And as far as being fair weather fans, well yeah, it can hardly be helped. We have a lot of fair weather down here, even if we’re kinda short on good pizza.

Hope your guys throw some surprises at the NL East.

He’s Slobbering Ozzie’s pet project, much as Friendo is mine. The difference is that I have no sentimental illusions about who or what Friendo is.

Meantime, Krazy Karlos got slapped around by the Borg pretty good tonight – helping himself to a five-run debacle by walking seven. In volcanology, there’s a telltale sort of quake pattern that sets in just before an eruption, called a harmonic tremor. I do believe we’re witnessing the first harmonic tremors of Lamebraino’s 2012 campaign. We shall see this, too.

I think there are also key performance problems, health issues notwithstanding. Watching Ricky Nolasco get sheschmetered by the Borg yesterday reminds us how erratic he can be, great stuff or not. And as I’ve been saying since the horrible news of his acquisition reached me this past weenter, Krazy Karlos Lamebraino is a liability on many levels, psychiatric issues notwithstanding. He’s had a mediocre spring (to put it politely) and, conventional wisdom about spring aside, that’s pretty much consistent with where he was last year before he went Jet Blue Cockpit on the Cubs. His hermano and guardian harpy Slobbering Ozzie thinks he can keep him focused, much less control him. We shall see. I remain skeptical.

The Feesh had one of the worst records with RISP last season. Their offensive addition this past weenter consisted entirely of adding Jose Reyes, who, while formidable when healthy, is a get-on-base guy but if the problem is driving runners home, a lot of his offense could be wasted. Aside from a maturing Iron Giant, the Feesh will need much better situational hitting out of the Hanster, Tweeter and, especially, Gabby Sanchez. If Tweeter hasn’t learned to keep his keyboard zipped and his mouse dry, and to bear down with men on base instead of popping the occasional bases-empty dinger, he may find himself playing somewhere else before the trade deadline – possibly New Orleans exile again. It would also help a lot if he has figured out where the ball is coming down and makes a more or less direct run for it, instead of tracing crop circles in the St. Augustine while he plots the Gravity’s Rainbow of the incoming projectile.

Then there’s the grossly overpaid John Buck, whose contract must have been a practice run for the forthcoming free agent camera safari on which Scrooge McLoria and the Chihuahua embarked last weenter. One must hope will handle the pitching staff well to compensate for his periodic flirtations with the Mendoza Line – though that’s a lot like being told by your friend that the blind date he is trying to arrange for you with his sister’s visiting college roommate will be justified by her great personality.