Don't cringe because the title of the first blog entry of the last blog you'll ever need to read came from the pen of William Shakespeare. I figured it would be best to start off shaky and end strong, like the reverse construction of the Leaning Tower of Pisa or that other crazy building in Dubai. I realize this is, first and foremost, a baseball blog, so overdone or repetitive references to heady classical authors such as Chaucer, Dickens, or Stephenie Meyers will be suppressed. Irregardless*, I will examine Sir Shakespeare's quote in an effort to shed light on the name and purpose of this blog.
Names and titles can come from anywhere, so I'll start by talking about a possible origin for this blog which shall be entitled Those Poor Hopeful Bastards.
One warm, sunny day last summer, I biked to work in a particularly cheerful and pleasant mood. As I neared my place of employment, the foot traffic along the cleanly swept sidewalks of that mid-Atlantic harbor town multiplied, forcing me to dismount and weave around tourists. Light shone gaily on everyone's face, giving an air of amiable anticipation. Even the bums who leaned against the buildings along the path covered themselves in today's funnies rather than the obituaries. Seagulls cackled and ships hailed one another with strong, sociable horn blasts, composing a rhythmic refrain which amplified the genial surroundings.
The crowds were massing to Camden Yards, a Kaaba for baseballites. A club from the north was challenging our warriors that evening on the hallowed meadow of Kentucky Bluegrass. Children danced around the throngs of visitors, chasing one another in games of Pickle. I plodded merrily on, taking in the festivities of the evening. When I approached the entrance where I was to deposit my bicycle, I took a few final moments to revel in the buzz of excited travelers entering the sacred iron gates of our Coliseum. I noticed two young girls, eyes wide with wonderment, passing through the turnstile for the first time. Their faces were painted orange and black, and two cursive "O's" creased in the dimples of their smiling cheeks. My heart beamed gladly and I turned to head for the usher's locker room and prepare for my night of shepherding a section of jovial fans in the upper deck. During the act of turning, my peripherals caught sight of a figure and dragged my eyes to center on the person.
A squat, gourd-shaped man was leaning against the Warehouse wall with his arms crossed. He paid homage to the recently relevant rival team from the north evidenced by the crimson insignia on his cap. He wore a polo shirt and khaki shorts, with tall socks draining into tired boat shoes. By the look of him, one could tell that he had money, but he could not figure out how to dress like it. His squinty, wide-set eyes darted from the merry sight of the two children entering the Eutaw gates to me. I was caught with my mouth agape, my mind identifying that man as an irritating smudge on a priceless painting. His eyes leveled to mine and his pursed mouth smirked smugly. Nodding at the orange-clad girls, he sneered "Those poor hopeful bastards, they don't know that Baltimore ain't got a chance." Minutes later, a storm rolled in, everyone got poured on, and the game was canceled.
Now that's quite a powerful story from which our blog's name was sourced, but unfortunately, that story is rubbish. Never happened. Instead, Mark and I were chatting online one day and one of us just thought it up, along with our other possibilities. We preferred it to:
Those Poor Bastards – similar, but more pathetic
Birds and Buccos: Renewed Glory – what?
McNugget's Nuggets, Steiny's Hiney – for obvious reasons
Revenge of the Birds...and Pirates – lame
Two Guys One Mitt – just disgusting
It seems that Those Poor Hopeful Bastards is here to stay...unless we think of a better name tomorrow. Maybe I should thumb through my copy of Hamlet to see if my friend Bill S. has any more zingers for us. Ok, seriously, a moratorium on Shakespeare references from here on out. Looking to the future, our posts will be more insightful, and, er, baseball-related. Mark has personally guaranteed it. Anyways, welcome to our blog about O's Stroh's and Natty Bohs, and Raising the Jolly Roger!
*I can't stand it when people say "irregardless", and I wanted to draw attention to that fact.
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