I want to know exactly how the approval meeting for this abomination before God and man went down.
A daring fusion of flavors in a Cincy chili-flavored ice cream: the creamy ice cream is infused with warm chili spices. Swirled throughout are crunchy oyster crackers and shreds of cheese that provide a tangy contrast to the sweet treat. This unconventional union offers a bold, adventurous taste experience that combines zesty ice cream with crunchy elements in every bite.
Then there’s the poor marketing people who had to admit to the general public that this… thing actually exists, and not only that, but that it is a good thing. I imagine whoever wrote this copy went straight to the thesaurus for “abomination before God and man,” and, failing that, was forced to kick around “daring” and “unconventional” and “adventurous” and “crunchy elements.”
The Entirety of Time and Space
This is Graeter’s way of admitting that look, this is disgusting, we know it’s disgusting, but perhaps if we dress it up as an extreme thrill ride for the taste buds you’ll vomit because of that instead of the fact that you are eating chili-flavored ice cream that also contains cheese. Nobody wants this, nobody asked for this, and in fact nobody had ever even thought of this because the vast unnecessariness of it spans the entirety of time and space. This ice cream creates its very own black hole via negative amounts of want.
I suppose the obvious baseball connection here is that this product is bad, the Reds are bad, and now the Bengals are also bad, and we didn’t do anything to anybody, so why is this happening?
The Baking
But I do, in fact, have an analogy. I don’t make ice cream, but I do bake (badly.) And I learned the hard and unappetizing way that if your dough is wrong, the finished product will also be wrong, The baking will not save you. The baking might even make it worse.
So if you–as I did two days ago– completely forget the second cup of flour for the chocolate chip cookies, the result will be a thin layer of black, ominous cookie-related material spread throughout the sheet. Placidly living its life there in the mixing bowl, this Fail Dough looked good enough. It tasted good enough.
But it was in no way enough.
The Parts
Now this is what we have suffered with the Reds: The elements are lovely, most of them, but no one seems to be able to figure out how much of each to use, and in what amount.
That is what’s so agonizing about the current form of this team. They are good ballplayers. But they could be better ballplayers. They are more than their parts, but the parts keep breaking down, slipping up, and settling for disaster.
So now we’ve had a change in chef. Terry Franconia has indicated that look, what brought him here wasn’t the money or the need to get back to baseball (or, as I theorized, a buy-in offer of Fiona.) He looked at the Reds and liked what he saw.
He is a man who enjoys a challenge and believes he can not only salvage this particular group of players, but get something above– dare we hope– the .500 zone.
Is it enough, or does it just look like it?
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