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 Angels' walkoff grand slam off Joe Borowski a week ago.
Save the unassisted triple play and the balk, is there a more exciting happenstance on the four-pointed meadow than the long sock with the bags bursting? The Grand Aria? The Cosmic Clout? How about a four-run four-bagger that propels your side to victory? Such a blazing instance of base balling prodigiousness is excitement enough to keep one awake until the wee hours.
So blame Two-I Torii Hunter for your inability to enter the land of Nod. His biggest of big flies turned defeat into glorious, unexpected joy in Disneyland, home of the fairy tale. The skip-away homer gave the O.C. boys a 6-4 win over the Cleveland nine and a half, and its hapless anchorman Jittery Joe Borowski.
Yes, 'tis true — the glue-handed patroller of the middle exterior known far and wide as "Butterfly Net" won this encounter with his ash, not his cowhide. Hunter socked as many balls over the distant fenceline as ego-letters contained in his forename. The first of his brace came in the penultimate innings, snapping a theretofore-tied 1-1 encounter.
Unfortunately for the Winged Ones, ordinarily terrifying concluder Francisco "Babalu" Rodriguez engendered little fright. Santeria let down the slightly built winger on this evening, as the Cuyahoga Chiefs popped a cap in Sancho in their final at bat. Right away, Frank gave a free pass to Pronk Hafner, and his substitute legs, Asdrubal "Mouthful" Cabrera, scored on a laced two-bagger into the farthest reaches of right field by El Jugador del Jugadores, Victor Martinez. He too was deemed unable to propel himself around the sacks with sufficient velocity, and David "Red Stick" Delluci brought his superior speed into the game in his stead. Jhonny "Spelled Wrong" Peralta than blooped a well-placed double into right. That plated another run, but avarice cost the 'H' man his place on the paths, getting cut down at the corner sack attempting to advance after the throw homeward.
Nevertheless, the Clevelanders now led, and after another base on balls, Rodriguez was off to the clubhouse, where he may have shattered a few of those false idols. His barrister would point out that a bum ankle from a tumble down the dugout steps half a fortnight ago is giving the slightly built hurler fits. Rubber replacement Sturdy Scotty Shields fared little better, though, giving up consecutive safeties, and the lead swelled to 4-2, Tribe. But with the bases at SRO (a situation we would see again moments later), Shields whiffed Casanova Sizemore, and got a harmless bounder from Jason Michaels to staunch the hemorrhage.
Down a pair, California could at least take comfort in the presence of the Human Heart Attack toeing the slab. Borowski the Palpitating Pole managed an initial out, but the cursed base on balls energized the Haloes. The Brown Russian golfed a lancet into left, and another series of wide ones to Local Legend Garrett Anderson put three men on. Enter the Hector of this particular epic. Torii speculated slider, and was proven Buffet-esque in this capacity. The breaker came as expected, and Two-I pounced, sending a towering thunderbolt to left, one that arced around the fair pole, nestling deep in the grandstands. Quite a way to ingratiate yourself with a new band of mates, and earn that munificent bi-weekly pay envelope.
The great Mitchum, a devoted base ball fan, was not in attendance, no doubt canoodling with good friend Mary Jane, but even so, it was truly the Night of the Hunter. At the final Station of the Diamond, the entire uniformed contingent of the franchise greeted the hero with ferocious backslaps and a pounding not seen since the Molineaux-Cribb bout — all with good intent, let me assure you.
"I told you when I got here, me and the rally monkey would be good friends," exulted Hunter in the dressing room. Someone has to pal around with that mangy, unlovable ape, one supposes, and cheers to Two-I for taking that particular travail for the team. As for his buried meaning, there was never any doubt in this scribe's brainpan about Hunter's ability at the urgent moment—despite previous failures I may have ascribed upon his inking with the club to his lack of inner fortitude.
The rest of the choir showed another unusual appreciation of Hunter's valor, vim, and vigor by pouring several bottles of unquaffable, domestically crafted and bottled admixtures of barley and hops over the diminutive outfielder. Time was, rest assured, the assembled wretches stained by ink who took as much joy in Two-I's feat as did his mates would have joined in the damp celebrations.
Alas, times have changed.
Comments
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What a great honor on Jackie Robinson Day! Writing in the style of the time when non-whites weren't allowed to play! Whee!
Aaah! Alright, Denton, I give up! I'll drink the Coors Light!!!
I found this quite sublime.
Why write about Borowski's epic failure last week when you can mind last night's Borowski epic failure instead?
You know ... this was passable. Maybe even a little bit good.
Why won't it just die already!!!
What a great honor on Jackie Robinson Day! Writing in the style of the time when non-whites weren't allowed to play! Whee!
You should see John Rocker's tribute.
A long sock with the bags bursting? Is this baseball prose or a pirate-era literary porn? Is there even a difference?
chim-chim-cheroo?
First SSW, now this? This man still torments us with lame writing even during the NFL offseason. But wait, there's more....
OK, that's it. I give. Uncle. At least the SSW had the benefit of brevity.
And here I was, fearing that the reaction to last week's column meant there wouldn't be another one this week. Silly me.
@twoeightnine: I'm waiting for Jeff Pearlman to write an investigative piece about it.
@Rob Iracane: Indeed. Couldn't be more appropriate
"I told you when I got here, me and the rally monkey would be good friends," exulted Hunter in the dressing room. Someone has to pal around with that mangy, unlovable ape...
the fuck....?!
bring out the bear! bring out the bear!
/Statler
fill it up with petroleum distillate, post haste.
@DennyCrane:Let's not get carried away.
Robert "Sportswriter" Weintraub, I have a box of Australian chocolate muffins I'd like to send you.
Purple Prose is like herpes, you have to wait a week to see if it comes back
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Stupid Weintraub. Be More Funny!
There's a reason why people don't write like that anymore: Television was invented, so us darn ignorant folks no longer had to tolerate the purple prose (read: overwritten tripe) that a lack of visual access once permitted.
Somehow, I feel this gimmick won't last another 20-something weeks. I mean, Conan O'Brien could only get five minutes out of it.
"The Glue Handed Patroller of the Middle Exterior"
What a coincidence. That was the title of the "America's Most Wanted" I was featured on.
Also, this column sucks.
Torii speculated slider, and was proven Buffet-esque in this capacity.
I thought this was supposed to be written in the early 1900s style? What's next, references to Warrant and reality television?
Uh Grantland Rice yes, Red Smith no. Smith was known as the antithesis of the overly flowerly purprle prose of 1920s and earlier sportswriters.
@Rob Iracane:
Well, considering that a report was released today showing that blacks comprise only 8.2% of MLB players, it makes sense.
Unfortunately, the study did not confirm whether white people comprise 99.5% of the fans that show up to baseball games.
next.
I forgot to check--was Weintraub given extra special kissy kissy thanks in the foreword to Will's book(s)? jesus mary and joseph......there has to be a reason. We need Bess Marvin to investigate both of these guys--that oughta stop it.
Will Save the Fan by stopping this.
"A long sock with the bags bursting ... "
Weintraub, were you at my prom?
Weintraub, destroying Deadspin one post at a time.
@GLOBBAL WARMING: Oh, don't get me wrong. it's still by far the worst shit that ends up here every week.
Forsooth this literary diatribe by the tedious and oft loquacious Weintraub, is shit.
Fatty's in a little jam, dead girl, dead girl....
[insert anti-Weintraub comment here.] Only 5 more months till a new batch of SSWs!
WordUpThome: IS ANAHEIM DUTCH FOR ANGELS?
But wait, there's...
/kills self in most gruesome fashion
So, I'm just gonna say it. This is sorta fun to read.
I found it shallow and pedantic.
"You know what," I said, "I don't have to read this shit. I don't care. But what you did back in football season was bullshit. You obviously had the right not to listen to me, but to ruin baseball writing too - something you don't even know - in front of this entire site is just pathetic ..."
"No, screw you," I interrupted.
/pearlman'd
@VTBen: THESE MENTAL HEALTH DAYS S
SUCK
@Suss--: Thank you!
Now for the love of God and of Seint John, Weintraub the scribe telleth us anothre pore tale anon and, lo, the tyme wasteth nyght and daye; the scounderell hath steleth tyme from thys Companye, ne'er to be recover'd.
Smite him with crueltee, Lorde William of Mattoon!
Ironic that he chooses to honor "the week's best baseball game" by submitting the week's worst column.
@DennyCrane: @Suss--:
Don't you guys know how a pile-on works?
This guy should be locked up next to the child kidnapper from the Chevy Tahoe commercials.
Could someone explain "ego-letters" to me, because google can't.
How about a foreskin four-bagger that propels your side to victory?
And that's where you lost me.
@Suss--: @DennyCrane:
It's like an elitist Bill Simmons piece.