As a schoolgirl

Elitism is a thing of many forms. Elitism stands in line at the supermarket and chuckles at the dime novels and tabloid rags; elitism pauses, irritated, before explaining the background of Cory Lidle. Elitism lurks in a child's rejection of an ill-considered gift by an absentee uncle, judges half-glimpsed shirts on passing teenagers, reaches back and remembers national capitals and names of paintings. You know it's only my opinion, it may be right or wrong, but I think you'll find elitism at the Grand Canyon at sundown.

It is an unusual thing these days to be unabashedly excited about your team's transactions. Certainly some fanbases are unrelentingly bitter, and some others can't even address their team's offseason follies. In an era of instant internet analysis and statistical understanding, intelligent option weighing, usually toward the negative, is the order of the day. Rarely does one throw away his rational skeptism and embrace a trade or signing. But I am incapable of feeling anything but excellent about this recent event.


Today, for once, I can buy into glory-days propaganda and winning attitude bluster. I feel both like an old-timey hack sportswriter in my willingness to embrace any 'makeup' or 'proven' or 'true' cliche about Andy Pettite, and like the little kid I was when he first started pitching for my team in my instant, unquestioning satisfaction. Am I concerned about his 108 ERA+ in a vastly inferior league last year, or his recent injury history, or his $16 million for only one year? Not at all. Suddenly a rotation that was competant is now strong, and a city, to my mind (and no doubt, FJM will have an Eckstein-caliber overload in the next few days) is saved. (I lay claim to that cliche now, 10 minutes after this news item was posted on espn and mlb. I assure you it will not be the last time you'll hear it.)
As for actual baseball impact, Mussina-Wang-Pettite leaves Johnson and Igawa as reasonable back of the rotation questions, and the punchline that is Carl Pavano comfortably rehabbing. And then, of course, there is the awesome, ancient, primeval all-timer force that this signing implies the lingering, possibly until May, possiblity of. I can't help but be gloriously, uncharacteristically estatic. I'm talking, of course, about Jack Torrance.

(If you got the reference at the beginning, why then you, too, are an elitist, and the best kind at that.)