There are few things that make me as happy as Frenchy running:
Especially when he’s tracking down a ball in right, oh man. Lauren, that idea for a blog called OMG FRENCHY!!! with just one of these pictures posted per day was actually really brilliant, but, in a way, maybe this blog is already that blog. On a good day.
That story last night about LaRoche wanting to meet Wyatt Earp is the reason I will always listen to the radio, even it’s lagging a full inning behind the television broadcast. Well played, Mr. Van Wieren.
In shocking news: I agree with Dave O’Brien! I love Frenchy and look forward to seeing him play, but enough is enough, Bobby. He can sit once in awhile. Though actually, now may not be the time. I think Lauren’s picture vividly captures the look I’ve been noticing on him a lot this season. I don’t know if this amounts to “bench him” or “don’t even look at him the wrong way,” but regardless, I’m going to take a wild guess that he’ll play every game this season as long as he’s at least semi-physically able.
I had to watch Matty save the day on Gametracker at work, and I could see Turner Field from my office building. I spent a few minutes staring at it longingly in the eighth. At least I have these marvelous AP pictures:
All this physical affection seems to be doing them good.
Meanwhile, we’re down two more pitchers. Onward to Pittsburgh! I fully expect to see Omar Infante pitch in relief at some point.
Man, did Sports South make a big deal about Frenchy kissing Kotsay on Sunday! How many times did they replay it? I counted at least three. I was waiting for a slow motion replay with commentary about his technique.
Personally, I found nothing especially hilarious about it. It’s pretty much in line with what we know about Frenchy already, and in terms of weird, intriguing things that Frenchy has done in the dugout, it ranks below some of the looks I’ve seen on his face this season in terms of significance. I guess it is a sign that perhaps he is coming out what has looked like a deep depression? Or a sign that he’s lost his mind entirely. Hmm.
I did enjoy the fact that, after the second replay, they cut back to the dugout at present, where Frenchy was sitting next to Heap, who was furiously biting his nails. Now that’s comedy.
In other news, I thought Skip was being a little mean to Chip on the radio last night, and I happened upon Chip being interviewed on 94.9 this morning on the way to work . . . someone called in and said the same thing! Chip did not deny it.
From an AJC article about Gonzo’s impending return:
Gonzalez ate dinner at Smokey Bones barbecue every night in early April so he could catch Braves games on satellite.
Every NIGHT? Isn’t he like . . . a millionaire? I suspect even the guys making the league minimum could afford satellite TV, yes? Maybe he’s in love with one of the waitresses. Chipper might want to warn him about that.
Oh man. Talk of Smoltz returning to the bullpen. I laughed when it was Barry Zito; perhaps this is karma coming back to haunt me.
I don’t know what to say about this season so far. I thought we would at least have one of those excitingly awful years. You know what I mean? Where you’re so low that it just starts to get hilarious? But there’s a zombie quality to this team right now that prevents even that. Also, they occasionally win games and get my hopes up. Maybe kicking some ass would turn things around:
I mean kicking ass the old fashioned way, since we can’t seem to do it the baseball way: grab someone’s head and pop ‘em in the face! Matty has the right idea here. I still say a long overdue inaugural Baby Braves brawl would solve all our problems.
And one more thing:
Umpire: Frenchy. I am your father.
Frenchy: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
I haven’t posted in a week because I don’t know what to say. I was fairly certain that things would eventually go badly this year, but things went so immediately and overwhelmingly badly that jokes ain’t coming easy. But I found this lovely anecdote about Devy, who has been called up to the A’s, and thought I’d post it, to lift my own spirits if not anyone else’s.
Looks like he’s still getting dicked around by travel circumstances and prevailing — God bless you, Devy. If our bullpen is shit all year (which, yeah, not a stretch!), I will accept it as the curse of the albatross that we killed which was you. If that makes sense.
Also uplifting: Heap taking off his pants in the dugout. Disturbing, too, but still a sign of life.
This is the first good news this team has had in awhile.
Get them the hell out of Colorado! On second thought, I won’t feel good about this until the plane has landed safely in Washington D.C.
I was pretty unenthusiastic about getting out to Turner this year, as compared to years past. I missed the home opener, and we left for the field only thirty minutes before the game started on Sunday (in 2006, at the height of what could perhaps be called my Issues, I was fond of arriving for a night game at two o’clock in the afternoon). But once I got through the gates and heard the national anthem being sung out on the field, I went into frantic near-running mode and zipped through the crowd to make it to our seats before the first pitch. We sat in the Golden Moon Casino Level, and our section was great. We had a few Mets fans beside us, but they were old and cantankerous, and their miserable silence added to our joy.
The best part of the game was in the eighth, right before Tex hit the homer. A little kid a few sections over was screaming “Let’s go Braves!” at the top of his four year old lungs, and everyone in the surrounding sections was clapping along with his chant. The fake loudspeaker cheers only once attempted to drown this out, and failed. Generally the sound effects and awful music seemed less intrusive than it did last year. The players even had less annoying entrance songs. Heap’s was . . . interesting, and Frenchy’s was the usual hardcore country, something about watching airplanes.
The only real changes I saw to what used to be the Lexus Level were that they replaced Moe’s with a Chick-Fil-A, which is a good move, though I suppose Chick-Fil-A won’t be open for Sunday games (it’s still under construction at the moment), and there was an ice cream place that may or may not have been there last year.
Everything but the crowd seemed a little bit muted, which was needed and nice. The Braves girls were even prettier! They have an Asian one now! Though they still have that one really scary squad leader with the big hair who looks like she may lead the robot revolution someday. They also dumped Jeff Dollar for a slightly less offensive looking in-game entertainment dude, though he’s still a long way from eye candy for the ladies. I guess we’ve got the ballplayers for that.
A win on getaway day is always especially satisfying, and it was great just to hear the announcer declare Smoltz as the winning pitcher as we streamed out. I’m glad my first Turner experience of 2008 was such a good one. I’ll be back for the A’s series to hopefully cheer on a vengeful Mr. Devine — though I’ve got to admit, Kotsay is impressing me so far. Who knew?
One run, extra-inning losses. Hampton strains a boob five minutes before game time and this is what we get: more of last year. Let’s hope Eliot was right about April being the cruelest month. If this is how we look against the Pirates at the start of the season, imagine what we’ll look like when our perennial nemesis June rolls around.
Hyde from That 70’s Show tried to liven things up at one point by charging the field. I don’t know if anyone else caught Joe reminiscing about the days at Yankee Stadium when the security guards would just kick your ass instead of sending you to jail (who knows if this is even accurate, or just some Joe fantasy), but he was disturbingly nostalgic about it, true to form.
The only really shining moment, for me, was Matty’s hilarious take out of Jack Wilson. Who knew he had it in him? Matty just gets more impressive every day.
Meanwhile, Ted Turner envisions the end of the world. I think he just read The Road, had a drunken nightmare and immediately called a press conference. Nevertheless: Ted. We miss your money. Though our bargain bullpen isn’t the entirety of the problem at the moment, clearly.
