Maybe I’m not a blistering red stitch and seam reading fastball shaman, and I can’t hit a good curveball, but it seems the Baseball Gods want us to know – and prefer that all baseball universe citizens have faith in – two big facts first: that no one knows what the hell is going to happen this week and next and the next, and that every single 162 game regular season find bizarre ways to astonish even the most sagacious onlookers.
Vital we remember the Baseball Gods won’t tell us but will show us that they look at our planned starting pitching rotations, and neatly printed names of
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