Three starts in, and Blake Snell is still on the runway, still waiting to take off. The passengers along for the ride are clearly starting to fidget: no legroom, no food and drink service, pricey wifi, the seatbelt sign cruelly lit. Every jolt forward or announcement from the cockpit met with hope—this is a sign, we’re about to get moving. And just as quickly: vague updates from the pilot promising progress easily boggled around to reiterations of our current arrested reality: you’re gonna have to keep waiting.
In this one, there were certainly some flashes of the Snell Cy Young stuff of old—though brief and observable with a microscope.