The Ballad of Aaron and Rusty

Once, while falling into approval's tricky arms
I saw esteem's corpse
Deafened by allure's sweet, sweet song

Poor, poor Rusty Adams. Everybody's favorite whipping boy and/or reason to whip JP was DFA'd yesterday to make room for the 30th relief pitcher on the 40 man roster.

The Jays much maligned former first round pick was selected over such future studs as Cole Hamels and Scott Kazmir (who were completely unsignable anyway, given the Jays inability to go over slot) blazed through the minors just like he blazed through college. One excellent September call up later (RED HERRING ALERT!) and he was on his way. Wasn't he? How could this have happened? How could a can't miss kid be on his way to quad A purgatory already?

It's quite simple, really. Lil Rusty loves fastballs, and as soon as everybody figured this out, he was cooked. Over his three "full" big league seasons (2005-2007), Adams saw progressively fewer and fewer fastballs. From 65% down to 57% percent as the opposition offered him far more curveballs and sliders. This seemed to cause Rusty problems, one can assume he wasn't able to identify these pitches as his outside the zone swings went up, up, up. He actually swung at fewer and fewer pitches inside the strikezone, something that screams "over-thought at bats" to me. Not to mention "a complete loss of confidence manifested as scratching and floundering attempts to stay in the Bigs." His line drive rates may have been impressive, but he started striking out and never really stopped.

Perhaps, as Marc Hulet of the Batter's Box and Fangraphs suggests, he can latch on in the straighter balled National League and surprise some people. But if you can't hit a breaking ball son, you aren't likely to be employed in the game for the long. Oh well, you'll always have my favorite Spring Training moment of all time.

Admit it, you're a little curious

It's alright, you don't have to come right out and say it. I know what you're thinking. It's cool, I see it all the time.

I've seen a lot of men really, truly, wondering. Questioning themselves and their intentions. Asking why they're thinking these thoughts, how they could be feeling these emotions. I bet you think that you're losing your mind. "Wait??? What was that tingle?? Did it just move? No fucking way."

I can't really blame you. 4 for 4 with a home run? Playing solid defence? Hitting walk-off jacks on your birthday? STEALING FUCKING HOME? Look how fucking pleased I am right now. I just drank Andy Pettitte's milkshake. In a key situation. Oh yeah. I'm paid too. And I try not to be a dick about it.

I play the game "right" but I've also got skill to back it up, ya know. Don't sweat it dude, I won't tell anyone. I'm flattered, but that isn't how I get down. It was weird at first, seeing grown ass men wearing shirts and jerseys with my name on them. But whatever. I try not to let this stuff go to my head.

But I'm in YOUR head, aren't I? It's funny, isn't it? I'm just a regular dude, one that enjoys playing guitar and turning DP's. I don't think any less of you. Hell, even I was once married to a man.

Good times hold sway over wifeless Florida

As I alluded do a few days ago, spring training is the ideal time for men to have the time of their lives. When money > time but time > responsbility - awesome stuff is bound to be the result. Those are some Sabermetrics that I can get behind.

I am sure this video has already made the rounds, but it is so enjoyable and testament to the "fuck I'm bored, let's make the young guy cry" spirit that makes baseball so amazing.



The straight facedness of the ruddy manager, the legitimacy of signing official-looking forms (in triplicate!!!) combined with the absence of the thought: "wait a minute, I can't get traded to Japan." A minor detail that should have set off all manner of bullshit detector, but truly makes this one for the ages.

Video via With Leather who in turn borrowed it from someone else.

God Bless the sports blog circlejerkoflife