A low scoring game, missed opportunities against top pitching. Doubles to lead off innings wasted, meanwhile Jered Weaver is on the mound and the only blemish is a three run homer to Jesus Montero. This is a brutal game and a final stretch for the hall of shame...or glory...the Angels haven't decided yet. But here we are, stuck in this never ending cycle of The Game. Games like THIS. It is maddening.
Then a hero comes along with the strength to carry on, and you finally see the truth, that a hero lies in Jered Weaver when Kyle Seager says "**** you". When times are darkest for the Angels, we look to guys like Weaver to guide us out of the quagmire of Moreno-ist thought and Sciosciopathic behavior. But we're stuck in that rut...low scoring game, missed opportunities against top pitching. Get on base, doing nothing with it, nobody scoring except David Murphy on a solo dinger, and you JUST. CAN'T. SCORE.
So you get mad. Fuming. Nuclear meltdown destroying any semblance of peace in your brain.. We ALL get mad, fuming, nuclear meltdown, no peace. Only bleak Angels baseball. We are all Jered Weaver on that mound, staring down a guy who looks like a steakhead version of Todd Barry, and he's telling you to hold up, then dropping an F-bomb and looking at the ump for confirmation. We are all Weaver as he said "Ok. I'll be a part of this world" and threw that pill right in that hayseed's shoulder. We would get thrown out of the game, out of life, out of contention, out of the season, whatever. Weaver would get thrown out, out of the game, season, whatever.
Who cares. We are all Jered Weaver, suffering fools of the Seager variety and drawing a line in the sand, and we knew our decision would not be well received, but even the most necessary of revolt can look awfully messy. Weaver was fed up, just like us.