When I first heard the name “Kelly Johnson” two years ago, I snickered the stunningly puerile snicker of one who had spent too many morning hours listening to Howard Stern.
Kelly = a shade of green.
Johnson = ah, you know.
It wasn’t funny then. It’s twice as unfunny after today. There’s nothing funny about a Kelly Johnson. Or his bat.
Suffice it to say that for at least one weekend, the Braves are The Aristocrats of the National League East. They’re quite an act.
In deference to the obscene final score, I’ll forego the Cox jokes.