Throwing Fire and Disappointment

I watch these young relief pitchers come up,  pissing jet fuel and dissect the strike zone with leather and twine, to the soundtrack of forty thousand fans approval... game one... game two... another brilliant third outing , and then... BAM!!! Eight batters faced, four walks, five runs, one out and a long, lonely walk back to the dugout.

A passive Friday night fan might look up from his batters helmet filled with ice cream balls floating in chocolate syrup and moo out an audible "BOOO", just loud enough to be heard over his own self loathing,  but I... I eagerly await the next moment the deeply tanned and weathered hand of the seasoned pitching coach reaches for the dugout phone, lifts it to his ear and void of emotion, utters the words, "Tell the Kid to warm up."

Then after "The Kids" next six run melt down, three days later, I smash my four pound, double wiz cheese steak violently into the basket of garlic fries,  keeping my crotch warm and yell through a mouth full of gelatinous beef cud, "Get that piece of sh** on a bus back to A-ball... better yet make him walk... ... with no shoes!"

Yep!! That's about right.