The Book of Mando

In the land of VZ there lived a man whose name was Mando. This man was blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil......One day when Mando’s teammates were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest pitcher’s house, a messenger came to Job and said, "The fire of God fell from the heavens and optioned you twice to Toledo, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!"  While he was still speaking, another messenger came and said, "The sinkers were sinking and the curves were curving nearby, and Jim Joyce took away your perfect game. I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!" While he was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, "Your teammates and agent were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest pitcher’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the diamond. It designated you for assignmen tand I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!"...

And Mando replied: ‘If only my anguish could be weighed

   and all my misery be placed on the scales!

It would surely outweigh the sand of the seas—

   no wonder my words have been impetuous.

The arrows of the Dombrowski are in me,

   my spirit drinks in their poison;

 Paws’s terrors are marshaled against me...

What strength do I have, that I should still hope?

   What prospects, that I should be patient?

Do I have the strength of stone? ..

Relent, do not be unjust;

   reconsider, for my integrity is at stake.

Is there any wickedness on my lips?

   Can my mouth not discern malice?..

Remember, O Paws, that my life is but a breath;

   my eyes will never see happiness again.

The eye that now sees me will see me no longer;

   fans will look for me, but I will be no more.

 As a cloud vanishes and is gone,

   so one who goes down to another team does not return.

He will never come to his house again;

   his stadium will know him no more...

I say to ownership: Do not declare me guilty,

   but tell me what charges you have against me.

Does it please you to oppress me,

   to spurn the work of your hands,

   while you smile on the plans of the wicked?...

 "Why then did you bring me out of the Rangers?

   I wish I had retired before any eye saw me.

 If only I had never come into pitching,

   or had been carried straight from the mound to the grave!

Are not my few days almost over?

   Turn away from me so I can have a moment’s joy

 before I go to the place of no return,

   to the land of gloom and utter darkness,

 to the land of deepest night,

   of utter darkness and disorder,

   where even the light is like darkness...[1]’

Then the blogosphere replied:

 ‘When will you end these speeches?

   Be sensible, and then we can talk...

Submit to Paws and be at peace with him;

   in this way prosperity will come to you.

Accept designation from his mouth

   and lay up his words in your heart.

If you return to the free agent market, you will be restored...

then the desperate need for pitchers will be your gold,

   the choicest silver for you...‘

Then Mando replied: But if I go to the AL East, he is not there;

   if I go to the AL West, I do not find him.

When he is at work in the north side of Chicago, I do not see him;

   when he turns to the south side of Chicago, I catch no glimpse of him. ..

There are those who rebel against the stadium lights,

   who do not know its ways

   or stay in its basepaths.

When the run support is gone, the mediocre pitcher rises up,

   walks the poor and needy,

   who then steals second like a thief.

The eye of the steroid user watches for dusk;

   he thinks, ‘No eye will see me,’

   and he keeps his bloodwork concealed. ..

For a little while they are exalted, and then they are gone;

   they are brought low and gathered up like all others;

   they are suspended for 30 days like heads of grain...[2]

As surely as Paws lives, who has denied me justice,

   the Dombrowski, who has made my life bitter,

 as long as I have high heat within me,

   the breath of cotton candy in my nostrils,

my lips will not say anything wicked,

   and my tongue will not utter lies.

I will never admit you are in the right;

   till I die, I will not deny my integrity.

I will maintain my innocence and never let go of it;

   my conscience will not reproach me as long as I pitch...

Oh, for the days when I was in my prime,

   when Paws’s intimate friendship blessed my mound,

when the Dombrowski was still with me

   and my teammates were around me,

when my infield was drenched with lucky bounces

   and the baseball poured out for me streams of olive oil.

When I went to the gate of the stadium

   and took my seat in the dugout steps,

the young men saw me and stepped aside

   and the old men rose to their feet;

the ownership refrained from speaking

   and covered their mouths with their hands;

 the voices of the opposing fans were hushed,

   and their tongues stuck to the roof of their mouths.

Whoever heard me spoke well of me,

   and those who saw me commended me,

because I rescued the Zumaya who cried for help,

   and the Cabrera who had none to assist him.

The one who was ruining my perfect game blessed me;

   I made the Joyce’s heart sing.

I put on righteousness as my uniform;

   justice was my uniform and my olde English D...

I thought: I will retire in my own house,

   my days as numerous as the grains of infield dirt.

 My roots will reach to the dugout water cooler,

   and the dew will lie all night on my outfield grass.

My glory will not fade;

   the ball will be ever new in my hand...

But now they mock me,

   men younger than I,

whose fathers I would have disdained

   to put with my English bulldog...

Now that Paws has reneged on my contract and afflicted me,

   they throw off restraint in my presence.

"If I have given up walks with falsehood

   or my foot has stepped off the rubber after deceit—

let Paws weigh me in honest scales

and he will know that I am blameless—

if my steps have turned from the basepath,

if my curveball has been led by my eyes,

   or if my baseballs have been defiled,

then may others hit where the seams are sown,

and may my divot be uprooted.

If my heart has been enticed by a larger payroll,

or if I have lurked at Ozzie Guillén’s bar,

then may my wife grind another man’s grain,

and may other men sleep with her.

For that would have been wicked,

a sin to be judged...

If I have rejoiced[3] at my umpire’s misfortune

or gloated over the trouble that came to him—

I have not allowed my mouth to sin

by invoking a curse against his life...’

The words of Armando are ended...

So these bloggers stopped answering Job, because he was righteous in his own eyes...

But the diehard fans said to him:

’Listen to this, Armando;

stop and consider Dombrowski’s wonders.

Do you know how Dave controls the clouds

and makes his lightning flash...when the Tigers are behind in the 5th inning?

Do you know how the clouds hang poised,

 those wonders of him who has perfect knowledge?

You who swelter in your uniform

when the land lies hushed under the wind off Lake Michigan,

can you join him in spreading out the payroll,

hard as a mirror of cast bronze?...

Tell us what we should say to him;

 we cannot draw up our case because of our darkness.

Should he be told that we want to speak?

Would anyone ask to be swallowed up?

Now no one can look at the sun,

bright as it is in the luxury suite

after the stadium employees have swept it clean.

Out of the luxury box he comes in golden splendor;

Dave comes in awesome majesty.

The Dombrowski is beyond our reach and exalted in power;

in his justice and great righteousness, he does not oppress...’

Then the DOMBROWSKI spoke to Armando out of the storm. He said:...

’Who is this that obscures my plans
   
Brace yourself like a man;

I will question you,

and you shall answer me.

Where were you when I laid the starting roster?

Tell me, if you understand.

Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!

Who stretched a limited payroll across it?

On what were its footings set,

or who laid its cornerstone (Justin Verlander)—

while the morning stars sang together

and all the beat writers shouted for joy?...

 Have you ever given orders to the manager,

or shown the coaches their place,

that they might take the AL Central by the edges

and shake the wicked out of it?...

Have you journeyed to the winter meetings

or walked in the recesses of the AL Central basement?

Have the statistical projections been shown to you?

Have you seen the MRIs of the deepest darkness?

Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the league?

Tell me, if you know all this.

What is the way to the abode of the World Series?

And where does home field advantage reside?

Can you take us to these places?

Do you know the paths to their dwellings?

Surely you know, for you were already born!

You have lived so many years! ...

Do you know when the trading deadlines?

Do you watch when the teams shedding payroll release their prospects?

Do you count the months till they bear?

Do you know the time they give birth?

They crouch down and bring forth their young prospects;

their labor pains are ended.

Their young thrive and grow strong in the minors;

they leave and do not return...

Will the wild Verlander consent to serve you?

Will he stay by your manager at night?...

Will you rely on him for his great strength?

Will you leave your heavy work to him?

Can you trust him to haul in runners who reach on errors

and bring them to their dugouts, floored?

The wings of the Damon flap joyfully,

though they cannot compare

with the wings and feathers of the Bonderman.

He lays his pitches on the ground

and lets them warm in the dirt,

unmindful that a foot may crush them,

that some Nick Punto may trample them...

for God did not endow him with wisdom

or give him a share of good sense....

Do you give the Phil Coke its strength

or clothe its cheeks with a flowing mane?

Do you make Big Papa leap like a locust,

striking terror with his proud snorting?

He paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength,

and charges into the fray.

He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing;

he does not shy away from the power hitter.

The fastball rattles against its side,

along with the changeup and splitter.

In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground;

He cannot stand still when the call to the bullpen sounds.

At the blast of the announcer he snorts, ‘Aha!’

He catches the scent of battle from afar,

the shout of managers and the battle cry.

Does the Ordoñez take flight by your wisdom

and spread its right arm toward the first base?[4]

 Does the Cabrera fly ball soar at your command

and build its next beyond the right field seats?...

Can you pull in Brad Penny with a fishhook

or tie down its contract with a rope?

Can you put a cord around his goatee

or pierce his high socks with a stirrup?

Will he keep begging you for mercy?

Will the Cardinals GM speak to you with gentle words?

Will he make an agreement with you

for you to take Penny as your slave for life?

Can you make a pet of him like a bird

or put him on a leash for the young reporters in your dugout?

Will traders barter for him?

Will they divide him up among the expansion teams?

No one is fierce enough to rouse him.

Who then is able to stand against me?

Who has a contract with me that I must pay?

Everything under heaven belongs to me.’

 

 

Then Mando answered the GM:

’I know that you can do all things;

no purpose of yours can be thwarted.

You asked, "Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?"

Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,

things too wonderful for me to know.

You said, "Listen now, and I will speak;

I will question you,

and you shall answer me."

My ears had heard of you

but now my eyes have seen you.

Therefore I despise myself

and repent in dust and ashes[5]’"

 

 

[1] Minnesota.

[2] Fine, steroid users’ suspensions have nothing in common with heads of grain. This speech is going on forever.

[3] reJoyced? (Can..not..help...myself)

[4] telling Ramón Santiago to run

[5] or another team’s rotation. Or the bullpen. Or Toledo. Whatever.