Bob Gibson of the Cardinals pitching to Billy Crystal. Now that would have been entertaining.

Paul Maholm versus Crystal. Six polite pitches and a strikeout. Not so much.

I suspect Bob Gibson would have put Crystal in the dirt on his first pitch and then showed heat three times on the corner. At least during the exhibition season.

In a regular season game he might have just drilled him. I like to think so anyway.

Does this make me a terrible human being?

Baseball is serious business. A man could be killed in such employment. One was. Ray Chapman of the Cleveland Indians on August 16, 1920 was struck and killed by a pitch from Carl Mays of the New York Yankees.

Chapman was a 29 year old with the reflexes of his age. Billy Crystal is a sixty year old man known for his shtick work and not his stick work (actually this whole blog entry was written just so I could say that).

Let's say Maholm landed wrong, missed his release point and got up and in on Crystal. Could the comic have gotten out of the way in time against even a mid-80's fastball? It would be "When Harry Met Rawlings" with no Meg Ryan and no happy ending.

Which begs the question, where on earth did Meg Ryan get off to?

There are two schools of thought about Meg Ryan. The one I adhere to says she used to be the epitome of the girl next door type. Pretty, but not devastatingly so. Beauty with training wheels. Approachable, or at least giving the illusion of approachability.

Then again a friend of mine held to what we refer to as the Realist School. Took one look and pronounced with authority (being possessed of certainty on all subjects) "Meg Ryan is high maintenance." He's probably right. In the game of celebrity Meg Ryan is a free agent pitcher you paid $42 million over four who stays on the disabled list. But looks great the whole time.

Actually, now that I think about it, Meg Ryan's disappearance has a logical explanation. She worked with Tom Hanks. Twice. Everybody knows working with Hanks is the kiss of death for an actor. Name me one actor he's worked with who ever had any sort of career after that.

I'm waiting.

What were we talking about?

Ah, baseball. You see, this is the problem. In March you try to write about baseball and halfway through your thoughts turn to Meg Ryan and you're back in the dugout after dangling a few too many high hanging participles. Mid-season baseball blogging form is far away.

March is baseball's silly season. When the Yankees and Rays get in shoving matches over minor league catchers being taken out at the plate.

And Billy Crystal, who should have been thrown at on general principle, leads off at DH.

And Meg Ryan, who should have been there to watch and lend moral support, wasn't.

And bloggers can't find the plate.

With April closing in.