I woke up this morning and found a Vietnamese style chicken wrap in the refrigerator. I highly recommend ANYTHING Vietnamese food oriented, but this wrap was killing it. The ginger lime dipping sauce was excellent, and gave my taste buds something to believe in again. My brain: “Holy shit! You are actually giving your body the nutrients it needs after drinking about 10 bloody mary’s last night!? You soul-less bastard.” I know, I know, you come to this site for BASEBALL, I get it, so I have done some research on Coco Crisp’s season last year, and it comes down to this:
Chili Davis: “Teams don’t want to walk him, so when he gets ahead in the count, he likes to get in front of those fastballs.”
I’m sure I could give you a breakdown, charts, or his left handed hitting percentage against a right hander at night, while pinch hitting, while the weather is 50 degrees or lower,while his wife is bitching him out, while he’s in Jacobs Field…but I honestly don’t give a shit. More power to those people, but baseball loses all aesthetic meaning to me when it becomes a bunch of charts and other assorted rigamarole. Looking at a bunch of charts is NEVER as fun as being one with the universe and connecting on a pitch PERFECTLY and sending that fucker soaring deep, deep, deep. I’ve heard every term to explain this beautiful game from “universal truths” and “just too fucked up to analyze.”
I accept both.
Isn’t it strange that there is a blog named after a baseball player that doesn’t have a SINGLE post about said player? That’s what I thought, so I thought I’d share with you the lyrical stylings of Covelli “Coco” Crisp.
Coco Crisp's Afro 