Analysis of Ryan Madson’s Injury by a Furious Old Man

I’ve had hundreds of hand contusions in my day and only seven of them weren’t because I was building a chicken coop without a hammer.  I once strolled to the plate with a few nails sticking out of each of my bloodied hands and the umpire told me I’d have to at least get the stray dogs to stop following me before the game could go on.

Granted, I play in a 60+ league with men whose chief form of currency is punching their grandkids, so no one’s going to argue that we have a higher threshold for pain than a late-inning nancy-boy getting paid billions of dollars to play 1/9 of a baseball game.  So no one is trying to say that Ryan Madson is a pansy for going on the DL with a “bruised right hand.”

Wait, no.  Me.  I am saying that.  In fact, I got that Tenneson kid from down the street to show me how to use a computer just so I could take my rants onto the internet.  You’re probably wondering how I got so good at typing so quickly.  Well, I politely asked the Tenneson kid to stick around and type while I dictated to him whilst sitting across the room, tapping the WWII-era pistol I got off a dead Nazi.

Yes, you hear it, don’t you, Timmy?  The tapping of my strangely long fingernails against 50-year-old German steel?

But to the point, for every one thing I know about killing Nazis, I know 10 about playing baseball games.  And while most of these Phillies pitchers know how to play this game the right way–by continuing to pitch without stopping until their arm bones have the consistency of dead leaves–the closers seem to be the most prone to horrific injury, despite only showign up DAMN IT TIMMY IS THAT A TYPO.  WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU ABOUT TYPOS.  YOU’RE BIRTH WAS A TYPO BY THE KEYSTROKES OF HUMANITY.  NO, DON’T GO BACK AND FIX IT, THERE’S NO TIME.  THE LONGER THIS TAKES THE MORE MY MEMORY FADES BEHIND THE BLOODY MIST OF A GLOBAL CONFLICT.  JUST CONCENTRATE ON TYPING MY SHOUTING.

I’m just saying, first this Lidge character doesn’t show up for baseball, then that Cuban defector refused to play because of a forearm thing and now Madson’s freaking out because of that thing I said before.  Whatever it was.

Cubans.  They’ve got those missiles down there.

Closers are a joke, anyhow.  Why the Phillies can’t just stick a industrial fan out there to propel the ball toward the plate for three outs is beyond me.  I’m sick of these primadonnas using sabermetrics to get out of pitching.

What?  You think I’m too senile to know what sabermetrics is?  I’ll have you know I had a dream where a Nazi I bayonetted to death crawled through my window and explained the theories of “Moneyball” to me.  So I’ve got a pretty good handle on things, thank you very much.

Who the hell is this kid at my computer.