Occasionally I get a case of crippling insomnia that keeps me up for basically the entire night. During those hours of restlessness, I think about a plethora of very weird things. One of those recent weird things was about the possibility of some sort of robot humans already existing in our midst. I know this means I’m certifiably insane, but, it’s fine. Like anyone pondering the possibilities of robots living among us, I naturally began to think about this idea in relation to the White Sox. If a White Sox player was a robot, which player would it be?
The first parameter is that a robot is obviously going to be very good at baseball. Programmed to be entertainingly athletic, invulnerable to imperfections of the rotting meat sacks that house our souls, there would theoretically be no stopping the robot if it were operating at its highest setting. The caveat is that a robot in Major League Baseball would not want to be detected. I have not had the time to review the entirety of the new Collective Bargaining Agreement, but surely Tony Clark & Co. made sure to include some language about not being replaced by an army of A.I. players at some juncture. This means that the player would be incredibly athletic, likely precise in his actions and good at baseball, but likely with some glaring flaws included so as to not garner suspicion, or just because the robot player manufacturing contract was awarded to the lowest bidder.
Avisail Garcia could not possibly be a robot. A robot would come with programmed knowledge of the strike zone, and Garcia…well, you get where I am going with this. There’s no way that Melky Cabrera could be a robot because he shows far too much emotion. When was the last time you saw a robot fall down at the most random times for no reason at all? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Adam Eaton and Chris Sale cannot be the White Sox robot because they aren’t on the White Sox. Seriously, I’m fine with that. Don’t worry about me at all. Todd Frazier isn’t the robot because robots don’t like jazz. It’s a scientific fact. None of the guys in the bullpen are robots because I said so. Especially Nate Jones. There’s no way a robot would tear its UCL.
A robot would not give up 500 home runs in the same season. It would be ludicrous, and even if it did, it would not involve so much grunting. Therefore, James Shields is not the robot. Carlos Rodon isn’t the robot because I refuse to believe that a robot could be that beautiful. Now that we’ve played a sufficient game of process of elimination, we are left with a few candidates to be the White Sox robot. Mainly, Jose Quintana and Tim Anderson.
Quintana could be the robot because of his inhuman ability to put his pitches exactly where he wants them. In a world of pitchers with great stuff and no control, Jose Quintana has pinpoint accuracy. It’s simply not natural and highly suspicious. Does he have command, or is he executing commands?
His flaws, occasionally hanging a breaking ball and giving up a run or two, are enough to divert attention away from him. Not to mention that perhaps he has convinced the entire team (through mind control perhaps??) to prevent him from getting wins. To a smart robot, pitcher wins are dumb and pointless. Thus, it would serve as a great diversion from the fact that he’s a magnificently talented robot pitcher. Getting busted as a teenager for PEDs; another great diversion. Although all of this serves as a great argument for Quintana being the White Sox robot, I don’t believe it is him.
The White Sox robot is Tim Anderson. Up until a few years ago he wasn’t even programmed to play baseball, but since being rewired he has risen to the big leagues in a short amount of time, evidence of a high processing speed. His dazzling athleticism has been on display and he even showed some shocking power in 2016. Despite being a professional baseball player with a beautiful family, Anderson appears incapable of cracking a smile. Seriously, he’s dead inside, or just whirring inside, softly, while a fan keeps his innards from overheating.
Anderson has the glaring weakness of striking out a bit too often and literally never taking a walk. A robot would certainly have a great knowledge of the strike zone and ability to identify pitches. However, it would be too suspicious if he was walking at Barry Bonds rates, as even Barry Bonds walking at Barry Bonds rates was suspicious. Besides, the goal of a robot would be entertainment and research. Would it be more entertaining to see if a robot could be programmed to swing at and hit every single pitch no matter what, or for it to get on base and be stranded at second over and over. Instead, our robot uses his immense knowledge to pinpoint exactly how to crush every pitch with the barrel of his bat.
This coming season for the White Sox will be full of misfortune and failures. It may at times be completely unwatchable. There will be hilarious blunders that bring levity. There will be frustration at monotonous losing. There will be tears as Sale wins 25 games for a Boston crowd more concerned if they gave up too much surplus value in the trade. White Sox fans can rest easy, however, in knowing that the middle infield will be manned by a robot and a Greek god for many years to come.
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