Kuzul

They are riding amid an improbable pursuit, defining a miraculous tale no longer bombarded by a grim crisis. The Texas Rangers began a seemingly hopeless season in bankruptcy court, and became closer as a team when the news surfaced in spring training that Ron Washington had tested positive for cocaine. They built a social connection as a potent club and emerged into contention, which is heavily embraced as an ethical rebirth in baseball for a team that struggled in recent memory.

The idea, of course, that Texas is championship-caliber isn’t such a bad suggestion, especially when the Rangers overcame adversity this season. They are fueled by powerful hitting and belief within themselves, living more than an illusion but reality, as they are darlings in this erratic postseason. With all the poisonous aspects in the prior history of baseball, the league needs a beautiful tale to forge humankind and purity.

Regardless of their helpless struggles in the past, the Rangers erased the horrid memories and finally assembled a bottomless core. The pieces of the puzzle didn’t come together until the All-Star break, bringing in catcher Bengie Molina, pitcher Cliff Lee, infielder Cristian Guzman and outfielder Jeff Francoeur, the vital elements for a sensational chase in the ALDS.

The drastic turnaround of the Rangers is because of Jon Daniels’ shrewd roster transformations, and team president Nolan Ryan’s ability to uplift the landscape with his brilliant demeanor. Even when one of the respected managers in the game broke the rules, even when the franchise faced misery over the bankruptcy scandal and even when the franchise worried about the health status of Josh Hamilton, the Rangers somehow still managed to relieve turmoil.

The front office trusted in Washington and salvaged his managerial role, but an ordinary club would have canned the 58-year-old manager following a despicable admission that he had failed a drug test.

While the Rangers excel as a pesky contender, the consensus assumption is that retaining Washington was worth a risk as much of the hyperbole and gibberish relating to the oblivious drug testing had disappeared. It isn’t often (especially when he’s almost considered a senior citizen) that a manager admits to using coke.

By definition, baseball’s wrenched era happened a long time ago as well. In an age, when Major League Baseball had a suspicion of the strong use of cocaine, the hypocrisy and the lack of reaction dented the game and integrity. Back then, similar to what we are seeing now, it took baseball a long time before finally declaring a stern rule to prevent crimes.

But now, it is fun to watch the Rangers attempt the improbable and stun the world as underdogs, despite all the adversity circling the clubhouse. This clearly can be good for baseball—a kindhearted story. This clearly can be the greatest Rangers team in generations, if not franchise history. If there’s something impressive or alarming this postseason, it’s simply Texas taking a commanding 2-0 lead against the Rays in the ALDS.

And apparently, for the time being, the Rangers are the lone franchise that has never won a postseason series, with all three series previously materializing in the late 1990s against the Yankees. And now, the Rangers aren’t ridiculed for lousy droughts or an early collapse, but are connecting on timely hits. You’ve noticed the other night that they are building a productive pitching staff. And better yet, defense is emphasized and demanded by Washington, who led the Rangers to their first postseason berth in 11 years.   

“All year we’ve tried to play baseball according to the way it’s been presented to us, which means you have to win all different ways,” Washington said Friday. “But I think as we move forward and things continue to fall into place, I think people will start changing their minds and their perceptions of the Texas Rangers.”

Many people have already changed their minds and suddenly believe.

Even if the Rangers have won only one playoff game in 39 seasons in Texas and 11 as the Washington Senators before clinching two wins in Tampa this week, this season has seen the dominance of the older veteran and slugger Vladimir Guerrero. The seducing element offensively, though, is Hamilton, a former drug addict and alcoholic who recovered and salvaged his career.

Had it not been for Ryan’s strong principles in giving second chances, the Rangers wouldn’t be contending for a pennant nor would there be a modest voice of inspiration from a manager as well respected as Washington. Had it not been for Daniels’ kindness to allow a renegade player into the organization, Hamilton wouldn’t be a primary candidate for the Most Valuable Player award. Few believe his MVP hopes were smeared by his recent rib cage injury, but others believe he’ll be granted the award.

But to some extent, holding on to Washington was a risky choice. From most standpoints, he was eventually forgiven and apologized to his players and executives, realizing the circumstances of his wrongdoing and handling the issue with class and dignity. When it happened so agonizingly, he was willing to resign, but the organization opted to keep the skipper who is sharp at grooming and mentoring young players.

Turns out, it is an understatement to deny the Rangers, a team armed with ardent hitters and players disciplined at every at-bat. There is an ultimate assumption they can elevate and eventually take control with veteran Michael Young, a six-time All-Star and the longest-tenured Ranger who rallies the team offensively. At this point, the Rangers’ unthinkable turnaround isn’t a mirage in a year the emergence of a young team uplifts the most noticeable franchise in baseball. Indeed, the turning points, as the Rangers surge in the divisional rounds, have been Elvis Andrus, David Murphy and Ian Kinsler.

Nonetheless, the idea not to fire Washington was risky but smart. Ever since he told on himself, he has been tested several times a week. Without the regretful overseer, the Rangers wouldn’t have gone from 79 to 87, to a staggering 90 wins.

His honesty and bravery may have saved him of the managerial role. But even greater, the Rangers benefited in some ways and vanquished adversity.

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His name is familiar and critical amid an unthinkable postseason push, and without Josh Hamilton, the comeback kid in baseball for restoring humankind and inspiration following a remorseful recovery a few years ago before he almost self-destructed, the Texas Rangers are doomed unless their superstar suddenly uplifts the psyche of a favorable club from imploding.

And to believe we debated, with considerable reasoning, whether the Rangers are equipped without the virtuous slugger in a period when the franchise is bearing a crisis is a trait of optimism.

Nowadays, after turning his life around by avoiding his troubled comrades and choosing to wisely stay away from bars and tattoo parlors, he honestly has emerged as a famous sports figure and has been a convenient essential in a workable nucleus in the heart of Texas.

By virtue, he mirthfully revived his troubled personality and habits and became a well-behaved role model to forge a touching story in baseball. It doesn’t take long, of course, to purge critics and skeptics, and it doesn’t take long for an athlete to repair his image.

All Hamilton needed was a mesmerizing spectacle in New York, where he captivated all fans sitting in the stands at the old Yankee Stadium as a participant in the Home Run Derby contest at the All-Star Game, but in reality, he needed a team to believe in his restoration.

With the Rangers expected to surge in the postseason, riding closer towards clinching the AL West division, he is depended upon to lead Texas on a spectacular chase. It’s quite known that he has reclaimed his talent and saved himself. Finally, he has exorcised a myriad of critics with multiple coming out parties from the clouded images of alcohol and drugs that almost sadly crippled his career and cost him his life.

Typically, during his blemished era when he had been banished from baseball in 2004 and was strung out on coke and drunk a bottle of Crown Royal a day and tossed away his $4 million signing bonus, Hamilton had certainty that he’d eventually make a strong recovery and return to the majors as a good-natured superstar. He indeed came back as a natural talent and almost had a miraculous run, becoming a Triple Crown threat.

These days, of course, he is the paradigm of a valuable lesson that anybody can fight off adversity and elude turbulence. But the latest injury report pertaining to Hamilton, the majors’ leading hitter and a top AL MVP candidate revealed Tuesday that he suffered three fractured ribs and has not played since crashing into a wall at Minnesota Sept. 4.

The bad news is that his departure spells doom for the AL West leading Rangers. He is, respectively, the superstar of a playoff-caliber team, a catalyst in the lineup, and certainly without him the Rangers aren’t a vital playoff threat.

The irony is that Hamilton means a lot to the clubhouse and has been phenomenal as the Rangers have blistered with the assistance of arguably the streakiest and finest hitter in baseball. Without him over the past 14 games into Tuesday, the Rangers have finished a mere 8-6 to somehow survive and shun the horror of a lousy letdown late in the season.

With all the remarkable comebacks in the past, it’s hard to envision Hamilton sitting out in his first postseason appearance, a perennial objective that tremendously took diligence and inspiration, accomplished when he finally gave up on alcohol and drugs.

After nearly destroying his career, in reality, he matured and wasn’t as naïve or brainless and realized the importance of saving not only his livelihood, but his spirit. The reality of an imminent future is that he simply rationalized he had to release all the trauma of depravity for a cure of humanity. And now, he’s suffering from a similar crisis, inactive because of a serious injury and it could cost Hamilton to miss the postseason.

One of the frustrating issues about the Rangers is that without Cliff Lee at the top of the rotation and Hamilton in the middle of the order, they are clearly an elusive team vulnerable of dropping in the first-round.

How ironic it is for Hamilton that he’s being treated and given an anti-inflammatory injection and an epidural nerve-block injection for pain, all while having a dazzling season with his swaggering hits and discipline at every at-bat. Meanwhile, he’s very confident he’ll be back for the action this fall.

“I have to be optimistic,” Hamilton says. “If not, I’d be moping around here, dragging around, and that’s not going to do good for my teammates.”

Again, he’s fighting off the adversity and bearing with the circumstances, only this time while nursing an injury. In a way, he has no choice and tries to improve his health to contribute with his teammates in an epic marathon presumably.

In the process, the Rangers are aiming to drive to the fall classic, but without the particular ingredient, which is Hamilton, Texas will have an uncomfortable and difficult task for surviving in the postseason.

By all means, as the Rangers aim closer to capturing their first postseason appearance since 1999, the commodity and ambition shrinks completely.

Amid a critical juncture, if the Rangers meet the New York Yankees in the first round, as expected, it is sensible to think that the Yankees will pulverize the Rangers, despite the tremendous pressure as favorites to pull off the best-of-seven series defeat. Above all, the Rangers have nothing to lose, proclaimed as underdogs.

Because the Yanks are having an abysmal season, Texas took advantage of New York’s sluggish spurts and managed to beat the Yankees in a three-game sweep. It would be foolish to suggest, as the body language is sturdier, as the mindset is more alarmed and as the intensity rises rapidly, that the Bronx Bombers won’t awaken and assert for the postseason.

And to match the Yankees’ toughness, the Rangers will need the strength of Hamilton, who solidifies the lineup with his powerful bat. 

One of the things Hamilton is selling is parity and resiliency in the lineup. While he has been hampered by ailments, as the Rangers ride based on his incredible hitting, he showed two small stable fractures in the seventh and eighth ribs in his right side. Hopefully, he’ll be ready to work in a few at-bats and rehab assignments in the final series of the regular season to return to hitting form and repossess his swagger.

If the Rangers cannot survive without Hamilton, they are in trouble. Considering his severe injury, Hamilton seems incapable of returning to the line up in time for the postseason. But mostly, he needs time to regain form, and needs to handle the uncomfortable pain.

The downside is the limited ripple effect without Hamilton, and the Rangers are less efficient as the hitting ratio plunges drastically. His unprecedented success is timely and parlays the high-powered offense of the Power Rangers, whenever he is part of the lineup. In the meantime, he leads the majors with a .361 batting average, and leads the majors with a .635 slugging percentage.

Incredibly, inexplicably, he has drilled 31 homers, drove in 97 RBI and scored 97 runs in 130 games. But unfortunately, he has missed 15 straight games because of his injury.

So far, Hamilton has been informed by doctors that he can play when he can tolerate pain. Knowingly, he can tolerate aches and pains. After all, he’s strong. Anytime someone overcomes drug and alcohol addictions, they are strong mentally and physically.

“I think it’s something happy,” Rangers manager Ron Washington said after hearing the news. “To know that once the residue of the shots wear off, he can start doing activities, and then it’s tolerance.”

“Hopefully, his tolerance can get him back on the field.”

Maybe.

After the shots, Hamilton said he felt relieved, but the next 48 to 72 hours are the most decisive. For now, however, the Rangers are bottomless with Michael Young, Ian Kinsler, Vladimir Guerrero, Nelson Cruz, and Elvis Andrus, a lineup conceivably built with dexterity.

And surely among all things it seems Lee, the undeniable ace a year ago with the Phillies, has recuperated from his frequent back injuries and could possibly formulate an encore with his extraordinary, hitless masterpiece. As it turns out, David Murphy has taken the place of Hamilton and has filled in efficiently, hitting .397 in his past 17 games.        

Unless he comes out of a flak jacket-type vest, reduces the periodic cortisone shots and arrives on time, it’s still highly unlikely that the Rangers win without his presence. With an eight-game lead in the AL West, they’ll win the division, no doubt.

However, it’s not clear when he might play a game for the Rangers. Realistically, without Hamilton, the Power Rangers aren’t nearly as powerful.

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The radar-gun indicated a wicked, nasty fastball, akin to a 100 mph car pursuit on the 5 Freeway to commute from Santa Monica to Orange County.

That is, only if you are a local resident and pay your property taxes here in Southern California.

But in another town, such as Cincinnati, the speed and heat is relevant to the Reds’ hitless reliever Aroldis Chapman, a flame throwing Cuban star on the rise when Cincinnati is contending for a postseason berth.

And then, his impressive debut happened Tuesday by throwing a ball at 104 mph twice, a hard object that traveled faster than Usain Bolt. It’s almost an intriguing spectacle in a town embracing a 22-year old left-hander with the mental capacity and poise to amaze a crowd, crazed to witness a superjock here in the States, since abandoning his native country, Cuba. All eyes are turned directly towards the emergence of a growing legend. Before our very eyes, he has become the face of a burgeoning franchise to some degree.

When Cincinnati signed the Cuban defector to a six-year, $30.25 million deal last winter, general manager Walt Jocketty believed he had welcomed in the unique Cuban with gifted mechanics, command of the fastball, and location, which has improved his ability to retire and intimidate hitters in the batter’s box. Not only does he embody a sense of consciousness for a discounted franchise, he solidifies a convincing unit with postseason implications as a NL Central force.

More impressive, though, he’s having an immense impact on the Reds rehabilitating season by absolutely tossing the ball with exceptional speed, and he fanned the Brewers in a 1-2-3 order in a perfect seventh inning. He is a nightmare in the National League, a thrower with nasty stuff, very untouchable to whereas he greets hitters by employing the fastball and then waves good morning, good afternoon, and goodnight. It’s fair to nationally televise someone like Joey Votto or someone as lethal and masterful as Chapman.

Rarely do the Reds earn publicity or national attention, but things change as years progress, particularly when there is a star respectively flourishing in the Majors. A fastball everyone is raving about nearly dazzled the spectators for, ironically, his craft and astounding elements. It’s such a resilient, jaunty, and mesmerizing moment to witness an anonymous rookie morph into a propitious competitor.

Eventually, he’ll be a starter and virtually an icon. Eventually, he’ll win multiple Cy Young awards and be voted in as a participant for the All-Star Game. Watch and see.

The profoundly gifted star of the Cuban national team, formerly in the World Baseball Classic, intrigued scouts and executives, and because of his lack of maturity at one point, the dubious suspicion induced inconvenient assessments on the sudden transition to the majors.

In addition, he was always seen as the much-scrutinized pitcher and almost turned out to be a disappointment for the Reds, a team that overly spent on a pitcher who still needed some growth and discipline in the big leagues. But consider it a slow transition, because Chapman is gradually ripening as a hallowed and vital essential.

So, on the other hand, he’s savvy and has a powerful arm, capable of fanning any opposing batter. What is unique about Chapman is that he brings a sense of humanity to a town jovial of witnessing the future of Reds baseball, and the future of youth transforming the aspects of baseball, again uplifting thrills in what has been an uneventful sport.

This season alone, the immediate impact of rookies has modified the context of an indecisive sport, from Tampa Bay’s pitcher Jeremy Hellickson to the Yankees’ Ivan Nova to Angels outfielder Peter Bourjos and Toronto’s catcher J.P. Arencibia.

At the moment, Chapman is making headlines for remarkable outings and delivering noteworthy numbers, which are heavily evident in a game obsessed with numbers more than the wins/loss column. The certainty amid such a slew of goodness is that Chapman transforms the culture, increasingly propelling the well-driven Reds to maintain the momentum and urge, while aiming to pull off the miracle in October and become the dynamic force of the annual fall classic. This is obviously a rival for a team of optimism and soundness by the contributions of the land-handed pitcher, precisely a valuable commodity and platoon.

Let’s believe in the hype and embrace Chapman’s proficiency at the toughest, tense, and pressured position in all of baseball, especially when the ball is possessed by the pitcher 90 percent of the time.

But as the season goes by, he lifts the Reds in a breathless inning to release signs of promise. He released signs of goodness, signs of aspiration, and signs of believability as the obscurity withdrew a bit, raising the stakes to the highest level in the midst of growing pains.

On a historical night, six of his fastballs averaged more than 100 miles per hour, incredibly topping Joel Zumaya for the fastest heaters thrown.

So far, Chapman has been flawless and promising, which illustrates hope for years to come, but also benefits the Reds during its current pennant race.

It isn’t often, particularly in a league when the majority of pitchers aren’t fully developed and still need some improvement in their mechanics and velocity, that a radar-gun clocks at 104 miles per hour. It isn’t often, of course in this era, when a pitcher at such a young age dazzles a dormant, much-depleted ballpark unless he’s the sensational Stephen Strasburg.

But at Great American Ball Park in Cincinnati, Chapman, on 11 pitches, threw seven fastballs. The final fastball to finish the inning clocked at 103.9, striking out Milwaukee’s catcher Jonathan Lucroy.

Not even a wild beast can run that fast. Not bad for a man who started the year at Triple A Louisville to retool his pitching deficiencies and countless woes. At one time, he struggled with command, unable to find the location and keep control of the hitless fastball he throws all so consistently.

As he emerges as a true icon, fans loudly sounded and stood to acknowledge Chapman with warm receptions when he trotted from the bullpen to take the mound for his relentless showpiece. It was electric and felt like a World Series. But it felt like the fans in attendance were roaring for Chapman, a man who is worth the adulation and hype ever since galvanizing the Majors.  

Turns out, he’s the biggest steal in baseball. Turns out, he’s better than expected. Turns out, he’s worth the hype.

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Soon enough, on a playground in a neighborhood called Mannywood, the Manny Being Manny theme will cease, and what was formerly referred to as Dodgertown will earn back its honest name. So now, the Dodgers are finally getting the message, as a disappointing stint in Los Angeles is ending so miserably. For once, the locals are not ignorant or naïve, realizing that he’s a worthless sleaze and a franchise saboteur.

It figures, when he shamefully turned his back on the Red Sox and became such a pitiful quitter that John Henry and Theo Epstein knew they had to deal the cancerous slugger. It wasn’t long ago when he spread a poisonous disease inside the Red Sox clubhouse, abandoning a team on the field and barely retrieving balls in the left field because of laziness and wobbly knees.

Now he has joined the White Sox, a team granted property rights to claim Ramirez, who was placed on waivers last week.

The White Sox accepted the persona of a moody and narcissistic left fielder and the remaining $3.8 million on his contract. It’s very fascinating that he lands in a place with the ill-tempered Ozzie Guillen, the controversial manager who has a reputation of lashing out on issues with profanities, and isn’t timid to use the racial card without grasping common sense.

Manny probably can provide enough productivity if assigned to the designated hitter role. That has, indeed, been a problem for the Sox, in contention during an intense pennant race, even though Ramirez has been on the disabled list three times in the final year of his two-year, $45-million deal.

This wasn’t a healthy marriage in Hollywood, but a dysfunctional relationship that became a circus in a town famous for its entertainment and dramatic presentations, mirroring the McCourt divorce battle over team ownership. Such is the cinematic script that arrived to the city and released the repugnant feature called Defraud Mannywood Script. It seemed pathetic that a community was so naïve to actually advocate performance-enhancing drugs and welcome in a fraudulent, arrogant outfielder who really isn’t an outfielder, but a foolish clown with nothing worth displaying unless he performs one of his outrageous stunts.

Being labeled as the purest and most dangerous hitter in baseball until the scandal surfaced, he was credited with inspiring a cheerless clubhouse and restoring a substandard baseball culture in 2008. He was welcomed and greeted with warm receptions by an ignorant crowd in Dodgertown, seizing the spotlight in an atmosphere that validated a tainted legacy and honored the then 36-year-old designated hitter by selling his wigs at the concession stands.

Even during the scandal, the Los Angeles crowds adored him though he was serving a 50-game suspension after pumping his body with a female fertility drug.

Then there were injuries, declining production, and many acts of petulance. During his last appearance as a Dodger, while pinch hitting, the rebellious slugger was ejected for arguing with home plate umpire Gary Cederstorm when it appeared the ball missed the plate by a few inches, but was called a strike.

It’s very sad knowing that his final game in a Dodger uniform ended so grimly, when he had already missed 33 starts this season, while being benched for underachieving and nursing injuries like a right calf strain.

Now, wigs are no longer sold, no longer are there standing ovations for the sleaze with the dreadlocks, and no longer are the No. 99 jerseys the hottest item in the Los Angeles Basin.

It’s bad enough he landed in Chicago—the South Side, for that matter—and a franchise with postseason aspirations. But given the pattern of Manny’s late surges, he could presumably benefit the White Sox. As a rental player, he has built a reputation for helping teams in pivotal moments.

He could be an essential piece on a franchise needing a minor resurgence and add some depth in the batting lineup. He is a horrible fielder who won’t need to field as a DH.

But if anything, Manny Being a Dope is the wrong criminal to trust in, a horrid suspect guilty of contaminating the game, and refusing to address the fans regarding his performance-enhancer bust. If anything, he is likely to clash with Guillen in the dugout or clubhouse, ugly altercations that could damage chemistry and self-assurance.

If anything, it’s hard to envision him complying with orders because of his reputation for behaving as an arrogant and self-centered buffoon, and it’s easy to imagine all the unnecessary conflict with Manny and Ozzie in the same clubhouse and dugout. Their actions are similar in many ways, with egos greater than the team itself. If the White Sox were planning on the postseason, then Kenny Williams should have avoided taking on Ramirez’s contract.

But now, he’s one headache residing in the South Side of Chicago, a powerful burden who could even jeopardize the uncertain job statuses of Williams and Guillen.

Possessing Ramirez is like owning a raggedy hand-me-down vehicle.

An after thought, he’s an erratic slugger with enough power in his bat to maybe thrill the White Sox by hitting the ball efficiently until he begins weeping for a larger contract. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he’ll decide to quit, of course. But it’s a gamble Chicago took, right?

Manny is without a doubt, washed-up, old, useless, and bound to cause dysfunction in Chicago.

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If you’ve wondered why a former baseball team is calling and begging, why the large-market Red Sox franchise is finally targeting the hitting specialist in a return that seems very valuable and useful in the friendly confines of Boston, it’s because he had been classified as a hero in a place where the enthusiastic fans idolize and worship baseball.

Suddenly, Johnny Damon knows he needs the Red Sox, but he is rebuffing interest where he ripened as a savior in a town that is accustomed to winning and, more than anything, snapping one of the more dreadful curses in recent memory.

Suddenly, the Red Sox need Damon, a bygone caveman who once resembled the Geico creatures from its commercial ads.

But Damon is leaning towards remaining a member of the Detroit Tigers. He has no desire to return to Fenway Park, arguably the friendliest and oldest ballpark in America, a structure that sells out a capacity crowd nearly in every game. It would be a return to the team he called home, the team with the wildest celebration of the last decade. It was a decade when the Red Sox cured lapses of hopelessness and snapped an unpleasant curse.

Damon helped the team’s cause and infatuated a fervid baseball town.

If he can return to his former locale, this is a precept of considerably good fortune, welcomed back to aid his former team in pursuit of a postseason chase. Never mind that he left the town behind for its bitter rival the New York Yankees, abruptly departing a population that adored and empowered him. Never mind that he was viewed as an enemy for representing pinstripes and sadly erasing all the indelible moments of 2004, the historic moment in sports when the Red Sox trailed 3-0, but came back to defeat its nemesis the Yankees in the ALCS.

In the end, however, it didn’t matter. The Red Sox had captured their first World Series title in 86 years.

These days, the fans are willing to forgive the past betrayal and welcome Damon back to Beantown with loud cheers and warm receptions. The most recent news is that the Red Sox placed a waiver claim on Damon, the famous savior that once relived the dinosaur age, and caused vital damage in a mesmerizing postseason in the last decade.

It’s telling that he has a no-trade cause that specifically reveals the Red Sox as potential contenders of claiming sole possession of the outfielder. What seems plausible is that Damon, once known as the villainous icon, unfavorably for the heartbreaking departure that angered the Green Monster devotees in Boston, is that he will return in a Red Sox uniform.

All he would need to electrify the crowd sitting in the Monster seats or the coziest ballpark seats is productivity.

What we do know is that Damon’s recent comments on how the Yankees organization and fans treat players respectively is inanely insulting to Red Sox Nation, filled with animosity and disgust.

His penchant for neglecting the Red Sox is surely creating much buzz and drama these days, comfortably abandoning his former club when they are trying to amiably welcome him back.

As confusing as it seems, the Red Sox’ strategy is to lure the temperamental outfielder back into the organization where he can elevate his legacy, all while catering to Boston’s postseason surge.

Thus far, Beantown’s team is devoid of a World Series title and robust outfielders, and can fittingly add some depth on a depleted roster by snatching Damon from the inferior Detroit Tigers, a team that is under .500 and 10 games out of the AL Central picture. It’s time for everyone to realize that in a depressed town, where the auto industry has taken a drastic plunge, where unemployment rates have increasingly risen, and where the Tigers aren’t close to contending, Damon shouldn’t be hesitant on opting to leave Motown.

The thing is, he represented Boston as the renaissance man for his timely hitting and presence in the outfield and was resilient as a clutch performer in arguably the greatest series in baseball history, an event that epically cemented the beauty of the game. Damon’s accomplishments should have never been overshadowed, subsequently by his uncivil departure, leaving a beloved town in anguish for an archenemy.

Whatever else is on his mind, he’s leery about putting on a Red Sox uniform and distraught by the way he was treated in his return to Boston when the boorish fans serenaded unpleasantly. With all apologies, a large cult would be amped because of his return and once again applaud the savior of a classic rebirth, one that has become indicative of a cultural standpoint that baseball is the realm of all humanity.

He who was once known as Johnny Demon can now be characterized as Johnny Damon, only if he accepts the offer and erases the images of pinstripes by pleasing the citizens of Red Sox Nation.

An American trait is to view sports teams as a brand, with iconic symbols. Damon was such an icon as he refined his style and game, produced wins and fueled the hearts of fans. He benefited the Red Sox with aggressive base running and solid hitting.

The elements that define the culture of Boston baseball are Curt Schillings’ bloody sock and Damon’s fluffy beard and wild hairstyle, a stylish fad at the time.

Those days are gone when Damon was superstitious, and wouldn’t shave off his hair or beard, which resulted in a breakable curse and a title many believe should be asterisked for the recent revelations of Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz steroid scandals.

Either way, the Red Sox won it all that year and now are prepared to embrace the return of Damon.

What is obvious, of course, is that Boston is hindered by defensive flaws and uncontrollable injuries. Without the explosiveness of Jacoby Ellsbury, the Red Sox are degenerating in the outfield. Mike Cameron isn’t as effective, but signed with Boston to qualify for an outfielder’s position.

If Damon comes back to home sweet home, it’s a smart move. If he comes back, the Red Sox benefit by adding a veteran bat to solidify the batting order and enhance the productivity of each at-bat. If he comes back, it cures all the outfield woes and installs a sense of belief.

If he mends an awful relationship and comes back by accepting the fans that endeared him, then Damon will be greatly forgiven.

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What exactly was Roger Clemens thinking when he testified and told a fib to Congress in Capital Hill? As much as we want to believe that the Steroid Era has suddenly vanished, we’ll never forget all his rehearsed and inglorious lies, inexplicably and simply covering the truth and denied confessing of his wrongdoings.

With some serious explaining, now is the time Mr. Clemens may want to consider telling the truth and nothing but the truth, to avoid further dishonesty and public humiliation. Amid the most embarrassing twist, all we want is the truth, but apparently the feds and their grand jury uncovered the specifics. There’s no sympathy for the seven-time Cy Young winner who fabricated his accomplished career and, still to this day, lives a lie ever since juicing his level of performance for an advantage in a competitive sport.

What is exactly mind-blogging is that an infamous crisis is getting worse, epically for the endless dirtiness it displays, sabotaging the beauty of the game. The despicable crime labels Clemens as a fraud, a lying dumb-ass apathetic by a damaged legacy that smeared his credibility long before honesty surfaced. His steroid scandal, which ruptured the irreparable image of Clemens, who is perceived as a hopeless, unworthy right-hander, poses as a disgrace in a sport deteriorating and falling into oblivion.

It was 2½ years ago when Clemens declined in a congressional hearing as a national audience watched it nationwide on television, that he ever used performance-enhancing drugs. Huh! In the end, you were hoodwinked, cheated and fooled. How does it feel to be lied to? How does it feel to be betrayed? Trust me, I know how it feels.  

And to believe that Clemens never used an unlawful substance, or even advocating it’s acceptable to tatter the integrity of the sport in general is foolishness. It turns out that he’s the equivalent of my ex-girlfriend, a pseudo and betrayer for erroneously committing fraud on a game he truly relished and mastered before revelations manifested clear evidence of drug usage.

At this point, the man formerly known as the Rocket is unsurprisingly the Big Fat Liar, perhaps the biggest liar sports may have ever witnessed in this decade, if ever. If Clemens committed such a sickened crime, instead of being deceptive and secretive, he’d release much tension and guilt by unleashing the truth. That’d seem very rational to avoid further nonsense and clear his name of guilt. But this happens when someone is self-indulgent, arrogant or ignorant, subsequently for getting caught and accused of furtive sins.

Any notion that baseball was tainted years ago, Clemens was considerably one of the best pitchers at the time, of course, taking the mound as a sham and failing to be purist or expose his artistic competitiveness without injecting himself with contaminated juice. I’ve never been so befuddled and disappointed. I’ve never felt so cheated and betrayed in my life, trusting in Clemens for pitching fiercely and performing with diligence in effortless outings.

What? He relied on juice all along. What appeared real was unreal. What seemed legit was dirty. No wonder the ball was usually covered with nasty dirt nearly following every pitch. He tried to hide the truth, a mistaken idea by Clemens, sadly adding horror and anxiety on Thursday indicted on six counts for lying under oath. All he simply had to tell the world is that he was guilty and wrongly opted to be a drug dealer, rather than a spotless pitcher. Now that he’s naïve and still acknowledged he never pumped his body with steroids or HGH, troubles are stemming from allegedly falsifying.

Clemens has taken a rapid fall from grace, and he’s a fallen star quicker than Tiger Woods or LeBron James, losing his claim to all-time greatness among elite pitchers. Didn’t he realize it’s risky and dumb to lie under oath? Didn’t he know that is perjury? Is he really that offended with the accusations and recent charges? Then, state the facts, Roger. No false statements, but the truth. It’s time he finally succumbs to reality, but ever since the Mitchell Report revealed Clemens’ name, he hasn’t spoke in clarity or helped his own cause for spinning the story.

According to the Big Fat Liar, he “Misremembers” ever been injected with the substances. Ummm! If he had sense and pride, Clemens in all likelihood wouldn’t be facing prison time, but at worse, would have only been tainted and portrayed as a fraud. For years, ultimately, we worshipped his longevity, talent and work ethic, blinded by the possibilities of cheating and the likelihood of lying. He was famously the best pitcher admired in a corrupted age of baseball, amid the rejuvenation of the game during the baseball-saving season, the summer of ’98 when the feats and incredible milestones of Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire were relevant.

For years, sadly, we believed in Clemens until he disappointed us, lied to us and tricked us. And to make matters worst, he never had the courage or audacity to admit to immorality. Let’s face it the performance-enhancing drugs helped him infamously win two World Series championships and 354 games. Common sense tells us that he took advantage of enhancing his game with the exception of drugs, obviously when his numbers suddenly ascended later in his career.

Ever seen a pitcher’s numbers improve late in his career? Not unless it was Clemens. More noticeably, his ERA skyrocketed greatly and he began pitching efficiently, having solid control of his command and velocity. And years later, he tried to prove his innocence and purity, which degenerated when baseball released the Mitchell Report. In the meantime, his legacy is smeared because of ignorance, and even his freedom is endangered because of lying.          

“Let me be clear. I have never taken steroids or HGH.”

Not even a fool believes Clemens.

In 23 major-league seasons, he was deemed as arguably the greatest power pitcher the game has ever seen, but in recent years has plunged and he likely faces 15 to 21 months in prison. This is no surprise, after all, we are living in the Steroid Era, a time when the horrid crisis is badly ruining and bruising the game, such as Barry Bonds, the arrogant slugger who ostensibly lied under oath as well. If there’s one player loathed more in this country for wrongly surpassing Hank Aaron’s home run record on a night he captured the tainted milestone, it’s a moody and overbearing Bonds.

As for Clemens, the grand jury is claiming that he lied 15 times under oath. If so, then he may jeopardize his lifestyle and may have to serve harsh time, based on the power of law enforcers. Sure, he has every right to claim his innocence, but the evidence revealed the explanation of a dubious situation.

In the aftermath of the release of the Mitchell Report, he’s still not confessing or apologizing for deceiving, not only the game, but congressional investigators and Congress. All along, I believed his former training Brain McNamee, who stated in the report that he injected Clemens on a cycle period with steroids and HGH between 1998 and 2001. Nevertheless, on Twitter, he’s refusing to unleash what really transpired in that time span. So apparently, he hasn’t learned or simply doesn’t care.

“I never took HGH or Steroids. And I did not lie to Congress,” Clemens wrote. “I look forward to challenging the Governments accusations, and hope people will keep an open mind until trail. I appreciate all the support I have been getting. I am happy to finally have my day in court.”

Why, so he can lie repeatedly? What support is he getting? Who is endorsing the Big Fat Liar? Oh, his attorney Rusty Harden.

“The problem is nobody ever talks about what he should have done if he didn’t do it,” Harden said. “And he didn’t do it and he’s adamant about that and always has been. Today is just another continuing part of that saga…Roger is looking forward to his day in court. He is happy this has finally happened. We have known for some time this was going to happen. We’ll let everything get taken care of in court.”

Between the PEDs headlines and extramarital affairs, including an alleged affair with country signer Mindy McCready, his clean image is pathetically damaged and his credibility is lost. As of recently, he’s delusional and continues to deny all reports or any negative news that unveils. If his name was mentioned 82 times in the Mitchell Report, what makes us think he’s not guilty, what makes us think he never endangered his image or chances of being enshrined into the Hall of Fame for falsification and lagging on issuing a statement when the accusations were publicized?

If he tried to publicly spin the story and former friend Andy Pettitte’s testimony, what makes us think he’s telling the truth? Come on, use common sense. In front of your eyes, he tricked the game of baseball and all populace, after vowing to be a power pitcher legitimately. When he appears in court, Clemens may wear his immaculate face again and try persuading the court system that he’s not guilty.

“The indictment of Roger Clemens comes as no surprise to me,” said Victor Conte, founder of BALCO. “In my opinion, the case against Clemens is far stronger than the case against Barry Bonds. Brain McNamee is an eyewitness who will testify against Clemens and there appears to be strong physical evidence against him as well. I believe Roger Clemens is in a lot of trouble.”

Yes, he is in much trouble.

He’s looking at prison time. I guess that means NO Cooperstown.

The Rocket has exploded, eternally.

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It wasn’t a typical skirmish in the Reds-Cards showdown, and it symbolized the wildest brawl in the history of sports, as each team was unable to stay above the fray when a verbal altercation initiated a physical altercation.

It was utterly amazing that Cincinnati Reds second baseman Brandon Phillips, an agitator who caused tempers to flare and blatantly singled out the St. Louis Cardinals with verbal trash talk, merely was handed a fine for escalating and instigating an ugly war between two teams with bad blood.

In truth, the animosity triggered a benches-clearing brawl that was so untypical at a time peace is spreading unity in the game. Besides, a brawl very seldom materializes unless it’s Yankees-Red Sox in UFC melees, which are mundane and viewed as traditional tussles.

This week, the most controversial issue happened, as usual, when Major League Baseball issued suspensions for players’ involvement in a repulsive and unorthodox brawl, but mishandled imposing a befitting penalty for the instigator who was the cause of the ugly incident.

How utterly compelling that we continue to ignore the causes and effects in life and deny the visible evidence, finding someone else liable for wrongdoings in a tawdry and uncontrollable rumble.

But this is the era we live in currently, a sport blinded by the truth in regards of steroid scandals, awful no-calls or calls or even an asinine brawl, as the majors are showing nepotism and remains unsuccessful in inflicting a valid punishment.

Whether he wants to admit it or not, Phillips should be dropping his head in shame, and blaming himself for prompting the dispute and adding to the hostility.

When he publicly lashed out on the Cardinals the other day, the abhorrent remarks backfired and cost his teammate and starting pitcher Johnny Cueto a seven-game suspension for his actions during Tuesday night’s game.

Few believe, however, that Phillips broke baseball’s unwritten rule and suggested that he should have served a suspension. All of his talk led to absolute nonsense, as Phillips became famous for publicly calling out the Cardinals unpleasantly and starting a fight, similar to the heated, back and forth feuds that explode at nightclubs or even in sports, such as this deranged fracas.

The theory is, of course, play nice boys and perform the task with strong persona and good sportsmanship. Have they ever heard of playing nice?

Sometimes I wonder and gush over the significance of sportsmanship and respect for peers and teammates, whereas sharing the wealth and spreading reconciliation harmonizes the atmosphere at a friendly, relaxing night at the ballpark. Point is, it was a hilarity scene with no purpose, endearing what could have been a harsher punishment.

And since Phillips said he despises the Cardinals on Monday, it had the fuming antagonist emotionally livid during a matchup that has turned out to be appealing, capturing baseball devotees who are now anxious to witness a rematch of the Reds-Cards in the NLCS.

It’s suddenly the dream matchup? From contamination to physical knockouts, baseball has suddenly turned into a Wrestlemania or Ultimate Fighting spectacle?

If there is any excitement or buzzing noise in the majors come October, it would be a hostile meeting between two heated, ill-tempered rivals, and would be the equivalent of all the outrageous Jerry Springer brawls, or fights that take place on the playground during recess.

When the news first surfaced, it strictly revolved around Phillips and no other player or manager. As of recently, he was overly talkative in his public rant that obviously broke the hearts of the Cardinals, but had the initiative and stronger minds without responding to Phillips’ fighting words. Yes, words that were foolish, words that were an explanation of antipathy.

“I’d play against these guys with one leg. We have to beat these guys. I hate the Cardinals. All they do is [beep] and moan about everything, all of them, they’re little [same bleep, plural], all of ‘em. I really hate the Cardinals. Compared to the Cardinals, I love the Chicago Cubs. Let me make this clear: I hate the Cardinals.”

Oh, he clearly elaborated and stated how he felt about the divisional rivals. The harsh words probably made the Cubs speechless. The spiteful words probably opened many eyes. The insulting words probably awakened the Cardinals and have inspired the team to come out with much fortitude, strength, and firepower.

It’s very interesting to see whether the Cardinals ride the emotional surge from Phillips’ latest bickering, and maybe this was a momentum push to increasingly expose the unbeatable, invincible, unstoppable mindset.

But if anything, the recent incident was mishandled and managed wrongly, failing to acknowledge the core of the problem and issue standards to fairly suspend Phillips, who impelled the much-anticipated altercation.

It’s very surprising to some degree that only three players were suspended in the brawl, when there were evidently more than three players involved in the tragicomic hysteria.

This is unfortunate in a way, as Cueto is hit with seven games, and we all know why. But I have a problem with the Reds starter forced to sit out seven games, as the enforcers were harsh and denied any convenient excuses.

In some way, Cueto could have gotten away with kicking as if he was a whiny baby stuck in a stroller, in a brawl that drifted towards the fence behind homeplate. At that point, players were pinned against the backstop netting, including Cueto, who showed off some of his Kung Fu motions. From a sensible viewpoint, he used self-defense.

In perspective, this is one martial arts expert who is being used as an example, and he’s fortunately projected to miss one start and will appeal the suspension, subsequently for landing several kicks to the back of Cardinals’ Chris Carpenter and the ribs of catcher Jason LaRue, who suffered a mild concussion and sore ribs, according to manager Tony La Russa.

So now, the insults of Phillips isn’t the vital problem and has receded as the storyline. And now, we are focused on Cueto’s actions. The peeving nonsense is why the majors are so corrupted and battered in a crisis, very rampant to whereas it’s gradually turning millions away. How Phillips receives a fine, and not a suspension? This is another nightmare in baseball, but perhaps only this time it involves a brawl.

While La Russa and Dusty Baker were suspended two games a piece, Phillips, Carpenter, Yadier Molina and Russ Springer were all fined. What? That’s all? They were all in the brawl and just as liable as Cueto.

There’s a clear understanding that Phillips is being labeled as the victim even when he prompted a face-to-face shouting dispute with Molina and taunted him with his bat. Wow! Really, you forgot that fast. How could you, it just happened a few days ago.

In my mind, it is insanity when Phillips is not accused of any wrongdoing.

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Because it was a national tale, with baseball loyalists viewing Alex Rodriguez as the next home run king, it was wondrous to witness a purist milestone. But mostly, this happened before it turned out to be an asterisk, a national nightmare that is incurable and contemptible, ever since A-Rod’s admission of using performance-enhancing drugs engendered a national discussion.

And as shocking as it was to believe the truth when he unveiled that he used boli in a six-month, cycle period, he sadly disappointed and hoodwinked the masses for confessing that he lived a lie and heightened an infected performance level. In the Steroid Era, a downcast age numerous sluggers were deceitful and insidious by belting home runs, he also was contaminated with juice and endangered a clean legacy.

It’s very disgraceful. He’s a con artist, described as a fraud, and criticized heavily when reports revealed that he had tested positive during Major League Baseball’s initial round of testing of its players in 2003. This heinous steroid scandal crippled a historic plateau, perceived as a fraudulent accomplishment, without a doubt, demolishing the beauty of a sensational sport in America, and pathetically placing uncertainty on a sport in limbo.

With all the flashbulbs and supporters at home greeting Rodriguez, in reality, it was a brief moment of applause even though he admitted to cheating and shaming the game of baseball. In the end, he had become the seventh player in history to reach a tainted milestone and joined the 600 club, but more importantly, he belongs in the Juicer’s Club.

But more than ever, Rodriguez’s 600th homer at Yankee Stadium wasn’t the cleanest homer in the history of baseball, but it was the direst, as the slugger is defined as a pseudo for taking advantage of the game and ruining the integrity. It’s tough to believe in player in the majors, but it’s not easy believing a man who pathetically appeared on national television to inform the world of his performance-enhancers abuse, breaking a vow to children and a pledge of resuscitating a fallen sport.

In a sense, there is an evident theory he’s free of steroids, almost for an entire decade, but with the audacity to admit and shamelessly apologize to the world, the milestone is an asterisk.

Do not ever forget he’s A-Fraud, A-Roid, too.  

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Can someone explain who the hell Ozzie Guillen is?

He’s a profligate imbecile bound to explode, simply because he has no morals or acceptable character, with an awful history ripping athletes, umpires, and management when the Chicago White Sox derail and badly stumble.

There were days, when the cantankerous manager generated postgame tirades or ill-humored tantrums during games, which reprehensibly created a ruckus inside the White Sox clubhouse and almost jeopardized his wavering job status while bearing the circumstances of laughable outbursts.

It figures that verbally lashing out obviously defines the traits of the ill-tempered skipper, with a resume of nonsense and insanity for religiously snapping and losing his mind, from the entire cartoonish disturbance floating in the organization.

If the White Sox were ever to advance further and end the dreaded ineptitude, the overly nice general manager, Ken Williams, must wave farewell to the no-good, worthless idiot, a douche bag unable to maintain self-control and an unblemished attitude.

The amount of anger issues and hot tempers, which are hilarious explosions for translating words colorfully and engaging in obscenity when surrounded by the local reporters after a discontent outing, are the equivalent of a ticking time bomb ready to explode instantly.

So he’s now baseball’s ticking time bomb and caused an extensive explosion, and as much as Guillen wants baseball lords to refer to him as an innocent man releasing madness and the truth, he’s still a disturbing diva and ill-advisedly utters inane conversations. Because of his poor imagery, he lost credibility a long time ago, having the gumption to single out players, the local media, and now the Majors.

Within moments on Sunday, he announced how he truly felt about the lacking priorities of Major League Baseball and lashed out on the difference between Latin and Asian baseball players.

It sounds like a typical tale heard constantly, an outdated discussion mentioned as often as the steroid scandals. Most of the time, however, his choice of words dents the image of a moody, up-and-down manager, blabbering at the mouth without thinking before reacting.

Even if he has mellowed and doesn’t have frequent rants or hissy fits, he’s still appearing on the front pages of tabloids and he’s seen on headlines for proffering an impromptu statement, unpleasantly speaking with a potty mouth or spiteful of someone. It doesn’t take much to enrage a livid manager in the Majors, but outlandishly it takes a minor issue prompting Guillen to behave like a clown, almost propelling the most buzzing soap opera in sports.

Just when it seemed he had matured into a likable manager, he’s verified as a villain once again and dumbly offsets the ugliest controversy and all-encompassing drama that deflates our spirit and peeves our senses. Amid the comical rift, the zealots are laughing out loud or LOL—if you believe in text messaging that continuously impairs the common understanding of literacy in America.

While we were gazing at the resurrection of baseball and witnessed what is an exciting season with all the no-hitters tossed, Guillen lambasted the Majors for diminishing his endorsement of keeping Latino players from utilizing performance-enhancing drugs. But the reality is that he essentially believes the media and Major League Baseball focus the attention on criticizing his nonsensical drivel, and instead teases Guillen when he tries to make a valid point, regarding the aspect of the perplexed game.

“I’m the only one to teach the Latinos about not to use,” he told reporters during an unforeseen rant in front of reporters Sunday. “I’m the only one and Major League Baseball doesn’t [care]. All they care about—how many times I argue with the umpires, what I say to the media. But I’m the only one in baseball to come up to the Latino kids and say not to use this and I don’t get any credit for that.”

He’s suddenly pulling a Barry Bonds. He’s playing the racial card, after all.

“They look at you and they say, ‘Good for you Ozzie,’” he said. “Ozzie said it, don’t worry about it. If somebody else said it they would be playing that [stuff] every day on the Jumbotron…I’m the only that came up with that idea. I did it for the Latino kids…I want to help those kids.”

We all know what could be valid points, but we all know that Ozzie has very little credibility and as long as he throws rants, the Majors or even the general public won’t collectively gather to listen to his advice.

No matter what he believes, sounding off vulgarly at the mouth and childishly holding grudges won’t cure the urgency of mistreated Latinos. In his tenure, Guillen has a one-sided perspective of baseball mismanaging equality and balance in the game, but knowingly, he sometimes doesn’t speak accurately or with common sense, and blabbers without thinking.

Such is this.

“Don’t take this wrong, but they take advantage of us,” he said Sunday. “We bring a Japanese player and they are very good and they bring all these privileges to them. We bring a Dominican kid and say, ‘F—you, you go to the minor leagues, good luck.’ And it’s always going to be like that. It’s never going to change. But that’s the way it is.”

All of this from a paradox man who has undersized credibility for being a maniac. Now he knows how people really feel, gathering a conception, not a misconception that he’s a wacko, a portrait of Tony Montana, the senseless and evil dude in Scarface.

For instance, he has an awful background of ripping ex-players, but it’s very seldom that a manager downgrades an ex-player in a rant unless it’s Ozzie publicly attacking someone.

Each season, he becomes the subject of a repulsive matter, like badmouthing former White Sox star Magglio Ordonez in a shocking tirade. There were times, perhaps when Guillen was too outspoken, and used homosexual slurs referring to columnist Jay Mariotti.

What is it about an ill-tempered, immoral manager that always cowardly singles out someone as respectability shrinks because of his foolish, verbal attacks?  He certainly isn’t a beloved custodian, but he’s definitely a pariah in a zealous atmosphere and still remains fortunate to be employed after feuding with GM Williams.

As generous as he has been to Ozzie, he begun losing patience and became tired of his sarcasm and loathsome remarks when he called out upper management and pointed the fingers at the executives. And still, to this day, the relationship between Guillen and Williams isn’t flawless when reportedly both were involved in a heated confrontation inside the clubhouse, an incident that escalated on the team’s decision not to draft one of Guillen’s sons.            

But he’s taking another stance, with an assumption that Asians are treated fairly while the Latinos are treated unfairly. Someone can argue that he’s a hypocrite without common sense or that he’s strictly biased for believing that baseball is a prejudice sport, when in a sense, there might be some truth behind his explanations.

With all evidence that he’s bruised his reputation, all of his suggestions are dismissed and it seems like a horrifying diatribe. In many ways, he blames the umpires, too. After all, Joe West is his worst enemy, subsequently ejecting Guillen from a game for arguing a call not long ago.

If he does anticipate making the Jumbotron, he probably should state the issue nicely, not rudely or foul.

Ozzie, Ozzie, Ozzie, there’s no sympathy whatsoever. Well, maybe if you change your attitude.  

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The boorish fans were in attendance to witness an uplifting tale in a sports town, where lifeless citizens reside near the nation’s capital, waiting for an extraordinary moment with the promising future of phenom Stephen Strasburg, the gifted right-hander declaring fame in a community after a marvelous start in his debut elicited much potential.

But of course, if the fans are anxious to be awed and glance at baseball’s magnet in the next decade, then booing the magnetic pitcher whose stardom is ripening quicker than the velocity of a hitless fastball, is honestly a misguided antic.

It sounds more like a disillusioned crowd that prefers to embrace an unhealthy rookie and watch Strasburg struggle from the mound, taking a huge risk and ignoring the signs of soreness and vulnerability, eventually blowing out his impressive arm.

In all likelihood, it was a common strategy for scratching Strasburg from the lineup Tuesday, whether it disappointed a sellout crowd or not, but it was a wise choice to take the flame-thrower out of the lineup to protect good health.

Realizing that he has to perform brilliantly and be the perennial ace with high expectations, he’s potentially the suitor and unique talent with ideal delivery, but he must stay robust and avoid a frequent trip to the disabled list. It’s too bad such a scary twinge postponed the odds of Strasburg transforming the dimension of an inferior club.

It’s unfortunate an MRI and X-rays revealed inflammation in his throwing arm, noticing the stiffness during warming up in the bullpen. That’s exactly what we never intending to witness or hear, amid a mediocre season when the grandiosity and brilliancy of the 22-year old pitcher heightened the relevancy in a paralyzed sport.

Better than the average rookie pitcher, it’s a rarity to discover a phenom as a cornerstone take the mound, strikeout batters with a speedy fastball, hitless changeup, nasty breaking ball and an invincible slurve, but Strasburg isn’t your ordinary pitcher.

Instead, he’s an artistic young pitcher with an earnest mindset, mastering his craft on the big league level, considering that being precautious is necessary for monitoring and weighing minor health issues.

Wisely enough, he likely will miss the next start on Sunday and could spend time on the disabled list. The irony of a dreaded letdown is that the Nationals are concerned whether he’s severely injured or was overused in his previous starts.

Yet it’s dangerous to wear down arms. He appears fatigued and has thrown 109 2/3 innings this season, matching the total of pitches he threw at San Diego State, where he emerged as a renowned prospect and baseball’s adorable savior.

If he’s the sweetest story in a fallen sport still overcoming the Steroid Era, a wrenched age that ruined the beauty of a traditional event in America, he needs to rest the ailing shoulder and minimize a heavy workload. If he’s thriving for a short-term career, he would pitch in his next start.

But if he’s planning for a long-term future, as the Nationals are a franchise not in conversations for the postseason, he should miss the next start and treat a minor ailment without throwing and putting tension on the damaged shoulder.

And if he’s the bait of baseball, exciting a national audience and getting the nod because of tremendous talent, it’s very pressing that he carefully nurtures health and heals to whereas he’s not aggravating the shoulder.

There’s much uncertainty as the Nationals are worried and petrified with their rising star’s well-being, realizing it’s inadvisable to overwork the shoulder of any pitcher, especially when bothered by what could be short-term damage and become career-threatening if the Nationals aren’t precautious and clears Strasburg too early than expected. He is seemingly a durable pitcher and fittingly he’s destined to stockpile individual awards in the majors.

In a couple of seasons, he could inspire worshippers by mastering plaudits and be elected to participate in at least a dozen All Star games, with his first appearance maybe next season. He is, in all likelihood, a Cy Young winner in a few seasons, but he must first maintain good condition to have the privilege at earning baseball’s most salient prize.

As he throws charmingly from the mound, he’s endorsed as baseball’s magnet and intrigues National Park, a venue curious relatively selling seats with his sensational fastball alleged to have reached 103 mph. All this hype is worthy for mending the woes and mediocrity in a substandard, lousy Nationals franchise, emerging as the primary face in Washington and he’s prosperously talented at the nation’s capital.

If he’s already famous in an entire community for incredible talent, whenever he decides to retire on the mound he could flirt with the possibility of running for president, be elected and become a resident on Pennsylvania Avenue. By the logic that Strasburg overthrew and worn down his throwing shoulder, is a risky injury considering that he could damage a promising career and only last in the league a short time before he declines and suddenly becomes useless.

Among the uncertainty and jitters wandering in the minds of National manager Jim Riggleman and general manager Mike Rizzo, he was sent to the 15-day disabled list and he’s the latest scare in baseball with the slight possibility that he’s injury bound and endangered of suffering damage in his throwing shoulder. Because of his delivery, few believe he’s at higher risk of feeling exhaustion in his shoulder in which it could only be fatigued.

“They’re taking every precaution with me, obviously,” Strasburg said who is 5-2 with a 2.32 ERA, 75 strikeouts and 15 walks in 54 1/3 innings since the impressive debut.

In the meantime, he’s expected to resume minor activity and will play catch Sunday since the Nationals scratched Strasburg from the start. For now, he’s on the disabled list until he’s eligible to be deactivated Aug. 6, and hopefully return to usual form, without badly irritating the shoulder.

If he doesn’t take precautionary measures, he could turn out exactly like Mark Prior, David Clyde or Kerry Wood. It’s a bit frightening for a convincing rookie with a bright future, but until he’s ready to return, Miguel Batista is probable for making the next start.

Next time, the Nats have to be careful, and booing is unnecessary.  

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