This should have been our grand Opening Day edition.
Instead, we hypothesize about what the Brewers and Twins players are up to mid-quarantine
It happened. We missed out on one of the best days of the year. OK, it was delayed. But we know a June opening day won’t be the same. Maybe it will be happier, at least in some ways. The thing is, we’re not spending our time the way we normally would be. We should be looking up how to get around blackout restrictions, not reading about how you can sing “Landslide” while washing your hands. (Didn’t realize this was going to be a baseball AND Fleetwood Mac newsletter, did you?)
We had ideas stockpiled for our big ole’ grand Opening Day edition of Rich People Conversations, one that would get you so amped up for baseball that it would leave your inboxes smelling like tailgate.
Instead, we were left scrambling for other ideas to deliver the #content. It’s time to converse, rich people.
Opening Day, where art thou?
~Curt
Opening Day, more than the first weekend of March Madness or the Super Bowl or the Olympics or anything is my favorite day in all of sports. The firing up of the grill at 9 a.m., the patriotic bunting lining the stadiums, the daylong parade of endless baseball on the television and the blind, dumb hope that I know will surely still end in disappointment. I love it all.
Baseball itself isn’t too shabby, either. The season is constructed in a way as to create drama down to the very end. There are the homers and the pitchers that flirt with perfection and the outfielders that put their body in harm’s way to snag a ball (I’m looking at you, Byron Buxton). Each year, new stars emerge and we say goodbye to players who graced our TVs (and phones and laptops) for years.
At the risk of fawning too much, I’ll just quote Roy Hobbs. God, I love baseball.
But what I’ve really grown to love is what I also find myself missing the most on this late-March day: the daily rhythm of the season.
From the early afternoon until bedtime nearly every day, there is baseball. It’s the mindless audio in my ears as I go throughout the day. Whether I’m writing a story for work or cleaning the dishes or going for a run or plopping down on the couch at night, there is baseball. Sure, I can listen to podcasts or watch another episode of “Survivor” in the off-season, but the problem is pretty simple: none of those are baseball.
Even within this daily pattern, there’s another pattern.
The pitcher takes the sign. He throws it. There’s either a ball or a strike or a foul or an outcome. Then you do it again. The pop of the catcher’s mitt every half-minute or so is the cadence of time, the background rumbling of the crowd and the hot microphones that pick up the sound of the on-deck hitter dropping the donut off his bat plays as the background to the main harmony of the game itself. It plays over and over and over again.
And the next day, you wake up and do it again.
Perhaps the best part of baseball, though, is that the sport itself, this game that creates pattern after pattern in our daily lives, plays out in ways that nobody could see coming.
Ben Gamel can be the hero. Devin Smeltzer can throw a no-hitter. Orlando Arcia can have a three-homer game. The Twins can win 100 games. Max Kepler, who hit all of 35 homers over seven minor league seasons, can sock 36 dingers in one year against the best pitching in the world.
It’s wild and crazy and stupid and dumb and the absolute best.
Now, as I sit here writing this, I realize that I miss flipping on MLB.tv almost involuntarily.
I miss setting my fantasy lineup for Chobani Gallardo at the start of every week in Sunday Brunch With Mike Trout (you better believe that last year’s 3rd place pennant is flying high).
I miss watching random late night West Coast baseball until 12:45 in the morning.
I miss Brandon Woodruff’s fastball making hitters look foolish.
I miss trying to scope out the best seat possible at Miller Park because I have a Ballpark Pass and no ticket to an actual seat.
I miss mammoth dingers and bat flips and shaming angry, retaliatory pitchers.
I miss baseball.
But baseball will be back.
We don’t know when, nor how all of it will look, but there will be a pitcher, a batter and a cast of fielders and umpires. That’s really all that will matter.
What matters at this time is staying safe and protecting not only yourself, but others, as well. Do your part to help flatten the curve. Then, maybe in a few months, baseball will be back.
What do we think the Brewers and Twins are up to?
~Jake and Tom
Everyone is approaching these truly odd times in a different way. Some of us are becoming one with our furniture. Others are trying to become the best athlete in yet another sport. Some of us are picking up a new instrument or learning a new---just kidding, nobody is doing that. The question for many of us baseball-deprived people, though, is what are our favorite players doing?
Despite our best efforts, we’re not friends with any pro baseball players. I (Jake) am friends with Tom Dierberger, who is close, and Curt and I once yelled very loudly in Kennys Vargas’ general direction, but that’s not really the same I suppose. Needless to say, we don’t know these guys so we don’t really know what they’re up to now. But we have some guesses.
Twins
Nelson Cruz
The spokesperson for having power napping as a hobby, Cruz is quarantined (by choice) in the Twins’ nap room at Target Field.
Josh Donaldson
My guy just signed for $92 million. I know that’s not Gerrit Cole money but that’s enough for a place in Edina AND Up North.
Mitch Garver
He’s spending hours and hours in the kitchen trying to perfect the family recipe of “Garv Sauce.”
Jake Odorizzi
It was Odo’s 30th birthday on Friday. It’s tough to properly celebrate a milestone day in this climate, but hopefully he got a nice shoutout from Animal Crossing’s Tom Nook. (If you know, you know.)
Sergio Romo
Romo has definitely started a podcast. His guest? Himself.
Marwin Gonzalez
Margo is writing a new self-help book entitled “Bombs Away: How to develop your arm into an absolute cannon”
Jose Berrios
He's thinking back to the Thanksgiving table and wondering which relative to K next. Look out, Abuelita.
Alex Avila
The hairy new guy had a waxing session canceled because of the virus, so he’s now looking into Nair. A little advice from someone who has definitely never ever tried it: be very careful, Al.
Jake Cave
The sometimes fourth outfielder is currently yelling at his agent, trying to get Willians Astudillo on the “Man Cave Show.”
Luis Arraez
Arraez is bragging to all his friends and family via Zoom; he’s been preparing for isolation by storing snacks in his jowls for years.
Brewers
Lorenzo Cain
Did you know he’s got THREE KID$? The dude is busy. (Side note: These player weekend jerseys were horrendous.) (Side side note: I wonder what LoCain’s lunch sandwich specialty is? Tuna melt, maybe?)
Ben Gamel
We really, really hope he didn’t follow the Tik Tok trend of teenage girls giving themselves a haircut. That would be tragic.
Brock Holt
Holt is running around his house loudly shouting his own name.
Eric Sogard
Algebra, calculus, crossword puzzles and … Dungeons & Dragons? #NerdPower is living his best life.
Brent Suter
Suter has Facetimed Lo Cain just about every day (the outfielder has never answered) while watching Jurassic Park reruns on TNT.
Craig Counsell
Craig is checking with every doctor he knows to see if it’s medically possible to combine Manny Pina and Omar Narvaez.
Christian Yelich
Yeli is still trying to recover from the time some white dude (Bucks legend Pat Connaughton) birthed him.
Side note: This screengrab features Milwaukee’s two best athletes not named Curt Hogg.
Keston Hiura
Kestdaddy is haunting my nightmares.
Corbin Burnes
He’s trying to tell everyone he knows about BABIP regression. Kestdaddy, meanwhile, is considering blocking Corbin’s phone number.
Ryan Braun
Braun is wondering whether this is the year he finally sends Curt a “Thank You” note.
The whole team
Trying to figure out who this “Tyrone Taylor” guy is on the new group chat.