Well, guys, it’s the end of March and that can only mean one thing. Opening day, the prancing of the Clydesdales, the crack of the bat, the smack of the glove and the screaming into the void over whatever it is that’s wrong with Adam Wainwright.
GOOD GRIEF.
Listen, I looooooove me some Adam Wainwright. In fact, I’ve dedicated the better part of the last decade building up elaborate delusions in my head about how we are MEANT FOR EACH OTHER.
Wainwright is everything that I love about sports. Skilled, sure, but more than that he is a PRESENCE. This has only become more pronounced as he’s aged into the “wily old veteran” role in the Cardinals dugout. I recognize some might find it grating, but his earnestness and unflinching DORKINESS make me blush like a debutante. I CANNOT HELP MYSELF.
I’m also obsessed with his approach on the mound. It’s like, “okay, I’m 97 years old. I cannot throw harder than 32 miles an hour. HOWEVER, I will catch you looking on a curve that wanders four miles in the wrong direction before sliding over the corner of the plate at a pace you could probably OUTRUN.” It’s like hanging out with a retired literature professor at a nursing home. You don’t know if he’s going to recite Faulkner verbatim or crap his pants. It is MESMORIZING.
This is all to say that despite our ongoing love affair that will never die, I have about HAD IT UP TO HERE with how fragile and delicate he so often seems to be. THAT’S MY JOB, BABE!
Remember in 2011 when approximately 14 minutes before he was scheduled to throw out the season opener’s first pitch the team doctors were just like, “WHOOOOPS! Yeaaah, your throwing arm is basically just a useless bag of skin.”
HAHAHAHA, OMG that was such a striking blow to a tender new year that was so full of promise! LET’S ALL GO CRAWL INTO THE FETAL POSITION AND BEG FOR THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH! This is sort of like that, but with his crotch.
(I could point out the obvious, which is that the Cardinals did in fact go on to win the World Series that year, but if you learn anything about me in this first oratorical MASTERPIECE, it’s that I rarely let reality get in the way of my histrionics.)
Anyway, the shiniest silver lining of this whole debacle is that rather than sidelining him from now until we are able to successfully sustain life on Mars, he will only be out a handful of weeks. Waino has made it clear that his priority is pitching deep into October, rather than mirroring the 2022 performance that saw him toss a strong first half only to have him run out of gas by August.
The second blow softener is that the remainder of the rotation has had a surprisingly effective spring with Jake Woodford emerging as a capable stand in until Uncle Charlie can return to form. It’s a relatively rag tag group when you factor in the new backstop behind the plate and the recent changes to the coaching staff, so this is a pleasant surprise to be sure.
So while it is indeed a GRADE A BUMMER that Waino won’t be on the hill for his very last Opening Day, I think we can all agree that the important thing is that he will make a swift and hopefully dynamic return.
And also that he loves me very, very much. I cannot emphasize that last part enough.
Lindsay Trumbull is a writer, Cardinals fan and Adam Wainwright enthusiast from Muscatine, IA. She previously spent time penning missives for Cards Diaspora. She loves dogs, hates the oxford comma and will not entertain the idea of fruit on pizza DO NOT EVEN ASK.
