If you work really hard in high school, then you go to Yale.
Ryan Lavarnway worked really hard in high school.
Ryan Lavarnway was drafted by the Red Sox.
-----------------------
Above is an example of modus ponens. If you don't know what modus ponens is, ask Ryan Lavarnway, the Red Sox catching prospect. He learned about it a Yale, where he studied philosophy. As if being a philosophy major at Yale wasn't evidence enough of his genius, he took it to the next level when he chose to play baseball for the Red Sox instead of returning for his senior year.
-----------------------
If a Yale diploma is better than Playing for the Red Sox, then you should return to Yale for your senior year.
A Yale diploma is not better than playing for the Red Sox.
You already proved your smart, now do something meaningful with your life (like play catcher for the Red Sox).
------------------------
Hey A-Rod, want to learn about modus tollens? Don't worry, Ryan will tell you all about it on your next trip to the plate. Next thing A-Rod (who didn't even go to college, let alone and Ivy League one) would hear? "Strike three!"
"Thank you, Ryan. I learned a lot during that at bat."
"You're welcome A-Rod. Now take a seat."
Don't be surprised when Robinson Cano show's up to hit with a wire-bound note book and a multi-color pen. "So Ryan, I was thinking about what you said in the third inning. But what does it mean to be virtuous?"
"What do you do after strike three?"
"Compliment Jon Lester on his cutter?"
"Why?"
"Because he just struck me out for the fourth time today?"
"Is that because of his cutter or because you were distracted by my banter?"
BOOM! Cano's mind coats the field and the Yankees scamble to replace their All-Star second baseman.
Ryan is still in the minors. He's working on his defense and pitch IQ. Coaches are quick to compliment his progress. The metaphysics of his mechanics will surely result in a potent dualistic catcher. Sorry Jarrod Saltalamacchia, time to pack for the trip to your next team.
(http://www.boston.com/sports/baseball/redsox/articles/2011/01/20/lavarnway_next_in_receiving_line/)
Monday, January 24, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
for the record
Yoshi and I have spoken little during the off season. Aside from a picture of a waffle he posted on Facebook yesterday which inspired a few comments, Yoshi has been silent. Bears hibernate. Maybe Yoshis do too. Or maybe Yoshi chooses to remain silent because there's nothing interesting to talk about.
Off season trades are done. Post season awards are done. Spring training starts in a month and all of baseball is focusing on one thing: vacation. But baseball writers have to justify their salaries so they kick out c-r-a-p stories like this (I recommend not clicking on the link because it's so boring): http://www.boston.com/sports/columnists/massarotti/2011/01/this_offseason_red_sox_owned_u.htmlhave . And that is what you'll never get at "Greg and Yoshi" -- meaningless drivel. You just won't see it here.
Here's some other stuff you won't see:
1. A video I made (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRcAul7hMHo) of my Mom's kitty playing in a basket. Just won't see it. Not here. No matter how touching it is. This is Greg and Yoshi talk about the Red Sox not Greg and Yoshi Show Sweet Videos of Kitties Playing in Baskets.
2. Pictures of waffles. What Yoshi wants to do in his free time is his biz. Pictures of breakfast items are rad. No doubt. But I'm pretty sure this isn't called Greg and Yoshi talk about Pictures of Breakfast Items. So no. Not here.
3. Me talking about my girlfriend's blog: apresfete.blogspot.com. Sure, it's great. Blah, blah, blah... She's a really good cook and her catering business/private chef service is something you would have to be brain dead not inquire about if you live in the greater Los Angeles area. But this isn't called Greg and Yoshi Promote Greg's Girlfriend. So no. Not here.
4. Technology. 'Nuff said. We just won't talk about it. I mean, what were we talking about? I can't remember, but definitely not technology.
5. The upcoming ski trip I'm going on with my brother, Cary. Yesterday we talked about Cary because it (I mean "it" in the nicest possible way) related to a story about Adrian Gonzalez. But unless Yoshi is going ride the chair lift with Cary and I and talk about the Red Sox, then no, you won't hear about our ski trip to Utah where we are going to rip figure eights in knee-high fresh pow pow. And even if Yoshi does show-up and ride the lift with us, we still won't include that conversation on this blog because I'm pretty sure it's not called Greg and Yoshi and Cary Ride the Chair Lift and Talk about the Red Sox. Though, I agree, not a bad idea for a spin-off.
6. Long blogs. Just won't happen. Out of respect. Spoiler Alert! There will be a blog this season that is only one word long. And it'll be awesome.
Tell your friends,
Greg & Yoshi
(and again, for the record, Yoshi contributed nothing to this post. nothing. zero. the opposite of everything.)
Off season trades are done. Post season awards are done. Spring training starts in a month and all of baseball is focusing on one thing: vacation. But baseball writers have to justify their salaries so they kick out c-r-a-p stories like this (I recommend not clicking on the link because it's so boring): http://www.boston.com/sports/columnists/massarotti/2011/01/this_offseason_red_sox_owned_u.htmlhave . And that is what you'll never get at "Greg and Yoshi" -- meaningless drivel. You just won't see it here.
Here's some other stuff you won't see:
1. A video I made (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRcAul7hMHo) of my Mom's kitty playing in a basket. Just won't see it. Not here. No matter how touching it is. This is Greg and Yoshi talk about the Red Sox not Greg and Yoshi Show Sweet Videos of Kitties Playing in Baskets.
2. Pictures of waffles. What Yoshi wants to do in his free time is his biz. Pictures of breakfast items are rad. No doubt. But I'm pretty sure this isn't called Greg and Yoshi talk about Pictures of Breakfast Items. So no. Not here.
3. Me talking about my girlfriend's blog: apresfete.blogspot.com. Sure, it's great. Blah, blah, blah... She's a really good cook and her catering business/private chef service is something you would have to be brain dead not inquire about if you live in the greater Los Angeles area. But this isn't called Greg and Yoshi Promote Greg's Girlfriend. So no. Not here.
4. Technology. 'Nuff said. We just won't talk about it. I mean, what were we talking about? I can't remember, but definitely not technology.
5. The upcoming ski trip I'm going on with my brother, Cary. Yesterday we talked about Cary because it (I mean "it" in the nicest possible way) related to a story about Adrian Gonzalez. But unless Yoshi is going ride the chair lift with Cary and I and talk about the Red Sox, then no, you won't hear about our ski trip to Utah where we are going to rip figure eights in knee-high fresh pow pow. And even if Yoshi does show-up and ride the lift with us, we still won't include that conversation on this blog because I'm pretty sure it's not called Greg and Yoshi and Cary Ride the Chair Lift and Talk about the Red Sox. Though, I agree, not a bad idea for a spin-off.
6. Long blogs. Just won't happen. Out of respect. Spoiler Alert! There will be a blog this season that is only one word long. And it'll be awesome.
Tell your friends,
Greg & Yoshi
(and again, for the record, Yoshi contributed nothing to this post. nothing. zero. the opposite of everything.)
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Phew! Adrian Gonzalez can throw!
Good news everyone, according to the Boston Globe, Adrian Gonzalez can throw (http://www.boston.com/sports/baseball/redsox/extras/extra_bases/2011/01/gonzo_starts_th.html). Not that I was ever worried since throwing is not an essential tool for a first baseman. My brother Cary proved this in 1991 when he played a full season at first base without the ability to throw.
Cary's shoulder was dislocated during a two-hand-touch football game. It was serious enough to require surgery. All the physical therapy in the world would not be enough to restore the range of movement required to throw a baseball by baseball season. So springtime arrived and brought with it a difficult decision: Play baseball or don't play baseball. My Dad, a Yankee fan, pointed out that Joe Dimaggio had sustained a debilitating shoulder injury during The War, but returned to the Yankees and still manned a formidable center field. How did he do it? He kept the injury a secret. Opponents couldn't take advantage of the handicap because they didn't know about the handicap. Cary would utilize the same psychology.
To execute the plan, Cary had to sell it. Luckily, years earlier, my Mom had enrolled us in a theater workshop at Orange County Community College. The final production was a stage adaptation of Charles Schultz's "Peanuts" in which Cary played Charlie Brown, the lead role. Though overshadowed by my scene stealing, gut-wrenching portrayal of Woodstock, a mute bird, the acting skills Cary learned stuck with him. So years later, when faced with having to keep a debilitating injury a secret, Cary reached into his actor tool kit and pulled out another great performance. Watching him was like watching Daniel Day-Lewis in "My Left Foot", except the opposite -- you had no idea Cary was a gimp.
By mid-point in the season Cary was flying high. His teammates had come accustomed to his pre-game ritual of working with a red rubber strengthening band (prescribed by his physical therapist) instead of having a catch. Offensively he was doing great. A perennial .300 hitter, the injury (or "lack-there-of-any-injury", wink wink) proved little effect on his swing. His performance was so convincing, no one noticed anything was wrong. Until IT happened.
It was the top of the 3rd inning of the sixth game. Ryan Gillespie was on the mound. Kyle Knapp was at bat. Ryan threw a 2-1 fast ball. Kyle's big swing unleashed a routine ground ball to shortstop. Pete McMahon fielded the ball and came up throwing. From the bleachers behind first base, I watched the ball soar over Cary's out-stretched mitt. Cary hustled to retrieve the ball. Kyle rounded first and headed for second. Cary picked up the ball. From where he stood, second base was approximately 115 feet away. Kyle, a slow runner, had only made it halfway. Cary gripped the ball; he had to at least try. He reached back, stepped forward, and released. Now imagine throwing a sponge with your non-dominant hand on a windy day. That's what it looked like. But that's not where the humiliation ended. A hollow thud echoed. Like a dog who's owner pretends to throw a ball, but instead hides the ball behind his back, it took a moment for everyone, including Cary, to realize what had happened. There was a light post positioned in foul territory behind first base. Normally, I wouldn't have noticed it as it was well out of line with the trajectory the ball needed to travel from Cary's hand to second base. Somehow, though, Cary managed to peg the post squarely, with a direct hit. The ball careened off the post and landed somewhere deeper in foul territory. Kyle made it to third.
Unfortunately for Cary, his performance had been too good. After the game, when he tried to explain his errant throw by unveiling his secret injury, no one believed him. After all, he wasn't even part of the Thespian Society. So instead of being lauded for his toughness and determination to play the game he loved, he was saddled with a reputation that he threw like a girl. As that weren't enough, to add insult to injury (or just a pun), for the rest of the season, whenever he picked up the ball, everyone in the stands ducked.
On second thought, maybe throwing is a valuable tool for a first baseman. I know so because my brother Cary proved it. Good thing Gonzalez is getting back to form.
(Please note that Yoshi contributed nothing to this.)
Cary's shoulder was dislocated during a two-hand-touch football game. It was serious enough to require surgery. All the physical therapy in the world would not be enough to restore the range of movement required to throw a baseball by baseball season. So springtime arrived and brought with it a difficult decision: Play baseball or don't play baseball. My Dad, a Yankee fan, pointed out that Joe Dimaggio had sustained a debilitating shoulder injury during The War, but returned to the Yankees and still manned a formidable center field. How did he do it? He kept the injury a secret. Opponents couldn't take advantage of the handicap because they didn't know about the handicap. Cary would utilize the same psychology.
To execute the plan, Cary had to sell it. Luckily, years earlier, my Mom had enrolled us in a theater workshop at Orange County Community College. The final production was a stage adaptation of Charles Schultz's "Peanuts" in which Cary played Charlie Brown, the lead role. Though overshadowed by my scene stealing, gut-wrenching portrayal of Woodstock, a mute bird, the acting skills Cary learned stuck with him. So years later, when faced with having to keep a debilitating injury a secret, Cary reached into his actor tool kit and pulled out another great performance. Watching him was like watching Daniel Day-Lewis in "My Left Foot", except the opposite -- you had no idea Cary was a gimp.
By mid-point in the season Cary was flying high. His teammates had come accustomed to his pre-game ritual of working with a red rubber strengthening band (prescribed by his physical therapist) instead of having a catch. Offensively he was doing great. A perennial .300 hitter, the injury (or "lack-there-of-any-injury", wink wink) proved little effect on his swing. His performance was so convincing, no one noticed anything was wrong. Until IT happened.
It was the top of the 3rd inning of the sixth game. Ryan Gillespie was on the mound. Kyle Knapp was at bat. Ryan threw a 2-1 fast ball. Kyle's big swing unleashed a routine ground ball to shortstop. Pete McMahon fielded the ball and came up throwing. From the bleachers behind first base, I watched the ball soar over Cary's out-stretched mitt. Cary hustled to retrieve the ball. Kyle rounded first and headed for second. Cary picked up the ball. From where he stood, second base was approximately 115 feet away. Kyle, a slow runner, had only made it halfway. Cary gripped the ball; he had to at least try. He reached back, stepped forward, and released. Now imagine throwing a sponge with your non-dominant hand on a windy day. That's what it looked like. But that's not where the humiliation ended. A hollow thud echoed. Like a dog who's owner pretends to throw a ball, but instead hides the ball behind his back, it took a moment for everyone, including Cary, to realize what had happened. There was a light post positioned in foul territory behind first base. Normally, I wouldn't have noticed it as it was well out of line with the trajectory the ball needed to travel from Cary's hand to second base. Somehow, though, Cary managed to peg the post squarely, with a direct hit. The ball careened off the post and landed somewhere deeper in foul territory. Kyle made it to third.
Unfortunately for Cary, his performance had been too good. After the game, when he tried to explain his errant throw by unveiling his secret injury, no one believed him. After all, he wasn't even part of the Thespian Society. So instead of being lauded for his toughness and determination to play the game he loved, he was saddled with a reputation that he threw like a girl. As that weren't enough, to add insult to injury (or just a pun), for the rest of the season, whenever he picked up the ball, everyone in the stands ducked.
On second thought, maybe throwing is a valuable tool for a first baseman. I know so because my brother Cary proved it. Good thing Gonzalez is getting back to form.
(Please note that Yoshi contributed nothing to this.)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)