Natstown, this is a public service announcement. You have less than three months to build yourself a sealed bunker, stock up on canned yams, completely cut yourself off from news of the outside world, and invest in some high-powered air conditioning. Or better yet, just cryogenically freeze yourself for the next two-three years.
Rafael Soriano is about to turn this city into a living hell.
My esteemed colleague has already pointed out some excellent reasons to detest Rafael Soriano, but I feel a personal obligation to lend the weight of my fury to his. In case any of you are still adopting a “wait and see” attitude to the Nats’ latest signing, it is time that you were set straight. Rafael Soriano brings nothing but pain and suffering to the teams to which he lends his “services,” and the Nats are about to become his latest victim.
I know. I know it all too well. You see, I too have dabbled in Yankee fandom, having come of age in a town where the only other alternative was the Mets. I know what it’s like to have Rafael Soriano to be on a team that you are rooting for. To be hoping against hope that he will successfully end a game, all the while hating his every movement. To watch with horror as he inevitably turns the game into a waking nightmare, a hellscape of erratic control, long home runs, and pouting. And even on the rare occasion when he does get the save, to squirm in revulsion as he untucks his jersey, baring his demon-belly to the world as if he were opening Pandora’s Stomach Box.
You too will know soon enough, unless you take the appropriate measures to protect yourself (as listed above). Our bullpen will be slowly corrupted by his foul presence. The outfield grass will whither and die, rather than be trod on by his his odious feet. By the time he blows the save that eliminates the Nationals from the 2013 playoffs, the citizens of Natstown will have forgotten what it means to smile, to hope, to dream…to love.
If there is one positive to the Soriano deal, it’s this: the 2013 Nationals were looking a little too likable. With Sean Burnett leaving the defiled homes of DC for the virginal and unsuspecting houses of Anaheim and Ian Desmond just not sucking as much as he used to, this team was lacking a primary target for my constantly simmering anger. But this? I didn’t want this. I never wanted this. This is too much horrible. I don’t know if this city can handle this much pure evil.
When Natstown is finally dragged down to the ninth inning of Soriano’s Inferno, don’t say I didn’t warn you.