Menace. When Brett Lawrie stands at the plate, waving his bat with exteme prejudice, I can only think about the word menace. He is a menacing figure, with his cartoon traps and barely-simmering intensity. I fear for pitchers, standing but 60 feet away from a quaking mass of broed up energy.
He is also a menace because that level of energy — when wholly expelled after an orgiastic grand slam — is going to get someone killed. Be it an errant high five-cum-Ric Flair knife-edge chop to the neck or a pointed fastball between the numbers from a jilted pitcher, somebody is coming away bruised. Consider it collateral damage.
Brett Lawrie is not alone in his menacing ways. The swagger, youth, and confidence that permeates this team belies its fourth place standing. This collection of cast-offs and unwanted middle children has a massive chip on its collective shoulder - nobody believed in them individually and now, facing long odds even as they stockpile talent, nobody believes in them collectively.
Which is foolish for the nobodys. Fools will count this team out, both now and in the future. Not because of the attitude or the swagger but because of the talent.
Good God Damn, there is a lot of talent. Even if the talent can't look eye to eye with the competition today, there are still a whole lot of age 27 seasons waiting to happen in that clubhouse.
Failing that, the league is lousy with potential problem children to absorb into the fiery womb. There are plenty of tarnished dollar bills remaining for Gordious Dougolous to acquire for two shiny quarters.
There is promise and there is hope. There is entertainment and there is pride in the offing. Get in on the ground floor while you still can. Tell a friend. Act like you knew.
Image of Edwin Encarnacion's punctured lung by Fred Thornhill courtesy of Reuters via Daylife Fred Thornhill! Gordie Dougie life!
