Hello out there in cyberspace. In what is beginning to be my habitual manner I will begin by apologizing for the interval between my previous post and this current one. The ephemeral nature of my relationship with this blog this year has been both a direct consequence and perfect example of the up and down, the push and pull, that constitutes not only a minor league season, but a career and in fact the entire minor league experience. This season has been, for both better and worse, an adventure and at some of the more trying moments I have wandered off of some of my oft-tread paths to seek solace in other areas. One of the casualties of my sometimes absolute frustrations with baseball or its affect on my other pursuits has been the consistent authoring of blog entries, but I will rely on your understanding and consideration in this regard. The state of frustration I devolved into had a lot to do with bad luck, but also aggravation at my own marginal effectiveness. I had a string of appearances in which I allowed a lot of both earned and unearned runs, which was a bit of a mixed blessing. It was frustrating from the perspective of giving up runs when I feel I pitched well enough to not allow runs to score, but at the same time it made me come to grips with the fact that the real issue was me not performing up to my own standards and not anything else. Since having buckled down and made a few adjustments with my pitching coach, I have gotten back some confidence, had a few good outings, and feel much better about things on the field in general. More of the same to come hopefully.
Away from the field of play, I have been devoting my time to a number of pursuits. Foremost among these has been attempting to breathe life into the two year old giant sequoia that I have been growing, but it would appear my efforts are for naught and I may be forced to start over on that front. I am fairing only slightly better with my other plants, a venus flytrap and a sundew, so it looks like I’ll have to pin my botanical hopes for the season on the monkey puzzle seeds whose germination I am eagerly awaiting. Also, for the first time in a while I pulled the ol’ brushes out of the boxes I packed in Akron two months back and spent some serious time working on a new canvas, which I must say I am delighted with given my meager allotment of talent. The planning of a trip to Carlsbad Caverns National Park to hike Slaughter Canyon and tour the wilderness cave of the same name before continuing on to Guadalupe Mountains National Park to hike either the Devil’s Hall or El Capitan/Salt Basin trail has also been far more involved than I had initially planned on. The headline for the pas week, however, has to be arriving in Corpus Christi on the previous road trip just in time for myself and Ryan Edell to see our good friend and fellow ex-resident of apartment #123 Erik Stiller off after his recent release by the Houston Astros. The situation is obviously a difficult one to see a friend go through, especially twice, and especially when his only backup options are a Princeton degree and an acceptance letter from Columbia Law School. Anyway, I’ll call that good for now and leave you with the customary poem.
A Quick One Before I Go
by David Lehman
There comes a time in every man’s life
when he thinks: I have never had a single
original thought in my life
including this one & therefore I shall
eliminate all ideas from my poems
which shall consist of cats, rice, rain
baseball cards, fire escapes, hanging plants
red brick houses where I shall give up booze
and organized religion even if it means
despair is a logical possibility that can’t
be disproved I shall concentrate on the five
senses and what they half perceive and half
create, the green street signs with white
letters on them the body next to mine
asleep while I think these thoughts
that I want to eliminate like nostalgia
0 was there ever a man who felt as I do
like a pronoun out of step with all the other
floating signifiers no things but in words
an orange T-shirt a lime green awning
Hello again and welcome back. Last time I checked in the all-star break was looming and I was eagerly awaiting a trip to Carlsbad Caverns National Park for some back country camping and cave tours with my fiancé. Well, the break has come and gone and so has my trip to Carlsbad. Unfortunately for my fiancé and me, American Airlines continues struggling with the mechanics of running an airline so instead of my fiancé getting into Midland at 1 pm, driving to Carlsbad and hiking out to a campsite in the park, my fiancé had her connecting flight cancelled, rode in with a couple strangers from Dallas, got in much later than scheduled and we ended up camping the night at some roadside RV park and campground. Not exactly what we’d hoped for, but at least we got there and the cave tours were well worth the hassle. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the natural entrance to Carlsbad Caverns is quite a sight to see in its own right, and the mile long hike down into the cave is well worth the hour or so it takes. Much better than the elevator ride down. Once below ground we took in the cave’s signature room, The Big Room, as well as guided tours of King’s Palace and, my personal favorite, the Lower Cave. Everything in the caves is interesting and very enjoyable, but the Lower Cave tour was a little bit more strenuous, starting in a “secret location,” descending through a crevice by ladder, no floodlights like most of the rest of the cave, and some actual crawling. Overall it was a great experience and depending on the status of my minor back injury and the weather I am strongly considering heading back to Carlsbad in August to tour Slaughter Canyon Cave, one of the many wild, backcountry caves in the park. Speaking of my back, it has been a bit sore for the past few days after my last appearance but should get a test off the mound today, be it in the game or the bullpen and I’m fairly optimistic that it will be a non-issue. Other than that I have just been enjoying the time with my fiancé and dodging raindrops at the field. On a final note, regarding the questions about the off-field situation that has been reported involving the Akron Aeros, I don’t know or haven’t heard anything that hasn’t been reported publicly. Given that and the nature of the situation, I feel it would be inappropriate for me to comment or speculate on it so this will be the last time I mention it. I hope everybody had a good 4th of July and as always I will leave you with a poem.
by Albert Goldbarth
These two asleep . . . so indrawn and compact,
like lavish origami animals returned
to slips of paper once again; and then
the paper once again become a string
of pith, a secret that the plant hums to itself . . . .
You see? — so often we envy the grandiose, the way
those small toy things of Leonardo’s want to be
the great, air-conquering and miles-eating
they’re modeled on. And the bird flight is
amazing: simultaneously strength,
escape, caprice: the Artic tern completes
its trip of nearly 27,000 miles every year;
a swan will frighten bears away
by angry aerial display of flapping wingspan.
But it isn’t all flight; they also
fold; and at night on the water or in the eaves
they package their bodies
into their bodies, smaller, and deeply
smaller yet: migrating a similar distance
in the opposite direction.
Hello again and welcome back. Since I last checked in there has been a flurry of activity on the field, with myself getting quite a lot of work, the ending of the season’s first half and consequently the beginning of the second, and a ridiculous game last night that went 15 innings and included three scoreless innings by RockHound position players. I have always felt like position players should all get a chance to pitch once in a while so they know how hard it is, but we had two position players combine for three innings of one hit baseball, picking up both the win and a save and quite frankly made it look easy. So much for that thought I guess. I myself have been throwing a lot lately, which I really like. My arm always feels better the more I throw and when I’m getting into games my delivery tends to be more consistent so that has been a definite positive. My results have been up and down a bit, however. I’ve had my fair share of good outings, but I’ve also had a pretty rough one and then last night’s outing which makes me wonder if I sleepwalked under a ladder, through a black cat sanctuary and crashed into a mirror. Just couldn’t buy a break in any form and ended up giving up a run, which happens but doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Anyway, I’m pretty happy with how things have been going lately and with the all-star break starting tomorrow, hopefully I can finish off strong if I throw today and come back refreshed after the break.
Speaking of the all-star break, I have been eagerly awaiting it for a couple weeks now. My fiancé will be coming into town and it will be the first time I’ve seen her in almost two months so that obviously is a major selling point. Also, we will be taking the two days to make the three hour drive out to New Mexico to take in Carlsbad Caverns National Park. We’re going to do some back country camping the first night and then spend the next day taking in the caves and seeing the bats fly out at the end of the day before heading back to good old Midland. Other than eagerly awaiting the all-star break, I’ve spent most of my recent down time being a vegetable playing Civilizations IV and dabbling at some painting. Since I’m not that great at it, painting can get a little infuriating at times, but on the whole I find it really enjoyable so I’ll keep at it and update you on the outcome. Anyhow, I’ll call that good for now and leave you with the customary poem.
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
–Those dying generations–at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
Hello again out there in cyberspace and sorry to have made my absence between blog entries so extended. It was my genuine intention to keep everything updated on a weekly basis, but as the time to post an update rolled around I was put on the disabled list and wasn’t much interested in getting on and writing about it. It has been a frustrating period of time since I last posted and I allowed myself to get bitter and didn’t really feel like talking or writing much about the experience. In any event, I’ll make it a point to get on here and post updates regularly from now until the end of the season, my midseason resolution if you will. Since I last posted my head has finally stopped spinning and I am finally pretty settled into the routine of daily events that happens everyday in the A’s organization. This has actually been harder than it would seem at first blush. Baseball players are creatures of habit and one of the most important elements of being successful is developing a consistent daily routine to follow for every day of the season. Changing organizations means a change in when and how some things are done, which means adjusting a routine I’ve done every game for the last five seasons. I’m finally getting pretty comfortable with everything though. I have also reached the point where most of the loose ends from my time in the Indians organization have been tied off and the concomitant scurrying around appears to be a thing of the past. The combination of these things has allowed me some time to get out and explore…**pause to find proper adjective**…err…warm?… Midland, TX. I haven’t really (how do I put it?)… found a whole lot yet, but hopefully with a little more poking my nose around I’ll find some points of interest (I refuse to count either he Petroleum Museum or George W. Bush childhood home). There are three national parks within four hours driving time and I am planning on taking in one of them over the all-star break. Also, in what might be the least surprising development of the decade for anyone who has read this blog before, I managed to locate the Midland Public Library and obtain my 8th different library card for those of you keeping score at home. While it certainly isn’t the Akron-Summit County Public Library (very, very few are), hopefully it will have enough reading material to keep me occupied, although the way I’ve been crushing books lately it might be close, haha. Recently I have gone through Richard Russo’s Bridge of Sighs (excellent), Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses (outstanding, but a definite chore), Jack Kerouac’s On the road (very good) and a few poetry compilations. My next undertaking is How Rome Fell, which I’ve had for a few months now and am excited to get underway with.
I think that should be sufficient for now, but be sure to check back soon for updates on the on-field action and all the off-field goings on. Until then I’ll leave you with the customary poem and an extras to help get caught up from the hiatus.
by Charles Baudelaire
Translated by Louis Simpson
You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it–it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
by David Dodd Lee
A block of soap
carved to look like Pan
and that’s just what came in the mail
a volcano under those flip flops
kisses spilling off the water-wheel
Green becomes a stillness leftover in the late-born effluence
of a decade’s worth of smoke and flat beer
(I can’t get any air)
because there was no acoustic guitar
just dust scraped off an anxious moth’s wings
Well, long time no see. I apologize for what regrettably seems to be a consistent pattern of not posting entries on here as much as I should, but in this instance I actually have a legitimate excuse. As you will know if you read my previous entry, I was traded from the Cleveland Indians to the Oakland Athletics on May 10th/11th and since then have been in the process of putting my affairs in order, driving across the country, finding living accommodations, putting my affairs back in order again, and trying to get my bearings back after a whirlwind two weeks. There is also the interesting problem of this blog’s address being linked to the Indians, whom I no longer play for. After considering it (briefly) I decided to just change the color scheme on here and keep it going, under the assumption that not enough people visit this blog for anyone to particularly care. Anyhow, the last two weeks have been a very strange experience. First of all, before I even got to Midland, TX I found out that one of my new teammates with the RockHounds was going to be one of my old teammates/roommates Ryan Edell, which has made the whole transition to a new organization a little bit easier (my other ex-roommate Erik Stiller is actually playing for Corpus Christi, the opposing team in our current series so the gang is back together so to speak). Speaking of which, the transition from one organization to another has been both fairly smooth and kind of akward. All of the basics are the same; you throw, run, lift, do shoulder programs, and play, but each organization has different ideas, philosophies and points of emphasis so after five years in one system it feels a little weird to be adapting to another one. I feel like I’m in the wrong place a lot of the time, but as I’m here a while things will feel more and more natural. Away from the field there has been precious little to report (unless of course you would like to hear the details of my housing search). I’m currently plugging through Lars Brownworth’s history of the Bysantine empire, Lost to the West as well as Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything, which is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. Anyhow, I’m going to stop writing before I bore everyone to death and as always, before you go enjoy a poem on me.
By W.S. Merwin
Autumn comes early this year
the last morning of August
fog fills the valley clouding
the late roses and the scent
of wet leaves floats in the light
one day after the full moon
it is the time of going
small flocks of migrant birds catch
like strands of wool in the trees
west of the village and wait
for something to remind them
of the journey and their own
way and when the fog lifts
they have gone and with them the days
of summer have vanished
and the leaves here and there begin
taking to themselves
the colors of sunlight
to keep them
Hello out there in cyberspace and thank you for joining me for this entry, which documents one of the more significant events of my professional career. Today I had a day that I had seen coming for a the last week or so, but that I wasn’t prepared for in the least: today I got released by the Cleveland Indians, only to be told an hour later that I hadn’t actually been released I’d been traded to the Oakland Athletics. The Akron Aeros had been accumulating bullpen pitchers of late (up to a high of ten as compared to the usual seven earlier today) and as one of the few pitchers on our team not drafted or acquired in the last two years I seemed like one of the logical guys to be moved out in one manor or another, but my mental preparation left me wholly unprepared for the reality of it. When I was called into the manager’s office after the game I all but knew that gig was up, but the sinking feeling is just something you can’t help no matter how much you expect it. Making it especially bittersweet was having the news come on the same day that my longtime teammate, friend and roommate Erik Stiller got released. It was somewhat fitting to be flying home with a guy who I’ve played on every team with except one. After having called all the relevant persons about being released, however, I was informed that I had actually been traded to the Oakland A’s instead. So I will still be flying back to Akron to put my affairs in order, but instead of heading home afterwards I will be heading to Midland, Texas instead. Joining a new organization with an opportunity to get some new eyes on me and some fresh input on ways I can get better is certainly an opportunity I am very glad to have, but at the same time it leaves me with a sad and disappointed feeling. Leaving the organization that drafted me means leaving unfinished my goal of playing in the major leagues for the Cleveland Indians, but leaves intact my goal of playing major league baseball. The hardest part will be leaving behind the relationships with staff members, coaches and players that I have formed over five seasons with the Indians. Both of my roommates actually got released this week so I feel fortunate to be heading to a new team but it is hard to be overly happy when two close friends are currently without such an opportunity. Anyhow, I should go finish packing up for the upcoming plane flight and cross country drive of the next few days, but I will leave you with a poem as always and update you on my situation next time I get the opportunity.
by Langston Hughes
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me–
That is my dream!
To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.
Hello again, sorry for the extended absence. I could have sworn I logged on and posted something but apparently not and to be quite honest the details of the last two weeks have been absolutely brutal. I have thrown a few times, some good, some bad with basically no correlation to how I actually threw the ball. Very frustrating, but basically the story of my season to this point. The good news is that I am healthy and both my arm and body are feeling great so I just have to go out on the mound and make it happen. As a team we have been absolutely awful. After a 5-2 road trip to open the season we have since gone 3-14 to put our record for the season at 8-16, the exact same record as the Durham Bulls when they got the lollygaggers speech in Bull Durham. It is now reaching the point of total embarrassment the way I and my teammates are getting beaten basically every night, but hard as I try to be mad I can’t do it. It is extremely frustrating and it really sucks, but guys are still playing hard and everybody else is as upset about how we are playing as I am so there isn’t anything to be done but keep on working and hope things turn around at some point. We have two more games against Trenton at home before we head back out on the road and taking two to split the series would be a great start back down the road this team was on all of last season.
Away from the field I have been doing my usual high volume of reading, as well as exploring the local park system. While the Cuyahoga is probably most famous (or more likely, infamous) for it’s past penchant for catching on fire due to the extremely high pollution levels, Summit County has made it the centerpiece of a rather sprawling network of parks around Akron. I’ve take a few cursory strolls through some of the parks before, but I utilized the recent off day to make a bit more complete exploration in a couple of them and also took in one that has recently reopened after some rather extensive construction. Getting away from all of my teammates, the field, and everything baseball related to get out in the woods for a while is very relaxing and helps me to refocus when it is time to get back to business at the field. Anyway, I’ll leave you with the usual poem and a promise to get back on sometime in the next week with another update.
A Winter Without Snow
by J.D. McClatchy
Even the sky here in Connecticut has it,
That wry look of accomplished conspiracy,
The look of those who’ve gotten away
With a petty but regular white collar crime.
When I pick up my shirts at the laundry,
A black woman, putting down her Daily News,
Wonders why and how much longer our luck
Will hold. “Months now and no kiss of the witch.”
The whole state overcast with such particulars.
For Emerson, a century ago and farther north,
Where the country has an ode’s jagged edges,
It was “frolic architecture.” Frozen blue-
Print of extravagance, shapes of a shared life
Left knee-deep in transcendental drifts:
The isolate forms of snow are its hardest fact.
Down here, the plain tercets of provision do,
Their picket snow-fence peeling, gritty,
Holding nothing back, nothing in, nothing at all.
Down here, we’ve come to prefer the raw material
Of everyday and this year have kept an eye
On it, shriveling but still recognizable–
A sight that disappoints even as it adds
A clearing second guess to winter. It’s
As if, in the third year of a “relocation”
To a promising notch way out on the Sunbelt,
You’ve grown used to the prefab housing,
The quick turnover in neighbors, the constant
Smell of factory smoke–like Plato’s cave,
You sometimes think–and the stumpy trees
That summer slighted and winter just ignores,
And all the snow that never falls is now
Back home and mixed up with other piercing
Memories of childhood days you were kept in
With a Negro schoolmate, of later storms
Through which you drove and drove for hours
Without ever seeing where you were going.
Or as if you’ve cheated on a cold sickly wife.
Not in some overheated turnpike motel room
With an old flame, herself the mother of two,
Who looks steamy in summer-weight slacks
And a parrot-green pullover. Not her.
Not anyone. But every day after lunch
You go off by yourself, deep in a brown study,
Not doing much of anything for an hour or two,
Just staring out the window, or at a patch
On the wall where a picture had hung for ages,
A woman with planets in her hair, the gravity
Of perfection in her features–oh! her hair
The lengthening shadow of the galaxy’s sweep.
As a young man you used to stand outside
On warm nights and watch her through the trees.
You remember how she disappeared in winter,
Obscured by snow that fell blindly on the heart,
On the house, on a world of possibilities.
Hello again and thanks for tuning in. Since last report my teammates and I have gone 3-4, sandwiching a three game losing streak between two road wins and our first home victory of the season. At present we stand at 6-5, which is perfectly respectable but obviously we’d rather not do things like lose three straight home games or lose leads late on the road so there is still some work to be done. From a personal perspective it has been both a very good week and a so-frustrating-I-want-to-pull-out-the-hair-I-don’t-have kind of week. I feel like I have thrown the ball very well every time out so far this year but unfortunately I had one of those outings last week where guys just keep hitting groundballs through the infield or to somebody with no play to be made, but that is how it shakes out sometimes. Unfortunately the life of a bullpen pitcher is such that when you have a blow-up outing like that it takes seemingly forever to dig your way out of it because you throw so many fewer innings than a starter. The good news is that I have been throwing a lot, as I’ve already appeared in six games, so if that trend continues I should be right back on track in no time. Away from the field there is not much to report from the past week. We’ve had three or four day games which makes it hard to get out and do anything and I haven’t really had the drive to do much anyhow. Hopefully I’ll have something a little more scintillating for you next time, but until then I’ll leave you with a poem and wish you happy trails.
by Daniel Johnson
We drank hard water.
Spoke in plain language.
Said what we didn’t
with a joke or a look.
One went missing–
let silence drill its hole.
A second fell ill.
We cloaked our mirrors.
Slashed a red X
on the door to our house.
Pass over us, I asked
the raven sky,
or burn in me
a second mouth.
Once again it is time for an update on my meanderings through the Eastern League, so come on in and stay for a while. Since last report the major new development is that of the season having begun. I and my teammates with the Akron Aeros opened up our season on the road at NYSEG Stadium against the Binghamton Mets, which was unfortunate on a lot of different levels. The first has nothing to do with Binghamton or the stadium, but instead simply with being on the road to start the season. Having broken camp Sunday we as players had until Wednesday afternoon when we departed Akron for Binghamton to arrange for our housing and all the various things that come along with it, which is an added stress that isn’t any fun for anybody. Some of us were fortunate enough to get through the background checks, credit checks and income verification processes that usually take a couple weeks and get our leases signed so we’ll have somewhere to stay the night we get back from the road trip. Some guys didn’t and even those of us who did will probably be making due until we can get some furniture arranged. Ah, what a wonderful life indeed. Beyond the fact of starting on the road, Binghamton has an older stadium and just isn’t that great of an atmosphere to play in. Much of the hype and excitement usually attendant to opening day was lacking and it was a lackluster experience to say the least. Whatever other issues there were with the road trip, however, we did take three out of the four games in the series from the Mets and I picked up two saves which has to bring me close to my season total from last year, which it now occurs to me to lookup. I felt good in my back-to-back outings, which is a very good sign this early in the year, as is the fact that my velocity was around my typical midseason range in the cool weather. Overall, an encouraging start to the season and something to build as the season moves forward.
Away from the field there has not been much happening other than getting housing arranged and sitting on the bus to Binghamton and on to Trenton, where we are opening a three game series tonight against the Thunder. As usual I have taken advantage of the time on the bus and in the clubhouse to plough my way through some reading material, including both Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and the sequel Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll, neither of which I found especially interesting. The so-called “red queen effect” based on a sequence in Looking Glass is something I have always found interesting since being introduced to it in a book by Richard Dawkins, but other than that I was only marginally entertained by the two books. Of much more interest to me was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, the Pulitzer Prize winning novel by Mark Haddon. It is a bit different and may not be for everyone, but I would definitely recommend it. Anyhow, I suppose I should leave of there for now before I bore everyone to death and end with a poem in honor of National Poetry Month. Enjoy.
Here the Frailest Leaves of Me
By Walt Whitman
Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-lasting:
Here I shade and hide my thoughts–I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
Well, it is time once again for an update on all the happenings since I last posted. It has been an extremely hectic week. Thursday I had to show up at the park early to put some of my luggage on the truck to Ohio then wait half the day to get on a plane for the flight to L.A. for an exhibition game against the Dodgers. The experience of being in uniform in Dodger Stadium was cool, but I didn’t pitch and it did end up being a very long and tiring day, not that I’m complaining. Friday I backed up again and actually threw a couple scoreless innings against the Reds. Saturday was a quick day at the park, but between making dinner for my dad and my fiance’s family and packing up to break camp at 4am Sunday morning things were pretty frantic. Since then the days have mostly been a blur of sleep, workouts at the field, apartment hunting and all the little things that need to get taken care of at the beginning of a new season. Unfortunately, I will be starting this season off in the same place that I ended last season: Akron. Organizations all have to make their decisions on players every year and they certainly have their reasons, but it is pretty frustrating to be back after what was a good year last year. That being said, all that there is to be done is to keep working hard, performing well and hoping against hope for a promotion. The irony of week as scattered and frantic as this past one is that there really isn’t a whole lot worth writing about, so I’ll make this one a short one and get you out of here with a poem (it is National Poetry month so I have a temporary excuse).
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.