Let's face it, when you have to reference a team from Altoona when searching for an accomplishment for the Pirates organization, that silver lining on the horizon is little more than a thread from a spider web. You know what Altoona is better known for than the Curve? That giant Sheetz. Yes, a gas station is the biggest thing that Altoona has going for it (Yo yo, MTO!). I can admire Mark's desire to be an optimist, but he's flirting with lunacy on this one. When I first read his poor hopeful column, two scenarios played out in my head.
First, picture a scene in late spring of 1986 in Ukraine. You see a man picking through the rubble that was his home. He's wearing one of those furry Russian hats with the flaps over his ears. Chernobyl, the power plant a few miles away, blew up a few days prior, yet the man has a smile on his face. He just found his fishing net, and he is heading for the nearby stream. His son always wanted a pet goldfish that glowed in the dark and had three eyes. What luck! Perhaps all this radiation was a blessing in disguise!
Second, imagine a portly madam in an evening gown. She has been sailing for several days on a lavish yacht bound for New York City in 1912. She hears a screeching rending of metal followed by chaotic screams and people dashing in the hallway. In the terror, her primal instinct guides her feet to the dining room, while the others scramble for lifeboats. She reasons that with everyone evacuating the buffet line, she will have free reign of that pile of French toast sticks she had been eyeing. Fortune had smiled upon her! She has all the French toast she could ever want!
Ok, let me try to tie these nightmares of a meth addict to our baseball situation. Mark's chartreuse cancer fish is the Altoona Curve. The Curve is his platter of brown rectangular cubes of cholesterol. Of course, we would all enjoy a pet that doubles as a night light or some sugary French toast. But not in the wake of a NUCLEAR MELTDOWN! Not during the sinking of the TITANIC! Yes, the AA Altoona Curve had a successful season. Bravo. But you can't place their season on a scale of good versus bad and expect it to equalize the crushing weight of a 100+ loss season. It's like finding the perfect pet in the destruction of Chernobyl or a steaming hot smorgasbord as the icy north Atlantic envelops you. Is it optimism, or irrelevant to the point of insanity? Sorry Mark, but in light of the above proceedings, I have to suggest a change in the column's title to Disappointments and Disappointments. I pity the poor hopeful bastard, really I do.
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