Southern Wisconsin is where dreams go to die. The annoying one, the roided one, the big one. They were the destroyers. The roided one would wrap himself himself in a cloak of shipping, the big one would float across Lake Michigan, but they are irrelevant now.
Stewing, hoping the next cycle would bring more joy. The powers that be would not let it stew. The previously broken one and the wild one were sent northwest for the grounder one. The presumably slow one was taken under the wing. "Whyfor the presumably slow one?" they asked, "Because" was the answer.
Looking through the keyhole of the future there was definitely a pair of- oh my, wrong keyhole. The actual one showed great hope. However, it is a high keyhole, and one cannot see the floor.
Initial triumph! Paul Goldschmidt looks at Tim Lincecum and says "We are going to foxtrot, and I will always lead." Tim says "Yessir." This repeats throughout. On the third day, Justin Upton, he of the temporarily shaken off reputation, looks at second base and says "You are Emmanuel Burris, and you must die." A quick valiant struggle, but our hero is wounded. The butterfly is stepped on, the bullet shatters, the metaphor similes. He struggles throughout, pride and secrecy being the downfall.
A new face was being made wiley. He threw sinisterly, and was barely saved, but he turned into the lone neutron star in parsecs of nothingness.
They call him CY. He is inconsistent, like the ripples of a rock thrown into a pond or Stone Temple Pilots albums after 1997, but he consists of magic. The wall of circumstance flew up, and he was out.
"Pourquoi le mur de mal?" He asks.
"Parce que je suis un mur." is the response.
The presumably slow one is still presumably slow, but he mashes.
Somewhere, off in the far reaches of the Milky Way, a planetary disk form. It is a large, Class O star. All anyone can hear in the night is "ZA-GUR-SKIIIIIIIIIII"
The masses are leery, but the shiny object of expectations is still distracting.
Two guys walk into a bar. "Hello," one says, "I am the series win against the Royals! Who are you?" The other says "I am the series win against the Brewers. Boy, it sure is quiet in here." They nod sagely. Suddenly, a third person walks into the room. "Hi, I'm split against the Rockies, can we be friends?" "HELL NO, YOU ARE NOT PURE" Royals series says. "WELL, UNLESS YOU HAVE HAM!" Brewers series adds. Rockies split thinks for a second and says, "I have not a ham." "GET OUT!"
The leaks are temporarily plugged. Aaron Hill gets the buy one get one free cycle deal, and it is a deal that suits him fine. In-between those, however, one who announces decides it doesn't suit him fine, while the powers that be say "YOLO so wear POLO". The masses, who of course know all about the inner workings of the universe of the club, cry foul! Soco the destroyer banishes all discussion as part of a grand plan that he knows nothing about himself.
The long tossing one starts his brief stay. The long tossing one is an ironic name for his outings are shorter than the person who I replaced as a writer.
The main power that be decided to proclaim that Stephen Drew was hording all of the injury ham. Stephen Drew denied ham, but said he had injury ribeye.
We got swept by the Padres at home, and a week later were swept by the Cubs. No need for fancy language to make that any more surreal.
Center and Right were not themselves, and the natives grew restless.
In a muggy haze of chili and proximity to Kentucky, the long-tossing one makes his final hurrah. His disposition is not dissected moreso than any other pleb ever again.
Meanwhile, in the west, a new Blue Emperor proclaimed "I MUST BUY ALL OF EVERYTHING." A lacky said "What is all of everything? Is it the blue birds in the sea? Is it the laughter of children? Do you want all the ham?" "NO! I MUST HAVE AN UNDERPERFORMING SHORTSTOP MOVED TO THIRD BASE WITH ATTITUTE PROBLEMS!" "But A-Rod is too expensive!" "SILENCE!"
An old guy departed, and the new guy arrived. Good Wheeler arrived and all was good, sort of. The Dread Pirate sailed off into the night.
It was bittersweet. Abrananaham, the great Potassimancipator gave his final appeel for the D'Backs and slipped away. Stephen Drew took his post-injury meat products to East San Fran. Elmo appeared. Elmo may love you, but Elmo hated hits.
We also got swept at home by San Diego again. Come the (censored) on, guys!
The Blue Emperor called out to his minion "GET JAMES LONEY TO SHIP OUT TO BOSTON." While he meant that he wanted Loney to go get him a copy of that Dropkick Murphy's song, the cosmic powers decided to make french toast of the situation and give The Blue Emperor all of Boston's things, including Mark Whalberg.
In the dead of night, another broadcaster was no more, in a self-inflicted fashion. "GOOOOOOOOOOLD-SCHLAGER" was heard in the night.
A newborn star, thought earlier to have gone nova, reappears unexpectedly. "ZA-GUR-SKIIIIII"
The inevitable heat death of the Diamondbacks came and went. Adam Eaton, he of the diminutive. Running, diving, doing things. Scrappy, but not altogether crappy, it became sappy when his wrist went snappy.
The lazy one explodes, but it falls to deaf and burnt ears.
"Je travaillais à travers une blessure au poignet!" He said.
"Je suis paresseux et mal informés et tirer mes propres conclusions à partir de notions préconçues." They said.
Three contests, none of importance. The season ends in equilibrium. Was Southern Wisconsin where the dream died? Will it be reborn in the ashes of the city named after a bird that leaves ashes?
Is this it?
Will it ever be better?
Are we masters of our own souls, much less the fate of a sporting team?
Will there be ham?
And so it goes...
TEAM SEASON AWARDS:
Most Valuable Player: Hopeless Dreams
Cy Young: Dead since 1955.
Rookie Of The Year: Heightened expectations that were not met.
Game Of The Year: Soul Coughing
Play Of The Year: Something by Tristan Tzara.
Unsung Hero: The light that encompasses all when there is duty to be done.
Performance Of The Year: Willie Bloomquist's Ennui.