Cruel Blog-Filled World: Owie Kendrick

Here's an update on my fantasy baseball team thus far, told through a series of open letters to Howie Kendrick:

May 20, 2008

Dear Howie,

Hey, buddy. It’s me, Ryan. You know, the guy who drafted you in the sixth round? The guy who deliberately chose you even though Miguel Tejada was still on the board? How are you feeling? How’s that hammy? Still sore? I’m sorry that you don’t feel well, Howie. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better. You’re in my thoughts, Howie. Everyday. I’d say that you’re in my prayers, too, but your injury and the time you’ve missed this year have led me to believe that if God does exist—and I have my doubts now—then He's nothing more than a twisted puppet master intent upon killing my fantasy baseball team's hopes, one strained hamstring at a time.

I need you, Howie. More than ever. Guess who I’ve been starting in your absence? Here's a hint: His name rhymes with "Sticky Leaks," and even after getting eight hits in the past five games, he's still not hitting his weight. It's Rickie Weeks, Howie. Rickie Weeks. And let’s just say that it took Rickie weeks to get that average above Mendoza this year.

Don't make me beg, Howie. I’m sorry that you’re in pain. I’m sorry that this muscle strain continues to sideline you. I’m sorry that your papier-mâché cotton candy motherfucking hamstring is still sore. I’m sorry that it’s taken you and your goddamn silly putty fucking body almost seven fucking weeks to recover from a goddamn motherfucking “hamstring strain.” Really, I am. I think I strained my hamstring once. I can’t really remember. Because it was a fucking strain. I probably just walked it off, or I poured some Tussin on it, or I drank beer until it didn't hurt anymore. The point is, it didn't prevent me from maintaining my active lifestyle of tossing the football around and occasionally running to catch the subway. Whatever happened to playing with a little pain? Remember Lou Gehrig? Does that name ring a bell? In his final full season he smacked 29 dongs and put up a .933 OPS, and he was in such bad shape that they ended up naming the fucking disease after him. So get well soon, Howie. Or don’t. Whatever. I’m riding the Clint Barmes train now.

Warmest Regards,
Ryan

That better be one of those special hamstring injury-healing pies

May 22, 2008

Hey Howie,

I'm sorry I got mad at you yesterday. I know that you want to be out there playing. And thanks for your reply. Thanks for pointing out that you wouldn't even take yourself in the 6th round, that your own mom waited until round 10 to pick you, and that I drafted "like Matt Millen" this year. If that's the case, then I guess that makes you my Charles Rogers, huh? Or my Mike Williams? Or my Every-Other-Stupid-Fucking-Bust-Ever? But really, I know your absence is only a small part of why my team is wallowing in 6th place right now. I can’t blame you for the Fukumori Experiment. Or the great Kelvim Escobar Dice-Roll of 2008. And, much like drinking Jagermeister or betting on boxing, drafting Mark Teahen seemed like a good idea at the time. The fact that your hamstring apparently has the tensile strength of dental floss had no bearing on these poor draft-day decisions. I know this.

But you're still out. With that same muscle strain. The latest news is that you've gone "back to the drawing board." Help me out here, Howie. What the fuck does that even mean? MLB disabled lists tend to be, at best, nebulous realms of half-truths and meaningless designations, but I gotta admit: this has been the longest "15 day" stretch of my motherfucking life—even longer than those two weeks during the summer after my sophomore year in high school when our air conditioner and cable kicked out at the same time. I read a lot during those two weeks, Howie. I'm reading a lot now, too. Like how your hamstring strain has been downgraded to a "more severe hamstring strain." I want you to get better, Howie. And I know you want to get better. But Barmes is raking like a fucking gardener right now, and Rickie Weeks is getting on base any way he can. So take your sweet time, pal.

Best,

Ryan

This is how Ryan looked when his 6th round pick went down... and stayed down

May 23, 2008

Howie,

Yeah, that was me going through your trash last night. And yeah, I'm the one who's been mailing you those envelopes stuffed full of ham and string. And yes, I was the guy standing outside your window last night yelling, "If I need that goddamn DL spot for anyone other than Hafner, your ass is waivers-bound!" Thanks for calling the cops, Howie. This is the pat on the back I get for drafting you in round 6? I had faith, Howie. Now all I have is a resisting arrest charge and a few bruised ribs.

I woke up this morning and saw that your Yahoo News and Notes box had that red flashy thing on it. I clicked it, hoping to get some good news. Instead, I got this giant middle finger of a Player Note:

May 22 Lyle Spencer, of Angels.MLB.com, reports Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim 2B Howie Kendrick (hamstring) worked out Thursday, May 22, and said his leg felt much better than the last time he ran. There is no timetable for his return.

Thanks a fucking lot, Lyle Spencer. Your leg feels better, Howie! That's great news! And yet, there's still "no timetable" for your return. In the meantime, Chris Young just went on the DL after taking an Albert Pujols line drive to the face. Oh, and ol' Moist-Hands Alou strained his calf last night and was immediately placed on the DL. I guess you don't take too many chances with the body of a 173-year-old. And Barmes will inevitably stop raking soon, and I don't know if I have the stomach to ride the Rickie Weeks Sooper Dooper Looper for the rest of the season. So I'll ask again: when are you coming home, Howie? Because what my team really needs right now is a .300 hitter who contributes little else across all the other stat categories. You know, like Moises. Without the piss-covered hands.

Fondly,
Ryan