Saturday Morning Whining

This post is brought to you by pseudoephedrine, dextromethorphan, and the number 1!

I'm doped up on every pharmaceutical and immune supplement known to man to try to conquer a nasty cold by Monday. This is ridiculous. I've been sick since last Saturday.

Obligatory whining about Joe Inglett packing for Vegas: I'm bummed, but not surprised. It sounds like that was a given all spring:

"We've talked to Joe about it," Gaston said. "He said: 'What do I have to do?' And I said, 'Joe, you're right, you've done everything you could.' It's just a matter of numbers and fortunately he has an option."

You would have had to walk on water out to Caladesi Island and turn the Gatorade into wine, Joe.

Hey, no one ever said baseball was fair, right?

(By the way, if you're like me and your eyes usually glaze over at the talk of waivers, options, and all that baseball business crap, head over to former Jays former assistant GM Bart Given's new site. He does a nice job of 'splaining it. I'm starting to get it.)

...and then there's Scott Richmond. He had another meh-tacular start on Thursday. I've been a fan since that bratinee last July and I'm not giving into the peer pressure and jumping ship anytime soon... but honey, yer fuckin' killin' me. I'm rethinking my plan of Richmondizing my blank jersey.

I think I'm going to have to go to Shoeless Joe's to watch Richmond's April 10th start, to get a pint in me first so I don't chew my nails off.