Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera?
- Prelude to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Baseball fans are a superstitious lot. We wear the same grubby clothing that “helped” our team on its winning streak, we sit in the same spot that’s become damp with the sweat of our thighs, we ix-nay any attempts at premature celebration. But we’re not the only group that’s superstitious. There’s actors, for one. You can’t say “Macbeth”, you’ve got to refer to the play as the “Scottish Play”. So I have decided that I will, from henceforth, refer to Grady Little’s brainfart in not knowing “Timlin in the 8th, Williamson in the 9th” as the “Scottish Play”. Or, for that matter, the phrase can be employed any time a manager’s too slow with the hook: “And Torre turns the Scottish Play”.
Why that preamble? Because I’ve figured that the one time I didn’t blog a preview to a game recently was at Wakefield’s loss, and I’m not going to let that happen again. So here goes: Lowe vs Moyer. Methinks the power supply will keep flowing. These Sox can smell blood, and like sharks are heading for the chum. These Mariners will be sunk. The Minnow would be lost.