Deadspin
Slate's Robert Weintraub, like many of us, loves the old purple prose of early 1900s sportswriting, the Red Smiths, the Grantland Rices, the men who painted epic tales of warriors, grizzled combatants and lardywarks too manly to wear gloves. In an occasional series, Weintraub writes about the week's best baseball game in the style of the vaunted sportswriters of yesteryear. This week: The Braves' 3-1 win over Johan Santana and the Mets on Sunday.
The Bearded Icon was dented by an ailing wing, rusty from a lack of spring practice time, and Hamlet-esque over his desire to make an initial foray to the raised stage sixty and six from home plate in 2008. Tom "Benedict" Glavine stepped in, and agreed to swap dates on the bump, allowing Old Baldy to avoid prolonged exposure to the Rocky Mountain Chill. The catch? The hurling enemy on the Sabbath day — the man who inspired Bowie to pen "Changes," The Two-Seam Savior — Johan Santana, and his new employers from New York.
John Smoltz scoffs in the face of such dangers. "I'm a big-game pitcher," TBI intoned, and indeed, the hairy face of the franchise completed a Napoleonic Sweep of the hated Metropolitans, as the Atlantans won 3-1 in the House That Buffalo Burgers Built.
The initial innings augered Armageddon for Atlanta's Ace, when the argus eye of home plate adjudicator Gerry Davis granted a pair of 'Politans free passage via bases on balls. Smoltz glared at the blueshirt like he had just offered a coupon for the Hair Club For Men, then rendered Carlos "The Hammering Hippie" Delgado in bronze, earning a called third strike. From there, The Icon rolled over opposing batsmen like a Tiananmen Square tank, posting round digits on the scoreboard for five innings, enough to secure his first V of the new season. That dodgy deltoid flared up with enough knottiness to convince The Pudgy Pepperpot, skipper Bobby Cox, to end Smoltz's day somewhat shy of his usual timecard—as the hurler put it afterward, "I'm a seven inning pitcher"—but the quintet will surely do in the City Too Busy To Hate (Except For The Mets).
Mark "Luckiest Man" Kotsay eliminated the only other threat to emanate from the Queensmen's side of the pitch, making a fine haul of a liner off the bat of Ryan "Haman" Church in the fourth innings. The Hippie wandered a touch too far from sanctuary, and was doubled after a whipped transmission to first, scooped sensationally by Mark "Vanna" Teixeira for the dual slaying. Kotsay, no doubt inspired by his significantly better half, is already making Peach Staters have trouble recalling the previous gatekeeper in the middle of the outfield, Andruw "Velvet" Jones.
As Reverse Samson was mowing down the 'Tans, his fellow Warriors from the Red Hills were mostly flailing in futility at Cy Youngazo's offerings. Santana was magnifico for seven mighty innings, with a lone hiccup — a screamer off the ash of Yunel "Seaworthy" Escobar that brought Luckiest Man homeward. The new everyday shortstop in Georgia once again proved Craftier than Castro, and his double was the only scar on Santana's record. But on this day, it was enough to brand The Acquisition with a scarlet 'L'. Johan now looks forward to an outing in the doomed environs of Shea Stadium, a New York debut as eagerly anticipated as any Latino arrival in Fun City since Valentino strode passionately down Broadway.
Rubber Reinforcements wearing red enjoyed the sight of batsmen representing Western Long Island for the second straight game, after early season struggles with the Steel City sluggers. A quartet of Braves relievers scalped the Metropolitan millionaires' lineup until the ultimate innings, when Haman knocked in Golden Boy Wright for the visitors' lone tally.
Hotlanta concluder Rafael "El Hostile" Soriano was grateful for a pair of confirmations of the talents of Atlanta's first sacker. The frame before, Vanna sent a Long Sock over the right field wall, plating Lawrence Jones in front of him to boost the home lead to a sturdier three. In the ninth, with the Metros at last showing some pluck, Teixeira showed off the finery with the leather that has earned him multiple Gold Gloves—diving to deflect a shot off the bat of Brian Schneider, and tossing to The Angry Closer in time for the winning putout.
Atlanta once again says thank you to Teixas, and Salaams in Smoltz's direction.
Comments
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
oh wait...
This feels like old-timey Dennis Miller had at least a hand in it.
This is worse than that time the dog tried to 69 me.
@Jerkwheat:
No, you had it right.
There is not one mention of Mr. Mo Mentum.
Disapprove.
I understood more words in the SSW, so I like this better.
I just read the 1st paragraph and it was like a high school English AP... I individual words make sense, but I don't understand a fucking think that the paragraph said.
@7th Floor King Dingaling:
wow. I just showed how well I did on said AP.
Individual words make sense, but I don't understand a fucking thing that the paragraph said.
John McCain appreciated this column.
I didn't get it.
that was like sliding down a giant razor blade into a pool of rubbing alcohol.
@RectumDamnNearKilledEm: +100
And I just read the rest, and it still makes no sense. I think my might ass-plode if I try to reread it.
Sweet does this mean Weintraub can completely fuck up Baseball on Deadspin too?
It's like Weintraub has naked pictures of somebody's mother. Naked pictures of your mother!
Man, this Weintraub guy takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'.
There's a reason that style of writing is no longer used.
It Sucks.
Not one sentence ends in "see"? Disapprove.
I was just thinking to myself, "Self, you just got to see the Mets shit the bed against the Phillies. You know what would be a great chaser? Being mocked by Weintraub about another Mets loss, this time to the Braves."
Old timey sports writers probably would have spent more time complaining about all the Negroes on the field.
The fuck's a prose?
This makes me feel like I'm watching a Wes Anderson movie, when the guy with the ironic glasses a couple rows back keeps laughing and all I can think about is that I must have stepped in the wrong theater, because my ticket says "Transformers."
Oh sir, the Braves of Atlanta took on the Metropolitans of New York. And in the end, the Braves triumphed by crossing a dish made of white plastic and shaped like a pentagon. It was a most gripping victory!
Akeem'd
I'm glad I didn't live in the early 1900's or I would have fucking hated baseball.
Is Weintraub having an affair with Denton?
@Weed Against Speed: He has got to be a masochist right?
Do you think he writes this while some elderly British woman steps on his balls with high heels on?
I have a sudden urge to go play stickball behind the penny arcade.
Actually, I expected to hate this more than I actually did. To be completely fair, it's better than anything Slate's ever published.
@David Hume: Have you ever tried to read one of your books? Fuckin murder.
PREVIEOUS SSW: Deadspinners did not really enjoy my football columns.
NEW SSW: But I'm sure they'll be more than happy to read my baseball columns, written in old timey prose and everything!
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE: No, there really isn't.
command+f
type "k-a-i-s-e-r"
(no results found)
:-(
Old SSW:
WOOOHOOOO WEINTRAUB'S GONE
New SSW:
NOOOOOOOO WEINTRAUB'S BACK!
Slap in a Tojo joke or two and we've got two Furman Bishers in the Metro area.
That was ... technically proficient.
Actually, I expected to hate this more than I actually did. To be completely fair, it's better than anything Slate's ever published.
And the dwarf in the center of the picture a couple posts down is taller than all the other dwarves. I bet he still sucks at basketball, though.
This piece needs old-time vaudeville music accompaniment.
Worse than the SSW...you've outdone yaself, Weintraub. Now, hush!
@Captain Caveman: That's not necessarily a ringing endorsement. Slate is like the Parade Magazine for half-wits on the internet.
This appears to have gone over about as well as "Manos: The Hands of Fate" did on the Satellite of Love.
The commenters were angry that day my friends, like an old man trying to return soup at a deli. I got about fifty-feet words in and then suddenly the great beast bored me. I tell ya he was ten stories high if he was a foot.
This is pretty accurate except for the all the minorities mentioned.
@futuremrsrickankiel: I have an urge for a flaggon of Mead and a Buxom wench...
(I may have gone back to far, but I stand by my request)
HOLY SHIT I actually started to read it but it was way to painful.
@Steve Trachsel, Ace: Whats with the random capitalizations moron?
@Christmas Ape: Agreed. Like, if this were a teen dance flick, this column would be the uppity chick that the newcomer who's just begun to find the voice inside her would beat when she busts out her newfound hiphop dance moves at the big recital.
@Wyshynski: So true, so true. Except in our case there is a Manos sequel.
You ever listen to a whole album by one of those hyper-talented experimental musicians who use byzantine tunings and 13/41 time?
There's a parallel here.
What makes this so funny and satisfying to tear down is that it probably took a ton of time to write.
Hang in there, you'll get 'em during college football Weintraub! You're due.
Weintraub's got moxie, but this rag stinks like leftover limburger!
Change the author of this piece to "The Balls" or Big Daddy Drew, you'd probably get more meh's and less hate.
@futuremrsrickankiel: I have a sudden urge to go beat Weintraub with a stick behind the penny arcade.
/fixed