ok, so if you believe in god or whatever, then everything comes from god; evolution, a leaf twirling from a tree, even a 16 year old’s heart suddenly not beating, a fastball when you’re waiting on a curve ball; everything; the slumps, wild throws and demotions to the minors.
All what we perceive as bad twirls beside all that we perceive as good; a double helix barber shop pole; the two opposites fully embraced; dancing and spitting out plots.
That’s what the guy wearing a trench coat; handing out green bibles on the corner tells me anyway.
It’s weak, but understandable why some people drift into conspiracy, paranoia, and narcissism. It’s also courageous and understandable when a player pulls up his socks and transforms shit into fertilizer and sees the cruel, politically driven baseball world as a benevolent conspiracy. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and what not. It’s our choice I guess.
The whole damn thing is not fair in terms of odds, but we carry on anyway. A pitcher gets the ball and he decides; in part anyway, how creation will unfold. He is god; throwing speed and junk every which way with batters standing 90 feet away, filled with reams of data, but only a millisecond to swing or not swing, pray or not pray. The pitcher buckles the batter’s knees or grooves him a batting practice pitch. No one knows.
I like the way uncertainty flows into horror or synchronicity; dissonance or harmony, meaning or nothing. I especially like it on a day when I don’t have to work and a Philipino man is wearing a Brewer’s hat in Montreal. The sighting offers a free for all of possibilities, of reverse paranoia, benevolent conspiracy. The barber shop pole is strange; impossible to understand. I leave it at that and don’t bother making mountains; not on this day. I have french fries to eat and a game to watch. Matt Garza is making his Brewer’s debut.
There’s Harvey Haddix in the air, even in my tv room. Both Garza and the Braves starting pitcher-Aaron Harang are throwing no hitters through six innings, but then Chris Johnson shatters the moment in the seventh inning. He hits a solo home run-first hit of the game and that’s all the Braves need. The same bullpen that shut the door Tuesday, shuts it again Wednesday with baby-faced Kimbrel earning his second save; tying Gene Garber for 2nd on the Braves all time save list with 141.
But the bigger monster is Harang. A month ago he was in the Cleveland Indians spring training camp vying for a job. He didn’t make their opening day roaster and was offered two choices; a train ticket to the minor leagues or freedom. He took the second option and within a few hours, the Braves called and invited him on board.
They had just made space by releasing Freddy Garcia; opting instead to sign the 35-year old Harang who pitched mediocre at best last season, but there he was pitching a combined 2-hit shutout on game 3 of the young 2014 season; skunking the Brewers 1-0. A monster of the unknown and yet, he appears so quiet and humble; almost shy out there on the mound; been doing it for 12 years now; nothing spectacular, just keeps his team in the game.
I have a soft spot for people who talk to themselves with no signs of a cell phone. This has nothing to do with Harang or maybe it does. A guy talking to himself stands beside an elevator. He’s laughing and the inspiration appears to be the up and down buttons. Both are lit up, but no one knows the direction momentum will take on this day. It can’t be measured like the moon and tides.