Mariners just defeated the Detroit Tigers 9-3.
You did it. I asked & you came through. Ty France is out of his slump. And I guess Ty deserves some credit, but I'm giving the lion's share to you, Diary.
You want to know why I know Ty is officially out of his slump, Diary? His home run. And not that he hit a home run. For the record, he crushed a ball just to the right of centerfield, to the deepest part of Comerica Park--maybe the deepest part of any ballpark in the game.
But it had nothing to do with how far he hit the homer either, Diary. 438-feet, if you were wondering. The third longest opposite field blast in MLB this season, or so I read.
No, I know that Ty France is out of his slump because of how the ball left the park. It was a wall-scraper, Diary. A 438-foot f'ing Wall-Scraper, if you can believe it. That's how far that portion of the fence is from homeplate in Detroit. And when you're still slumping, that 438-foot blast would have hit the top of the wall, caromed back to the centerfielder, and Ty would have been held to the longest single in the sports' history.
That's just the way it goes when you're in a slump. You don't have to play baseball to know that. Nobody gets a pay raise at work & walks out of the office to a flat tire. Flat tires are for people in slumps.
When you're struggling to make good conversation on a first date, the girl doesn't just lean over and say "it's okay, talking is hard. Let's just make out." No, she withdraws, sending the message that "you're going to have to do better than this". So, you try harder. And just when there seems no hope, you deliver the perfect date-saving comedic line, sliding a pop culture reference brilliantly into the natural flow of conversation. But then, she's never seen "Deadpool". And your comment about avocados came off as being mildly amusing but mostly disgusting. In other words, your 438-foot blast was directed to the wrong part of the ballpark, and it hit the top of the fence. You, sir, are still in a slump.
But Ty isn't. His avocado joke left the ballpark. A man that hates running jogged around the basepaths like a stocky dimpled peacock with feathers unfurled. The look of a man no longer slumping. And it's a good thing. The Mariners need him.
Oh, Ty France is back alright, Diary. And despite what some Root Sports hosts (Angie) might say, Bucky and I never doubted. Not for a second. Ty is our guy, Diary. And apparently yours, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have answered my wish.
You're good, Diary. You're really really good.