“… it seems doubtful the veteran is going to have the time to return to starting-pitcher form this season even if his elbow recovers in time to avoid a collision-course with an operating table.”
What Dennis Deitch was trying to say, while invoking the image of poor Joe Blanton getting pulverized by a cold metal piece of furniture, was that Joe may not be seeing his name in a box score for the rest of the season due to what Scott Profrock called a “hiccup” in his back. Which sounds disgusting. I hope his body is still in a single piece.
Don’t act like you care.
Don’t pretend to be sitting there, reading this, because if this website’s traffic is any indication, then you aren’t even doing that. But save Joe your false pity-Tweets; your sad face emoticons; your casual thought to his wellbeing before moving on to bigger and better things like accepting that invitation to Google+ or blowing the crumbs off your mousepad.
Joe doesn’t need that. Joe’s been overlooked and undervalued, starting with the holiest of holy press conferences in which Phillies beat writers–whose job it is to know all about the Phillies–denied him owning a World Series Ring, poked him with patronizing questions about how honored he must be to play with the real pitchers, or straight up refused to make eye contact. Some of them even called him fat. Fat.
And making it “Phat Joe” doesn’t really help.
And now he doesn’t even get the chance to throw the perfectly ironic no-hitter that I imagined him throwing. No one’s going to be hoisting a sign that says “You’re an Ace to us, Joe!” after he throws a pretty solid game. Its just god damn unfair is what it is.
And you don’t even care, do you? Nope. You don’t. Oh, Doc had a little sweat problem last night. Joe Blanton is dead* and you don’t even bat an eyelid.
*I meant “dead wrong about coming back for the rest of the season.”