The Curious Case of High-Pockets Lugo

When I awoke this morning with a woolly mouth, I could not decide if it was from all the lager and whiskey I quaffed last evening, or the bitter aftertaste of another shoddy performance by our beleaguered between-sacker, High-Pockets Lugo.

Rooters once again groaned as Ol' High-Pockets failed to contain a routine grasser. The play appeared to be a frame-ending "out" wrapped up in bows and ribbons. Instead, the pill tumbled past his feeble reach and plated one "run." The failure also allowed the Texans continued swatting, whereby bats-man Kinsler showed his appreciation for the additional swings by depositing the orb over the fences.

Hurler "Nickles" Penny took the gentleman's position following the contest, and declined to assign blame to his short-stop. But fellow scribblers and keyboard-clatterers have sharpened their nibs and begun executing High-Pockets by 1,000 pricks.

What to make of this enigma that is Lugo? Base-ball arithmaticians decry his reduced "range" -- and indeed, this once fleet-footed bag burgler now seems a one-man molasses flood on the diamond.

Is he still feeling the effects of surgery for Water on the Knee?

Did his much-touted work with the medicine ball during the winter months create too much bulk on his wiry frame?

Perhaps an excess of zinc in his diet has unbalanced his body humours?

Whatever the cause, the club must find a solution before High-Pockets' increasingly erratic play puts another check in the loss column.

Scores in the stratosphere

Aces! Aces everywhere! When I returned home from my daily office work, I warmed up the wireless whilst I went to the cellar for a cool can of ale. When I returned, the wireless tubes glowed bright and the youthful voice of Joe "Stumpy" Castiglione was boundless in its enthusiasm. It seemed the Colossus had entered the game in grand fashion, driving two great full-circuit clouts with his stout ash in just the first chapter! Indeed, by the time those dusty old Texans came up to bat in the second frame, they had dug themselves a hole so deep it's a wonder they didn't strike oil!

But as I plundered my ale collection in the cellar, the going got bad for the blue-eyed Boston boys. As Charlie "The Fink" Zink fluttered his high knuckler at batters, it became clear that our stalwart Knuckles Wakefield isn't easily replaced. (And Godspeed in recovery, Wakefield, you old knuckling fool!) A string of goose-eggs in the Texas column quickly turned to crooked numbers, including a chapter that saw the Lone Star louts spin eight men fully around the sacks. Eight aces in one half chapter!

The mood was tense as I collected empty ale cans on my sideboard. At only one point did I take a respite from the game, and that was to chase the family's invalid pet feline out of the listening parlor. The Rangers from Arlington certainly took justice into their own hands last night, belting rocket after rocket, spinning men around the sacks until they led the Boston heros by a pair of runs.

But thanks be to the Beard of the Ages, good ol' Yukon Kevin Youkilis, the balding and bearded infield threat whose second four-ply drive of the game would provide all the margin the Home Town boys would need. Huzzah for ol' Yukon!