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Thursday, September 4, 2014

Nats on fire, outasite, and streaking through the sky

It's time to play ball again at Nats Park/Photo by Patricia Leslie

It's a good thing the fire stations are in the vicinity of Nats Park.

That team is streakin' hot, and they are streakin' right this very minute as I write, shooting like the stars they are, coming home from Los Angeles in the nighttime sky, riding on a comet crest of hard work and determination.

Doncha think we should be there to welcome them at the airport tonight (which airport?) after their miraculous win, 8-5, in 14 innings which Manager Matt Williams said was the longest game in Nats' history, and I am so eat up with baseball this summer, I cannot believe I watch the post-game show. (Which airport?  We should be there with streamers and flags and confetti and fireworks.)

The Nats, really, are so much fun.  They are a really big show, and thank goodness they are coming home.

When the Nats defeated the Arizona Diamondbacks again (1-0) a couple of weeks ago, it was a thriller of a thriller, like an excruciatingly fantastic movie or book except we were there

It was the bottom of the ninth and the score was tied, 0 - 0, when D.C.'s own Denaaaaard Span stole another base (he is #11 this year in MLB's stolen bases), and there he stood atop second when Ren-DOAN hit a grounder over to third which Arizona caught and ripped over to first when the ball went astray, like into the dugout which meant!!!!...It meant (I learned the rule from my new friends from Nashville and Owensboro, Kentucky who came to sit with me in the rain) we got two bases which carried Denard to home plate, and just like that...ZapPow! We won another game.  (Have you ever noticed when the teams are doing great, "we" join them and they become "we"?)

Don't you love it the way Denaaard Span gets ready to bat?  He waves that bat around like a stripper waving a...whatever it is they wave around. A boa?/Photo by Patricia Leslie
Denard gets ready to steal another base/Photo by Patricia Leslie
Earlier, poor Jayson Weeeeerth lay in the dirt, which, from a distance, reminded me of a napping Golden Retriever, but no, actually it was home plate, where he hit himself in the leg (with the bat or the ball?) and collapsed and rolled over for a few seconds.  No one immediately came to his aid, and, amazingly, he stood up soon thereafter and batted away.  I thought he'd be replaced, since he put the hurt on him, but, no, that's not the way it works.  He kept at it.  Like they all have this season.  Like they did tonight...again!!!!
Poor (well, not really) Jayson Werth kneels and prays before he bats.  Not really.  He rises from the dirt after he conked his leg or his ankle or something in the Arizona game August 21. He got up and kept goin' like the Nats did tonight in L.A. Go, Nats!/Photo by Patricia Leslie
Jayson's got a big fan following out there beyond first base where he stands in the outfield. If you get a seat in those parts, he might even pitch with you. Bring your glove! And don't keep the ball. He stands there with his hands on his hips like he is just disgusted that a fan would keep the ball he threw.  It happens.

Jayson Werth plays pitch with the crowd beyond first base/Photo by Patricia Leslie
Jayson Werth plays pitch with the crowd beyond first base/Photo by Patricia Leslie

Why don't they have a contest about Jayson's hair? 

Come on.  Why is he growing it so long? Don't you think that big pile of red/orange might slow him down? When he is running real fast, and it's blowing in the wind, don't you think it might impede his speed? Maybe it's because he looks like Jesus he can get away with it, and he runs with the force, because he walks sooooo slowly you'd never imagine he can run fast when the time is ripe or right. 

When Jayson finally decides to cut his hair, he could sell it at auction and raise a heap big pile of dollars for Children's Hospital or his favorite charity. Just thinking.
The armed forces acknowledge the cheers and recognition bestowed upon them at every Nats game/Photo by Patricia Leslie

Never in my life have I been as enthused about baseball as this summer.  I know all the players' names and have attended six, repeat, six games this season and for sure, won't miss the Bad Braves when they come to town next week and have gathered a group of five to go with me. I hope Kimbrel is the pitcher.  That stance!  He reminds me of a bird dog. 

Anyway, I know the batting order and the positions the guys play and can identify them. This truly is a miracle.  Nashville's Bert Mathews would be proud of me.

Question:  Why do baseball players spit?  What other sport finds players spitting?  Just asking.

And then there is Soriano.  Sexy Soriano. I don't know why it turns me on so much when he rips out that shirt at the end of a game, (Prithee:  Does he do that when the Nats lose?  But Carolinda doesn't like it) but I've been a huge fan of his ever since I read that story about him in the WAPO and the steam machine.  (Prithee:  Does he take that machine on the road?  It might require its own aeroplane.)

I love the way he slooowly walks to the pitcher's mound (he and Werth could have a slow-walking contest) like he is in a space ship, and momentum is forcing him to put one foot in front of the other. Soriano never loses his cool.  Soriano soars!

You see what all you are blowin' in the wind, slow walks, the racing presidents, throwing balls with the big guys, mustard and dogs (I took that part out), beer, steam machines, a cup or two of a cold one, wins, sex, and how about some baseball?  It's all there!

Plus, my son from the West Coast taught me the cheapest way to buy Nats tickets:  StubHub.  The price you see is the price you'll pay (no fees).  I've been an exclusive user ever since.  Easy.  Prices for the Phillies and the Braves start at $6.  Can't beat it.  What a cheap date.  (Where is George?)
Every fourth inning at the Nats home games finds a presidents' race/Photo by Patricia Leslie

I just hope our Nats shake the Bad Braves' albatross next week and run all over them.  Especially Kimbrel.  Will somebody, please, throw that guy a bone.
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