In the strange, paranormal world known as hitting, in which lucky socks or a borrowed bat are believed to carry superpowers, there is one five-letter unwelcome interloper who might as well be known as He Who Will Not be Named. Hitters do not even like to use the word “slump,” no less acknowledge such an enemy exists, such are its negative forces.
“I’m not in a slump,” premier hardball sensei Yogi Berra once said. “I just ain’t hitting.”
