A local dignitary known as Every Braves Fan Ever sings the National Anthem.
Hello there. Did you perhaps think we were holding out on a proper recap until our beloved Boys in Blue had won their first? Yeah, we considered that too, but decided it might be best to blog before May. Two games in and people are already "Wait till next year"-ing. But fuck those people. They're just trying to be clever - an affectation of which we've never been accused.
Anyhow, it has indeed been a shitty couple of days. Zambrano did his Zambrano thing, Grabow did his Zambrano thing one day later, and suddenly we're two games back of the Pirates. That can cause a self-esteem shudder in the hardiest of fan. My recommendation? Come to terms with the shitty baseball on display, then drink away your memories one inning at a time - say, at the 2nd Annual Wasting Away in Wrigleyville Pub Crawl.
To the games! Then we'll never speak of them again.
After the jump
"Why are you asking me? I don't know what the fuck's wrong with 'em."
The Chicago Cubs taught young fans a valuable lesson on opening day this year: Never, ever, ever get happy and excited about an early homer, because that's just the setup for shitty defense to rip your heart out like Mola Ram in the Temple of Doom. Marlon Byrd tried to make good with fans early on, then spent the bottom of the first fielding like his shoes were full of biting centipedes. He left a gaping would in center field creepily reminiscent of a Georgia O'Keefe painting.
That and a succession of bloop hits proved too much for the Ace pitcher with the ego of a ballerina. One home run later and Opening Day was well on its way to fuckery. But holy shit how huge is the guy he gave up the home run to? I'd use his name here, but it's much cooler if you give him a mythical badass name, like Biff Strongbow or Rock Brickbat. Or any of these:
Of course, this was all survivable until someone decided to put Samardzija on the mound in the opener. Hey, is Mike McSamardzija still around the Internet? If he is, then I'd like to point out this opportunity to tell you that I was right, and you were a hair-eating retard. Enjoy fabulous Des Moines, Jeffy cakes.
Like 'Casey at the Bat,' except Casey was good in the first place.
If anyone ever asks you how two kinds of pain can be distinguished, I'd invite you to point them to this two-game set of agony. Two days after getting shit-stomped, and one day after an off-day that must have been sense to Bud Selig when he was pulling a Carradine with a belt and a DVD of Little Big League, we gave up one late in a manner that resembled a Disney movie. Their biggest player rocked one in the bottom of the 8th to steal the game back. Now I know how the villanous Icelanders must feel. This coming after an offseason of everyone saying what a bad idea Grabow was. And yet vindication still feels like ass, because we're two games back of the Pirates (in case you forgot).
Starring Bill Paxton (or Pullman? I can't get them straight) as Chipper Jones.
Perhaps the most pathetic sight was questionable signing Xavier Nady and Biggest Loser Soto each looking at the 3rd strike from ageless pitching-bot Billy Wagner. It's like they went all Charlie Brown when they saw Grabow pitch a shitty 8th and get yanked. Way to be aggressive, guys.
Today is the face-saving game. Let's see what new agonies today holds. I'm still glad baseball is back - I will never learn my lesson.