l'aine de la douleur/the groin of sorrow: bongs and songs before the storm

It only took about 10 minutes, but The Dodgers already have an injured starter. Russell Martin, after gaining thirty goddamn pounds (an apparent fuck-you to Belliard,)has injured his groin this week and is reportedly out 4 to 6 weeks. I know that the incessant dickmachine of Twitter and Facebook, as well as shitty blogs like this, will be abuzz with questions, commentaries and general shit-talking about his weight. And besides Blake Dewitt batting .800 after three games, that's all there is to talk about. But I must take responsibility for this one. Maybe the best way to get that "pop" back in your swing or whatever the fuck they call it, is not eating cake batter off of French-Canadian models for six months. But that's not the reason why Martin injured his groin. It's my fault.

See, every season I buy a t-shirt jersey of my favorite player or at least someone I want to see do well and cheer for and the same thing happens every year. They get hurt and/or suck. And then get traded. I should have known this would happen. Russell Martin has more or less been my favorite player since his rookie year. I'll be the first person to dismiss his slumped-up offensive performance last season. He's still that bad-ass catcher who calls the game, plays all the time, defensively down, seemingly indestructible. Well last season, I bought the Martin jersey and didn't panic until this week. Then I thought about the last few seasons and what jerseys I got. Nomar Garciaparra, Cesar Izturis, Milton Bradley, oh fuck.
Injuries, Baltimore and attitude, respectively. Now I know what's next for Martin. An injury, a down turn, fifty more pounds and a bullshit season. Or, Russell could come back and prove everyone wrong and start the All-Star game. I hope we're all wrong and all is well.
Lucky for me and everyone else, I can't afford to buy a t-shirt jersey this year. As long as Russell Martin doesn't get as fat as Andruw Jones or hit under .200 like that fucked up loser, we'll be all right. At least with Andruw, we have a rock bottom exhibit A. And millions of dollars to throw in a fire. As long as Martin plays more games than Andruw Jones did in 2008, hit above .200 and not somehow exceed 350 pounds. One time in the parking lot, I heard a grandmother refer to Andruw Jones as "a bunk, fat motherfucker." You said it, abuelita.

The beauty of Spring is that while I normally piss on religion, I'm lighting candles and having long, heavy talks with the Earthmother for Russell Martin's groin. I'm excavating dark places inside my soul so that some asshole jock from Canada about the same age as me, whom I've never met, can have his fucking groin back to being healthy and productive. I just hope he's tip-top for opening day so we can do this shit. I say, Here's to Russell Martin's groin! Take a deep breath from the bong and put on some Coltrane. This is your last month of sanity.