2007? WHAT HAPPENED?

He was dejected. He looked at all the empty cans scattered on the desk, the floor, and in (almost) the trashcan. Well,…dejected and half drunk. His head flopped back as he laid out spreadeagle in the old wooden chair behind his desk. Eyes half-closed, arms draped over the side of the chair. Legs spread out under the desk, just slightly bent, like the visions spinning in his head as he looked back over the year. What happened? 2006 had been such a great year. Finished first with 107 wins. Then along came 2007. “Slug” Morgan reached for another can of cold memories.

Clumsily popping the top after four or five tries, he slugged back a rush of those memories. Almost a 30 game turnaround, with only 78 wins! He was lucky he still had his job. At the end of the day? Maybe he wouldn’t. What happened? He shook his head and a wave of dizziness came over him. The boys had hit okay. Well, some of them anyway. Todd, good ole Todd. He led the team with a .285 average. Kinda middlin’ for him, but sorta okay. Sorta okay? his alcohol-laden brain questioned? Todd was a .300 plus man with 20-30 dingers! Not this year. ”Slug” tossed back the rest of his beer and awkwardly grabbed another. Now Thome did pop 36 long balls and drove in 94. So there was that. And what’s his name?… Aramary? Armyass? Aramis! Yeah,… the Ramirez kid. He put out 33 homers and led the team with 108 Ribbies. So what happened? Vladdy? Yeah,…he disappeared. Couldn’t hit the water from the shoreline. He and Abreu. Too bad he thought. I really like them.

“Slug” sat silently as his mind wandered off in a Budweiser haze. Too much thinking made his head hurt. But he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop drinking his Bud either. He tossed the empty can, missed the trash again, and reached for another. What about the rest of the hitting? Yeah, well, that was the question wasn’t it? There was no other hitting! Zilch! Nada! Nothing! Can’t hit, can’t score, can’t expect to win. Simple math. Or was it science? Or physics? Or,…whatever.

This time he was sipping his beer when he slumped to his left and tettered over the edge of his chair. Grasping the chair’s arm he stopped himself from an ill-gotten fall and belched his mouthful of beer over an array of empty cans on the floor. Damn! What a mess. He starred at the empty cans. So many of them never hitting their mark. Kinda like his pitchers, he thought. Garcia, Pettitte, Vazquez. They couldn’t hit their mark either. Or maybe they could,…and that’s why everyone was able to hit them so easily. Whoaaa! Wait a minute! Was that a sobering thought? Nah…Those guys were bad. ERA’s about 5. How the heck do you expect to win if you’re giving up 5 runs a game?… Especially when you can’t hit?! Oh, well. Season’s over now. 78 wins. What can ya do? Have another beer! That’s what. And with that, “Slug” put his tired old calloused hands around another can of misty memories and slowly brought it to his lips. Here’s to you 2007! Go to h……