If You Can Dodge a Wrench: No Longer a True Underdog Story

If we could slow the anvil of time, control our inner wildlings, how long could we last? How long could we outrun that natural evolution, inevitable flow of time eroding our rocky past. When is it clever? Before it becomes just unconscious control. Those first warriors found a smooth rock, it guided them to build their first weapons, creating that first thunder of war, forging society and starting our clock.

The rock, it shapes where we’re going. It protects us from our hostile environments, whether the winds on the plateau or the next wave of marauders. But. Eventually the warriors fall. The rock, it crashes to the river bed. And the river flows until it gets salty.

How long can the young bucks keep outpacing those who were used to writing their own narrative, or can a team be forged that outlasts the clock?

The anvil of time verses the hammer of experience on how maybe to forge a resiliency that time won’t kill. There is only one god and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: ‘not today’.

*** *** *** *** ***

Looking at this dodgy accumulation of misfit toys Los Angeles has assembled, it’s occurred to me that Justin Turner and Jansen are the only ones with prominent beards, built to weather the winds of time, the freezing temperatures they were born out of. Wild and free, no bended knee, they were born in the 80’s, forever to be branded Millennials, to survive those 1000 years protected from the tyrannical castration of the razor, protecting their faces from the forced weathering of corporate gluttony.

What I don’t understand is why such beautiful beards would do such a reverse heel turn into the soft Southern California weather. Why a Curacaoan legend would spurn his piratical roots, dodging the independent scorn for the easy, relaxing life of the west coast, when real challenges are afoot.

As I sip on my bottle of 19 Crimes, "each declared by his Majesty to be punishable on Conviction by Transportation", this rolling stone keeps yelling out at me that perhaps I can’t always get what I want.

What caused Justin to flip around Los Angeles’ fourth wall, joining that soft weather of Southern California? After ploughing the arid deserts of Baltimore and the Mets, after trading lives in Curacao, perhaps what we all needed was just. Enough. Survivors.

Enough rogues to appreciate the rules that’ve been broken and the culture that sprouts, to realize that the harsh winds of winter are purely inevitable and the only thing that protects us in the end is the strength of culture we’ve cultivated.

Which is not to say you shouldn’t clean your beard. I think. Maybe I just haven’t given gnarly beards enough of a chance. What I do know is the Dodgers have flipped the script the past few years. They are no longer a true underdog story. But I think the Cardinals might just have a wrench for their plans. I can’t wait to see if they can dodge our red October.

p { margin-bottom: 0.1in; line-height: 115%; }