Baseball voices need to give us some credit

Just a brief, soft, friendly reminder to our beloved local sportscasters:

We’re not stupid!

Monday, Baltimore’s Robert Andino bounced into an easier-than-pie double play. Robinson Cano fielded near second, reached out to tag Nick Johnson, who had just begun his slide in front of Cano, then threw to first to beat Andino by plenty.

But on YES, Michael Kay was overwhelmed, telling us to consider what we just saw “a beautiful double play.” Cano had the dexterity and presence of mind to tag a sliding Nick Johnson before throwing to first.”

Good grief, had Cano not done exactly what he did, he would have been put on the disabled list to have his head examined! Dexterity and presence of mind?

Cano’s play was no more praiseworthy than eating a cookie. And Kay’s unctuous admiration of Cano for such a Williamsport-simple play was insulting to an audience that Kay often speaks to as dimwits.

Same night, over on SNY, Keith Hernandez praised Mets’ batters as “aggressively patient.”

Aggressively patient? That’s what these guys are turning us into, aggressive patients. “Nurse!”

Are aggressively patient batters those who, I dunno, check their swings a lot? Anything like a contact hitter?

(Today’s text poll question: Who is the best non-contact hitter in the majors? Standard text-messaging rates apply.)

Tuesday, the Yankees lost 5-2 in Baltimore. CC Sabathia had a bad night — six innings, four earned runs, eight hits, four walks. C’est la baseball.

Yet, during Ch. 9’s wrap, Ken Singleton found a sunny side: “CC did a good job of just giving up one run at a time.” Hello? Am I on the air? Hello?

To think that Sabathia could have done it all at once and gotten it over with! Or the O’s could have had two men score at the same time. He had a bunch of bad innings but avoided a big bad inning? Sweet!

Still, day in, day out, there’s no one more full of it — and the last to know it — than Mike Francesa. Tuesday, he condemned Nationals rookie Bryce Harper for excessive cockiness, even knocking the fact that a book already has been written about him.

But when a caller told him that Mickey Mantle had a book about him out in 1952, after his first full season with the Yankees (the caller was slightly off, ’52 was Mantle’s first full year, the book was published just before the start of the ’53 season). Francesa insulted the caller as a know-nothing, authoritatively insisting that no such book existed.

Later, when Francesa learned he was wrong, he went into his dishonest, excuse-filled Al Alburquerque dance, even changing the earlier caller’s words to suit his porous self-defense. He would not — could not — admit that he was wrong. Again.

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