How Repub (song) … And Small Wins

(to OMC’s “How Bizarre”)

Bigfoot, UFO’s, Chupacabra, truth from a Republican, a great deal promised at some website with no apparent catch but I actually witnessed a Bucco victory tonight, and with irrefutable live real time proof. Colin Moran’s (I love that guy) awful beard crossed the plate along with three others for a rare positive outcome and a well pitched one from Mitch Keller (also a rarity) but seen only out of the corner of my eye as I headphoned a Friday night after a bit of fun in my little studio at work earlier. Then it was a hardwood roll back chair at home to check the action occasionally (action? yeah I know, it’s baseball, action is relative) while said headphoning and editing of something new with the Meme’s on her always bar towel desk spot while I PC putz.

Victories are an elusive almost fantastical thing as a Bucco’s fan. But maybe it’s the corner of my eye that brought it about, this victory, looking directly possibly being the problem. Maybe that’s the best way to go about it in the future. A corner eye. Maybe for a lot of things.

So … as to the headphoning …

Big lie it shotgun rides, McCarthy at the wheel

Headin’ Mar-A-Lago to co-mmiz about steal

A new plan it was hatched then, right after riot’s zeal

After kneel ring kiss the two saw how this should go

Campaign of vote suppression with a spankin’ new cash flow

McCarthy genuflects then says we’ll work on Fili-Joe

How Repub  

How Repub

How Repub

They stay course mis-inform’, more openly than before

First voting then vaccines now, workin’ at death’s door

Of democracy and lives now, Elephant’s they know the score

How to politic both with a loud crazed cultish roar

How Repub

How Repub

How Repub

Ooh, baby (Ooh, baby)
Democracy’s lazy (It’s future now hazy)
Every time I just look down
There’s a new lie to be found (Every time I just look down)
Every time from underground
Lies are bubblin’ up

Ring master he directs, says make Donkeys have regrets

For not buying into Country’s patriotic cultish sect

We’re showing you white way now, yet ya still deflect

The truth of where road’s going to where we’ll intersect

At Ignorance Way and Main Street with a future surely set

You’ll be minority major

Too slow now to react

Where chance was had to save from dark political intellect

And you’ll learn now how to,

Hey,

To genuflect

How Repub

How Repub

How Repub

Ooh, baby (Ooh, baby)
Democracy’s lazy (It’s future now hazy)

Every time I just look down
There’s a new lie to be found (Every time I just look down)
Every time from underground
Lies are bubblin’ up

They’re bubblin’ up

Ooh, baby (Ooh, baby)
Democracy’s lazy (It’s future now hazy)
Every time I just look down
There’s a new lie to be found (Every time I just look down)
Every time from underground
Lies are bubblin’ up

Ooh, baby (Ooh, baby)
Democracy’s lazy (It’s future now hazy)
Every time I look just down (Every time I just look down)
There’s a new lie to be found
Every time from underground
Lies are bubblin’ up

Cooler Cats

The AC here is temporarily on the fritz, a fix to come, though it’s something I don’t mind really, even with the last few days being balls hot. I mean I’m glad that things have backed off a bit from sun stifling to just not quite but I’m alright with sweat and turning over my pillow. I was alright before this, probably wouldn’t have wanted to turn it on anyway as I’m not a big fan of AC. I’m a single dude so any stench or almost puddles are all mine with open windows and the girls haven’t complained yet, though their absence from the bed these recent nights does give some sweat’s stinky pause.

But I worried of them at Celie’s reminder and of maybe grabbing an AC if I could for the interim during this hot. They’re all older now, my little Bella being the youngest at 10 and there is only so much the tall fans I have are gonna do (though I love my tall fans by the way, two of them that I’m almost proud of, even remember the brand name, “Yeah they’re Lasko’s” over talk with old men and coffee who sing of such things, of great purchases made years ago that you always remark in your head, like those old men might, as you pass the breeze, of what great purchases they were). But it was Celie’s reminder to get my head out of my Ok for the moment and think about the girls. They’re not on the same sweaty plane as you Steve. They wear fur coats.

Now please know that I do not NOT think about my girls, you know me better than that I would think by now, they’re my constant, my thing, but sometimes I forget different comforts. Celie was right, as she always is.

So, telling my Sis of this, Beck, she offered me an AC that she doesn’t use. Cool I thought, literally, I know just the window for it and know the relief that I would feel, and them, that while I was away at work there was a spot here that was just a few degrees cooler than balls.

But that window I had in mind was in the living room, a huge room I don’t use, with, I don’t know, a 20 foot ceiling or something and dust, a lot of single guy dust, I’d measure it and clean but I am only so tall or motivated, but a huge room nonetheless that, with another room, the bedroom, next to it, might make the cooling a bit difficult. So, with another Celie suggestion, I hung a sheet between the bedroom and said unused living room to try and help that “new” AC” be more efficient, make it more of a “room”. It’s an old sheet from an older time that used to cover a comforter, an oversized pillow case (has a fancier name I think but I’m just gonna go with oversized pillow case) something I have kept all these years for no reason and with no purpose other than the memories of pretty toes and smiles sticking out from underneath it.

But, well, old men hold onto stuff, for those memories or maybe for future practical purpose that they will wait, sometimes years, to finally be proven correct in their holdings … “see, I told ya it could be used again”.

Would the girls figgur though?

Well, when I came home on the first of these last balls days, AC now in hand and running in house, my little Bella was on her living room kitchen table, Cricket had found her blind way to next to the couch that I never sit on with a TV with no remote, right next to the base of one of the ugliest side tables you’ll ever not want to see and the Memes was on the top step where I had placed a chair for bit of a sheet layover for one of my old men proud fan purchases to blow a little new, cooler air.

Yeah, they ain’t dumb … they figgur’d.

It does though, almost feel a little bordello-like now, with the attendant seemingly taking a break at the moment while I push back the curtain to pass, but, in this case, only to find comfortable not cathouse cats …

… though, in dreams, a bordello’s thoughts might be interesting.

Stuff

Stuff.

Ya know I do stuff, stuff that just barely keeps a roof and beer and cat food, stuff that more often than not pisses me off, the stuff of required things for that roof and what’s under it. It is a stuff that is just that, stuff. We all have stuff. You have yours, stuff that you then put out there for the complained remarking, stuff that is your daily and stuff you want to be noticed if only to commiserate … we all want to commiserate.

Stuff.

But I do other stuff, we all do other stuff, hobby stuff, project stuff, exercise stuff, picture stuff, stuff that actually defines, stuff to distract us from the mundane pay the rent stuff, in my case stuff with words and sometimes a bit of a tune, stuff that mitigates that commiserating.

My best do blog stuff. Lori about books and Tom about all things horror in movies and other places and Mark, though he doesn’t know it, about things yet to be found and not just things that keep us informed, no he has stuff, I’m sure for the escape, like the rest of us. I’m most interested there Mark and if you ever need a cat or two for some company and a muse by the way, we have a few extra lying around here. And Mike, my newest, podcasts about stuff. We stuff about our world, worlds, write or sing or pod about it, stuff that is a saver for us. Stuff for the real notice, at least stuff that keeps the head from fallin’ off it’s swivel.

I, not too long ago, changed my page here of entries of stuff with a new header, 30 bucks at some website I forget now and after so many searches of way too many complicated and visually busy possibilities at that site, I came to the simplest of things, a little swipe/swish that looks pen-pointed and with some colors added that I’m comfortable with. And I also added a little caveat to the header, “a Frankenblog”. I just like the way it looks and the way it sounds when I read it back … “Fankenberry’s Attic … a Frankenblog”. Then Tom jokingly said that this should be a network of, sorts, an umbrella under which we do this stuff, a Frankenblog production or family if you will. It’s silly but I can’t tell ya how much that makes me smile, especially with addendums made to the bottom of pages.

Friends and stuff.

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Mimi the Quirky does her, in her singular Mimi way, an uncomfortable looking cat stretch thing with a tappy tap above my keyboard till a lay down on a bar towel and she reminds me of stuff. She’s been a constant of mine along with Cricket the Blind and my little Bella of course for quite some time now. But it’s she that reminds that it’s stuff time as I pick her up after her straight legged clickety clackety clack steps across the hardwood from wherever she was catting to say do what you do human, I’m here, bar towel lay.

She reminds me of a keyboard she lays above, a keyboard that is a lifeblood that she’ll step across on occasion adding unintentional nonsensical letters or numbers in these steps for a left hip lap, or she just lays above, after that pick up, to tell me you got stuff, stuff to stuff.

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Lori’s book talk stuff has welcomed her to a talking books universe that is apparently pretty huge and also pretty unforgiving in its talking books judgements but she holds her own now after some navigating.

Tom has his crowd, folks that wait for his latest stuff in his quest to write yet another great post a day for a whole year of horror movie reviews and remembrances while straying from the initial idea on some days, those stray days being his best of things. I wonder what day 366 will bring with the triumph and the exhale.

Mark and I just tag along.

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“Ok, I’ll throw a die that says my cleric has you beat”

“Really? Is that what you’re going to go with?”

“He knows stuff”

“Does he know how to beat this dude?”

“No”

“Well shit, so much for clerics … get him big guy”

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Mark and I hunker down behind small hills with Lori and Tom in hand, another die throw, as I imagine our troupe just wanting to get into town and out of the wood, clerics now becoming fairly useless to lead us in the right direction.

Mark knows the way. He’d read of such, he always reads of such.

Stuff.

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Well now hasn’t this become the silliest of shit as stuff sometimes turns with no apparent reason, a turn with no purpose and and one that won’t circle back. Just sideways stuff.

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Stuff can take ya places even with sideways left turns (apologies to the left handed out there always feeling slighted by seeming condescending left handed references from the right handed) be it words or maybe words about it. Stuff that can be the thing of dreams or nightmares or the cliché of dreams and nightmares. Stuff that keeps ya sane, stuff that is just that, stuff … but your own stuff to that maybe get noticed and not in a commiserating kinda way.

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I gotcha Memes. Keyboard under your ass and stuff.

Yes, a few words Memes.

Your muse attentiveness so appreciated.

Stuff.

Neo Fascist Man (song)

(to “Piano Man”)

So I ran into some issues with the PC last night that involved myself and Gaurav of India getting to know each other to the point where I think he and I could have each other’s back in a bar fight and I was forced to fire up the old dude (backups – gotta have backups) in order to put this together, especially as all my apps and other assorted things are gone now as part of an almost complete reset of the new PC (thankfully not my files as part of said reset) though that was something of a roll of the dice at the time as to whether it would be the case. Seems my Windows had pretty much shit the bed and forced Gaurav and I to grab some broken beer bottles back to back and go on faith that I wouldn’t lose everything.

About 4 hours later …

And all I wanted to do last night was to just get home and hang with my furry girls over a beer or two or three, watch my Buccos get their asses handed to them by the Reds again and work on this. So much for an anticipated Friday.

But Ol’ PC guy came through and I built. Thanks old friend.

It’s Doomsday clock on an everyday

GOP wear a watch

They check their wrists – for the end of us

Great experiment to now call a loss

They say It’s time has passed can ya follow me

It won’t really be all that hard

There’s a new road to take while the truth we will fake

A dead dream just not in the cards

Oh La-la-la de-de da
La-la de-de da la-la

Sing us a song Neo-fascist man

Sing us a song of lies

Rewrite for us a seen history

Till no longer believe our own eyes

Now the GOP practice a longer game

State and by state they block votes

Or they Gerry-mander – so to stay in command

As they can’t win with votes honest’s go

They say integrity’s at stake in our system here

Must restore vo-ter con-fidence

And they’ll dis-enfranchise with no color the prize

And all because of the Big Lie

Oh La-la-la de-de da
La-la de-de da la-la

Now McCarthy holds true his great leader

Kool Aid drunk while supporting the cries

Of an unhinged one, carny barker and some  

Whose show now attracts nothing but flies

And McConnell says partisan politics

Are the only game Dems wanna play

While hypocrisy drips from his marble mouth

Lockstep lemmings minority sway

Break

Sing us a wrong Neo-fascist man

Sing us a song of lies

Rewrite for us a known history

Till we no longer hear as it cries

GOP gambles Dem dreamers

Whose justifies are like some swiss cheese

Manchin and Kyrsten to any who’ll listen

Are standing just notice them please

They’re determined to center attention

Nonsensical their fantasy fight

To preserve the one thing that is killing the dream

Of every last of us be deemed

Oh La-la-la de-de da
La-la de-de da la-la

Do us all wrong Neo-fascist men

Break with democracy’s ties

Cause we’re all in the mood for autocracy

Till we no longer hear our own cries

New Cat Scratcher … Sir?

On my way home tonight I stopped into PetSmart to see if I could find a cat scratcher that wasn’t ridiculously expensive, something I wasn’t all that confident in accomplishing. Though I have managed to trim them on occasion, it’s not the easiest of endeavors to convince Bella to let me clip her nails and they are getting a little long again as she’s clicking on the hardwood now like she’s taken up tap dancing and rehearsing a new number so I thought a new scratcher would at least help her with some nail maintenance. I know she wants another one, a stand-up model (I do have a nice large well used wood framed one with cat scratch cardboard inside that sits flat on the floor but it’s not quite the same) as she keeps trying to also use this old one and well, a couple of short naked two by fours nailed together with a carpet top don’t really do the trick. It’s also Bella’s way I think, with the repeated attempts, to say “yo, knucklehead, human, can ya see what I’m tryin’ to do here on a couple of short naked two by fours nailed together with a carpet top?! Are ya catchin’ my fruitless cat scratchin’ drift here … numbnuts?!”

She’s right, as you can see it doesn’t really have any cat scratchedyness to it anymore as almost all the rope is gone or fallen to the bottom like scratchy rope shorts around its ankle. I only keep it for a couple of reasons. First is a sentimental one. It’s one of my earliest and favorite pictures of Shoes from when he was kitten, one of my bestest of pals who passed away 6 six years ago now, clutching onto it in its newer days days to give me a stare and a sniff while we were getting to know each other and second, I keep it on the floor at the end of the bed as it’s kind of become a pretty good lean to assist for old man stand ups. You see I stand UP from my bed as I don’t have a bedframe, just my box spring and mattress on the floor (I don’t like bed frames … got’s to be proactive on possible spots for monsters right?) so the assist can be welcome, but not always necessary though, I’m not quite there yet in my oldness thank you, but welcome on occasion, breathy exhales sometimes included.

Anyway, as I was looking wide raised eyebrow eyed at price tags of cat seats and cat condo’s that can also serve as scratchers on the big shelves or a few smaller ones in an aisle across from them on the regular shelves a pretty young woman passed to step into the next aisle for canned cat food, the aisle that has the Wellness Brand by the way, which is pretty good stuff and correspondingly expensive.

I found two possible scratchers but held the thought for the moment, debating 30 bucks versus 40, as the pretty young woman buying some canned food suddenly reminded me that I should do the same, even though this wasn’t my initial intent tonight, before that reminder fell out of the front of my head only to silently slide out the back. PetSmart has a few things the girls like that the grocery store doesn’t carry so I then passed her, reminder still holding noggin front, on my way a couple of aisles up to where another less expensive brand is located but, knowing that she was stocking up on the Wellness, I almost felt guilty and a bad cat dad for going with the cheaper stuff. I was even worried she’d notice disapprovingly.  

After I grabbed a few cans of what, like I said, I can’t find at the grocery store (a slightly more top shelf version of this one at least to ease my new found bad cat dad guilt) I made my way back to the scratchers aisle to make a decision on that 30 versus 40 bucks but accidentally came up one aisle short (because of course I did) and stepped right into the one that the pretty young woman was standing at the end of, still, though unknowingly, shaming me as she loaded a cardboard flat with the Wellness food, and I almost bumped into her.

“Whoa, shit, sorry, wrong aisle, my bad”

“No problem” she said

Now suddenly it occurred to me that this all could have looked as if I had done it intentionally. See a pretty young woman pass me when, suddenly, it seems I need to walk past HER and then come back again only to “accidentally” step into her aisle and almost bump into her?

Future reference. I never do anything like that intentionally, I REALLY only ever do things like that accidentally, usually too lost in my own thoughts to sidetrack them unnecessarily for that kinda stuff. Plus that whole possible thought’s attention silently sliding out the back of my head thing I mentioned earlier. In general, if I happen to note, wherever I may be, that there’s some younger woman there who, like in this case, is attractive I also then, almost immediately, note the operative word in this sentence, “younger” and that I’m most probably old enough to be her dad, a dad who would probably kick my ass at any of this whole notion of noting things. So, quick admiration and acknowledgement of pretty and I’m done with the thought. Then it’s just to possibly some accidental awkwardness.  

She ended up at the checkout line in front of me and as she was getting ready to leave, bag in hand full of her good cat mom Wellness Brand food and as I was slowly putting my cat scratcher down for the cashier while holding back ever so slightly on the lesser stuff being seen she looked at me and said.

“Have a good night Sir”

“You as well” I replied

Damn … and yeah … she called me “Sir” to which I had three thoughts.

1. Sigh.

2. If she did for some reason think I was actually trying to “check her out” or even hit on her and that I was a bit too old for the attempt and should know better, the “Sir” was very subtly and very well played, very well played indeed. Bravo lady!

3. Sigh.

I think I might just be leaning a little more heavily on that old Shoes cat scratcher at the end of the bed for the stand ups this evening while pausing the TV or in the middle of the night when I have to pee a million times it seems, sometimes even when I don’t have to but just think that I do.

Me 2: “Well is that right now … is that what you’re thinking … Sir?”

Me 1: “Shut up Me 2 … fucker.”

Baseball Geek

I popped my head into K-104’s Scotty Mac’s office on Friday to say both “Hey” and “Good Morning” while I toasted a couple of slices of rye bread that would eventually become my open faced tuna sandwich breakfast but with new lettuce and tomato that I had just picked up at Price Chopper on my way in (I was actually pretty excited for this … yeah, I know, a little pathetic). I love toaster ovens, love all things toasted, would be lost at a place that didn’t have one in its kitchen to the point where I would just have to buy one myself even with then having to share it with folks who might not be as mindful and respectful of toast.

He said “so did you see the latest moves …” and I immediately cut him off before he could continue “Don’t tell me … this is my Christmas in July just minus annoying radio promotions, trade deadline day … MLB dot com awaits my toasted tuna my friend so zip it”

He’s a baseball guy like me though, as a New York Yankees fan, he is always a bit more enthusiastic and optimistic than I could ever be with my Pirates.

It was trade deadline day and it had been a pretty eventful week leading up to it but there were still more deals to be made and eyebrows to be raised.

I’ve always gotten excited around trade deadline day as it is just a unique baseball thing, not that other sports don’t have the trades of players, they do, but not like baseball where there is a romance to them, a sudden urgency of that clock that’s been well known ticking and a storied history that you can look back on and maybe raise more eyebrows as to how they worked out. Did they help that one team down the stretch, as is always the intention, did the other side land that one seemingly unknown guy who would go on to glory in a new uniform begging questions in hindsight, did it actually work out for both teams and fill, exactly, the needs that both teams needed filling? Or were they lopsided or nearsighted looking back at them years later? Nolan Ryan always comes to mind for me.

Now last season, 2020, was an aberration, an asterisk, no trade deadline excitement, a season I paid absolutely no attention to, the only season in all my years as a baseball fan that I didn’t watch even a single inning of any game for the first time since I was a kid, even just an accidental portion of an any game with those dreaded NY teams on local TV I was forced to endure growing up living in this NY place.

When MLB TV, which I have paid for, for the past however many years it’s been available to be able to watch my Pirates, twenty years or so now, justifying the cost with a don’t buy this or don’t buy that at that moment whether real need or not, when they offered the possibility of me watching at a reduced rate due to Covid, a shortened season or to use the discount next year, this one, I opted for this one as opposed to the attempt to present a 60 game schedule then as an actual baseball season with actual yearly awards and actual champions that they say counted. Sorry, they didn’t … not to me.

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I’ve been a baseball geek ever since my Grandad taught me how to curse and throw shit, just words in my case but actual physical things for Grandad, at the tube when Grandma would allow me in the living room with him, the only grandkid she would while she sat lording in her kitchen. He’d been to Forbes field, my Bucco fan field of dreams, maybe not at the penultimate moment in 1964 but he’d been there and watched games from whatever section he was able to sneak into when he was younger. He was my reason Pirates guy.

I know “geek” isn’t usually associated with sports. That’s more a science or math or book smart or sci-fi thing or getting your ass handed to you in High School by those who would regret, years later, their shortsighted judgements, but I was a baseball geek, a studied baseball geek and well rounded. I could talk books and sports in the same sentence. I would even find myself later on writing stare at shoes well wrought self important poems in college while still checking pages for the Steelers latest victory story or my Buccos latest continued disappointment.  And I think my 8 Yahoo fantasy baseball teams with rosters I set on a daily basis and waiver wires that I get so much joy in scouring will attest to my geekines or maybe the need to get out of the house more often.

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I have difficulty with our current state of baseball though, the new things Rob Manfred finds to be important at the big league level and the changes in the minors that are being tested. Mostly dumb things, things that slap at the nature of the game. I am a purist, I guess, that dying guy who still wants current baseball to stack up with old baseball, the only sport that really has a history that you can compare. He had how many hits then?  He had how many home runs then, how many RBI’s? Did Jacob DeGrom’s ERA really rival 1968? Is somebody going to break a record that’s stood for 50 years or is there that one moment where some obscure guy does something also obscure that’s never been done in the long storied history of the game. It’s the only sport that really allows such.

A guy on second base in extra’s (an absolute embarrassment), 7 inning games, 3 batter minimums, pitch clocks in the minors and moving the rubber back some and all the other attempts at “improving” the game just screws that all up, it messes with the numbers, messes with that nature, messes with that shared history. And don’t get me started on Statcast, that glorified tape measure and protractor and speed gun that is constantly being shoved down our throats in every MLB dot com article.

Was it a hit? Just simply was it a hit? I don’t give a shit about how fast it went out there. I can guarantee you that there will never come a day where I will ask about or even be remotely curious about the exit velocity of any hit … ever. Just did it fall in? Did it make its beautiful way to finding a spot to bounce between fielders? Did it just get past and outstretched diving glove in the infield for a single or did it roll to the wall for a double or maybe bounce around in weird ways to become a triple with a head first slide? When that outfielder fielded it what were the new calculations he had to make now that everything had changed as he tossed back into the infield? That’s it. No useless numbers attached. No angles or silly catch probabilities or ground traveled distances. Just was it a hit maybe with a scorched or a dribbled or a Texas leagued attached?

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Grandad stood up, arms wide and turned and spun to whoever would look at him in the crowd like some baseball Jesus and said “I told you he would pop out, I told you he would pop out, he always pops out, he always blanking pops out!”

That was at the game (games, it was a scheduled doubleheader, a real one with 9 innings for both) at Shea so many years ago with my Dad and Grandad and that was Frank Taveras, our light hitting shortstop who, yes, always popped out.

You had that baseball Jesus thing down Grandad though not without with some slinking embarrassment from Dad and I.

That’s my go-to, that go-to memory, when it comes to baseball. Yes, I played the game, had my moments, played against a stacked club in my senior year of High School that some statcast nonsense would have given us a really improbable percentage of win, but a three hitter from me and an unbeatable John Belushi later and we took the two of three without a third. But Grandad? Arms wide and Jesus angry? That was baseball.

I even met John Candelaria that day when my homemade jersey bearing his name came to the attention of two small, and I mean small excited Mom and Dad’s (no idea where his height came from, and he is a tall guy, other than maybe a stacking of Mom and Dad’s genes on top of each other) in the filing out of fans at the two games end who made that accidental meeting happen at the player’s entrance. I was in heaven and walked away with a few signatures on my game program including Rennie Stennett and future Hall of Famer Goose Gossage in his only season with the Bucs.

Years later I would meet John Candelaria again, recount this story with a laugh and a handshake and an autograph of the Pirates Helmet I had bought that day almost 40 years ago. But it was grandad and Frank Tavares always blanking popping out that I remember the most.

I’ve always looked forward … no, don’t tell me Scotty, I want to check for myself … to the trade deadline and its deals, from the small ones to the blockbusters, so many deals and for teams that aren’t even mine, lived for the changes that happen to current rosters or future ones, to remember names that years later might become that story of the hall of famer, maybe, who was part of a now former team’s great regret.

Will all the guys my Bucco’s garnered at this year’s trading deadline pan out, will there be a future hall of famer in there? Couldn’t tell ya though ya never know.

But it’s excited reading fodder for me today over a morning’s tuna sandwich or a down the road watching and waiting to see who just might pan out out of all these names, a current and future Baseball enjoyment I just can’t put into words.