[H]e was able to pitch out of trouble until the eighth, when a single by LF Randy Winn and double by 2B Bret Boone sent him to the showers.
Here is the sample of [Whitman’s] obnubilate, incoherent, convulsive flub-drub.
WHERE it chaunced me, thErle of Cassalis, amonges other noblemen and gentilmen of Scotland, to be taken prisoner at the jorneye of Solom Mosse, and that is pleased the Kinges Majestie, after His Highnes had admytted us to his presence, at our desir to let us retourn into our countreye uppon our bandes and hostages, that we shuld reentre in to his Realme, when it shold please His Majestie by Hym self to his Wardens to require us ; thies shalbe to declare and tesefie to all mean, that I the said Erle, beygne required by the Lorde Wharton, oone of His Majesties Wardens, to reentre at a speciall daye appoyntede, have accordinge to my bonde and promyse repared to His Majestie for the relief of myne hostages.
Does this mean, then, that there can be no such thing as a theory of literature?
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