"Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned but heaven hath no sweetness like a sports fan vindicated." - Samcat

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Mood Swings

Okay, I don't understand Curt Schilling. He's got more mood swings than a 13-year-old girl. Just what, exactly, is going on there?

Ignoring for a second that I truly believed that last night would be my last night on earth - since two home runs by Coco and one by the very expensive paperweight we've got to play right field is clearly a sign of the apocalypse - can someone please tell me what Curt's damage is? Because the man can pitch a one-hitter and look for all the world like he's been eating motor oil and drywall nails for breakfast (or, you know, just dining with Team Timlin), and then he goes out and looks fragile and weak and unable to get out of the fifth inning against the Braves. Has someone been letting him talk to Matt Clement? Didn't we discuss this? Clement is to be sequestered until such time as he can prove that he's wearing his big boy pants and/or his contract runs out and the suck won't rub off on anyone. I thought we'd sent him "hunting" with Timlin.

Regardless, that is not the way to justify your next contract there, Schill-Dog. Although I do give him bonus points for getting a hit and running the bases because that is just the highest of high comedy. Curt Schilling with the batting helmet tamped down over his hair, throwing eye-rolls left and right because pitchers hitting is just ridiculous. You can practically see him thinking, "This is such bullshit. I need to be studying! Not wasting time up here with this stupid bat! Oh great, now I've got a hit. Now I'm got to stand on base and look like a goofy asshole until someone grounds into a double play. Can someone bring me my Trapper Keeper? Stupid National League."

As for Timlin, maybe instead of actual baseball playing, he can just be the official team ass-kicker. You know, the dude who rides in from the bullpen when there's a donnybrook or somesuch and lays the smack down. The guy who puts Tanyon Sturtze in a headlock (now that Kapler isn't around to do it). The guy who knocks out opposing pitchers with strategically aimed sunflower seeds. I'm just saying, I love me some Timlin and all, but we can get Joel Piniero to give up home runs (or JC Romero? I still don't believe they're different people). We need Timlin for the ass-kicking. We need him to get up in the umpire's faces on behalf of his teammates so Papi doesn't get thrown out of games. We need him to loom over Chipper Jones all, "You eyeballin' me, boy?" and make him even more upset about playing the Red Sox. If there's anyone who can transition seamlessly from pitcher to grizzled baseball man, it's Mike Timlin.

Now tonight, Joshua will get back on his horse and pitch like a big boy. Because I said so.