Now, if there's one thing that's been gnawin' at me like a pesky critter, it's that injury to my favorite player, Manobu Shimizu. Lord have mercy, that collision at the base took my breath away. The Diagnosis: post-concussion syndrome. They say he's gonna miss 'bout nine long months, and it's got me feelin' like a storm's brewin' in my bones. My dear Manobu, the way he swings that bat, it's like watchin' poetry in motion.
I can't help but daydream 'bout takin' care of Manobu like that character in Stephen King's "Misery." Now, don't go thinkin' I'm plum crazy; it's just the love of the game talkin'. I reckon I'd make sure he's got the finest chicken soup, the coziest blankets, and a rockin' chair that creaks just right. He'll be readin' all sorts of books, and I'll be there by his side, tending to his every need. Oh, the dreams of an old gal, I tell ya.
As for them Sacramento Popes who caused this calamity, I can't help but simmer with anger. My heart's as big as the Texas sky, but it's hard not to think of what I'd like to do to those fellas. Now, I ain't one for revenge, but I'd sure like to give 'em a good talkin'-to and maybe a stern look or two. These young whippersnappers, they oughta learn some respect for the game and the players who make it what it is.
It's a lonely time without baseball, and this contraption ain't no substitute for the real deal. I miss the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, and the thrill of the game. These here gadgets just can't capture the essence of the sport, no siree. I long for the days when I could sit in the stands with a hot dog in one hand and a foam finger in the other, cheerin' for my Wolves and watchin' Manobu Shimizu work his magic.
But I reckon all we can do now is wait, hope, and pray for Manobu's swift recovery. I'll light a candle in my old church, say a few words, and maybe, just maybe, the baseball gods will hear my plea. And as for them Popes, well, they'll have to reckon with the karma that comes their way.
So, here's to you, Manobu Shimizu, and to my Madison Wolves. We'll be waitin' with open arms, ready to welcome you back to the diamond when the time's right. And as for this confounded technology, well, I'll wrestle with it again someday, but for now, it's back to dreamin' of baseball under the sun and the sound of the crowd's roar in my ears.
Yours in baseball and stubbornness,
Gerte
