I really don't find it all that interesting that Gabe Kapler has decided to return to the majors. Of course, he will always have a special place in my heart along with all the members of that magical 2004 Red Sox team (except for you, Doug Mientkiewicz*), but this story really just doesn't have anything particularly compelling about it. So a journeyman outfielder whose career was steeped in mediocrity (.270 average, 64 homers over 850 games) gets bored after a year of coaching Class A ball in Hicksville, SC and decides to restart his career with a team coming off a season of blown potential and continued squandering of Prince Fielder's obscene talent. Yawn. Have fun hitting 9 home runs next season, Gabe.
What did catch my attention, however, was this little gem of a grammatical construction in a Boston.com post about Kapler's return:
"As far as the question about burning bridges, it could not be further from the truth," he said. "My relationship with [Sox] baseball [operations] is stronger than ever."
That looks to me like some pretty serious liberty being taken with brackets in the second sentence there. By those rules, Kapler's sentence could be mutilated to say any number of things. Observe:
"My relationship with [furry] baseball [mascots] is stronger than ever."
"My relationship with [footed] baseball [pajamas] is stronger than ever."
"My relationship with [eating] baseball [shaped cereal] is stronger than ever."
"My relationship with [crapping out] baseball [sized lumps of glass] is stronger than ever."
"My relationship with [bald, somewhat reminiscent of a storm trooper in a purple-and-black vest, and yet undeniably attractive with his bulging forearms and chiseled features that remind me so much of my own] baseball [player Matt Holliday] is stronger than ever."
and George Mitchell's personal favorite,
"My relationship with [taking] baseball [steroids] is stronger than ever."
That last one really calls the value of Kapler's legacy of competent fielding and lazy fly outs to center field into question.
And he and Matt Holliday would make a cute couple, if only the right-wing fascists of the Rockies management would allow them to express their love. Curse you and your god-fearing ways, Clint Hurdle!
*Yeah, I spelled that right on the first try. You wish you were me.