Blake Snell's fastball control and a hit of LSD...

Friday night's mean that tickets are a measling 7.11$ to go to a game and more tomahawk missiles were going to be fired. They are nearly giving them both away for free. Why not? Matt Andriese is slotted for the night and there's nothing else to do. I saw him get bombed at Steinbrenner Stadium in Tampa one hot Sunday afternoon on what he deemed "my best stuff."
I found myself in some shit hole squalor in the once prosperous Crystal Springs in this dude Nasty Nick's crib. Nick worked at a Dollar General in the neighborhood and was at best a rookie in the dealing of drugs.
"You going to a game tonight?" he asked while sitting on his couch.
"Yes,"
"How do you think they are gonna do this year? We pick up some bats?" he stammered while putting together the last pieces.
Let's see...Rasmus started his rehab. Mallex is going to be the small ball guy. Souza Jr. and Dickerson already on a tear.
"They will be fine,"
I paid him, put the keys in the Chevy, licked the tab and jumped on I-275. As I approached the Howard Franklin Bridge the LSD began consuming my mind and thoughts began to do adrift in the Bay. Blake Snell's arsenal is unbelievable. When he drops in that curveball, it's unfair to hitters and the way he knows how to use all four pitches at any count would seem he'd be an ace type.
"This is Rays Radio on 620 WDAE," the radio blared.
Jim Hickey was saying how great his stuff is at his age in comparison to former southpaws David Price and Matt Moore, which is saying a lot, as these two are proven studs. Once again...fastball command. Without it, you are nothing at the big league level. Throw all the gas and high octane stuff you got but if you can't locate it, you are worthless.
The sun shined through my shades creating colors that were like a Van Gogh. I was excited to see how Matt Andriese was going to pan out tonight.
The phone rang.
"Hey baby, how are you?"
Strawberry.
"Just got into work. Are you going to the game?" she asked.
"You know it,"
"Okay, pick me up tonight?" she asked in the little school girl way.
"You know it,"
The LSD was pulsing. There was Tropicana Field. It resembled a misshaped egg but in a peculiar way, I loved it. Still the stadium has to move into Tampa.
Standing in line with the fellow freaks, I began thinking about Matt Andriese's funky delivery. He does this double step move when in the stretch and sometimes get called for balks. You'd figure he'd simplify his delivery but he doesn't. What I like about him is his size, really chunky and grinds through his outings. He clearly isn't very athletic but still a grinder. Like Braves pitcher Aaron Blair. Soft spot for the chunky dudes. Andriese has a nice breaking pitch he isn't afraid to throw and is one to throw strikes until he inherits a base runner. Then all hell breaks loose. Gives up walks. Leaves his shit over the plate. He needs to steer the ship out of the storm in his mind and just pitch and let the defense behind him work. That's why they're there.
"Welcome tonight sir, have a fun game," a geriatric in a yellow shirt greets.
The LSD was beginning to REALLY set in now and odd visions were occurring as you could see the glow of the field from inside.
I need some peanuts...