Unlike my fetish for sub-Mendoza Line infielders, I have a soft spot for situational lefty relievers which bears no relationship to my own baseball experience--I'm not left-handed, couldn't top 50 MPH on the gun at last report, and have no idea where the ball's going when I'm in the middle of my windup. My bizarre attachment is mostly likely related to the endless parade of spot lefties opposing managers have called out of their bullpens to face the meat of the Yankee batting order over the past several years: the lefty Paul O'Neill, switch-hitting Bernie Williams, lefty Tino Martinez and switch-hitter Jorge Posada, usually in that order.
Lefties in general tend to be oddballs, but some of these relievers really stood out. The Indians' Paul Assenmacher (a/k/a "The Assmaster," for obvious reasons) was a particular favorite; with his scraggly salt-and-pepper beard and sleepy complexion, he looked like a hobo rousted out of a Night Train-induced stupor to face one batter. Another funny-faced fave is Dennis Cook, the well-travelled Texan referred to in these quarters as "Cletus, the Slack-Jawed Spot Lefty". Cook, whom I watched a lot during his time with the Mets and previously with the Marlins during their championship run, cocks his head to the side, mouth slightly agape, and squints as he gets the sign from the catcher, as if to say, "Y'all want me to WHAT?" Needless to say, and despite evidence to the contrary, it's not a look which suggests intelligence, unless we're talking the intelligence of an iguana.
Cook got some bad news on Monday, being diagnosed with a torn labrum and a partially torn rotator cuff. At 39 and already talking of retirement at season's end, he may well be done. A similar fate befell fellow well-aged lefty Norm "The Arsonist" Charlton earlier this year, getting me all nostalgic for those 7+ ERAs.
Without wishing to make light of Cook's situation (I obviously enjoy having him around the game, even if his current gig in Anaheim is well off my radar), the image of Cook which popped into mind was him giving the doctor that same look as he gives the catcher and saying something like: "Doc, the jointy thing whut bends my arm when I throws feels like the time that possum bit me. He sure cooked up real nice, though."
Sorry. It was enough to keep me laughing an entire afternoon. I know, I'm a very bad man. Get well soon, Dennis Cook.
