“You had The Look. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was the sudden, glassy-eyed rictus of confusion, as if you were momentarily retreating into yourself to attempt to answer the parallel questions “How did that ball wind up rolling to the backstop?” and “Where did all this shit in the bed come from?”

– From Mark Lisanti’s piece on Grantland on Friday, which I thought was the perfect obit for the A.J. Burnett era in The Bronx. I actually sent Burnett a tweet this morning, as I do feel sympathy for him, simply because it must be pretty fucking difficult to wake up every day knowing that your athletic career will be defined by your inability to effectively harness your obvious talent.