Tumbling Dice (Exile on Matsuzaka Street)

Well, brethren, I believe I'm well prepared for the Diceman's start tonight against Detroit. I got a massage and I am at this moment listening to Gordon Lightfoot.

"Sometimes I think it's a shame when I get feeling better when I'm feeling no pain..."

I could make a Keith Richards reference here, but it might be taken the wrong way, and I want it to be known that, contrary to occasional appearances, this is a drug-free blog -- unless, of course, the very act of following a professional baseball team so passionately at any age beyond 12 is proof of addictive behavior, which I firmly believe it is.

So, on that note: What's the score, man?

I'll tell you what. One-third of the way through the season, we seem to have a good team, a contending team, but one operating below full potential. Not all the parts, but some -- and those parts are key parts.

You know that, I know that, the whole Nation knows that.
Pedey's been solid, Bay's been great, Youk is elite, Lowell is the Working Class Hero with prematurely bum hips.
But Papi looks like he's done.
And we have big issues at shortstop.
And J.D. Drew makes a helluva lot of money for what we get out of him.

But the biggest key of all, of course, is and always will be pitching. We must pray that Beckett and Lester have turned the corner and will be their solid selves from here on it because, if not, the Yankees are going to run away with the AL East and we're going to be scrapping for a wild card.

The bullpen has been mostly solid save for (how the sands do shift): Pap. How many 1-2-3 innings has he had this season? Yeah, he's like the real estate market. No gimmie closings these days.
Thank goodness Delcarmen has improved, Okie has returned to '07 form and Ramirez was acquired (best pickup of the offseason so far).

There's still a ways to go, but I sure would like to end this spell where we hit the final game of a series having to win to salvage something.

The Yankees, meanwhile, are cooking, all their high-ticket, market-spree parts blending quite nicely in the pot. Still, they strike me as a team that could toggle back and forth between unbeatable and abysmal. You know how the media circus just feeds the negativity -- that "dwelling on the mole on the belly of an exquisite whore."

Patti Smith sang that. It sure wasn't about the Empire, but it sure seems to apply now that I think about it, now that my perfectly mellow mood has been utterly shattered.

Huh, shidube: Bring on Dice, bring on the Tigers.