yay
July 29, 2005 / 2:56 p.m.
Last night was Yuniensky Betancourt's first game in the major leagues. He started at 2nd and batted eighth in the lineup.
Pre-game, there were shots of him warming up wearing a light sweat-jacket while the sun penetrated the grass, and running back and forth through the shallow outfield getting prepared, stretching, turning back and jogging to do it again... as the announcers talked about a lot of things regarding him. The fact that he has the quickest hands and feet they've seen in a long time, the trip he had made to defect from cuba two years ago, in a raft, with all his family members left behind likely to never be seen for a long time, and only barely survinging the trip to Florida. And they talked about how he hasn't and still can't speak ONE word of english to this day, and the color commentator related the story of being in the clubhouse pre-game and having a translated conversation with him courtesy of a pitcher from Venezuela who speaks broken english.
And then it was mentioned that all his family was in cuba right now, watching the game crowded into their friend's livingroom who has the luxury of a satellite tv. Probably not understanding one single word, but recognizing their boy in America.
So he comes up to bat, first time, and all they can talk about up to this point is how much of a free-swinger he is, how he can't get any walks, how he needs to show patience or major league pichers will tear him apart, how he swings at everything for better or worse.
And i think what's gonna happen?
So the first pitch, he swings and drops one right on the the wall 400 feet away, not to hard so it careens back out into the field to be picked up, but not to soft so it gets cut off and thrown back in... and it slowly dribbles back towards the center-fielder, and by the time the center fielder picks the ball up and begins to throw it back in, Betancourt is, and i'm not kidding, running faster than i've ever seen any human being run in my entire life... already around second base heading for third. With his palms completely open and flat like he was sprinting, and he pop-up slides into third. Only the drama of a tag was saved because the shortstop had recieved the cut-off throw so late from the center-fielder in relating to how fast Betancourt was running that he turned around and saw how little chance he had of throwing Betancourt out, and faked a throw and held onto the ball in his hand.
Best moment i can ever remember seeing in sports for a long time.
And i actually felt glad to live in America, proud, for one tiny fucking moment.
Got my Oregon Trail card yesterday. It was funning, sitting in fred meyer, with $44 dollars left in my account for the rest of the month (four days) trying to decide what it was i was going to buy. What i should avoid (sugar laden food, prepackaged shit, fat of any discernable amount, red meat). And i settled on keeping it light. Some sockeye salmon to bake along with some yukon gold potatoes to mash up and some long grain indian rice to also put on the plate.
Got some little yogurt cups, some soy sauce, a half gallon of grape juice, some fat-free raspberry granola from the bulk section, some oranges and apples, some spinach to scramble into eggs in the morning, some feta for the same purpose, etc.
It was almost disconcerting, considering how much of my life has been possessed by eating like absolute and total shit. My body is begging me to give it stuff that is not totally and completely saying to it 'Here, spend the next three days breaking me down, burning ME off, getting rid of ME'
and i think my body hates me now, but i'm going to take care of it with the help of my oregon trail card and the the kind tax payers of the great state of oregon.
at least until i get a job that pays me $1000 a month.