Ooooh, now here’s something I want. But at the same time, I don’t want it. Because I fear it. Because I’m already a veritable shut-in, pouring over videotaped playoff games and downloading grainy highlight clips from mlb.com to satisfy my addiction. Put something like this DVD in my hands, and it’s like asking a pantsless, homeless guy to guard your stock of Night Train. He’ll never leave. And neither will I. The house, that is.
Also, from the SG archives comes this bit from the April 20 game against Toronto. File it under “if they only knew they’d soon be teammates”:
And lest you nodded off during the critical final inning, both benches emptied when Toronto’s Terry Adams buzzed Manny up and in with a fastball. Nothing came of it [and, sadly, Manny whiffed on the next pitch clearly looking to drive something to Venus], but I would have loved to have seen Manny just go apeshit and run out toward Adams with a bat, drool and foam trailing from both sides of his mouth, like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. No reason other than pure entertainment, because we need more bat-weilding players charging the mound. Why drop the bat? Let ’em know you “mean business.” Even better, hint that you might be “packin’.” When a pitcher knows you’re crazy enough to go all Tupac on his ass, you can bet he’ll just surrender the inside of the plate.
Finally, on a completely unrelated note, I like a little friction in the clubhouse. I don’t like to see all the players playing nice and baking cookies and trading Doctor Who novels, because a little friction instills that killer instinct, that desire to be better than whatshisname because he’s an asshole and I’ll be damned if he gets the interview with Suzy Kolber on ESPN because I’m the guy who deserves it. That’s part of the reason I hope Petey sticks around. Although they denied it to the hilt, you know there was a little friction between he and Schilling, and it brought out the best in these warriors. And, I’ll say it again, I think a little friction is good for a team. Like the time back in ’67 when Yaz had a full-size marionette of teammate Rico Petrocelli constructed, and would use the marionette to taunt the real-life Petrocelli when he was up at the plate. Those were good times, the late ’60s. Before, you know, the clubhouse marionette ban. That sucked. Then, before you knew it, Wang Chung had formed. And things just got worse.
Oh, and this was mentioned at Joy of Sox yesterday, and it is absolutely filthy with awesomeness. Check your head.
Anyway, I’m shitfaced. You?
