SB Nation Tampa Bay: All Posts by Bradley Woodrum

Rays vs. Blue Jays GDT 3: Strike-one-strike-two-strike-three, I'm out!

2013-05-22T19:09:38Z

Here's a scouting report on Gene Belcher:

Rays vs. Blue Jays GDT 2: The power of willpower

2013-05-21T22:07:08Z

There was an era
of a certainty of failure,
where the melodic suggestions of life
rasped out like a broken orchestra.
What changed merely was
the possessions in my head,
some beyond the standard foundation
of knowledge wrapping arms around me.

Sight leads to action
leads to belief
leads to feats

I believe gravity is my tool;
I believe I can hold the clouds in hand;
It's a constant, trembling thought:
Step off the ground, leave the earth.
I believe you will hear
the sound barrier under my foot;
I believe gravity is my tool.

It's an empty lot on the southside,
grass grown knee-high,
with broken windows on each side;
a pulsating silence of hope.

But sight leads to action
leads to belief
leads to feats.

And if gravity is my tool,
Michael Jordan my point guard,
Bill Murray my bench,
R Kelly my rhythm,
Bugs Bunny my pusher,
and Toronto my catalyst,
then flight is the least of my worries.

Sight leads to action
leads to belief
leads to feats

It's an empty lot on the southside,
grass grown knee-high,
with broken windows on each side;
a pulsating silence of hope.

But sight leads to action
leads to belief
leads to feats.

And if gravity is my tool,
Michael Jordan my point guard,
Bill Murray my bench,
R Kelly my rhythm,
Bugs Bunny my pusher,
and Toronto my catalyst,
then flight is the least of my worries.

Rays vs. Blue Jays GDT 1: Odo odo odo

2013-05-20T16:18:02Z

Laserbreath Wallace rattled the dice. He cupped his hands like a pea pod and shook the dice on his right, above his head, and on his left.

"Just roll the dice." Gumbo folded his arm across his chest and kicked the table with his boot. "You know the roll results are just randomly generated, right? It doesn't matter how long you shake them."

Laserbreath shot the dice across the table.

"Purple dragons." Gumbo slid a finger along the game console. "Do you want to build anything or move your troops?"

Laserbreath dragged a hand across the stubble on his chin. "I want to build a--"

The sound of thunder shook the walls of the bunker. The ground trembled and the dice slipped from the table.

"Wow. What was that?"

"It was close. Maybe a lightning strike?"

The walls rattled again. Laserbreath and Gumbo ran to the nearest window and peeked through the dusty blinds. An old man wearing only a pair of swim trunks stood in the cracked pavement of the parking lot and waved a stick in the air.

"Odo, odo, odo." He chanted in a low rumble and twirled the stick as though he were stirring the sky. And stir the sky did. Gray and black clouds swirled high above the old man. "Odo, odo, odo; a tasty soup bone from me to you."

"Is he looking at us?"

"I think so."

"Odo, odo, odo; delicious cupcakes for a delicious breakfast."

A golden bolt of lightning split the gray sky. It descended like an ax blade onto the parking lot and struck the ground a few steps from the old man.

The heavens filled with Jake Odorizzi. The air dripped with him. Jakes poured from the black clouds, drained down the rusted gutters. Jakes puddled in divots in the parking lot; they landed on the leaves of earth's last green tree and drizzled down its branches. Jake Odorizzis flooded the ramshackle avenues and freeways.

"It's not unlike death," Gumbo said. "It's not unlike that gravy thickness of all life's end. The compounding of moments like a mathematic equation with too many parentheses, the heavy weight of events' propulsions. In a simple way, every moment on earth was leading to this--" he waved a hand towards the Jakes overflowing the parking lot, surrounding the dancing old man "--this final moment. It's like a transition, a death of familiarity, a birth of something new. There is a sense of death about it, but a sense of new beginning -- freshness of life, a whiff of adventure."

Laserbreath Wallace rattled the dice. He cupped his hands like a pea pod and shook the dice on his right, above his head, and on his left.

Laserbreath shot the dice across the table.

"Purple dragons." Gumbo slid a finger along the game console. "Do you want to build anything or move your troops?"

Laserbreath dragged a hand across the stubble on his chin. "I want to build a--"

The sound of thunder shook the walls of the bunker. The ground trembled and the dice slipped from the table.

"Wow. What was that?"

"It was close. Maybe a lightning strike?"

"Is he looking at us?"

"I think so."

"Odo, odo, odo; delicious cupcakes for a delicious breakfast."

A golden bolt of lightning split the gray sky. It descended like an ax blade onto the parking lot and struck the ground a few steps from the old man.

Rays vs. Orioles GDT 3: An ancient message

2013-05-19T16:26:24Z

3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1.5 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons sugar
0.5 teaspoon salt
0.5 cup of milk (or water with a little vanilla extract for flavor)
1.5 teaspoons of melted butter
1 egg white
0.5 cup chocolate chips

Preheat your skillet or griddle to about 350 F (or medium to medium-high heat). Mix together the dry ingredients, then combine with the milk, egg white, and butter. When the batter is nice and smooth, stir in the chocolate chips. You can substitute peanut butter chips, sprinkles, or any sort of festive sweats.

Spoon about 1/4 cup of batter onto the griddle for each pancake. Flip when the bubbles harden. Remove when golden brown. This should make about 6 pancakes and the total comes to about 700 or 750 calories -- perfect for storing three pancakes in the fridge and eating three right away.

Lastly: Head to the Tuth Gab tomb and place one pancake on the sarcophagus marked "Breakfast Lord." I can take it from there.

3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1.5 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons sugar
0.5 teaspoon salt
0.5 cup of milk (or water with a little vanilla extract for flavor)
1.5 teaspoons of melted butter
1 egg white
0.5 cup chocolate chips

Lastly: Head to the Tuth Gab tomb and place one pancake on the sarcophagus marked "Breakfast Lord." I can take it from there.

Rays vs. Orioles GDT 2: Honk

2013-05-18T19:12:38Z

Heflin rolled over to his side. With hands caked in dry mud, he wiped away the dirt covering his eyes.

"Sogal?"

"Is that you, Heflin?"

"Where are we?"

Heflin could hear Sogal shifting around in the darkness. his hand rubbed the soil then the metal walls encasing them.

"I don't know."

Heflin pulled the data orb from his pocket and sniffed it.

"I have no power. Do you?"

Sogal's orb was likewise dead. They crawled slowly towards each other's voice until Sogal hit his head on something metal.

"Bars. Metal bars." Sogal knocked on them with his fist. "And judging by the echo, this is not a very big enclosement we're in."

Heflin raised himself to his feet, but before he could reach his full height, another dull thud of head-on-metal rang through the narrow cells.

"Don't try to stand up, Sogal. There's--"

A hatch above Sogal opened, and white, blinding light poured into the cell. A man with a full and matted beard reached down to Sogal.

"Time's up. Your boys need you."

Sogal inched away from the outstretched hand. He glanced towards Heflin, but could see only darkness.

"Let's go," the man said. He wore a gray uniform with yellow sergeant markings. Over his shoulder was slung a Springfield rifled musket.

Sogal took the man's hand and disappeared into the light above the cell. A moment later, the hatch above Heflin opened, and both Sogal and soldier stood over the opening.

"You too."

The soldier lifted Heflin from the box and suddenly the two travelers found themselves in an expansive green field just outside an ancient city. The soldier led the men along the tree line to a campsite just beyond the town's borders. In the middle of the camp, surrounded by soldiers carrying and cleaning rifles, stood a circle of men playing base ball.

"Can either of you men twirl?" one of the men called to them. He held a small brown ball and flicked his wrist. "Twirlers?"

Sogal nodded cautiously.

"What the hell are you doing?" Heflin whispered gruffly.

"Anybody can throw." Sogal took the ball from the fellow prisoner.

Heflin reached into his pocket. The data orb was vibrating.

"I have a charge," he whispered. "Draw their attention."

Heflin jogged to right field and slipped a hand into his right pocket. He fiddled with the orb as the first batsman came to the metal serving dish, which acted as home plate for the capture soldiers.

Sogal threw a pitch high and away. It sped past the catcher's spread fingers and ricocheted off a nearby tent peg. The tent half collapsed as the peg and twine spun into the air. The catcher retrieved the ball and trotted to Sogal.

"Not so hard, now. Just a friendly." He patted him on the shoulder. "Can you throw an in-shoot?" The catcher held the ball in a special grip.

Sogal took the ball and repeated the grip.

"Give that one a go," the catcher said, then trotted back behind the plate.

Heflin pinched the orb, then rolled it against his thigh. The centerfielder, noticing Heflin's vigorous pocket movements, stepped a few paces closer to left field.

Sogal threw the in-shoot.

"Strike one!" the umpire -- a Union officer -- bellowed. Sogal threw another in-shoot and the batsmen swung and missed so hard the bat spun away towards the third baseman.

Heflin peeked inside his pocket. The orb was glowing green. He sniffed it again. It smelled like a plum. He dropped it back into his pocket just as a red line appeared in the sky. Like a sliver of God's red tape, the red band of light bisected the blue sky in a smooth and unbroken curve.

"Can you see that?" Heflin pointed at the red crack in the sky. "Can you see that red line?"

The centerfielder looked up and then edged another two steps towards left field.

Sogal threw a fast ball high and the batter again missed. On the next batter, he threw an in-shoot and then a fastball for two quick strikes. Sogal started inventing grips. He threw a reverse-spinner, a no-spinner, a slow ball, a double slow ball. The batters fought the pitches away off their front foots. They swung so awkwardly they even fell into the opposite batter's box. Sogal threw a fast ball hard down the middle and the batsman, an artillery officer with bushy sideburns, swung so late the catcher's calloused and aching hands were already winding up for the return throw. Sogal notched three strikeouts on a dozen pitches to end the first half inning.

The artillery officer marched towards the mound. "Who is this fella anyway? What's your regiment?"

"That's First Lieutenant Carmon, isn't it?" the catcher said, following the artillery officer to the mound. The third baseman trotted towards Sogal and examined his face.

"You're Carmon, aren't you?"

"That's not Carmon." The batsman marched poked a fat pointer finger at Sogal's chest. "Who are you?! Are you some local ringer these boys bring in here to make me look a fool?"

Heflin pulled the data orb from his pocket. It glowed bright green like a neon light. The aroma of gouda cheese and strawberries permeated the outfield. Both the left fielder and center fielder looked at Heflin, who was winding up a twirl of his own. He stretched the green orb far behind himself and then slung it towards the red line bisecting the sky. The orb started curving back towards earth, then sucked up towards the red line.

The men arguing on the mound silenced. The outfielders tilted their heads skyward, then the infielders followed their gaze. A bright purple burst of light filled the sky. The purple melted away and split to reveal a blackness dotted by bright and near stars. The field morphed from a bright green into a sickly purple. Behind the row of Confederate guards stood a row of enormous creatures with six hoofed legs, long, sagging eyes, and neat, sparkly bracelets.

"Sogal!" Heflin sprinted to the engineer's side.

Sogal grabbed the orb in his pocket, and both he and Heflin covered it with their hands. The orb glowed so bright it turned their hands green from the inside. Then it began raising, slowly at first.

"Hold tight." Heflin said. "It doesn't have a home base. And I didn't have time to set a destination."

The orb rocketed into the sky with Sogal and Heflin dangling from it. The soldiers and captured soldiers watched in silence as the two men disappeared into the night sky, then the night sky dissolved back into the blue day.

Birds chirped. The wind tousled leaves in the nearby treeline.

After a prolonged silence, the first baseman said: "I think that was Robert pitching."

Heflin rolled over to his side. With hands caked in dry mud, he wiped away the dirt covering his eyes.

"Sogal?"

"Is that you, Heflin?"

"Where are we?"

Heflin could hear Sogal shifting around in the darkness. his hand rubbed the soil then the metal walls encasing them.

"I don't know."

Heflin pulled the data orb from his pocket and sniffed it.

"I have no power. Do you?"

Sogal's orb was likewise dead. They crawled slowly towards each other's voice until Sogal hit his head on something metal.

"Bars. Metal bars." Sogal knocked on them with his fist. "And judging by the echo, this is not a very big enclosement we're in."

Heflin raised himself to his feet, but before he could reach his full height, another dull thud of head-on-metal rang through the narrow cells.

"Don't try to stand up, Sogal. There's--"

A hatch above Sogal opened, and white, blinding light poured into the cell. A man with a full and matted beard reached down to Sogal.

"Time's up. Your boys need you."

Sogal inched away from the outstretched hand. He glanced towards Heflin, but could see only darkness.

"Let's go," the man said. He wore a gray uniform with yellow sergeant markings. Over his shoulder was slung a Springfield rifled musket.

Sogal took the man's hand and disappeared into the light above the cell. A moment later, the hatch above Heflin opened, and both Sogal and soldier stood over the opening.

"You too."

"Can either of you men twirl?" one of the men called to them. He held a small brown ball and flicked his wrist. "Twirlers?"

Sogal nodded cautiously.

"What the hell are you doing?" Heflin whispered gruffly.

"Anybody can throw." Sogal took the ball from the fellow prisoner.

Heflin reached into his pocket. The data orb was vibrating.

"I have a charge," he whispered. "Draw their attention."

Heflin jogged to right field and slipped a hand into his right pocket. He fiddled with the orb as the first batsman came to the metal serving dish, which acted as home plate for the capture soldiers.

"Not so hard, now. Just a friendly." He patted him on the shoulder. "Can you throw an in-shoot?" The catcher held the ball in a special grip.

Sogal took the ball and repeated the grip.

"Give that one a go," the catcher said, then trotted back behind the plate.

Heflin pinched the orb, then rolled it against his thigh. The centerfielder, noticing Heflin's vigorous pocket movements, stepped a few paces closer to left field.

Sogal threw the in-shoot.

"Strike one!" the umpire -- a Union officer -- bellowed. Sogal threw another in-shoot and the batsmen swung and missed so hard the bat spun away towards the third baseman.

"Can you see that?" Heflin pointed at the red crack in the sky. "Can you see that red line?"

The centerfielder looked up and then edged another two steps towards left field.

The artillery officer marched towards the mound. "Who is this fella anyway? What's your regiment?"

"That's First Lieutenant Carmon, isn't it?" the catcher said, following the artillery officer to the mound. The third baseman trotted towards Sogal and examined his face.

"You're Carmon, aren't you?"

"That's not Carmon." The batsman marched poked a fat pointer finger at Sogal's chest. "Who are you?! Are you some local ringer these boys bring in here to make me look a fool?"

"Sogal!" Heflin sprinted to the engineer's side.

Sogal grabbed the orb in his pocket, and both he and Heflin covered it with their hands. The orb glowed so bright it turned their hands green from the inside. Then it began raising, slowly at first.

"Hold tight." Heflin said. "It doesn't have a home base. And I didn't have time to set a destination."

Birds chirped. The wind tousled leaves in the nearby treeline.

After a prolonged silence, the first baseman said: "I think that was Robert pitching."

Rays vs. Orioles GDT 1: Chris Davis, victim of trans-species hate crime

2013-05-17T22:09:46Z

BALTIMORE -- First baseman Chris Davis agreed to participate in an unorthodox pregame ceremony last week. A five-foot finch named Henry Latticework threw out the first pitch before Tuesday's game against the Royals. Veteran outfielder Steve Pearce volunteered to catch the rare bird-to-human twirl, but when an equipment issue held him too long in the clubhouse, Chris Davis volunteered to fill in behind the dish.

"It's a rare chance," Davis said at the time, "to catch a throw from an enormous bird."

Mr. Latticework, with a spray of loose plumage, hurled a solid fastball high in the zone to hearty applause from the Baltimore faithful. But, as Davis and Latticework moved towards the dugout, Davis extended a congratulatory handshake towards the finch, only to receive a cold, feathery shoulder.

"I appreciate the gesture, sir," Latticework reportedly said, "but I'm a finch. We don't get along with your kind. Y'know, Anglo-Saxons."

Henry Latticework's lawyer insists the bird did not feel comfortable shaking a hand smeared in clay, as Davis's was at the time, and that the enormous talking bird does not hold any anti-Anglo-Saxon sentiments. But in a post-ceremony press conference, F.C. Chadwick of Baseball Magazine asked the finch what he said to the Orioles first baseman.

"I was just honest with him," the bird said. "I'm a big fan of Steve Pearce. I like all the Normans playing in the majors. I get them. They get me. Save your Davis's for rounders and cricket, thank you very much."

Chris Davis responded Tuesday evening with a post on his tumblr microblog:

Today I heard the most hateful words a North American passerine bird could possibly say. I won't repeat them here, but suffice it to say, John Donne hit the mark when he said:

"The foe oft-times, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight."

But that might have been a poem about sex. I'm not sure.

The Orioles kick off a series against the Tampa Bay Rays on Friday night.

"It's a rare chance," Davis said at the time, "to catch a throw from an enormous bird."

"I appreciate the gesture, sir," Latticework reportedly said, "but I'm a finch. We don't get along with your kind. Y'know, Anglo-Saxons."

Chris Davis responded Tuesday evening with a post on his tumblr microblog:

Today I heard the most hateful words a North American passerine bird could possibly say. I won't repeat them here, but suffice it to say, John Donne hit the mark when he said:

"The foe oft-times, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight."

But that might have been a poem about sex. I'm not sure.

The Orioles kick off a series against the Tampa Bay Rays on Friday night.

Rays vs. Red Sox GDT 3: Cobb of Alex Corn

2013-05-16T22:28:56Z

Josiah whipped the bacon slabs onto the skillet. They sizzled and popped and he prodded them with a dirty fork. Cracking an egg on the edge of the black metal, Josiah drizzled the yolk and albumin directly on top of the browning bacon. He popped open the cajun seasoning dispenser and dashed two hearty wrist-flicks onto the eggs. He dug his fork under the bacon and flipped both the eggs and bacon, now a single entity of reddish-brown, white, and yellow.

He slid the tri-colored breakfast onto yesterday's plate, still damp from the prior day's grease. Just as he eased himself into the creaking old wooden chair, with fork and knife poised above the meal, Adedit ran into the room.

"Something's cracked the soil!" He disappeared through the doorway as quickly as he had appeared.

Josiah swore and tossed the plate of food into the refrigerator. Tugging on his boots and gloves as he ran, Josiah called to the computer's hallway command receptors.

"Open command: Where is Adedit?"

"He is in the far portside airlock," a female voice responded.

"Open command: Is Adedit leaving?" The voice did not respond. Somewhere in the station, a computer console blinked, "Unknown open command."

"I'm waiting for you," Adedit's voice echoed through the station PA system.

Josiah reached the far portside airlock just as Adedit clicked tight his helmet. Josiah jumped on the back of the two-man rover and sealed his own helmet. The airlock doors hissed deep and violently for several moments.

"Where is it?"

"Right under our damn noses," Adedit said.

"On the farm?"

"Yeah. The whole time."

The airlock door thundered open and the black and gray expanse stretched empty, endless before them. Earth glistened like a plump blueberry in the dark sky.

Adedit sped around to the front of the complex. A low fence marked the target farm zone with a grid of red spray paint denoting each specific target plant zone. Adedit and Josiah leapt from the rover and low-grav trotted to the red grid. Each reach square enclosed perfectly still, smooth, and undisturbed soil.

"Where is it?"

Adedit pointed across the red grid, to the far side of the plot.

"What the hell?" A low hill -- molehill-sized -- of colorless moon soil had gathered just outside the furthest red square. A sliver of green poked through the soil. "Did we plant anything that far out?"

"Must've been a seed that fell without us noticing."

The hill trembled.

"Did you see that?" Josiah trotted the circumference of the garden plot with Adedit behind him. "It's growing right goddamn now!"

The soil trembled. The ground shook. The station's foundations groaned and the rover slid across the dusty moon surface in small, vibrating hops. The moon itself trembled.

"What the hell?!" Josiah linked hands with Adedit, who tugged him away from the green blade.

The ground calmed. The landscape returned to its vacuum steadiness. The stars throbbed quietly. The earth twisted slowly overhead. The two scientist farmers stood silently, staring through beads of sweat, as the mutant corn gene spread cracks deep along the moon's surface.

"Something's cracked the soil!" He disappeared through the doorway as quickly as he had appeared.

Josiah swore and tossed the plate of food into the refrigerator. Tugging on his boots and gloves as he ran, Josiah called to the computer's hallway command receptors.

"Open command: Where is Adedit?"

"He is in the far portside airlock," a female voice responded.

"Open command: Is Adedit leaving?" The voice did not respond. Somewhere in the station, a computer console blinked, "Unknown open command."

"I'm waiting for you," Adedit's voice echoed through the station PA system.

"Where is it?"

"Right under our damn noses," Adedit said.

"On the farm?"

"Yeah. The whole time."

The airlock door thundered open and the black and gray expanse stretched empty, endless before them. Earth glistened like a plump blueberry in the dark sky.

"Where is it?"

Adedit pointed across the red grid, to the far side of the plot.

"Must've been a seed that fell without us noticing."

The hill trembled.

"Did you see that?" Josiah trotted the circumference of the garden plot with Adedit behind him. "It's growing right goddamn now!"

The soil trembled. The ground shook. The station's foundations groaned and the rover slid across the dusty moon surface in small, vibrating hops. The moon itself trembled.

"What the hell?!" Josiah linked hands with Adedit, who tugged him away from the green blade.

Rays vs. Red Sox GDT 2: It's Price day

2013-05-15T22:33:48Z

At SongMeanings.net, there are fifty comments on Rebecca Black's song Friday.

Here's another FACT: Outside of an ugly blip in Colorado, David Price's fastball velocity has been edging upwards.

Here is the remainder of the information you requested; the core FACTS regarding the swirling majesty of bio-chemistry, the tricky matter of death and power and heat, as regards specifically the Tampa Bay Rays:

Render it unto the mystery of plaid
potholders and dough-crusted oven
mitts; heat will find its meandering way

to soft and smooth skin, to unguarded
fingerprints scorched into smoothness.
The gas grill burns quietly and twists

flames towards dead muscles and fat;
one creature's bicep is another's
meal. And the heat is what takes it

there. The heat is the difference
between death and life, the difference
between a corpse and meal, a

stomach and a hamburger medium-
well. It touches from a distance; it
glows and it darkens; the flame

renders paradox unto simplicity
and burns through the incapable hitter:
heat from a Tennessee lefty.