Oh, Buddha. Here it is. Finally. The end of the line…
I am, of course, talking about the Washington Nationals 2015 season– and the Nationals Inquisition as well, but we’ll get to that weeping chestnut in a bit. First, let’s talk this season and put a nail in it’s coffin if you will, although, if you have been paying attention to this blog all season, the Nats were being laid to rest back in April.
I did one blog post, JUST ONE back around 20 games into the season and it told the dreadful, horrid, Blair Witch-style tale that would finally eventually become the story of the 2015 Nats. Go ahead, read it. I’ll wait. It’s all there. The bullpen from H-E-Double Hockey Stick. The pimple-faced Matt Williams. The Great Architect of Organizational Disaster, Mike Rizzo makes an appearance too. Just one blog post, back in April, completely sums up the clustermuck that the Nats season was. One blog post to rule them all– mic drop. Helluva job. I will take this time to pat myself on the back shamelessly.
It’s the last blog post you’ll ever read here so I can get away with it.
So where do the Nats go from here? They fired Williams and the coaching staff. They pretty much have succumbed to the fact that Ian Desmond, Doug Fister and Jordan Zimmermann will not be donning the uniform again. Their bullpen is in shambles (they will be keeping Papelbon). Their offense still can’t really hit when they need to. On the horizon they will be soon need to start worrying about contracts of guys like Stephen Strasburg (I see him going West Coast) and more importantly, the phenomenal Bryce Harper (He wants to be a part of it, New York, New York…). They need to find a new manager and coaching staff. And of course, Mike Rizzo is still GM/Team President.
It’s a goddamned mess. This team should be preparing for the Dodgers. Instead they are at home watching the Astros and the Cubs while wondering how in the hell Michael Morse could have possibly gotten a World Series ring before any of them in Nats shirt. If they don’t have a Mike Rizzo voodoo doll by now, they should. I just can’t see them going any further than they have as long as Rizzo is making the decisions. Say what you want about his drafting, trading and player evaluating, they’ve lead us to what we have now: just two division titles and a whole lot of heartbreak– and Nyjer Morgan. He also gave us the gift of Plush. Remember that.
But you know, its not my problem anymore. I’m done. This is the last blog post on the NQ. I’ve been really scarce the past two seasons for various reasons. Some reasons that sucked and another that just blows the mind. The winds are blowing me elsewhere to other challenges. Life does not expand without change….that is why I am selling my staff, selling my wife, house and kids and then going to illegally live in a driftwood box on a sand dune somewhere between Avon and Frisco, NC and search for UFOs.
It might seem an odd life choice, but it certainly has its perks over writing about players beards, their baffling play and a whole other assortment of weirdness that comes with blogging this team from Pittsburgh to Southern Florida over the past four or five years. I’ve had the best of times with this blog, met some incredible people and have done things a standard fan generally doesn’t get to do. I have no regrets– except maybe not including more Monty Python references which was the original plan.
This blog wasn’t the best and it certainly wasn’t the worst. But it was a helluva ride and as my hero Dr. Thompson once said, “You buy the ticket, you take the ride.” And ride we did.
I want to shout out and give thanks to the three or four people who actually read this blog, friends and family who put up with it, Dr. W, The Wiz, Rich The Mets Fan, Wily Mo Pena for not hitting me with his car, countless others and of course, most of all, the Washington Nationals. I’ve been married to this team as long as I have been married to my wife. Ten years. Incredible.
Oh, before I forget, someone wanted me to post a beachballish pic. Sorry it’s not new, but I traded my photoshop for a magic staff that should help me call in aliens. I’m not sure how it works or if at all. It just looks like someone duct taped a carrot to a damn selfie stick.
Perhaps I’ll see you at Nats Park. Or on the beach. Or maybe not. If I’m not in either place it is probably safe to assume I’ve been abducted. If so, I promise to spread the Nats faith to the universe.
This is DangerNat, the last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.
(Editor’s Note: I will be on Twitter still offering my occasional valuable insight that no one cares about. It is still: @natsnq )