I spent most of my weekend in a hoppy, sudsy, comatose state on the couch watching the Mutts of Queens take out their brooms and sweep away the proverbial trash. The comedy/capitulation of the situation hit an apex when a recent call-up, "Hulk" Hogan Harris (who had a sparkling 6.23 ERA in the minors) was inserted into the game and gave up 5 walks, 6 earned runs and was promptly put back on the bus to the desert with a benign pat on the ass and a denigrating 162.00 ERA. To make matters worse, Hogan Harris was heard grumbling under his breath, "I guess this means I'm not getting my signing bonus!"
A friend called me to discuss the matter and the conversation turned to Terry Steinbach.
"Greatest A's catcher of all time," he said, noting that he was a three-time All-Star and won the 1988 All-Star Game MVP Award.
"Well, probably the Oakland era," I interjected. We often contradict each other-mostly politically-but the details aren't of importance, and I've forgotten most of the arguments. I'm just convinced my ideas are more fundamentally beneficial to the general public and to the historical truths of the game. Our conversations are often like a friendly game of chess; we move pieces around, discussing and debating our opinions, but at the end of the day, we still remain friends, no matter the outcome. (and the correct answer would be Mickey Cochrane)
Strangely, I had watched an A's/Red Sox game from 1992 a few days prior and they were interviewing Steinbach concerning pitcher Dave Stewart's slow start and he mentioned something about not having control of his forkball in that delightful, thick Minnesota drawl. He explained that the forkball is a difficult pitch to control and that Dave was struggling to keep it in the strike zone. This was likely the cause of his slow start.
Back to the present....There was a moment where the ball broke a gnat's ass off the plate, and the inept umpire (according to StatCast) called it a ball, infuriating the Coliseum crowd who chanted in unison "Bullshit!" Bullshit! Bullshit!" The crowd's reaction was similar to an erupting volcano, with rage and frustration spewing out in various directions-mostly towards the perpetually unoccupied owner's box in a moment of glorious ennui fraternization. Suddenly, a brave soul from the stands yelled out, "Hey ump, you suuuck!" and the crowd roared with laughter. They were, alas, still alive and breathing on this beautiful, sunny day under a cornflower-blue sky, and that's all that mattered.
The Oakland Pathetics are now a mind-bending 3-13.
