High Heat: Assessing Frank Underwood's Fastball

by KRIS CANTRELL



“We are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal.”
-Frank Underwood, Chapter Seven
 

Frank Underwood is a man’s man. 

He eats like a man. He smokes like a man. And he kills like a man. He surely throws like a red-blooded American too, right?

Wrong. Frank throws like a boy.

Frank throws like a kid who skipped Little League. He throws like someone who played wall ball instead of baseball. He throws like a guy who thinks a “pitcher” is just a big container that holds sweet tea. 

How could this happen? How could the same guy who violently threw another human in front of a train gingerly throw a little white ball? 

I’ve got a few ideas.

Frank's devolved.

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Frank’s higher status forced him to make some sacrifices. One was his personal space. The second is like it. His privacy.

Frank can’t just join his company’s softball league and toss fastballs at the nearby park whenever he pleases. That’s not what Vice Presidents do. Frank has to make due with his flat’s patio.

If you study Frank’s throwing motion, you’ll see that he’s struggling with his windup and followthrough. Frank’s leaning on a wrist flick, instead of a full-bodied pitch. 

Maybe Frank’s throwing motion was elongated as a youngster. Maybe he’s a southpaw throwing heat from the outside in. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll take out a potted plant with his elbow.

There isn’t a lot of room for error in Frank’s backyard. He could have adapted to that cramped environment. 

Frank’s a gamer.

Those who can’t do, game. 

Frank isn’t in a position to actually frag terrorists with an M4A1 in Iraq, but he can play his FPS every night.

He could have realized at an early age that he wasn’t the athletic type. From there, Frank might’ve focused on the Atari, directing his aggression toward Pong opponents.

It makes a lot of sense. Frank isn’t the kind of guy who wastes time. Why would he spend ten years growing into an average little league player? Onward and upward.

Frank’s keeping a secret.

Frank’s always working toward the end game.

Maybe he's hiding what’s under the hood for a later date. Could he be saving that 95 MPH heater for a rainy day? I wouldn’t put it past him. 

Frank’s probably just keeping his chin music under wraps to blast an unsuspecting Republican during election season. He's protecting the element of surprise, obviously. Even from Meechem.

If he’s playing with fire down the road, he can’t be showing his cards during Baltimore’s first pitch. 

 

Kris Cantrell is the only registered Republican living in Portland. Send him hate tweets @kmcantrell