The Atlanta Braves just secured a 5-1 victory over the struggling Oakland Athletics, largely thanks to the heroics of Drake Baldwin and a vintage performance from Chris Sale. I watched Sale throw his slider for six innings, and I am now sitting in my kitchen with my left arm packed in frozen peas. I don’t even throw things. I struggle to toss a crumpled paper towel into my trash can from three feet away. But watching Chris Sale whip his arm at that unnatural, violent angle has given me profound phantom elbow pain.
The Athletics Are a Mirror to My Soul
While the Braves are out here executing perfectly choreographed athletic feats, the Athletics are just aimlessly wandering around the diamond, looking completely lost and devoid of hope. I relate to the Oakland Athletics on a spiritual level. They are the human embodiment of me trying to navigate a social gathering. Drake Baldwin hit a home run, and I actually flinched because I felt like he was aggressively asserting his dominance over my pathetic, stagnant lifestyle.
We Are All Fragile
Chris Sale has had so many injuries, yet he keeps coming back to throw 95-mph fastballs. I slept on my pillow slightly wrong last Tuesday, and my neck is still clicking when I look to the left. The disparity in human resilience is frankly insulting. I am going to swallow two ibuprofen and lie completely still on my rug until the swelling in my imaginary UCL goes down.
