The WBC is kinda like... poop on your shoe.

Yes. Like poop on the bottom of your shoe. Please, allow me to explain...

We have a really old cat at home. She's like... 14 years old, and she has bladder stones. These stones make her pee extremely often. I'm talking like... 278 times a day, the poor thing. (I was going to insert a "it's not a going problem, it's a growing problem" joke here, but then I realized female cats ain't got no prostate. Shoot.) Anyway, she loves it on the bed, and sometimes we forget she's in there and close the door to the bedroom (because we don't want her in there, see?). Well, if she's in there more than 30 minutes, you pretty much know she'll have peed on the bed. (Is anyone still with me? It's going somewhere, I promise.) So, you kick her out of the bedroom, and make the walk over to the bed. Then you slowly flatten out the comforter to check for a spot. Then you see one. You know it's pee, right? But...you gotta smell it to make sure. You know...it could just be water. From a non-existent leak in the ceiling. Or... lemonade from the lemonade fairy (you just need to put a nickel under the pillow and BOOM free lemonade). But, of course, it's fricking pee.

What in the hell does the WBC have to do with cat pee on your bed? Or poop on your shoe? (Which is the same thing as the pee..you know it's dog shit, but maybe you smell it anyway. Just in case it's mud or, I dunno, a Tootsie Roll. In fact, I probably could've just written the preceding paragraph about poop on your shoe instead of a cat urinating on your bed, but I didn't.) Here's what...

I'm watching the WBC in horror as the team is completely and utterly mismanaged. I'm staring at the screen saying, "This is utter dog shit (or cat pee). What the hell is this?"
And I refuse to believe it's shit, and I convince myself it's real, honest, fair baseball. "It's not pee on my bed..." I say, "It's not."

But it IS dog shit. It IS cat piss. I still smell it to be sure, and rub my eyes in disbelief. But I know.

The US will never have a team in the WBC on a level playing ground with Korea, Japan, Cuba, or even Chinese Taipei. The MLB parent squads won't let it happen. That's why, and God knows I love him, you see Joel Hanrahan come in last night when Scott Shields was the obvious choice. That's why Evan Longoria pinch hits, but doesn't enter the game the next inning. Instead, Victorino goes out to play CF. That's why Brian McCann was playing left field the other day, and Davey Johnson contemplated throwing Ted Fucking Lilly out in the outfield the other day. (I can't make this shit up, folks.) That's why Jake Peavy sat there getting drilled against Puerto Rico, and why Oswalt wasn't pulled early enough last night. (Just to make sure Davey knew the rules, I screamed at the TV, "Davey... you know you can use your bullpen any God Damn time, right!!!?)

It's all run by an agenda that will never allow a manager to play to win. Longoria had to get an at bat. He was pulled from Spring Training for this. Victorino had to get his innings, too. As did Hanrahan, Peavy, Oswalt, Dunn, Granderson, and the rest.

The other squads didn't have to worry about making sure everybody got in, like they were in grade school softball. They played to win. They put their best 9 on the field, and didn't hesitate to pull their starting pitcher if he struggled. Yu Darvish threw the 9th inning last night, for Christ sake. The only way a starting pitcher on the US squad is gonna get stretched like that is if Hell freezes the fuck over.

It's cat piss, ya'll. No need to smell it, you know what it is.