, who is a fine artist, if not always the most eloquent human being come award show time, but I am somewhat curious about the particular executive who green lit using a song about being an asshole to associate with his precious new brand.
I mean, did anybody involved with this commercial actually listen to the lyrics of the song?
Kanye promoting jerks:
"Let's have a toast for the douche bags"
Kanye promoting sexual harassment:
"I sent this bitch a picture of my dick"
Kanye explicitly telling the listener to "run away as fast as you can."
I'm guessing it went down something like this:
The creative director wanted the song because it was moody, but he told the client it sounded aspirational.
The account guy pitched it as a popular artist, and a low level employee at the client remembered seeing it performed on MTV.
The main client asked if he could hear the whole song, but the agency only played the instrumental track. The client made a mental note to find the video on YouTube, but quickly forgot about it when told his box seats for the Big Game weren't as good as Chrysler's.
And then, the world watched the Super Bowl, most paying little attention to the spot as they cared more about the cost of the ad time than they did the fact Kanye West made more money for some tinkling piano keys than the entire crew filming the commercial probably got for making a blue bottle of beer look appetizing.
Of course, I will be ordering one up the next time I'm out to see if it was worth the effort, so I guess everybody wins in the end, anyway.
Jan 18, 2012
Two Deals Left for Royals
I say two, of course, because the only deal the Kansas City Royals have to get done is signing Alex Gordon.
Arbitration figures were exchanged and the club and player are about $1.3 Million apart. Or, as Mitt Romney would call it: peanuts.
A one-year contract would be a disappointment, and if Gordon plays well, it could be prohibitively costly. The good news is that the two sides both appear to be talking long-term. The smart money seems to be on Gordon getting signed for 4-5 years very soon, which would wrap up the To Do list for Dayton Moore if he wants to let his young team show him what it can do in 2012.
Of course, there is one more thing Moore could do to show his young team how much he believes in them and give the fans a real reason to believe Kansas City will be in the playoffs before the Mayan Apocalypse.
A phone call to Roy Oswalt and Edwin Jackson's agents certainly couldn't hurt. If previous years are to be believed, the payroll threshold for a non-contending Royals team is around $70 Million, and depending on how the Gordon negotiations turn out, the current roster shouldn't be over $60 Million going into Spring Training.
What do you say, Mr. Oswalt. Wanna become a folk hero in KC before you retire and make a cool ten mil while you're at it?
Make the call, Dayton.
Arbitration figures were exchanged and the club and player are about $1.3 Million apart. Or, as Mitt Romney would call it: peanuts.
A one-year contract would be a disappointment, and if Gordon plays well, it could be prohibitively costly. The good news is that the two sides both appear to be talking long-term. The smart money seems to be on Gordon getting signed for 4-5 years very soon, which would wrap up the To Do list for Dayton Moore if he wants to let his young team show him what it can do in 2012.
Of course, there is one more thing Moore could do to show his young team how much he believes in them and give the fans a real reason to believe Kansas City will be in the playoffs before the Mayan Apocalypse.
A phone call to Roy Oswalt and Edwin Jackson's agents certainly couldn't hurt. If previous years are to be believed, the payroll threshold for a non-contending Royals team is around $70 Million, and depending on how the Gordon negotiations turn out, the current roster shouldn't be over $60 Million going into Spring Training.
What do you say, Mr. Oswalt. Wanna become a folk hero in KC before you retire and make a cool ten mil while you're at it?
Make the call, Dayton.
Jan 3, 2012
What the Frack?
Bad news for natural gas. A lot of people are about to ask the question "what's fracking?"
Expert: Fracking caused Youngstown Ohio earthquakes
By giving the process a name that sounds vaguely like something the Muppets would do, the industry has been able to fly pretty low under the radar, with only a few geeks from NPR and people in the affected areas knowing what was going on.
But, earthquakes are interesting. And earthquakes caused by mad scientists injecting hot liquid into the ground sounds pretty cool.
We're only a George Clooney/Matt Damon conspiracy film and one more major earthquake away from real national exposure, and maybe even a debate topic in the 2012 elections.
Should be more fun than talking about payroll taxes again.
Jan 2, 2012
Catching Up on the Royals
Happy New Year, everybody.
One of my goals this year is to start writing about the Kansas City Royals again. It's something I've always enjoyed, and the team has been more fun to watch this past year than any since 2003.
This is, of course, a terrible idea.
The main reason is that I am about to become a father for the first time. Our little girl is due on March 27, which is basically opening day. I don't know much about raising children (I do have a DVD from the California Children & Families Commission that I'm hoping will be helpful), but my guess is that it won't lead to more free time, and I certainly wasn't a prolific writer before.
At any rate, I'm going to give it a shot. Starting with a look at the main transactions that have taken place since the season ended.
That's right, cutting edge analysis only two months after something has happened. Count on it!
--------------------
Moves to Address the Abysmal Starting Pitching Situation.
11/07/11 Kansas City Royals traded CF Melky Cabrera to San Francisco Giants;
San Francisco Giants traded LHP Jonathan Sanchez to Kansas City Royals
Richmond Flying Squirrels traded Ryan Verdugo to Northwest Arkansas Naturals.
11/18/11 Kansas City Royals called up Ryan Verdugo from Northwest Arkansas Naturals.
11/23/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent LHP Bruce Chen.
11/29/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent RHP Jonathan Broxton.
12/21/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent LHP Jose Mijares.
In 2011, the Royals had a team ERA of 4.44, which was 12th in the American League. That is not good. The bulk of this awfulness came from the starting rotation, who contributed a 4.82 ERA versus 3.75 from the relievers.
Having this information on hand, you may look at the transactions above and wonder why only one of the signings actually addressed the starting pitching situation.
I'm not saying that adding Jonathan Sanchez to the starting rotation isn't a nice move. But, it's sort of like putting a new rug in the living room to spruce things up, but leaving your beer-stained couch and milk crate coffee table as the centerpiece.
Bringing back Bruce Chen is nice, as he was probably the best starter last year. Bringing in Broxton and Mijares certainly adds more depth to a very good bullpen. But, at the end of the day, four-fifths of the rotation of suck that took the mound last year will be doing so again this season.
On a positive note, the starters for Kansas City did drop their ERA from 5.13 before the All Star Break to 4.44 after.
--------------------
Minor League Moves
11/11/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent LHP Alejandro Viloria.
11/15/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent LHP Tommy Hottovy.
12/08/11 Kansas City Royals claim Cesar Cabral off waivers from Portland Sea Dogs.
Kansas City Royals traded Cesar Cabral to New York Yankees.
12/12/11 LHP Aaron Laffey elected free agency.
12/13/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent RHP Juan Gutierrez.
Kansas City Royals signed free agent C Max Ramirez.
Kansas City Royals signed free agent OF Greg Golson.
12/14/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent RHP Devon Lowery.
I don't know who any of these people are.
This is the kind of in-depth analysis you can expect about the minor league moving forward.
--------------------
Utility Infielder Option #1
11/30/11 Kansas City Royals designated SS Jeff Bianchi for assignment.
12/09/11 Chicago Cubs claim Jeff Bianchi off waivers from Kansas City Royals.
Jeff Bianchi had a promising season in between single and double-A ball in 2009, but lost all of 2010 to injury, and just never put it together last year at Northwest Arkansas.
I list him here, because as somebody who has played both shortstop and second base, he could have been a usefull player for the Royals if the bat ever came around.
Oh, and he's probably going to become a hall of famer in Chicago. That Theo Epstein kid is wicked smart.
--------------------
Utility Infielder Option #2
12/08/11 Kansas City Royals traded 3B Yamaico Navarro to Pittsburgh Pirates
for RHP Brooks Pounders and 3B Diego Goris.
Brooks Pounders assigned to Wilmington Blue Rocks from Kansas City Royals.
Diego Goris assigned to Burlington Royals from Kansas City Royals.
Yamaico Navarro was in a great position to be the Royals super utility player this year. But, he was an a-hole. And what happens to a-holes? They get traded from Boston to Kansas City to Pittsburgh. Unless they can hit. If they can hit, they get to keep being a-holes all they want.
Better learn how to hit, Yam.
--------------------
Utility Infielder Option #∞
12/20/11 Kansas City Royals signed free agent SS Yuniesky Betancourt.
Joe Posnanski says it best here.
Rany Jazayerli has a good take on the signing here.
I'll just link to what I wrote when theRoyals picked up Yuni the first time.
Thankfully, I was way wrong about Cortes's future. The jury is still out on Yuni, though.
Nov 2, 2011
Kardashian's Split Puts My Reality Hate in Focus
We watched another episode of Jersey Shore tonight and I felt my brain turn a bit more to mush.
Of course, the season is over now. We've got seven episodes sitting on the DVR, and each week as the number ticked up a notch, it became more and more painful to contemplate the task of taking them all in.
You see. I hate reality TV.
I understand the term "reality" has taken on a strange meaning in regards to the boob tube, but for the sake of this discussion, it means those shows that pretend to be about real people living their lives in a real fashion, only it is obvious that they are not.
By this definition, I am leaving out the competition shows. Your American Idols, Dancing with the Stars and 90% of the programming on the Food Network these days.
We are, of course, recording Jersey Shore because it is a cultural touch point, and as advertising professionals, my wife and I feel compelled to at least pretend we care about what the rest of the country is wasting its time on.
We just can't quite bring ourselves to watch it week in and week out. And so, the DVR queue builds. And it becomes a scary beast. Imagine seven full hours of Snooki staring you in the face. You'd probably blink, too, and throw on an episode of Chopped instead.
I've spent more time than a sane man should trying to figure out where my extreme distaste for the genre stems from and I think I have narrowed it down to this simple statement:
If it's fake, then it isn't reality; and if it's real, then it isn't humane.
Let's use Kim Kardashian to illustrate.
Because I'm a man, I follow sports. And because I follow sports, I was forced to listen to a couple of talking heads on ESPN discuss the recent divorce filing of NBA lockoutee Chris Humphrees.
As I understand it from the eight million commercials running on E!, the girl with the sex tape and the guy who is currently unemployed got married a couple of months ago. And now, some seventy days later, they are getting a divorce.
And my simple question is: this is reality?
You see, I'm all for scripted TV, or even badly acted improv, as I believe most reality TV to be. Just call it that.
Kim and Chris are getting married? Their families are going to fight? They'll figure it all out and have a beautiful wedding, smiling and kissing and drinking champagne?
I'm all for it. Have a blast. Show the viewers out there a great show.
Only, they got married for real. Like, with paperwork and everything.
My confusion overwhelms me and I don't know whether to be annoyed or disgusted.
If it's fake, then it isn't reality.
If they planned this whole thing to make some money and put on a show, then let's call it what it is: shitty improv.
If it's real, then it isn't humane.
If they really got married. If they really thought that their relationship was real, when it so obviously isn't (I mean, I've had some friends in some god-awful bad relationships who stuck it out for more than two months), then the people who are controlling their lives are sick, sick, sick, sick monsters.
I can't believe I've wasted so many words on this already.
I need an agent.
Of course, the season is over now. We've got seven episodes sitting on the DVR, and each week as the number ticked up a notch, it became more and more painful to contemplate the task of taking them all in.
You see. I hate reality TV.
I understand the term "reality" has taken on a strange meaning in regards to the boob tube, but for the sake of this discussion, it means those shows that pretend to be about real people living their lives in a real fashion, only it is obvious that they are not.
By this definition, I am leaving out the competition shows. Your American Idols, Dancing with the Stars and 90% of the programming on the Food Network these days.
We are, of course, recording Jersey Shore because it is a cultural touch point, and as advertising professionals, my wife and I feel compelled to at least pretend we care about what the rest of the country is wasting its time on.
We just can't quite bring ourselves to watch it week in and week out. And so, the DVR queue builds. And it becomes a scary beast. Imagine seven full hours of Snooki staring you in the face. You'd probably blink, too, and throw on an episode of Chopped instead.
I've spent more time than a sane man should trying to figure out where my extreme distaste for the genre stems from and I think I have narrowed it down to this simple statement:
If it's fake, then it isn't reality; and if it's real, then it isn't humane.
Let's use Kim Kardashian to illustrate.
Because I'm a man, I follow sports. And because I follow sports, I was forced to listen to a couple of talking heads on ESPN discuss the recent divorce filing of NBA lockoutee Chris Humphrees.
As I understand it from the eight million commercials running on E!, the girl with the sex tape and the guy who is currently unemployed got married a couple of months ago. And now, some seventy days later, they are getting a divorce.
And my simple question is: this is reality?
You see, I'm all for scripted TV, or even badly acted improv, as I believe most reality TV to be. Just call it that.
Kim and Chris are getting married? Their families are going to fight? They'll figure it all out and have a beautiful wedding, smiling and kissing and drinking champagne?
I'm all for it. Have a blast. Show the viewers out there a great show.
Only, they got married for real. Like, with paperwork and everything.
My confusion overwhelms me and I don't know whether to be annoyed or disgusted.
If it's fake, then it isn't reality.
If they planned this whole thing to make some money and put on a show, then let's call it what it is: shitty improv.
If it's real, then it isn't humane.
If they really got married. If they really thought that their relationship was real, when it so obviously isn't (I mean, I've had some friends in some god-awful bad relationships who stuck it out for more than two months), then the people who are controlling their lives are sick, sick, sick, sick monsters.
I can't believe I've wasted so many words on this already.
I need an agent.
Sep 29, 2011
I miss my mix tapes
Some random thoughts on a Thursday night.
---------------------
I miss my mix tapes.
---------------------
I was listening to a favorite album of mine on the old iPod today, when I was thrown off by how quickly one song followed the other.
This particular album was previously owned only on cassette tape before the world went digital, and the song that had just ended was the last one on what us old fogeys used to call "side one".
There used to be this moment of silence when the song was finished, followed by a satisfying click when the tape changed direction in the dashboard of my old car.
I love my iPod, but sometimes I miss the pace of cassette tapes.
---------------------
My wife informed me when I got home tonight that the shirt I was wearing did not go with the pants I had on.
This came as a crushing blow, because nobody had said anything at work, so I must assume that everybody was snickering at me behind my back, and I have been working so hard to cultivate an air of respect.
----------------------
I miss writing about the Royals.
----------------------
Our dog had oral surgery this week, so we've been feeding him soft foods and weening him off of these pain meds.
He also had his testicles removed, because, you know, if you're going under for a few hours, it makes sense to lose everything you love.
Anyway, the poor guy is finally starting to feel better, but it's been heartbreaking to see him woozy and wobbly.
I think the hardest thing about having pets in distress is that you can't explain what's happening to them. You can't reason the pain away and point to brighter days.
Normally, it's such a blessing for a pet to live in the moment -- happy to see you, devastated when you walk out of the room, ecstatic when you give them a new toy or treat. They remind us that if you can just step away from work and bills and responsibilities, the only thing that really matters is right now.
But, when right now is full of pain and confusion, the world must be so daunting and scary, and a few scratches behind the ears just doesn't seem like enough.
That said, I think we could all use a few scratches behind the ears now and then. I know it would make me feel better.
---------------------
I miss my mix tapes.
---------------------
I was listening to a favorite album of mine on the old iPod today, when I was thrown off by how quickly one song followed the other.
This particular album was previously owned only on cassette tape before the world went digital, and the song that had just ended was the last one on what us old fogeys used to call "side one".
There used to be this moment of silence when the song was finished, followed by a satisfying click when the tape changed direction in the dashboard of my old car.
I love my iPod, but sometimes I miss the pace of cassette tapes.
---------------------
My wife informed me when I got home tonight that the shirt I was wearing did not go with the pants I had on.
This came as a crushing blow, because nobody had said anything at work, so I must assume that everybody was snickering at me behind my back, and I have been working so hard to cultivate an air of respect.
----------------------
I miss writing about the Royals.
----------------------
Our dog had oral surgery this week, so we've been feeding him soft foods and weening him off of these pain meds.
He also had his testicles removed, because, you know, if you're going under for a few hours, it makes sense to lose everything you love.
Anyway, the poor guy is finally starting to feel better, but it's been heartbreaking to see him woozy and wobbly.
I think the hardest thing about having pets in distress is that you can't explain what's happening to them. You can't reason the pain away and point to brighter days.
Normally, it's such a blessing for a pet to live in the moment -- happy to see you, devastated when you walk out of the room, ecstatic when you give them a new toy or treat. They remind us that if you can just step away from work and bills and responsibilities, the only thing that really matters is right now.
But, when right now is full of pain and confusion, the world must be so daunting and scary, and a few scratches behind the ears just doesn't seem like enough.
That said, I think we could all use a few scratches behind the ears now and then. I know it would make me feel better.
Aug 17, 2011
What's He So Sure About?
The dog gave me a look I hadn't seen before.
Normally, he had a slightly-confused expression... you know, like he wanted to ask me a question about quantum physics, but wasn't sure if he would use the right terminology, or if that was even my particular area of expertise.
Sometimes, he had this happy grin and his tongue would hang out, and I'd feel pretty good about myself for taking this canine in from the streets and providing him a happy home.
Of course, he could have just been hot and thirsty. I'm really not good at reading human expressions. Animals are a whole different problem.
The look today was different, though.
He definitely wasn't confused. Or happy. He seemed oddly sure of himself. His neck craned back with an air of defiance and he kept both of his eyes locked to mine as he lifted his right paw and then planted it firmly on the ground.
Then, he puked.
It was effortless. The yellow vomit spilled out of his mouth as if he were a soda fountain.
In an instant, it was over.
The odd expression was gone. He grinned and the tongue came out and it was just me, the dog and his happiness over the pile of yellow goo that was quickly soaking into the carpet.
He looked away from me and over to the bottle of cleaner we keep on hand for these happy occasions.
I grabbed some paper towels and made a mental note to throw a towel under the pup the next time he seemed so confident.
Normally, he had a slightly-confused expression... you know, like he wanted to ask me a question about quantum physics, but wasn't sure if he would use the right terminology, or if that was even my particular area of expertise.
Sometimes, he had this happy grin and his tongue would hang out, and I'd feel pretty good about myself for taking this canine in from the streets and providing him a happy home.
Of course, he could have just been hot and thirsty. I'm really not good at reading human expressions. Animals are a whole different problem.
The look today was different, though.
He definitely wasn't confused. Or happy. He seemed oddly sure of himself. His neck craned back with an air of defiance and he kept both of his eyes locked to mine as he lifted his right paw and then planted it firmly on the ground.
Then, he puked.
It was effortless. The yellow vomit spilled out of his mouth as if he were a soda fountain.
In an instant, it was over.
The odd expression was gone. He grinned and the tongue came out and it was just me, the dog and his happiness over the pile of yellow goo that was quickly soaking into the carpet.
He looked away from me and over to the bottle of cleaner we keep on hand for these happy occasions.
I grabbed some paper towels and made a mental note to throw a towel under the pup the next time he seemed so confident.
Jun 24, 2011
I Might be Supersonic
When I was a kid, I would often dream of being some kind of bionic man. A cross between Inspector Gadget and Remo Williams.
The part that always seems to get glossed over in those movies is that the guy getting all of the cool hardware had to go through some intense pain before the fancy accoutrements arrived.
I mean, the dude got seriously hurt.
In real life, most of us will rarely go through a dramatic incident in which we are chased down by evil henchmen, put through the ringer and left for dead.
Instead, we just grow old. And the gadgets we get are irritating, made of plastic and not nearly as cool as a rocket-fueled turbo blaster.
I am speaking of course of my new ankle brace.
It turns out that the annoying pain that started in my heal about six months ago wasn't just a cramp or stress from a comical lack of flexibility (though the last one certainly doesn't help).
Apparently, sometime in the last year or two, I managed to sever three ligaments in my left foot.
The good news is that there are no nerves attached to these ligaments, so I felt no pain.
The bad news is that my poor achilles has been working overtime to keep my foot from just sort of flopping around all loosey goosey and making me limp to the side as if being directed by Mr. Humpty Hump himself.
And now I have an ankle brace.
"Is this reversible," I asked my podiatrist. (sign number 89 that I'm getting old... I now have a podiatrist)
"Not really," he said. "We'll have you do some physical therapy and see if we can strengthen a few other muscles around the joint so they can ease the stress on your heel."
"Should I stop going to the gym?" I asked.
"You've been going to the gym," he asked, suspiciously.
"Well," I answered. "Once or twice a year."
"You can actually start going more," he told me.
"What about sports. I do play softball regularly."
I watched as he tried to think of a polite way to inform me that softball was not really a sport.
"You'll be fine," he said. "Just wear the brace. It will give you support and keep you stable."
I wanted to ask what I should do if I hit a line drive to the fence and was tempted to leg out a triple, but I realized it would take me longer to get the triple than it would for him to come up with an answer that didn't offend me.
So, now I've got this piece of hardware strapped to my ankle. I'm supposed to wear it all day at work, lest a trip to the copier send me to the emergency room.
In my head, it makes cool hydraulic noises like those cars that cruise around in rap videos, but in reality, it's just a piece of plastic with some foam on it.
Tucked away beneath my pant legs, so the world can remain unaware at how feeble I am.
My secret bionic ankle.
I'll see if I can resist the urge to shout "Go go gadget ankle!" the next time I hit a ball out of the infield.
The part that always seems to get glossed over in those movies is that the guy getting all of the cool hardware had to go through some intense pain before the fancy accoutrements arrived.
I mean, the dude got seriously hurt.
In real life, most of us will rarely go through a dramatic incident in which we are chased down by evil henchmen, put through the ringer and left for dead.
Instead, we just grow old. And the gadgets we get are irritating, made of plastic and not nearly as cool as a rocket-fueled turbo blaster.
I am speaking of course of my new ankle brace.
It turns out that the annoying pain that started in my heal about six months ago wasn't just a cramp or stress from a comical lack of flexibility (though the last one certainly doesn't help).
Apparently, sometime in the last year or two, I managed to sever three ligaments in my left foot.
The good news is that there are no nerves attached to these ligaments, so I felt no pain.
The bad news is that my poor achilles has been working overtime to keep my foot from just sort of flopping around all loosey goosey and making me limp to the side as if being directed by Mr. Humpty Hump himself.
And now I have an ankle brace.
"Is this reversible," I asked my podiatrist. (sign number 89 that I'm getting old... I now have a podiatrist)
"Not really," he said. "We'll have you do some physical therapy and see if we can strengthen a few other muscles around the joint so they can ease the stress on your heel."
"Should I stop going to the gym?" I asked.
"You've been going to the gym," he asked, suspiciously.
"Well," I answered. "Once or twice a year."
"You can actually start going more," he told me.
"What about sports. I do play softball regularly."
I watched as he tried to think of a polite way to inform me that softball was not really a sport.
"You'll be fine," he said. "Just wear the brace. It will give you support and keep you stable."
I wanted to ask what I should do if I hit a line drive to the fence and was tempted to leg out a triple, but I realized it would take me longer to get the triple than it would for him to come up with an answer that didn't offend me.
So, now I've got this piece of hardware strapped to my ankle. I'm supposed to wear it all day at work, lest a trip to the copier send me to the emergency room.
In my head, it makes cool hydraulic noises like those cars that cruise around in rap videos, but in reality, it's just a piece of plastic with some foam on it.
Tucked away beneath my pant legs, so the world can remain unaware at how feeble I am.
My secret bionic ankle.
I'll see if I can resist the urge to shout "Go go gadget ankle!" the next time I hit a ball out of the infield.
Jun 8, 2011
The NBA Finals – One Take On a Game Four Recap
In preparation for tonight's game five in the NBA finals, I thought I'd take a quick look back at my experience with Game Four on Tuesday night. Here is how one man took in this pivotal match up.
1st Quarter
I was still at work when the game started at six, so I missed most of the first quarter while finishing up a few emails to the client, checking in on the Royals score and IMing with my wife about our plans for the evening.
I should state that I've had a passing interest in the Dallas Mavericks since early in the 2000's, after my parents moved to Grapevine, a suburb of the Dallas-Ft. Worth metropolitan area.
Most people know Grapevine because of it's comically large mall. If you ever visit the area, you'll recognize it from the air. You can actually read the name on top of the building while descending into DFW airport.
I was all ready to throw myself into the game on the radio when I go to my car, but was disappointed to realize that the AM signal wouldn't penetrate the parking structure of my building. Making the best of things, I plugged in my iPod and rocked out to a Social Distortion song from the late nineties while I snaked around a few hundred speed bumps.
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