photo illustration by Samara Pearlstein
So I’m sitting on the subway, heading home after the Thursday night Red Sox game (a loss, for those who care). I’m listening to the screeches of the wheels on the terrible track system, the whoas of drunk Red Sox fans subway-surfing around the turns, the conversation the people to my left are having, in French, about whether or not the crowd is always this bad after a game.
Suddenly I hear a tiny but distinct voice, breaking through the hubbub. Help meeeeeee, it says. Heeeelllllllp meeeeeeee.
I look around, but I can’t see where the voice is coming from. There are some kids on the train, but the ones who are talking are really belting it out there. Nobody’s speaking in a tiny little voice, so far as I can tell.
The voice gets louder as I get closer to home. “Help meeeeeee. So tired. Sooooo tired. I just want to rest, why won’t you let me rest??!” I still can’t tell where it’s coming from! This is the worst.
I get home and turn on the Tigers game, because it’s what I do. Immediately the voice becomes much louder and clearer. “Rest, beautiful rest, just let me beeeeeee!”
Of course that was when I realized: it was Justin Verlander’s arm, crying out for mercy. Alas, Jim Leyland does not believe in showing mercy to Justin Verlander’s arm, not last year and not this year. Verlander needed 125 pitches to get through five innings today. Do I really need to say anything more?
Oh, and Carlos Guillen collapsed on the basepaths with a hamstring that suddenly decided to
explode snap undergo spontaneous matter conversion strain itself. He was trying to go from third base to home, landing about halfway between the two. I wish I could say I was surprised by this turn of events, but it’s Carlos Guillen. It was never really an issue of IF he was going to get hurt. It was just a matter of WHEN.