We’re into August, and the Cleveland Indians are out of it.
Not just out of the race for a playoff spot, but out of sight, out of mind, and out of the national consciousness. If you go on ESPN, you have to click “show all” to find out whether the sorry Tribesmen have won or, more likely, lost — probably in a shutout.
This is the season that wasn’t. A team that some predicted to win the World Series has never really been in contention, or even generated much excitement. There have been no thrilling winning streaks, or key series. The poor Indians have to scratch and claw just to score one run. It would suck to be a pitcher on this team — you feel that you need to throw a shutout to even have a chance of winning. The pressure on the pitchers must be immense, every game.
I’m not blaming Terry Francona. He can’t get up there and swing the bat, and he’s doing the best he can with a team comprised of batters who may someday aspire to reach the level of “banjo hitters.” I’m not sure what can be done with them — and right now I don’t much care.
I was thinking the other day of the glory years of the mid-90s, when the Tribe fielded a murderers’ row lineup that included the likes of Albert Belle, Manny Ramirez, Jim Thome, Kenny Lofton, Carlos Baerga, Omar Vizquel, and Sandy Alomar, among others. I looked forward to watching their games after work, because it was fun baseball and you never felt that they were ever really out of a game no matter how big the other team’s lead. Now . . . not so much. It’s time to move on to college football.