On Cubism and Diamonds

Ballplayers.  Modern art.  I had a lack of understanding of both. 

 

This Red Sox-Rays series spotlighted the perversions.  Bad baseball.  The monstrosity last night that went until midnight.  The monstrosity last Saturday, with bad umpires.  “Good at-bats,” according to Chip Caray.  Where the hell did he grow up?  His dad never would call these things good at-bats.  Or his grandfather. 

 

The Ivy League comes to baseball, for profit.  People trying to turn a game into a science.  There was such a thing as over-educated.  The new general managers were as bad as the skipper who over-managed, never ready for extra innings.  Overpaid and now over paying. 

 

The State of the Union:  When there were no other for-profit businesses left.  Kids who were in it just for money.  Owners, agents, the adults just here for money.  For the money.  George Bush had served the game about the time of this revolution to modern art. 

 

Hitting!  The game was supposed to be about hits.  Not walks.  These games were not supposed to take 5 hours.  These people were killing the game.  Quality starts, my eye!  I wished these guys would try some speed, not just performence enhancement drugs. 

 

Could we get a health care plan for baseball, Obama?  McCain?  For everyone.  Speaking of the negative campaign season, Andy Warhol comes to baseball and it was lasting more than 15 minutes.  A lot more than 15 minutes. 

  

Where have your gone, Joe DiMaggio?   Or those who actually played for the love of the game!  Hall of Famers, the Grand Masters, spinning in their graves over what the Theo Epsteins had done to the baseball.  They had both become the same, baseball and its players, and  modern art.  The prices paid.  And no one had a clue.