Why so angry? Why so sad? Those were the questions I found myself asking as I watched a visibly frustrated Johnny Cueto, staring upward at the night sky in confusion, exit the field of play following another disappointing outing versus the Baltimore Orioles. Johnny, you are an ace. This offseason, you're going to get a paycheck that makes Clinton's speaking fees look like GM plant money. You're on a first place team, having escaped the miserable situation of my hometown Reds. As James Shields would say: if you don't like it, pitch better.
Knowing Johnny, he will pitch better -- thanks to his own determination and the camaraderie of the Kansas City clubhouse. He will get an extra psychological boost from the knowledge that Dusty Baker, perhaps the wisest Reds manager of my lifetime, will cover the playoffs for TBS. Cueto is no Cobain; he will not let self-pity and defeatism define him. Folks like me and Johnny aren't motivated by money; we want to win, and we want the endless appetizers and women that accompany fame and fortune. That, my friends, smells like team spirit.