*Photo courtesy of sittingstill.net*
To: Any dink (not my choice of word) who doubted Tim Wakefield
Dear whom it may concern,
As my boss entered the secret underground location, er... office, tonight he was mumbling under his breath about, and I quote, "Stupid job keeping me from watching the game" and "Wake almost throws a no hitter and I'M stuck trying to sell some idiot a sofa they can't afford and I don't have" until he noticed me watching.
Almost immediately he switched gears and asked if the Mitchell report was ready. I instantly recognized this to be a deliberate act to make me forget what I heard, but two things are getting in the way. One, I don't know anyone named Mitchell. And two? He's never looked at a report a day in his life.
I waited until he entered his office, shut his door, and listened for the inevitable stream of expletives to fly because he missed another big game before I searched for "Tim Wakefield" and "Knuckleball" on the internets.
Turns out this young man of 42 is quite the freak of nature; at the age where most professional athletes have retired to a life of golf and early bird specials, this particular gentleman is just now hitting his stride due to some form of pitching that looks really easy to hit yet is quite the opposite.
Now that I think about it, I remember my employer praying for heavy wind, dry conditions, and using the phrase "let it move like the Jackson Five during "ABC". Whatever that means.
Anyways, as I typed up the daily report (I really should just photocopy the thing; every day it's the same; read about the game the day before, curse/celebrate, then check out his fantasy league scores) I could hear him ranting from the next room. Something about "Wait until Papi gets on track, Rivera's arm flies off into RF, and Derek Jeter steps on a sprinkler head".
Honestly, I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time.
For today, however, my job was easy. His team won, Rakes and Trot made it the bathroom every time, and because the game was played this afternoon I can go to bed at a decent hour.
Mind you, he's already left 4 messages muttering about Miller Lite and the fact he's got to watch the MASN broadcast of the O's/Sox series starting this Friday. But it's been in a happy way, so I'm paying him no mind.
I just have one question. Can someone tell me what the phrase " I want to kill the WBC with fire!" means?
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