Through a shroud of cloudy-fogged smoke I had a constellation of ideas, but the major thought proposed in this imaginary world was a Franklin Barretto for Taijuan Walker trade, because….pitching. I am a proponent of pitching and more pitching. And when you think you have enough, you need more. It worked out that way….somewhat. Never in my wildest dreams of weed-induced narcosis did I think GM David Forst and I had some sort of non-verbal state of consciousness, and that we could just vibe together through time and space, but baseball appeals to the fanatical personality, so why not?
As of this writing, Barretto has exactly ONE at-bat for the Halos, so there is no reason to think “Mad Genius” Joe Maddon has any faith in baseball’s most hyped pinch-runner since Herb Washington aka Josh Donaldson’s little brother aka Mr. Nashville. Alas, baseball seasons (and careers) represent an indefinite cloud of future potentialities, so perhaps this kid from Venezuela can learn to lay off the two-strike slider in the dirt and become the superstar Brad Pitt had imagined when he made perhaps the worst move of his exemplar model of decision making. (Let’s leave Milton Bradley for Andre Ethier out of this)
I read somewhere that coffee has the same neurological effects as cocaine, and I have my doubts as I sit here this beautiful morning, typing this, with absolutely no desire to dance all night to 80’s New Wave or have crude sex with a stranger in a public restroom. Although the psychobabble, apparently, still applies, because here I am: howling into the abyss of the Internet. The narrative here is that the A’s made “A’s trades” when they acquired Tommy LaStella and Mike Minor. LaStella is synonymous with OBP, and there is nothing that gets the Oakland brass hotter than a truck stop hooker than being a regular on the base paths. Mike Minor was acquired for a couple bush leaguers because (good) starting pitching is at a premium. Give us 5 frames a game and call it a day.
Billy Beane famously said that the baseball playoffs were a crapshoot, so lock and load, boys. The dog and pony show is over. The A’s have entered the casino, fresh-cut, wearing suits, and they are ready to roll.