Little Cowboys and Indians: the American League's Last Hope

Danville, Kentucky - Los Angeles, North Side Chicago, Cleveland. These are the cities with which we are to defend America from the Toronto Blue Jays, an upstart Canadian team that threatens to usurp America's past-time. It's not the set of cities I would've chosen were I to be tasked with selecting a club to serve as a bulwark against aggression from America's northern front. Los Angeles has grown opulent and soft in its self-adoration and dotage. The North Side of Chicago is inhabited mostly by affluent prep school kids. Cleveland has only recently learned how to win. These three cities do not inspire much confidence in America's ability to defeat Canada.

Their Canadian opponent is formidable. There is much to like about this Blue Jays team. I've been enamored with them for a few seasons now. They hit bombs. They play the game with passion: whether it's Josh Donaldson scoring the game-winning run on a mad dash to home plate on a throwing error, Kevin Pillar imitating Superman as he puts his body on the line diving for a deep fly-ball, Jose Bautista's bodacious bat flips, or Edwin Encarnacion flaunting an avian companion as he performs his customary trot around the base-paths after a dinger. Though they play for Canada, a country known for its modesty, humility, and good manners, these Blue Jays conduct themselves with a distinctively American swagger.

And yet, something is rotten in the province of Ontario. This is a team that refuses to let Cy Young winner and knuckleball virtuoso R.A. Dickey pitch in the playoffs. The hardened veteran won 20 games in 2012 and threw 200+ innings for 5 straight years, but is evidently not to be trusted as the team flirts with Toronto's first World Series title since Kurt Cobain was the most popular man in music. The team's abysmal mishandling of ace R.A. Dickey casts doubt on their worthiness of October glory.

The Blue Jays have betrayed R.A. Dickey, and must be stopped from winning the World Series. If you need another reason to fear the Blue Jays, consider known Canadian and JFK conspirator Ted Cruz: he will undoubtedly be rooting for his motherland's team. America is in a time of unprecedented political division, thanks to Hillary Clinton. America cannot now afford to lose to a commonwealth of the British crown. Allowing a team from a French-speaking nation to win THE AMERICAN LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES would deal an irreversible blow to American pride, prestige, self-confidence, and hegemony, guaranteeing 'another global cold or hot war and all the attendant dangers, including a global nuclear exchange.' 

Only one man can stop the Toronto Blue Jays from obliterating the American-led international order and ushering in an era of Canadian dominance in the Northern Hemisphere: Josh Tomlin. 

Josh Tomlin may play for the Indians, but he's known as the Little Cowboy. It is only fitting that the man tasked with defending our favorite sport from Canadian conquistadors is nicknamed after the brave wranglers who brought American ruggedness to the uncivilized Western frontiers. More importantly, this is a man fit for the job. Canadian culture is one of dependence and sloth, thanks to their extensive European-style welfare state and socialized healthcare. Canadians love free stuff, and the Blue Jays are no different. The power-hitting prowess of the Blue Jays is real, but the Cleveland Indians can defeat them by refusing to give these Canadians the free stuff they have come to expect from big government. The Indians must be stingy: no walks, no free bases. Stinginess is a foreign concept to Canadians. 

Fortunately, stinginess is not a foreign concept to our friend Mr. Tomlin, a man that posted a sterling 13-9 win/loss record in 2016. He's fresh off of a gutsy outing against Boston in the ALCS where he allowed only 2 runs over 5 innings, notching his first ever post-season win. Tomlin pitched 174 innings this season, and unintentionally walked only 20 batters. If the Blue Jays are going to beat Tomlin, they'll have to earn it: having to earn and work for things instead of being gifted them by big government is a Canadian's worst fear. The inconsistent and distracted Trevor Bauer cannot defeat the Canadian menace. Neither can Corey Kluber and his pristine xFIP. Only Josh Tomlin can.

America has repelled invasions from our despotic, syrup-slurping Northern neighbors before, as recently as the War of 1812. We have met every challenge and conquered every adversary. The city of Cleveland already saved America once this year by stemming the tide of Steph Curry's Left-Coast Warriors. With the world watching and America's reputation on the line, Cleveland will valiantly preserve our union once more.

Benedict Ryan: Paul RINO for Prison

Danville, Kentucky - In the Winter of 1778 the nascent Continental Army was between the devil and the deep blue sea, or between a rock and a hard place, whichever metaphor you prefer. King George III's forces -- better trained, better equipped, and better fed than those of the colonies -- were converging upon the American south. Savannah was captured. Soon Charleston would be as well. Things looked bleak.

For true patriots, it was a time to come together. To cauterize our wounds, rally around weak bonfires for warmth, and sing lowly anthems of freedom with our countrymen. 

But not all were as stout-hearted as the men who endured the bitter cold of Valley Forge. Times of war reveal not only the best of us, but the worst of us. For every General Washington, there is a Benedict Arnold. By 1782, Benedict Arnold was not spending his winters huddled around campfires with his brothers-in-arms. He spent them in London, in the cushioned lap of the tyrant George III, the man who denied a continent their self-evident and inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. 

Benedict Arnold: Paul Ryan's spiritual ancestor

Folks, America once again finds itself in a war for the nation's very soul. Donald J. Trump has launched a revolution against the tyranny of liberalism and political correctness. In his fight to Make America Great Again, Donald has both made enemies and enlisted allies. One such reluctant ally has been Speaker of the House of Paul Ryan, a representative of Wisconsin and running-mate of the failed Mitt Romney. Ryan has never completely embraced Mr. Trump, preferring to keep his distance so that he can continue to cut crooked deals with America's political and corporate elites. 

But now, Paul Ryan has turned coat. Pulled a Benedict Arnold. Gone full Boromir. Trump's locker-room talk offended the Puritanical sensibilities of Speaker Ryan so much that Ryan has stabbed Donald in the back, vowing not to defend or campaign with Donald in a secret meeting with other *RINO traitors yesterday. Speaker Ryan broke the #1 rule of politics and deal-making: you don't go against the family. 

Folks, we should've seen it coming. Wisconsin is a state of traitors. Reince Preibus -- the GOP establishment shill who refuses to devote the full power of the RNC in service of Trump's campaign -- is from Wisconsin. Brett Favre -- the former Green Bay Packer who betrayed his hard-working and loyal fans by signing with the blood rival Vikings of Minnesota -- once called Wisconsin his home. It wouldn't surprise me if Speaker Ryan is actually considering a move to the Democratic stronghold of Minnesota. He'll live in St. Paul and run for office there, much like Crooked Hillary Clinton's carpetbagging to New York City, or Favre's departure for the Vikings.

Paul Ryan has now made his bed; he must now lie in it. Unfortunately for Ryan, it will be a prison bed. Donald has already put Hillary on notice: she'll be jailed when he wins. Donald, I hope there is room for two in that cell. 

*RINO = Republican In Name Only

TWTW's 2016 ALDS Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- Boston once had a massacre, which in turn led Boston to host a Tea Party. That fine town audaciously launched a righteous revolution against the repressive British Crown. You can still see hints of that insurgent spirit any time Dustin Pedroia slides hard into second base, dirtying his home whites like a ragtag rebel might've muddied his militia apparel at the Battle of Lexington. It is a tenacious and indefatigable spirit that has animated American heroes from Boston's own John Adams to Ted Williams. The grit of grinders like Pedroia can still be found by those who know where to look for it; but the city is now better symbolized by overpaid softies like Drew Pomeranz and Pablo Sandoval, ex-patriots of the liberal elitist West Coast who have found a new home in the land of chowder and lobster. Boston used to be a city I could believe in; but no more.

Cleveland is a city I can and can't believe in. I believe in Cleveland's people, it's missing manufacturing jobs, it's symbolic figurehead LeBron James, it's willingness to host the 2016 Republican National Convention, and its scrappy youngsters Jose Ramirez and Tyler Naquin. I can't believe in Cleveland's shocking dismissal of clubhouse hero Juan Uribe, or their continued faith in Trevor Bauer, a nerd-boy who cares more about playing Pokemon and piloting drones than winning baseball games.

Cleveland doesn't believe in itself either: despite fielding a division winning team with World Series ambitions, the city has all but neglected the AL Central Champion Indians, leading to pathetic attendance figures in an otherwise magical season.

I can't believe in Boston, or Cleveland. But there is one man I can believe in: Rick Porcello. More importantly, Rick Porcello is a man who believes in Rick Porcello. I've written extensively about this kid, still only 27 years old and yet to hit his ceiling. Even in his darkest days, when he was public enemy #1 in Beantown, I never stopped believing, and neither did he.

The Sox giving Porcello a 4 year, $82 million extension might be the worst contract extension in baseball history. #RedSox #PorcelloSucks

— O (@TheOaty) July 30, 2015

Didn't ESPN write about how Porcello is going to be a Cy Young finalist? He sucks. That contract is one of the five worst in baseball.

— Ryan Landreth (@ryan_landreth) May 18, 2016

Holy fuck Porcello sucks

— Peacone36 (@Peacone36) May 22, 2016

After being reviled by Boston fans for more than a year, the rough-and-tumble kid from New Jersey is now a bonafide Cy Young candidate and sports a 22-4 Win/Loss Record that's prettier than Melania Trump. The fans can't get enough of him. The kid's got a sinker that sinks out of the strike-zone like Hillary Clinton sinks in the polls with each subsequent release of emails from Wikileaks. He's a groundball machine, more interested in getting his teammates involved in the game than putting on a show with strikeouts. He's stingy with walks: pounding the strike-zone with a precision matched only by the precision of Obama's unconstitutional drone strikes in Yemen and Pakistan.

Folks, I can't bet against Rick, and I can't bet against the Red Sox. The kid has 22 wins, and will be backed up by another man who has played postseason hero for Boston in the past: Clay Buchholz. Porcello and Buchholz are a hell of a 1-2 punch, a playoff rotation that far surpasses anything the injury-hobbled Indians will be able to compete with. Cleveland is hungry, but the ageless David Ortiz is hungrier.

Baseball is a team sport: but October is where heroes emerge. Porcello's teammate David Price is a perennial playoff choker; but Rick is about to set himself apart. This Autumn, Rick Porcello will achieve mythic status alongside past Red Sox greats like Pedro Martinez, future U.S. President Curt Schilling, and Derek Lowe. Underneath the bright lights of Fenway, a legend will be born.

Replacing the Irreplaceable: Why Bud Norris Is A Hero

Danville, Kentucky - How does one replace that which is irreplaceable? It is a question, by nature rhetorical, that has been screamed into the void by many disciples and foot-soldiers following the departure of a respected leader. It is a question that the irascible New Englander and former Vice President John Adams asked himself upon succeeding George Washington as the young American republic's President in 1796. George Washington, the father of this great country, shepherded the nascent nation through many trials and tribulations. General Washington was a larger than life figure, who steadfastly guided America through both bitter defeat at the Battle of Long Island and joyous triumphs at Saratoga and Yorktown. The General's steely resolve and cool demeanor secured the Jay Treaty of 1974; he was truly "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen."

The General

Enter John Adams - the man tasked with replacing the young nation's quasi-divine paternal figure. Washington stood tall and proud, a decorated military hero; Adams was Danny DeVito-like in stature and temperament. How could any man hope to succeed General Washington? How does one replace that which is irreplaceable?

Adams and Bud Norris: Kindred Spirits

It is a question that Bud Norris, a former member of the Atlanta Braves recently acquired by the Los Angeles Dodgers, will ask himself this holiday weekend. Bud was acquired by a pitching-starved Dodgers organization reeling from the news that superhuman ace Clayton Kershaw would be heading to the disabled list. The Dodgers rotation is a shadow of its former glory without Clayton, the only winner of 10 or more games on the staff this season. Kenta Maeda has been a revelation, but remains fragile and injury-prone. Scott Kazmir sports a 7-5 win/loss record but has failed to eat innings, having gone more than 6 innings only twice so far this season. Alex Wood is on the disabled list as well. Young Julio Urias may yet be the salvation of the Dodgers franchise, but at age 19, he cannot be asked to anchor the rotation, just as it was irresponsible of John Adams Sr. to send 14 year old John Quincy Adams on a diplomatic envoy to St. Petersburg.

Young John Quincy

As Bud Norris prepares to take the mound against the Baltimore Orioles - one of his former teams - this Wednesday, he will privately acknowledge that he cannot hope to replace Kershaw; a Cy Young winner and lock for 20+ wins every season. Nobody expects Bud to replace the irreplaceable Clayton Kershaw. Surely Bud is aware of how little faith in him the Dodger fanbase has.

Come on Bud Norris guy. 6 innings are not enough to earn good american dollars.

— Juan Cisneros (@JCisneros413) July 2, 2016

On top of it all, Bud Norris is Clayton Kershaw's replacement. LA sucks.

— Beau Wright (@LeftbutWright35) June 30, 2016

Bud Norris sucks at baseball. I wouldn't trade a '94 playboy for him. #FatLoser

— Mr. Compassion (@trashman_23) June 30, 2016

@OccupyDodgers Mr Fraudman , and I ask this sincerely , why ? He looks like Mat Latos type . Only hope is to recreate 2014. Ship sailed ?

— Bill Patton (@wpatton3) June 30, 2016

John Adams was hailed with a similar hail of insults when he assumed the office of Presidency. In October of 1800, Treasure Secretary Alexander Hamilton wrote a public letter slamming President Adams as egotistical, jealous, vane, and unfit to represent the Federalist Party. Bud will react as President Adams did to these insults; by putting his head down and doing his job.

I rarely agree with roster moves made by Andrew Fraudman, sabermetric saboteur of the Tampa Bay Rays and now the Los Angeles Dodgers. But the acquisition of Bud Norris must be applauded. Bud is a winner, having guided the Orioles to postseason success in 2014. The triumphant return of Clayton Kershaw remains pivotal to the World Series hopes of the Dodgers. Yet, every winning team requires role-players to complement the talents of other-worldly heroes like General Washington. Kershaw and Washington are both fearless and indispensable leaders. Just as America learned to survive in the absence of President Washington's steady leadership, the Dodgers must learn to win without their ace. On this 4th of July, let us not forget the irreplaceable contributions of unsung heroes like John Adams and Bud Norris.

@Ken_Rosenthal big vet arm. They won't miss Clayton much with Bud on board.

— The Will To Win (@TWTWsports) June 30, 2016

Role Reversal: TWTW's Zimmermann vs. Scherzer Preview

credit: Fox Sports

Danville, Kentucky -- "What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot?," asked the young Alexander Hamilton to his co-patriots, Aaron Burr, Hercules Mulligan, John Laurens, and Marquis de Lafayette, the feisty French freedom fighter. Jordan Zimmermann will ask himself a similar question as he returns to our great nation's capitol, a city built by the unceasing labor and determination of Treasury Secretary Hamilton and our nation's other founding fathers.

Indeed, the stars have aligned for a fortuitous pitching match-up, a showdown as unlikely as America's democratic experiment itself. Jordan Zimmermann will return to Washington D.C. -- the city named for the nation's first commander-in-chief that Mr. Hamilton served so loyally -- to pitch against Max Scherzer. Both pitchers will toe the rubber against their former teams. It is a duel between former teammates, more dramatic than Hamilton vs. Burr. I hold this truth to be self-evident: that all pitching matchups are not created equal.

The prospect of competing against the organizations that nurtured and raised them will arouse a host of mixed emotions in both Mr. Zimmermann and Mr. Scherzer.

Scherzer has bantered about his desire to compete against the Triple Crown-touting Miguel Cabrera, but internally feels apprehension. Nonetheless, Scherzer's anxieties will be tempered by the superhuman-slugging 6′ 2″, 23-year old native of Las Vegas that now sits in his corner.

Jordan is a more stoic man. In Auburndale, Wisconsin, boys are raised not to lose their cool or show emotion. If you get hurt, you dust yourself off, rub salt on your wounds and get back on the horse. To Jordan, pitching is just another job. As a child, Jordan worked from dusk till dawn on cold, northern farmlands. He approaches baseball with a similar stubborn Bulldog-like work ethic, but will nonetheless feel nostalgia upon returning to the beltway.

A time may come when the radical potential of American democracy is fulfilled via a Donald Trump presidency, but for now we'll have to settle for this game. America is a land where anything is possible. Where two franchise cornerstone pitchers can switch franchises and compete against each other. Where even mild-mannered utility infielders like Andrew Romine get to play hero once in a while. Where a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman can wind up on the ten-dollar bill. As fans of the Washington Nationals and Detroit Tigers converge to watch this serendipitous game just footsteps away from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, we should take time to appreciate the sheer splendor of America's centuries-old experiment with democracy and our national pastime.