When Life Imitates "Art"

Actual quote from Ron Darling last night, on Scott Schoeneweis, who is currently sporting a fucking awesome and mammoth 70's mustache:

"This bullpen has been tremendous since Schoeneweis called that meeting for the bullpen, and check out that mustache! He looks like he's trying to be Doc Hollywood from Tombstone out there."

Well I'll be a fucking monkey's uncle.

Ian Malcolm Just Gives Up

Now, I've tried to figure it out, and I've tried to explain it, but nothing seems to work. I give up. Dr. Ian Malcolm uhh... refuses to show up for this um... third installment, if you can even call it that. Billy's blown saves are getting so old and stupid that you could refer to the baseballs he's throwing as dinosaurs. You could suggest that by this, my third visit, those "dinosaurs" are flying all over the place. Now, that as a plot point hardly necessitates my presence in uhhh... a blog post, let alone a movie.

In fact uhh.. fuck this. Fuck this stupid bullshit. I'm over it, and I've made some demands.

Dear Ericforth Harding Peterson IV: I warned you

Dear Rick,

I warned you this would happen . I told you when you left me that bad things would happen. We used to be a team, you and I. We met way back when... You just a young boy, and me: shy, just starting to grow and come into my own. Then after some really great times together, you cut me loose. When you got drafted by the Pirates in '76, I thought we'd be together forever. The way you used to gently stroke me whilst you thought your zen-like thoughts on the masterful art of baseball pitching. Then nothing. When did I become expendable? While you stared right at me, and contemplated getting rid of me, I told you right then on the spot: strike me down and I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You should have heeded my warning Rickforth. You think anything that has happened in your life since then has been coincidence, chance?

I've been controlling it all my little puppet. I let you taste the highs of life in Oakland, giving you Zito, Mulder and Hudson. Letting you think it was your cunning and guile that turned them into aces. No E-rock, it was all me. I let you think signing with the Mets would be wonderful. Whispered in your ear that it would be a good idea to swap Scott Kazmir for Victor Zambrano. You should have known then and there that I was enacting my revenge, sweetums. But in your cold arrogance you never even saw my wrath as it lapped at you like a bitter wave repeatedly crashing on the shore. I let you think that Heath Bell was never going to be a decent pitcher, same with Brian Bannister.

And now my revenge is complete. You should never have left me, Rickles. Only now will you see the error of your ways. But know that it's not too late - it's never too late. Take care, Eric. Should you change your mind, you know how to bring me back.

Your former best friend and current worst nightmare,

Your sideburns.