Yes, Chase Headley is out for at least a month with a broken thumb.
Yes, Casey Kelly might need Tommy John surgery (Still unknown at the time of writing this).
Yes, Padres prospect Rymer Liriano needs Tommy John surgery.
Yes, Andrew Cashner is a dummy.
Yes, Yasmani Grandal is an even dumber dummy.
Yes, Carlos Quentin is still Carlos Quentin.
A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical value — you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble‐sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand‐to‐hand‐combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindbogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you — daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.
More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: nonhitchhiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet-weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might have accidentally “lost.”
At least we’ll be getting towels, of both the beach and rally/golf variety, as a promotional giveaway this season.
In fact, has anyone ever looked into whether or not the person in charge of promotions is a Hitchhiker’s Guide fan? That would explain so much.
Tom Garfinkel, I’m looking in your general direction…
One of the things Ford Prefect had always found hardest to understand about humans was their habit of continually stating and repeating the very very obvious, as in It’s a nice day, or You’re very tall, or Oh dear you seem to have fallen down a thirty-foot well, are you alright? At first Ford had formed a theory to account for this strange behaviour. If human beings don’t keep exercising their lips, he thought, their mouths probably seize up. After a few months’ consideration and observation he abandoned this theory in favour of a new one. If they don’t keep on exercising their lips, he thought, their brains start working. After a while he abandoned this one as well as being obstructively cynical.
At least we’re not Miami Marlins fans. Their owner is a whack-job.
“I checked it very thoroughly,” said the computer, “and that quite definitely is the answer. I think the problem, to be quite honest with you, is that you’ve never actually known what the question is.”
“But it was the Great Question! The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything,” howled Loonquawl.
“Yes,” said Deep Thought with the air of one who suffers fools gladly, “but what actually is it?”
A slow stupefied silence crept over the men as they stared at the computer and then at each other.
“Well, you know, it’s just Everything … Everything …” offered Phouchg weakly.
“Exactly!” said Deep Thought. “So once you know what the question actually is, you’ll know what the answer means.”
The answer is 42. But what is the question?
- How many Tommy John surgeries will the Padres pitchers have to undergo this year?
- How many home runs will Everth Cabrera hit this season?
- The number of combined games Carlos Quentin and Kyle Blanks will appear in this season?
- The number of games Bud Black will get thrown out of?
- That movie with Harrison Ford about Jackie Robinson?
I don’t know. I’ll let you decide.
“The chances of finding out what’s really going on in the universe are so remote, the only thing to do is hang the sense of it and keep yourself occupied … Look at me: I design coastlines… I’d far rather be happy than right any day.”
“And are you?”
“No, that’s where it all falls down, of course.”
“Pity, it sounded like quite a good lifestyle otherwise.”
Josh Byrnes apparently designs coastlines to keep himself occupied. Because he sure didn’t have much luck improving the Padres lineup.
The story so far:
In the beginning the Universe was created.
This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.
If this doesn’t sum up what it means to be a Padres fan, I don’t know what does.
“Listen, three eyes,” he said, “don’t you try to outweird me, I get stranger things than you free with my breakfast cereal.”
Zaphod had seen the whole universe stretching to infinity around him — everything. And with it had come the clear and extraordinary knowledge that he was the most important thing in it. Having a conceited ego is one thing. Being told by a computer is another.
Replace Zaphod with Sandy Alderson and you have Alderson’s Padres reign in a nutshell.
“The first ten million years were the worst,” said Marvin, “and the second ten million years, they were the worst too. The third ten million years I didn’t enjoy at all. After that I went into a bit of a decline.”
It seems like the decades of the Padres existence have been millions of years, doesn’t it?
It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.
Okay, this does just as good a job as that “creation of the universe” thing in describing what it means to be a Padres fan.
“Well, you’re obviously being totally naive of course”, said the girl, “When you’ve been in marketing as long as I have, you’ll know that before any new product can be developed it has to be properly researched. We’ve got to find out what people want from fire, how they relate to it, what sort of image it has for them.”
The crowd were tense. They were expecting something wonderful from Ford.
“Stick it up your nose,” he said.
“Which is precisely the sort of thing we need to know,” insisted the girl, “Do people want fire that can be fitted nasally?”
“And the wheel,” said the Captain, “What about this wheel thingy? It sounds a terribly interesting project.”
“Ah,” said the marketing girl, “Well, we’re having a little difficulty there.”
“Difficulty?” exclaimed Ford. “Difficulty? What do you mean, difficulty? It’s the single simplest machine in the entire Universe!”
The marketing girl soured him with a look.
“Alright, Mr. Wiseguy,” she said, “if you’re so clever, you tell us what colour it should be.”
For the last time, brown, dammit! Jebus, I HATE focus groups!
There was a point to this story, but it has temporarily escaped the chronicler’s mind.
Okay. NOW you can panic!
Apologies to the late, great Douglas Adams, who wrote the vast majority of what you just read in the books The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. If you haven’t at least read those two books, you have no sense of humor and I pity you.
Follow The Ghost on Twitter, where he spends most of his time making fun of people who are hospitalized from eating at Taco Bell. And, if you’re into that sort of thing, The Ghost is also Facebooking. And, occasionally, you can also find him Googling himself.