I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t kick Larry out of bed for eating crackers. He’s absolutely stunning. Good for you, Bron.
After another comeback win in the late innings against the Tampa Bay Rays last night, the Indians are now 1-0 representing a city of World Champions. No shot they were losing that game. Something seriously special is in the air around Gateway right now.
The Tribe has done a pretty great job embracing and rooting for their neighbors these past couple weeks. Hoping to see something like the Blackhawks did at Wrigley last year and have the Cavs take the trophy for a victory lap around the field before first pitch one of these nights. A layup of a sellout if you’re the Indians.
If you’re reading this, it has happened. For years, I was able to agree with the majority, conform to the popular opinion. I would laugh and tweet about mispronunciations, misstatement of facts and general ineptitude. I would mute the TV and deal with the audio and video being out of sync because I thought I was supposed to. I fought valiantly, but ultimately I was just delaying the inevitable.
With last night’s walk off home run by Carlos Santana, a new era of my life began. An era in which I will not be silent. I will not follow for the sake of following. I will not be shamed into silencing my opinions.
As of today, the eighteenth of June in the year 2016, I officially enjoy Matt Underwood’s home run calls.
I think it all started back in 2013. It was a special year for the Tribe, both on the field and in the booth. Jason Giambi hit a pinch-hit, walk-off home run against the Chicago White Sox on July 29th. Matt’s call was good.
Then, on September 24th, Giambi came up to bat in the bottom of the ninth, down 1, with a runner on second and two outs against those same White Sox. Big players make big plays at big times. Matt Underwood was a big player that night.
And it was from that point on that I knew. I knew this day would come. And while I wasn’t necessarily eager for it to get here, I was no longer actively fighting it. So I watched, a silent supporter, a sleeper cell in a sea of negativity. For two full seasons, I kept my feelings to myself. Last night was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final nail in the coffin, the point of no return. I knew it in 2013. I confirmed it three years later. I’m a fan of Matt Underwood’s home run calls and I don’t care who knows it.
Now, is he perfect? Far from it. He’s thought that a 200-foot fly ball has been a home run before, and he’ll think that a 200-foot fly ball is going to be a home run again. Players names will be mispronounced. Innings, counts and outs will be incorrectly stated. Words that aren’t a part of the English language will be used. He’s a flawed broadcaster, certainly. But isn’t everyone? Outside of the great Vin Scully, I challenge you to find a broadcaster that hasn’t switched the balls and strikes when reading the count, confused two brother’s first names or gotten a couple of replays wrong. These things happen, and they happen to everyone.
So from now on, I will not be silent. Life is too short to do things just because other people are doing them. I will openly enjoy every Indians home run described to me by Matt Underwood. I hope this letter gives other fans out there the courage to do the same.
When the Indians signed Juan Uribe to a 1-year deal worth $4 million this off season, it wasn’t exactly looked at as a monumental acquisition. Sure, he’s a pleasure to have in the clubhouse, and the list of teams he’s played for over his lengthy career is extensive, but he’s just about reached that point in his life where things simply take him longer to do than they used to. In other words, he’s not able to cover the width of dirt or swing the wood as ferociously as he did as a young ball player.
That’s not to say he hasn’t been anything to write home about so far in 2016. Indeed, his presence in the clubhouse is felt from top to bottom. 162 games is an extended period of time to spend with a group of people. Even the smallest things can snowball into colossal disagreements during the hot summer nights. But Uribe’s distinguished career has equipped him with the tools to diffuse those tense moments and help his teammates relieve any stress they might have pent up as the season progresses. Exhibit A:
Unfortunately for Juan Uribe's groin, it was on the receiving end of a 106 mph ground ball from Mike Trout.https://t.co/aiPkQ7IiWx
Now, if you or I took a 106 MPH ground ball off the bat of the best player in baseball directly off the jimmies, tears would be shed. Baseball would almost certainly be a thing of the past for us.
Not for Juan. He was back to his usual self before the game yesterday, popping off quotes like this:
Bottlegate 