Hang around long enough and this game will make you cry uncle. In honor of the rooks and veterans present, we'll put together a triptych of words and gifs. It's worth mentioning that all of this existentialism happened in one inning. Fifteen minutes. Also, click the GIFs for magic.
1. Things were starting to feel like college all over again for him. Trying to make his way on a team, doubts returning, years of power seemingly sapped. Sometimes he looked out onto the field and just wondered how long it might last. Was this all really real? Was he starting at first base for the New York Mets in his home state? When would the curtain be pulled back? When would they all know? No. He would not go gently. No. He would fight his way, knee by knee. No. He would grab dirt by the fistful, and he would get that goddamn glove to the bag in time.
2. What the hell was he doing here, at second base in San Francisco? First it was thanks, but could you move over to third for the Oriole defense. Then it was thanks, but we need a prospect for you. Then it was thanks, but we heard the Padres think you're a shortstop. Then there was no job, and then, of course, one of the worst offenses in the league needed help. Step in for Juan Uribe, right? Juan F'in Uribe. Then all the way around the diamond to the other side... and rumors of release. What do they want from him? Do they want this? Do they want him on his knees? Do they want him to crawl for it? Is this, is THIS what they want?
3. He knew, standing there on first, chest heaving, and that he had one thing to thank for his success. Thank god for the knuckleball. No ligaments in his throwing elbow? No problem. No working plantar fasciitis in one foot? Meh. Strained glute? What can you do when you're 36. Just keep your nose up, your head in the game and know one thing. It could all fall apart at any second.