Note. For the most angst-laden 2012 player preview, I've teamed up with blog pal schmenkman for a two-parter that will encompass both sides of the brain (we've done this before). At some point in the near future, schmenkman will give you the computer numbers. For this afternoon's consideration, I humbly submit:

Of Mere Playing

The Dom at the end of the bench,
Beyond the last scrub, rises
In the spring dugout.

A gold-plated tag
Sticks to the Dom, without humans thinking,
without humans analyzing, on philly.com.

We know then that he is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The birds flip. Their bloggers opine.

The Dom stands on the edge of sink.
The wrist heals slowly by the phalanges.
The birds' race-baited digits bring us down.

h/t Wallace Stevens