The telling, hopeful, perilous, confounding greatness of baseball rests with its 162-game season. The Big 162 represents the closest we come to ultimate sports Truth. Bad decisions might become good and smart people might turn dumb. But after six months of slogging, every team gets the face it deserves.
We’re brilliant in April and clueless in July, and nothing has changed but the calendar. In April, we wanted the Reds to either (A) replace their entire roster or (B) move. Since moving wasn’t an option, we behaved like Bluto in Animal House:
“Bailey? Done here! Hamilton? Gone!