Oh Baby, Team Larson to Make a Big Addition

Team Larson announced today that it will add a rookie to its roster this postseason. Team Larson representatives indicated that they expect this baby-to-be-named-later to join the club in mid-October.

“We’re excited about the addition,” said Derek Larson, assistant to the general manager. “Frankly, we’d love to complete this call-up earlier, but we know that rookies benefit from developing in the minors… Is it okay to refer to a womb as ‘the minors?’ I’m going to get in trouble, aren’t I?”

This rookie call-up will mark the first roster expansion for Team Larson since they joined the big leagues with the Larson-Houtwed merger of 2014. Though outsiders have questioned why Team Larson would add a rookie so unknown that name and gender are still in question, Team Larson management remains confident in the decision.

“This kiddo has a great career ahead,” said Ashley Larson, general manager. “There may be some growing pains, and we may lose some sleep, but our team is going to be stronger than it has ever been.”

The rookie may struggle to adjust to the speed of big league fastballs, or even to sit upright without falling on his or her face, but Team Larson expects the new blood to contribute immediately in the areas of screaming inexplicably, refusing to sleep at 3:30 a.m., and being incontinent.

“The clubhouse can be a little quiet right now,” Derek Larson said. “And, honestly, I can’t remember the last time one of us threw a fit for no apparent reason or spit up on the other’s shoulder. That’s the sort of spark we’re looking for.”

Although the roster expansion is still six months away, Team Larson is said to be deep in preparation for the new arrival. Contract specifications are unavailable at the time of this writing, but rumors indicate that Team Larson will provide the new addition with its own private locker room and specialized meals. Sources say that management has even offered to feed, bathe, and dress the rookie.

“Negotiations are always tough,” Ashley Larson said. “We want to be fair, but the kid is acting like a baby.”

As for naming the rookie, team management remains in deep discussion.

“Regardless of gender, Kacey Royal Larson has a nice ring to it, right?” Derek Larson said.

Ashley Larson declined to comment.

This Is the Life of a Royals Fan

In 1994, I was optimistic.

A month from turning 12 years old, I knew nothing but the Royals in my life as a baseball fan. I had yet to see the team actually have success, though. Sure, I was alive for their World Series win in 1985, but I was three and far more concerned with things like He-Man toys and throwing tantrums centered around pastries.

My first memories of really following baseball land in 1988. That’s when I started collecting baseball cards. That’s when George Brett became this young kid’s hero. I had the chance to root along as Brett hit milestones like a third batting title, 3,000 hits, and 300 home runs. I tried to model my little league baseball stance after his hunched lean. It wasn’t a big success. Neither were the Royals.

In ’94, Brett was gone for the first time since the early 70s, leaving a significant void. In his place came a guy known as The Hammer. More refrigerator than man, Bob “The Hammer” Hamelin looked more like an accountant than a ballplayer. But he crushed home runs.

On this particular July day, he came to the plate in the bottom of the 12th inning. The Royals trailed the first place White Sox 4-3. Then, from seats in the third base stands, I watched as Hamelin obliterated a baseball. His shot went to straight-away centerfield, just over the reaching arm of centerfielder Lance Johnson and over the wall. Three runs in. Ballgame.

The win was the third in what would become a 14-game winning streak for the Royals. They got within a game of the division lead. I thought these Royals might be a playoff team.

Six days after the streak ended, the Royals – along with everyone else – quit playing. The players were on strike. The season ended with little regard for the fact that I wanted to see Kansas City win.

That was the life of a Royals fan.

—–

In 2004, I was optimistic.

The years since the strike had not been easy. That magic from the 1994 squad never rekindled. And with owner Ewing Kauffman gone, the Royals’ payroll seemed to get tighter every season. We fans learned that getting attached to players was risky, as those who looked promising were often shipped to other teams as soon as their value escalated. Brian McRae, gone. Kevin Appier, traded. David Cone, don’t forget your Cy Young Award on your way out the door. Johnny Damon, smell ya later. Jermaine Dye, peace out. The youth movement was a perpetual one.

Yet, somehow, the 2003 Royals surprised everyone. They put together the first winning season since 1994. They flirted with a pennant race in August. The success of bats like Mike Sweeney and Carlos Beltran gave a fan base hope. That offseason, the front office attempted to capitalize on it.

The Royals signed former MVP Juan Gonzalez to fill a hole in right field. They brought in former All Star catcher Benito Santiago to play behind the plate. They were aggressive. The front office seemed committed to chasing the success they had sniffed the year before. Sure, these guys were a little past their prime, but they knew success. I predicted domination.

The 2004 Royals lost 104 games, more than any Royals squad ever had (the record would fall the following year). Gonzalez and Santiago sat injured for more games than they played. The Royals traded Beltran that July. I was horrible at predictions.

That was the life of a Royals fan.

—

In 2014, I was optimistic.

The Royals bottomed out in 2005 and 2006. A parade of veteran has-beens or never-weres not only found roster spots, but they batted cleanup or pitched every fifth day. The Royals were not only directionless, they had no clue that they were supposed to own a compass. Nonetheless, some dope (hello) kept thinking they could compete… or at least finish .500.

In mid-2006, a guy named Dayton Moore took over as general manager. Things didn’t start out great for Dayton. The Royals average 92 losses per season over the next six years. After 90 losses in 2012, fans were getting fed up. Moore had built a team out of young players – even trading Cy Young Award winner Zack Greinke to do so – but the wins didn’t follow. These young guys – Salvador Perez, Eric Hosmer, Mike Moustakas, Alcides Escobar, Lorenzo Cain – could not be relied on. Their numbers had fallen off from the year before.

Dayton wanted fans to “trust the process.” I trusted. Mostly. (Yuniesky Betancourt could test anyone’s limits.)

In 2013, the Royals won 86 games. It was their first winning season since 2003. They made awkward conversation with a wildcard playoff spot (though that awkward conversation proved unfruitful).

And then 2014 happened. The Royals overcame a rocky start. They took first place. Jarrod Dyson did a backflip on the field. The lost the division race to the Tigers, but wound up in the Wildcard Game. Those young guys – Perez, Hosmer, Moustakas, Escobar, Cain – were part of the process, and the process seemed good.

So, there I was, standing next to my beautiful wife at postseason game at Kauffman Stadium. Wait, a Royals postseason appearance and a wonderful woman who would put up with me? It was the most improbable of combinatations.

Alas, luck did not seem to be on Kansas City’s side. They trailed the Oakland A’s 7-3 in the middle of the sixth inning when Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” began to play over the stadium’s speakers. I smiled at my wife and said, “See? This is just the song we need.”

You know what happened from there. The improbable comeback. The walk-off win. Sweeping through the next two rounds of the playoffs. The Royals were in the World Series. It was a storybook season. Storybooks always end well, right?

The Royals lost game seven of the 2014 World Series at Kauffman Stadium. The potential game-tying run was 90-feet away when Pablo Sandoval caught the final out. I watched in stomach-churning silence at a hotel bar just across the road from the stadium. I had traveled three hours with my brother-in-law to witness history, but could not find a ticket that fit my budget. Now, with dreams crushed, wanting to do nothing more than crawl into a hole and curse the inventor of baseball (NOT Abner Doubleday), came the three (30?)-hour trip home.

That was the life of a Royals fan.

—–

Today, I’m optimistic.

Today is different, though. Optimistic isn’t the right word. I have watched more comeback wins over the last few weeks than a movie production studio would consider believable. I’ve seen the Royals win a championship. As we speak (err, type), I’m watching a recording of their championship parade.

Optimistic?

No.

I’m fulfilled.

Relieved.

In love with baseball and the Royals more than I have ever been.

For years, I put blind faith in this Kansas City ball club, whether or not they had a clue what they were doing on or off the field. I didn’t know what success was like, or what a championship would be like.

But I knew what I wanted it to be like. Parades. National coverage. Sports Illustrated commercials pimping commemorative championship goodies. A “did that really happen?” inner monologue that lasts for days. A never-ending desire to rewatch innings 9-12 of game five.

This is it.

This is the life of a Royals fan.

The Married Guy

Well, it’s official: I am a boring, married guy. I follow a budget. I’ve seen more romantic comedies than I care to admit. I say things like, “Does this shirt look okay with these pants?” Oh, how life changes. I’ve learned so much in my wedded life. As my wife and I celebrate one year of marriage, let’s look back at the top nine things that I’ve learned as a husband. Why nine? Because I’m too boring to get to ten, I guess.

9 – A Camaro, while snazzy-looking, fast, and fun to drive, isn’t exactly a practical car

8 – Absolute zero is actually defined as “the temperature of my wife’s feet while in bed”

7 – Royals and K-State shirts aren’t appropriate for every occasion (I’m still arguing this one)

6 – Grocery stores feature food items other than chips, frozen pizza, and cereal

5 – The shelf-life of a pair of socks is not intended to be “as long as they still fit my feet”

4 – It is possible for time to stand still, but only in specific geographic locations… like Target… and Bed, Bath, & Beyond… and Hobby Lobby…

3 – An entire house is not meant to be decorated like a sports bar

2 – Dryer sheets are things that exist

1 – I love being a boring, married guy

I love waking up and making coffee for two. I love spending every evening with the person who can always make me feel like the luckiest person alive. I love going for walks and matching socks. Heck, I apparently even love writing sappy blog posts to celebrate anniversaries.

I am a boring, married guy… And it’s pretty great.

Royal Journey to a Playoff Win

Don’t Stop Believin’.

The mere idea of using Journey’s 1981 hit as an anthem for a sports team is clichéd. In baseball alone, the 2005 White Sox, 2008 Dodgers and 2010 Giants backed their playoff runs with song obsessed with both streetlights and people. Thus, I wasn’t overwhelmed when Don’t Stop Believin’ won a fan-fueled song tournament this summer to earn its spot as the Kansas City Royals’ new sixth-inning sing-along song. The tournament whittled down a list of 32 hits in effort to potentially replace the incumbent, “Friends in Low Places.” Apparently KC brass finally realized that Garth Brooks’ drawl about associating with down-in-the-dumps folks might be a bit too relatable for fans of a team that hadn’t seen the playoffs in 29 years.

Sure, Don’t Stop Believin’ is a nice song with a chorus that’s perfect for thousands to attempt to harmonize on, but – again – the choice seem clichéd. Something unique to Royals fans (like The Beatles Kansas City, for example), seemed like a better choice. Then Tuesday night happened.

The 2014 Royals jumped the hurdle of firing their hitting coach in May. They trudged through a stretch that saw the squad looking up from the bottom of the AL Central division in June. They ignored calls to sell the team’s major pieces for scraps and start over in late July. Despite featuring an offense that didn’t hit (last in the American League in home runs) and didn’t walk (last in the AL in bases on balls), the Royals pitched, fielded and ran their way to a one-game wildcard playoff against the Oakland A’s. Win or go home. That’s another cliché, but it was 100-percent accurate. A Tuesday night loss in front of a sold out Kauffman Stadium crowd would mean Kansas City’s first playoff appearance in 29 years, their “Blue October,” was over before the tenth month of the year even arrived.

With each team’s hired gun ace – the Royals’ James Shields and the Athletics’ Jon Lester – on the mound, fans and experts alike expected a low-scoring pitchers’ duel. That thought dissolved quickly. The A’s led 2-1 after one inning and the Royals fought back to grab a 3-2 lead in the third. This was the sort of game the Royals needed. Grab a lead, then hold on until the seventh inning, when the bullpen triumvirate of Kelvin Herrera, Wade Davis and Greg Holland could take over. Alas, the top of the sixth inning saw Shields exiting, Oakland’s Brandon Moss crushing his second home run of the game, and the A’s looking like the version of the team that featured the best record in the MLB for much of the regular season.

Kansas City trailed 7-3 in the middle of the sixth when the opening chords of Don’t Stop Believin’ began, but the only chorus that seemed to interest Kauffman Stadium’s fans was a melody of boos, which had serenaded manager Ned Yost on his way back to the dugout after his second pitching change of the inning. The Royals needed four runs in four innings just to tie the game; they had scored four runs over nine innings in barely half their games over the season. Calling hope slim was like calling the 2005 Royals (losers of 162 games) marginal.

As lyrics provided a brief biography of a city boy from south Detroit, my mind cycled through all the cynical thoughts that so many years of bad baseball can craft. Fighting them off, I smiled at my wife and said, “See? This is just the song we need.” Hokey? Absolutely. But 2014 had already seen me marry a gal who is more perfect for me than I could have ever hope AND had seen the Royals make the playoffs. Unlikely and impossible are two very different things.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, the Royals crafted three runs out of singles, steals, a walk and a wild pitch. It was essentially the baseball equivalent of MacGyver building a blowtorch out of paperclips, gum wrappers, a Pringles can and a 1987 issue of Highlights magazine. The Royals trailed 7-6 heading into the ninth inning.  Don’t stop…

After closer Greg Holland pitched the Royals to three outs, Josh Willingham (whom the Royals traded for in August) dropped a single into right field. Well aware of “what speed do,” Yost pulled Jarrod Dyson – one of the fastest players in baseball – off the bench. Fighting logic, the Royals moved Dyson to second with an Alcides Escobar bunt rather than a steal, but Dyson had a chance to embrace his kleptomaniacism with Nori Aoki at the plate. With Oakland closer Sean Doolittle on the hill, Dyson took third despite an excellent throw from catcher Derek Norris. Now with just one out, the Royals were just one medium-depth fly ball from tying the A’s. Aoki did more than that, crushing a deep fly that would have been over the wall in other ballparks. Dyson scored. Tie ballgame. Don’t stop…

Fast forward three innings thanks to a marvelous relief effort by Brandon Finnegan, a rookie so fresh that he was pitching for TCU in the spring. In the top of the twelfth, former Royal Alberto Callaspo singled home Josh Reddick. Whether you deem it a nail in the coffin or a knife in the back, the Royals were back chasing a lead with their season on the line.

With one out in the bottom of the 12^th, Eric Hosmer – a player once lauded for his power potential, but who hit just 9 home runs in 2014 – crushed a Dan Otero pitch to deep left field. With two more feet it would have been a game-tying homer, but the first baseman settled for a triple, just 90 feet away from an 8-8 tie. Next up: Christian Colon. Colon is a backup infielder pegged as a draft bust because he has yet to become a big league regular while players drafted behind him in 2010 have become stars. He was hitting cleanup, solely because Billy Butler – KC’s designated hitter – had been pulled for pinch-runner Terrance Gore back in the eighth. His major league career had featured just 15 hits so far. With one out already in the inning, the situation… well, it was not ideal. But neither is taking a midnight train going anywhere. Colon chopped a single to third, giving the ball enough hang-time to allow Hosmer to tail it home.  Again, the scores were even, and victory – A PLAYOFF VICTORY – was in sight. Colon – along with the Royals, the city, and every fan who had felt the sting of any of the 2,510 losses since 1986 – stood 270 feet from immense celebration. Don’t stop…

The next batter was Alex Gordon. Gordon was the Royals top draft pick, number 2 overall, in 2005. He’s a lifelong Royal, having grown up in a family so decked in Royal blue that his parents had named his brother after Kansas City legend George Brett. He saw struggles in his career, flopping as a third baseman, but fought back and become a multiple-time all-star and perhaps the best defensive left-fielder in all of baseball. The stage was set and this storybook had a draft ending. Gordon swung at the first pitch he saw and… popped out to the third baseman.

Wait. What?

What happened to “don’t stop…”?

Now one out from a 13^th inning, Salvador Perez strode to the plate. Perez was 0-5 with a pair of strikeouts so far in the game. While he’s an incredibly talented young catcher, since July, Perez had acted as if “plate discipline” was a foreign term, swinging at practically anything pitchers threw; if Jason Hammel, now on the mound for Oakland, threw his shoe into the outfield, there’s an 83-percent chance that Perez would swing. Colon’s 270 feet now seemed like 270,000 miles.

Hammel, like Jon Lester, was picked up by Oakland in a midseason trade. He had been acquired to right the wrong that was Oakland’s post-season performance in recent years. The A’s visited the playoffs each of the previous two seasons, and failed to win their initial series both times. Pitching was an issue, so Billy Beane – Oakland’s GM and Brad Pitt-lookalike (if you believe movies) – addressed it in the summer of 2014. This was the sort of situation that Hammel was acquired for. All he had to do was get an ever-struggling Perez out.

Colon stole second, and 270 feet became 180.

Perez worked Hammel’s count to two balls and two strikes, then fouled off another pitch for good measure. While the count stood even, the odds were overwhelmingly in Hammel’s favor. One more strike would send Perez back to the dugout to put on his catching gear, and he knew Salvy’s weakness. The Royals’ all-star catcher has an affinity for swinging at (and missing) pitches low and away. Like a cat chasing a laser pointer’s red dot, the exercise in futility never seems to end. Everyone knew Hammel was throwing his slider low and away. Everyone knew that Salvy was swinging.

The unexpected ending in baseball is perhaps best illustrated by Ernest Thayer’s 1888 poem, Casey at the Bat. The entire piece sets up an expected dramatic finish wherein mighty Casey crushes a home run and brings all of Mudville to its feet in celebration. Alas, Thayer throws a curve, ending his poem with Casey a strikeout victim. Luckily, you’re well aware that Salvy is no Casey, and Kansas City is no Mudville. Perhaps Ernest Thayer needed Journey in his life.

Perez put his bat on the ball well outside of the strike zone’s normal boundaries. A Royal nation held its breath as the liner made it past third baseman Josh Donaldson, then exhaled in a roar the likes of which I did not know could be voiced in a baseball stadium as it touched down in fair territory. Perez had a hit. The Royals had a run. And mighty KC had a playoff winner.

I hugged my brother. I hugged my wife. I high-fived more complete strangers than I want to think about counting. Two days later, my pulse still quickens when thinking about it. And tonight, there’s a chance for more as the Royals open the American League Division Series against the Anaheim Angels. (Los Angeles? Don’t be ridiculous.)

After Tuesday night, I can’t hear Steve Perry crone “Just a small town girl…” without goosebumps enveloping my arms. Don’t stop believing. It’s clichéd, but the Royals personified it Tuesday night. If cliché leads to a storybook ending, I’ll happily accept a diamond in the rough and an ace up their sleeve helping the Royals run roughshod like a bull in a china shop and giving the opposition a taste of their own medicine. After all, all bets are off, all’s well that ends well, and an apple a day keeps the doctor away. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.

Don’t stop believin’, Royals fans. It sure beats having friends in low places.

So Much Thanks, So Little Time

So, I have a blog… Yes, apparently that’s news to me. My last post to this depository for written nonsense was July 10, a whopping 145 days ago. Yowza! It seems like just yesterday that I was returning from my summer road trip, with blog topics flooding my mind. Time flies, apparently. While such a break from the blogging schedule may seem extreme, said sabbatical has been at least partially fueled by an excellent reason. It’s a recess that I’ve been thankful for, along with so many other things since Thanksgiving 2012. As is custom around these parts*, we’ll take a quick look at this list of things that make my life one I feel lucky to occupy each and every day.

*Also custom around these parts: Avoiding the cliché, “around these parts”… Dang it!

1. First things first, I’m thankful for that person who took my attention away from blogging. She’s funny, smart, beautiful, and yet I’ve somehow tricked her into thinking that I’M a catch…  My life has always been something I’ve loved, but somehow it’s been even better since she entered it. At the risk of making sap leak out of your computer screen, I’m incredibly lucky to have met her.

2. I’m thankful for my parents. Each year I think I’ve learned all I can from them as it relates to being selfless, generous, and all-round incredible. And each year they prove that I’m wrong.

3. I’m thankful for family. Yes, my siblings and their spouses have taken an all-too-keen liking to a video featuring a preschool Derek putting on a show in a church Christmas program, but they’re still fantastic people who make every family gathering great. And in the world of those five-and-under, my niece’s combination of energy and enthusiasm makes it clinically impossible (9 out of 10 doctors agree) not to smile around her.

4. I’m thankful for more family to come. Adding a new baby*  to the mix is exciting. Adding a pair, in the same year, in the same month, possibly on the same day, is the sort of excitement that makes the word “giddy” actually seem applicable. We’re just a few months from the addition of two new niecephews (though, as I understand it, neither couple is considering naming said child Niecephew… It’s a shame, I know). And after that comes baby races. Place your bets!

*As opposed to adding an “old baby,” which is just kind of creepy…

5. Have I mentioned extended family yet? No? Good grief. I’m quite thankful for all cousins, aunts, uncles, and everyone else whose family tree is held firm by the same roots as mine. While we may not see each other often, the visits are great. Plus, you continually acknowledge our relation, despite my insistence continually attempting horrible jokes.

6. I’m thankful for those who have deemed me “friend.” Many are as close as family. Many have put up with me for years. And many know embarrassing stories about me. Yet, they still tolerate me… They may be under the impression that I have a large inheritance or something…

7. I’m thankful for the title “godfather.” I’m refraining from any horrible movie-related jokes here, so I’ll just say that my goddaughter is wildly cute… Finally, proof that genes aren’t drawn from godparents.

8. I’m thankful for health. Granted, I will at no point earn the award for Most Gloriously Healthy Man Alive (Why? 1. The award is fictional, 2. I’ve eaten cookies for breakfast at least once in the last year), but I’m free of prescriptions. That’s something, right?

9. I’m thankful for relative success for Royals baseball, marked improvement for Chiefs football, the existence of 3MAW for K-State athletics, and the fact that none of the aforementioned teams feature utterances of about rocks or chalk in their lore.

10. I’m thankful for the opportunity to travel and the proper conveyance to do so. I bought my new car at the end of May. At purchase, it had less than 22,000 miles on it. Today, just over six months later, it’s over 40,000, with many more miles ahead. The car has seen 14 states while I’ve been behind the wheel, and now knows US Highway 77 better than some people know their living room furniture.

11. As always, I’m thankful I have the opportunity to write. No, the time isn’t as prevalent as it once was, (It’s amazing what having a “social life” can do) but that’s a good thing. I’m thankful for the chances I do have, the support I receive, and those who read… Yes, that’s you. Thank you.

Lessons from the Road

Seven nights ago, a waiter at the Oneonta, New York Denny’s commented on how quickly I had eaten my meal.

Let that sink in for a second.

A young man who regularly presents ravenously hungry and/or feverishly drunken individuals with platters of meats and starches was so surprised by the speed in which I had inhaled a plate of french toast that he actually commented on it with his eyebrows raised. I feel like this is award-worthy. I mean, this is Denny’s, where the term Grand Slam has nothing to do with baseball and everything to do with hearing oneself add pounds and then ordering dessert. It’s as if I showed up at the World’s Strongest Man Competition and lifted a semi cab over my head.

If nothing else, the manager could have at least presented me with a commemorative plaque and given me my meal for free, while my fellow patrons lauded me with a standing ovation as I sauntered toward the front doors. I think it was deserved.

What can we learn from all this? Two things:

1. A day touring Cooperstown builds an appetite.

2. I really need to expand my culinary horizons. (In my defense, I had eaten at a Cooperstown Bar & Grill for lunch, I was tired, and Denny’s was across the parking lot from my hotel. It was 24-hour breakfast perfect storm.)

While my 3,500-mile journey provided plenty of reasons to put pen to ink (err, fingers to keys), step one on our trip down Blogging Boulevard involves a couple quick lessons learned along the way.

—

Girls Dig Nice Cars

This lesson will come as news to many, I know. But, as the still-new, first-time owner of a motor vehicle that can appropriately be deemed “nice,” I seem to be compiling enough evidence of this to write a thesis. On this road trip, the first such comment about the car came as soon as I hit the Kansas Turnpike tollbooth near Lawrence. As I handed over my toll ticket, the young lady in the booth asked me how long I’d had my car. Just over a month, I responded, at which point she asked me if I was enjoying it. Of course I was. Hello, conversation. Alas, before we had a chance to plan our future lives together, I had paid said toll and was heading down the road. So much for my hopes of living in a toll booth.

Don’t fret, though, dear readers, as the hits kept coming. Of particular note was a stop for gas in Franklin, Illinois. After filling up at perhaps the only remaining gas pump in America that lacks a credit card reader, I walked inside the station and was met by not one, but two college-aged females. One asked me if the Camaro was mine… Yes, the question seemed odd, as I don’t feel I typically give off the car-jacker vibe, but ignored it and responded in the affirmative. It was at this point that the other woman jokingly said she’d pay me $50 for it. See that? Small talk, all spurned by a vehicle that doesn’t make a person ponder what the current rates are for tow trucks.

At this point I had two options: I could head on my way, or I could offer to buy the two ladies lunch and then sit in awkward silence, since the only thing we had in common was appreciation for my car… I chose the former. Sorry.

—

Hours on the Road Apparently Serve as a Good Hallucinogenic

At one point on my journey, I believe it was in New York, but it very well could have been Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, or Narnia, I spotted a green sign along the interstate that listed notable businesses found beyond the next exit. On the sign, I read Dunkin’ Donuts, which sounded particularly delicious. I have always, after all, had an affinity for donuts, even throwing an epic tantrum as a child because I was actually expected to share a large plate of the pastries with the rest of my family. (The horror!)

With that, my mind began swirling with thoughts of the donuts I could soon enjoy. Glazed. Sprinkled. Jelly-filled. Perhaps appropriately, since the trip ultimately took me through three different Springfields, I was uncontrollably imitating Homer Simpson as I cruised down the highway: “Mmmm…. Donuts. (Drooling sound.)” It all sounded so great, I figured I might just camp out there and start a new life as a donut-obsessed hobo.

That’s when I got a closer look at the roadside sign. What I once read as “Dunkin’ Donuts,” actually said “Antique Shops.” Son of a…

Maybe I spent a few more hours on the road than I should have.

D’oh! – A Look at the Royals with some help from Homer Simpson

Forty-five days ago, I used this space to provide a look at the 2013 Kansas City Royals. As I wrote from the comfort of my recliner, I watched Alex Gordon drive Chris Getz home for a walk-off victory over the Toronto Blue Jays. The Royals were 7-5 and leading the American League Central. Life was good, and it was a time for blind optimism.

Twenty-four days ago, I watched from the outfield stands as Alex Gordon crushed a pitch over Alex Rios’ head to give the Royals a 10th-inning walk-off win over the Chicago White Sox. The Royals were 17-10, just a half-game back of the AL Central lead. Life was good, and it was a time for celebration.

Tonight, I watch again* from the comfort of my recliner, but optimism and celebration apparently have other plans. The Royals are 21-28, having won just four of their last 22 games. They’re now tied for last in the AL Central, they’ve hit fewer home runs than all but one team in baseball (thanks, Marlins!), and they traveled to tonight’s game in St. Louis by bus after experiencing plane issues. The cliché says “When it rains, it pours.” Unfortunately, for the Royals, when it rains it not only pours, but a fiery sinkhole opens up that casts the team into an abyss of poor baseball and bad excuses. What specifically is wrong with this Royals team, which some national pundits saw as a potential contender for an American League playoff spot? The most accurate answer is, “yes.”

*I attempt to watch, anyway. Area thunderstorms have seemingly conspired with my satellite dish to put forth other ideas. Whether that’s a curse or a blessing, I’m not yet sure. I’ll let you know in about eight innings.

To help sort out the mess masquerading as a baseball team, Change For a Button looks, once again, to the timeless wisdom of Homer J. Simpson.

“Oh, people can come up with statistics to prove anything, Kent. Forty percent of people know that.”
Entering tonight, the Royals rank at-or-near the bottom of the league in runs scored, home runs, runs batted in, walks, on-base percentage, and total bases. On the plus side, they lead the league in John Cena imitations. Those count as runs or something, right?

“You know, Moe, my mom once said something that really stuck with me. She said, `Homer, you’re a big disappointment,’ and God bless her soul, she was really onto something.”
When it comes to homers, the Royals are an unbelievable disappointment. Entering tonight, regular starters Salvador Perez, Eric Hosmer, Chris Getz, Lorenzo Cain and Jeff Francoeur had combined for five home runs. Five! That’s the same number of homers former Royal Rick Ankiel hit in 25 games with the Astros this season prior to being released. An apparent reason behind Kevin Seitzer’s dismissal as hitting coach was the organization’s desire to swing for the fences … Uhh, whoops. Since May 14, the Kansas City Royals have hit two more home runs than you have, dear reader. Even if you personally spent the off-season honing your swing, that’s still terrifyingly bad for KC.

“Aw, Dad… you’ve done a lot of great things, but you’re a very old man now, and old people are useless, aren’t they?”
Remember that whole “two homers since May 14” stat? Does it make it more or less depressing that both were hit by Miguel Tejada, who is 38-going-on-94?

“I think Smithers picked me because of my motivational skills. Everyone says they have to work a lot harder when I’m around.”
We know by now that KC’s offense is offensive in a very undesirable way, but why? Without diving too deep into baseballs advanced statistics pool, the Royals’ regular lineup features five players with an OPS+ of 81 or lower. Don’t let the strange acronym scare you, as OPS+ is easy to grasp. It helps you determine how a player at a certain position compares to others at his position offensively. An OPS+ of 100 means the player is a league-average player. From there, higher is good, lower is bad. Thus, an OPS+ of 90 means the player is below average. An OPS+ of 80 means the player kind of stinks. An OPS+ of 70 or lower means said player currently blows with hurricane-force winds… The Royals lineup regularly features four players below 65. But hey, chemistry! Right?… Right?

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once, and move on.”
Gasping for air in a sea of poor offense is a pitching staff that has been remarkably strong. Bolstered by the off-season acquisitions of James Shields and Ervin Santana, plus the re-signing of Jeremy Guthrie, the Royals are currently fifth in the American League in Earned Run Average. Unfortunately, some of their strongest performances (Shields’ 1-run effort on Opening Day, and two subsequent two-run efforts) have been a victim of KC’s tendency to swing bats as if they were pool noodles. Shields’ 2.96 ERA currently ranks 10th in the American League, yet the Royals are just 3-8 in games that he pitches.

“Stealing?!? How could you? Haven’t you learned anything from that guy who gives those sermons at church? Captain What’s-his-name?”
Wait, wait, wait… Pitching isn’t the only area where the Royals have been above-average, it seems. The Royals are tied for the first in the American League in stolen bases. Can we put up a plaque for that or something?

“Dear Baby, Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You.”
With recent struggles, it’s fairly clear that it’s time for some changes. Yost even admitted said fact (shortly after firmly stating that he would not spank his players… I think we can all agree that this decision is a fair one.) The question is, who will go? Will they show they value hitting and fielding over throwing a mean barbecue and send Jeff Francoeur (52 OPS+) on his way? Will they grasp the notion that having a name ripe for puns is not a good enough reason to start in the Majors and cut Chris Getz (56 OPS+)? Will they finally realize that Mike Moustakas (52 OPS+) is sort of painful to watch right now and send him to the minors? Will they say “To Hell with it all!” and can Moore and Yost on their way to starting anew for what seems like the 433rd time in my life? Unfortunately, finding the proper scapegoat seems to be much more complicated than it should be.

“Don’t eat me. I have a wife and kids… Eat them.”
The Royals’ struggles aren’t the fault of Dayton Moore, because the talented roster he assembled is young and full of potential. The rough luck isn’t Ned Yost’s fault, because he likes to smile (though there’s little photo evidence of this). Losing isn’t the fault of any of the players, despite the fact that the team exhibits the plate discipline of an obese gorilla at a buffet, because excuses. And the team’s struggles at the plate aren’t the fault of new hitting coaches Jack Maloof and Andre David, because the Royals plan to lead the league in fewest home runs… Wait, what?

“I’m a white male, age 18-to-49. Everyone listens to me, no matter how dumb my suggestions are.”
Am I the only one who pictures broadcaster/cheerleader/man-with-firm-grasp-of-the-obvious Rex Hudler while reading this quote? Sure, he’s actually 52 years old, but still…

“America’s health care system is second only to Japan… Canada, Sweden, Great Britain… well, all of Europe. But you can thank your lucky stars we don’t live in Paraguay.”
We interrupt this regularly scheduled rant about the Royals to reflect on the fact that things could be worse. Neifi Perez could be involved.

“There’s a NEW Mexico?”
“There’s a RIGHT field?” – What I imagine David Glass’ reaction to be when he realizes he’s been paying $7.5 million for Francoeur’s production.

“Kids, you tried your best, and you failed miserably. The lesson is: never try.”
As I type, I just witnessed the Royals turn a two-run eighth-inning lead into a two-run deficit. Oddly, this reminds me of another Homer Simpson quote…

“Beer! Now there’s a temporary solution.”
Surgeon General’s warning: Never drink to fight depression… Unless Aaron Crow just allowed four runs.

“I want to share something with you. The three little sentences that will get you through life. Number one: Cover for me. Number two: Oh, good idea, boss! Number three: It was like that when I got here.”
At what point do we worry that Homer Simpson’s life-lessons are shared by Royals brass? Moore joined the Royals as General Manager in 2006. Since then, the Royals’ record has improved, but – in seven seasons since – the Royals have never won more games than they lost. Yes, the talent level has improved, but the fact remains that Kansas City’s best offensive players – Alex Gordon and Billy Butler – were with the organization prior to Moore’s arrival. Much of KC’s slow development in recent years has been blamed on the shoddy shape that the organization was in when Moore arrived. While I cannot argue with their putridity at the time, it still seems a lost like Homer’s third bit of advice.

What’s the point of all of this? Is there any chance the Royals can turn things around this season? Should they just pack things up and try something else, like bocce ball? How many rhetorical questions is too many? Is there any hope?

Right now, there may be no answers to these questions, but there is one thing we all – from the youngest Royals fans to team owner David Glass – can agree upon: The pessimism surrounding the team is no one’s fault but our own. After all…

“Oh, well, of course, everything looks bad if you remember it.”
Someday optimism and celebration will return… and then we’ll get to have hopes crushed yet again. The life of a Royals fan is great, isn’t it?

Straight (Road) Trippin’

A tiny town called Mattoon, Illinois features a place called Burger King. This eatery, however, does not air television commercials featuring creepy members of monarchy with oversized heads. No, dear readers, this roadside treasure is predates the popular fast-food chain and – in serving up burgers, fries, shakes and (I assume) incredible heartburn – is called “The Original Burger King.” It’s a place I must visit. This summer, I will.

Though frigid air and odd bursts of snow have tried to hide the fact, it turns our that summer is approaching quickly. With that, I’m realizing that time to plan a summer vacation is waning. After all, if the Back to the Future film franchise taught us anything, it’s that attempting to travel through time to right a wrong is risky business. (If it taught us a second thing, it’s that someday your son and daughter will look exactly like you.) Thus, I’ve begun.

Tasked with picking a destination before anything else (I’m strictly against blindfolded driving), I considered many options. I could fly to Chicago, where I’d almost certainly get lost and wind up penniless. I could return to the beach and attempt to start a new life as a friendly beach bum, only to be shunned by the bum community for my inability to grow decent facial hair. I could drive out west and begin to climb a mountain, only to get tired and end up reading a book instead. The more I thought, though, the more I realized that there was only one real option for a 30-year-old bachelor who has spent entirely too much of his life reading box scores and pondering starting lineups: A Hall of Fame run.

Yes, friends, at some point this summer, I intend to hop in my motor vehicle and head East. The destination? Canton, Ohio, the home of the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Then Cooperstown, New York, where the Baseball Hall of Fame resides. And after that, The Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Massachusetts. All along the way, I’ll work to fit in a Major or Minor League Baseball game (… or possibly four of them… I have issues). By the fifth day of this road trip, I plan to be so deep in sports history that the only thought my mind may comprehend is that the most recent Brooklyn Dodgers game was really the bee’s knees.

With the major stops set, the focus shifts to figuring out the ancillary diversions. After all, what fun is a road trip if you don’t take some time to explore the country and check out the two-story outhouse in Gays, Illinois? Or the World’s Largest Catsup Bottle in Collinsville? With the route from Canton to Cooperstown taking me through western New York, I’ll have an excellent chance to check out Niagara Falls. It’s an exciting plan, but – truth told – the opportunities to visit the Ohio State Reformatory (filming location of The Shawshank Redemption) and Poor Richard’s Pub in Scranton, Pennsylvania (a bar oft referred to in The Office) are anticipated in the same light.

Where else could I end up? Only time will tell… though, I’ll admit that the Jell-O Gallery Museum seems hard to skip. What trip doesn’t have room for Jell-O?

In order to avoid more horrendous gelatinous jokes and potential Bill Cosby impersonations, I’m turning to you, oh enlightened reader. If you’ve been eastward and know of any can’t-miss stops (or if you simply want to throw out the name of a place that will prove incredibly awkward for me to visit, thus creating compelling blog material) pass it along.

The Original Burger King is going to take my lunch money. I should probably determine who else will.

The Puppy Who Lost Its Way

IN A WORLD where small domesticated animals fear all but those who provide them with kibble-like nutritional sustenance on a daily basis, one man attempts to bridge that gap… And nearly causes them to jump off said bridge.

Okay, the opening line of my movie trailer needs a bit of work, but fear not, dear readers, the motion picture “Catch That Puppy” (much like “Follow That Bird,” it’s based on a true story) will one day be a hit. This story of a dog in distress all started around 12:15 p.m. yesterday. Preferring not to bar myself from the daily meal most call lunch, my car found its way to the nearby fast food district. One parade through the Taco Bell drive-thru* later, and I was off to eat.

*YOLOSYMAWLWSCAICCYA^

^You Only Live Once, So You May As Well Live With Sour Cream And Imitation Cheese Clogging Your Arteries.

Preferring to eat away from the office, yet working to avoid dining near others inhaling tacos in loco fashion, I chose to eat in my car, down by the river. There’s an area just off Highway 24 that’s peaceful, quiet, and… well, free of food-swiping hobos. I eat there often, which is why it seem strange when I pulled in and noticed something I had never seen down there before: a tiny puppy, running around by itself.

There was one other car parked in the area, so at first I figured the pup might be well-trained and the owner – sitting in said car – might just be letting him run around on his own. Sure, it was raining at the time, but maybe the guy was teaching the dog to appreciate all sorts of weather varieties. Assured of my temporary reasoning, I parked and unwrapped my first Chalupa. With a Kansas City sports radio host interviewing someone about the Royals, I ate. In the midst of consuming a product whose nutritional value I’d rather not estimate, however, I looked out my driver’s side window. It was then that I saw the pup looking up at me. OK, it was actually looking at my lunch. Upon making eye contact with me, its tail slid between its legs and it slunk away.

It was then that my mind began to piece together the story that I had been trying to avoid. This diminutive dog did not belong to the owner of the other car. It was lost. Moving on to Chalupa No. 2, I began to put together a game plan. The puppy had come near my car, so it must be friendly. I’d finish eating, toss my trash in the local receptacle, and then pick up the little one, who no doubt would be running figure-eights around my legs in excitement. Piece of cake. I’d check the collar for a tag (surely it would have one), give the owner a call, and then accept a hero’s welcome upon delivering the puppy to its home.

With my Tex-Mex meal complete, I put my master plan into action. 1. Exit car. 2. Toss trash. 3. Pick up pup.

Unfortunately, step three proved slightly more complicated than I’d assumed. Rather than greet me as a rescuer, the pooch pawed about 20 feet away upon my exiting of the vehicle. I figured I just needed to show I was a friend and all would be set. I crouched down, extended my hand, and whistled… Upon the audible reminder that I am, in fact, unable to whistle, I settled for calling “Here, pup! C’mon, pooch!” Unfortunately, neither refrain seemed to carry as much weight in the canine community as I’d hoped. For each s-l-o-w step I took to get closer to the dog, it scurried away further.

It was at that point I realized that I had a choice, I could either go sprinting after this dog, or I could attempt to bait it to come back my way. I did have a plain soft taco left in my car, after all. Was I going to attempt to play tag with a puppy, or play the hunch that dogs love tortillas? Time was ticking and I had to act…. I chose the taco. Unfortunately, as soon as I turned my back, the pup ran off, out of the parking area, behind a fence intended to keep folks from heading uphill to the train tracks. Wonderful.

With Master Plan v 1.0 now in shambles, I stood next to my car, pondering my next move in this battle of wits. Was a tiny dog outsmarting me? Sure. Could I fix that? Probably not. Could I make a fool of myself trying? Absolutely!

And that’s when the conversion van tore into the parking area and pulled up beside me.

A woman, mid-60s, exited and hurriedly spouted out some sort of inquisition about whether I’d seen a dog. I’ve seen many in my life, but I decided to fight off my smartass side for the moment and explained that I had seen a little puppy, pantomiming the size of the dog in attempt to show I really meant business. I explained that it had gone off past the fence, and that’s when hell broke loose.

The woman explained that her dad had left the area earlier, unaware that the dog was not along for the ride, then she tore off around the fence and up the hill, shouting “NIKKI,” along the way. How could someone leave an area unaware that their tiny pup had not returned to the vehicle? Then, from the passenger side of the van, the father exited. Hunched and gray, the elderly fellow scooted toward the path, determined to get his dog. Noting that the poor guy would travel 50 yards in the time I could make it a half-mile, I knew one thing. I had to help.

I hopped the wooden fence, and climbed up the hill, shouting “Nikki,” “Pup,” “Look out, it’s the Red Baron!” “fo shizzle,” and anything else dog-related I could think of along the way. Standing on the train tracks, I surveyed the area, looking for any hint of movement. Nothing. I spun one way, then the other, as if I was really confused about a ballet routine. (For the record, I wasn’t.) I decided to journey down the tracks a bit, toward the bridge that crossed the river. Sure, a little dog like that would never actually go out ONTO the bridge, but she might be somewhere in the vicinity.

Then, I saw her.

On the bridge.

Son of a…

I walked closer and – again, as if providing a metaphor for my dating life – she scooted further away. I was close enough to the bridge now that I could notice that the spacing between the slats on the bridge was actually wide enough that the little dog could slip right through one if it took a nasty step. I was also close enough to notice that the dog was nearing the side of the bridge, as if it was contemplating a jump… Is jumping off a bridge a better way to spend time than putting up with me? While it’s probably a question that former dates have asked, I was not about to find out.  I backed away slowly, then called out to the elderly gent, who was now on the sidewalk just below the edge of the bridge. 

The rest, luckily, was anticlimactic. With her owner’s voice calling her name and me clear of the area, the pup took the safe route off the bridge to the old man. The daughter came down the path shortly after and – after a shout of “Thanks!*” – they took off while I was busy Instagramming a photo of the bridge. (Yes, I have an Instagram addiction and I need help. Support group info is welcome.)

*Whether she actually laced the statement with sarcasm is unknown. 

I realize the ending needs work. After all, most feature films have a little more suspense at the climax.

Perhaps I could run out on the bridge, grab the pup, and then dive into the river below just as a train bears down upon us.

That’s exciting, right?

Good!

Now we just have to decide who will play me in the film. Are there any actors who make you ponder the benefits of jumping off a bridge?

A Beginner’s Guide to the Royals

“Yeah, but this year is different.”

Read that first line again. You now know the mantra I’ve had at the start of every baseball season that my modest mind can remember. You see, success in Major League Baseball is measured by wins and, frankly, my team of choice – the Kansas City Royals – does not pick up many of those on an annual basis. (Sorry for getting so technical there.)

Since winning the World Series in 1985 (when, despite a wicked tantrum habit, I assume I was the happiest three-year-old on Earth), the Royals have finished a season with more wins than losses just seven times. Since the strike in 1994, they’ve won more than 50-percent of their games just once. Every year, it seems, something changes that leads to higher hopes in my all-too-optimistic head. And every year it seems that the time June arrives I’m left rooting for players to avoid making fools of themselves and for the mascot to avoid throwing a hot dog into someone’s eyeball.

The life of a Royals fan typically runs on a cycle that starts with blind optimism, but quickly moves to frustration, anger, rage, cynicism and general feelings that this is all Neifi Perez’s fault… Sounds grand, I know. That’s why today I’m offering you a quick guide to the 2013 Royals. I know many of my regular readers typically pay the same amount of attention to the Royals that a bulldog pays to happenings on Wall Street. For those folks, for casual fans, for the more hardcore, and for anyone else who may have gotten lost in searching for sewing advice, this guide will help you catch up on the current members of the 2013 Royals roster. You’ll thank me when you’re watching this team play in October.*

*Optimism level: Hokey/Blind.

Bruce Chen, Relief Pitcher
The Good -Chen led the Royals in wins in 2012 and earned the Royals Pitcher of the Year honor in 2011.
The Bad – The runner up for pitcher of the year in 2011 was a batting tee.
The Trivial – He inspired a Will Ferrell role that was funnier than anything the actor did in Semi-Pro.

Tim Collins, Relief Pitcher
The Good -The phrase “You can’t see me,” at times seems literal for the diminutive Collins. He struck out 93 batters last season in just 69.2 innings pitched.
The Bad -Collins struggled in Spring Training, posting an ERA over 5.00.
The Unconfirmed – “Tim Collins” was not the 5’7 pitcher’s birth name. He was born “Timbo Collgins” at The Shire Memorial Hospital.

Aaron Crow, Relief Pitcher
The Good -Selected as an All Star as a rookie in 2011, Crow was one of the Royals’ top relievers again last season.
The Bad -A first-round draft pick in 2009, the hope was that Crow would be a valuable member of the starting rotation by now, not a part of the bullpen.
The Unconfirmed – He’s one of four University of Missouri alums who is actually aware that spelling “Missouri” actually requires no Z’s.

Wade Davis, Starting Pitcher
The Good -The 27-year-old was promising in 2012, notching 87 strikeouts and just 29 walks out of the bullpen for the Tampa Bay Rays.
The Bad – While he allowed no runs in his last start, he allowed 433 baserunners. (Number approximate.) That sort of pace seems worrisome.

Jeremy Guthrie, Starting Pitcher
The Good – KC landed Guthrie in a deal for Jonathan Sanchez last season. Guthrie could have fallen out of the airplane on his way to KC and it would have been a good deal. (Sanchez was THAT bad.) Instead, Guthrie started 14 games and ended last season as KC’s best starting pitcher.
The Bad -Before the trade last season, Guthrie had an ERA of 6.35 in Colorado.
The Unconfirmed – Guthrie’s Colorado struggles were actually the result of the Rockies’ strange policy that involves saving money by practicing with snowballs rather than baseballs.

J.C. Gutierrez, Relief Pitcher
The Good – He’s talented enough that he actually served as the Arizona Diamondbacks’ closer in 2010.
The Bad – Though he’s pitched just three innings in 2013, he’s given up three runs. His presence on the mound instills the same amount of confidence as driving a vehicle with no brakes.
The Unconfirmed – “J.C.” stands for Jackie Chiles.

Kelvin Herrera, Relief Pitcher
The Good – Through 4.1 innings in 2013, Herrera has struck out 10 batters and has not yet surrendered a run.
The Bad – Well, he can’t pitch every game. Apparently there’s fear his arm might fall off.

Luke Hochevar, Relief Pitcher
The Good – He’s pitching out of relief, where he can do far less damage than he did as a starter (career ERA of 5.39, which is horrendous).
The Bad -He’s earning $4.5 million to pitch about three innings a week (if we’re lucky).
The Unconfirmed – The No. 1 overall draft pick in 2006, Hochevar drafted himself for the Royals, who then said “Yeah, ok. Whatever.”

Greg Holland, Relief Pitcher
The Good – Holland inherited the closer’s role in 2012 after the Royals traded Jonathan “The Icebox” Broxton. He picked up 16 saves.
The Bad – Holland has walked six batters in just three 2013 innings, leading to very early talk that his closer’s role may soon pass to Herrera.
The Fact I’m Pretty Sure About – Holland, the nation, was not named after Holland, the pitcher.*

*Knowing is half the battle.

Luis Mendoza, Starting Pitcher
The Good – The fact that he’s starting means Hochevar is not.
The Bad -Shelled in his last start, Mendoza… Who am I kidding? Hochevar is not starting. Be happy.
The Trivial – Shares his name with a character from Mighty Ducks 2. So, he’s got that going for him.

Ervin Santana, Starting Pitcher
The Good -A former All-Star, when he’s clicking (not literally) he’s tough to hit. He enters today’s start averaging over 9 strikeouts per 9 innings pitched.
The Bad -On occasion (like his first start of 2013) he gives up homers as if they’re tax-deductible.

James Shields, Starting Pitcher
The Good -He’s the first “ace” pitcher the Royals have had since trading away Zack Greinke. Apparently everyone in baseball loves him.
The Bad -The Royals gave up Wil Myers, the 2012 Minor League Player of the Year, (plus three other prospects) to land him. If Shields doesn’t put the Royals in contention, there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth… And that’s just from Kansas City media.

George Kottaras, Catcher
The Good – Kottaras earns a Major League salary to back up one of the most talented catchers in baseball. I think Frank Sinatra once sang glowingly about “The Good Life.”
The Bad – A trip to the disabled list for Chronic Sitting Syndrome later this season is a near guarantee.

Salvador Perez, Catcher
The Good -At 23, Perez is already considered one of the top defensive catchers in baseball and his hitting is better than most thought it could be. Some* even consider him a darkhorse MVP candidate.
The Bad – I’m wasting time typing in this space.

*Please note that “some” refers to national journalists paid to present their thoughts and opinions, not to his friends and family.

Alcides Escobar, Shortstop
The Good – A key piece of the Greinke trade in 2010, Escobar is one of the top defensive shortstops in baseball.
The Bad -Though he hit .293 last year, there are still questions about his bat. (And no, none of those questions are “Was it crafted out of the branch of a lightning-struck tree?”)

Chris Getz, Second Base
The Good -GRIT! Getz is the sort of player that managers typically love, as he’s willing to get dirty, bunt to move runners over, and generally “play the game the right way.”
The Bad – “Playing the right way” apparently doesn’t invovle extra-base hits, as Getz doesn’t really getz any. In 64 games last year, he had 13 more extra-base hits than you did.
The Unconfirmed -Using his name as a pun (see previous paragraph) is unbelievably clever and should be done at every possible opportunity. Tell your friends.

Eric Hosmer, First Base
The Good – He’s widely viewed as one of the most talented young hitters in baseball.
The Bad – That wide view didn’t amount to beans last season, when he hit .232 and struck out 95 times.

Elliot Johnson, Utility
The Good -Versatility. In his big league career, Johnson has appeared at every position other than pitcher and catcher.
The Bad – He plays everywhere, but he doesn’t hit anywhere. His career on-base percentage is .283.

Mike Moustakas, Third Base
The Good – Another promising youngster, Moustakas hit 20 home runs last year and is seen a a key part of any future success the Royals might attain.
The Bad – For his career, he’s batting .228 against left-handed pitchers.
The Unconfirmed – His nickname – Moose – is not derived from the fact that it’s the first syllable of Moustakas, but from the fact that wrestles mooses in the offseason. He’s currently the World Moose-Wrestling Federation (WMWF) Champion.

Miguel Tejada, Infield
The Good – MVP! MVP! MVP!… Sorry, that happens uncontrollably. If you didn’t catch the subtle hint, though, he was the American League MVP in 2002.
The Bad – He’s 38, he once lied to Congress about steroid use, and he did not appear in a big league game last season.
The Unconfirmed – Chanting “MVP! MVP! MVP!” makes all worries go away. Try it.

Lorenzo Cain, Center Field
The Good – A great defensive outfielder, Cain also rhymes with train, giving Rex Hudler and excuse to make train sounds during Royals broadcasts in the near future.
The Bad – See: Good, The. Also, thus far in his career, Cain has had Wile E. Coyote’s luck with injuries.

Jarrod Dyson, Center Field
The Good -The speed. Dyson is one of the fastest players in baseball (source: my eyes) and is a threat to steal a base at all times. (Yes, even when he’s not playing. That’s fast.)
The Bad -He doesn’t really hit. Doesn’t walk, either.
The Trivial – Dyson played a key role in perhaps my favorite Kauffman Stadium moment ever, scoring the game-winning run on what was essentially a pop fly to somewhat shallow left field. Before that night, I had never jumped around yelling “THAT’S WHAT SPEED DO!” Now, I’d recommend it to anyone.

Jeff Francoeur, Right Field
The Good -Look, he was on the cover of Sports Illustrated (COUGH*in2005*COUGH). He won a Gold Glove in 2007 and has a pretty strong outfield arm
The Bad – According to advanced statistics, he was one of the worst players in baseball last season. Who knew that getting on base in nearly 29-percent of your plate appearances wouldn’t be appreciated by mathematicians.

Alex Gordon, Left Field
The Good – First seen as the savior of the Royals franchise, then as an epic bust, Gordon has settled into a role as one of the best corner outfielders in baseball. That’ll work.
The Bad – Never developed the power that many were projecting.

Billy Butler, Designated Hitter/First Base
The Good – All he does is hit (at times literally). Won the Silver Slugger award in 2012 for being the top designated hitter in the American League.
The Bad – While his defensive aptitude has progressed greatly since the start of his career, he’s still miles from “I’m Keith Hernandez” levels.

That’s it. You made it through the 25-man roster and 1,800 words. (Or you cheated and skipped to the end… I can respect that.) As I wrap this guide up, the question remains: Why should you care about the 2013 Royals? Every year there’s optimism, but every year disappointment seems to reign in August and September.

Perhaps I’m drunk on the excitement that comes after watching a Royals walk-off victory minutes ago (I’m not drunk on anything else at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon… sorry), but to those asking, I’d stress one thing…

This year is different.*

*Note to self: Save this line for 2014, if necessary.