It's The Return of Hanley Day! Or as Mrs. SCWS would call it—The Return of Hammy Day! (No, for realzies. She woke up this morning and asked about that guy, Hammy Rodriguez. I kinda like it.)
I'm still not sure I care about this trade like I should. As a Marlins fan, I feel like I should have felt something when they traded their franchise player, but I felt nothing. I literally gave no fucks. Like, if at any point this year Hammy Rodriguez was being chased by a pack of crazed, horned tiger-demons and all he needed to fight them off was a lone fuck—just ONE fuck—and I was standing two feet away with an infinite amount of fucks in a book bag slung over my shoulder, he'd probably be better off just sticking his head into one of their mouths and getting it over with, because there wasn't even a remote chance of me giving a single, solitary fuck.
And maybe there's a reason. I mean, fourteen games does not a sample size make, but that's what Hammy's played for the Dodgers so far and this is what's come of it: .226/.328/.358. His OPS is actually a negative number. Statisticians are still trying to figure that one out. But, I mean, is that really all that much worse than what we were witnessing down here?
So, Hammy brings his broken swing and oh-so-bubbly personality back to Marlins Park tonight, where he'll be booed by many and cheered by few, all of whom will be disappointed by a 1-4 night, highlighted by a two-out, nobody-on, bloop single in the seventh. Because even drama underachieves when it gets to Miami.
So, yeah, whatever. Welcome back, Hammy. I guess. I see you. Or something.
BONUS "I SEE YOU" PHOTOSHOPS!