Loading ...On Oswalt, Ex-Girlfriends and Joe Morgan …
by Brian
I think I may have dated Roy Oswalt.
After college I ran into an old acquaintance named Mel at a bar in Philly. During college, she was nothing more than my girlfriend’s artsy, not-quite-hot tagalong. She was one of those girls who guys call “cool” to mask the fact that they really weren’t attracted to her. Nice enough, pleasant, and available. A viable stopgap in the dating world. Worth a shot.
During our first date, we went for coffee at a little house in a posh part of a neighboring town. The conversation flowed well. We both felt comfortable with each other. We planned another date. But behind her eyes, I really didn’t see much of anything. No sex appeal. No fire. No passion. Just a high school art teacher with a neatly decorated apartment and a penchant for giggling unnecessarily.
Our second date took place at an upscale Italian restaurant complete with several menus, wondering minstrels, and an aromatic atmosphere. One of us was being wined and dined but I’m still not sure who was doing the wooing and for what purpose. Before drinks arrived, Mel confided that, at 25, she had a “five year plan,” which included marriage and kids. To that point, I had never experienced a cold sweat, but suffice it to say, my five year plan was still in the five day stages. I dropped her off later that night, but she didn’t invite me in because I think we both knew our “plans” were different. I never saw or spoke to her again.
Look, Oswalt seems like a nice enough guy. He has won 143 major league games. He has proven he can get guys out. But like Mel, my wayward art teacher, I just don’t get a sense that he will offer us what we’re looking for. His “five year plan” is really only a two-year plan in baseball terms, and I’m sure his home isn’t decorated in frilly pastels like Mel’s was, but when you stare across your proverbial table at him, what do you see? A nasty “mutha” who will pitch inside and dare you to hit him? Nah. A mean old veteran who spits tobacco and venom while he’s making you look silly? Nope. A competitor who refuses to get lit up by the likes of the Nats? Negative.
"Shucks, this gum is good. Mind if I throw inside?"
So, the Roy Oswalt era has begun in Philly and to quote Lieutenant Vincent Hanna in Heat, “I am over[freaking]whelmed.” I have never been one of these Cliff Lee shrine-building, memorial service holding, jilted lover fuming fans who can’t let go of the fact that he’s not here, and I’m still not. We all know Lee is a horse, but he’s not on our team anymore, so let’s put the Ruben Amaro Jr. voodoo doll down and slowly back away.
Here’s the thing though—no matter where Cliff Lee is, he intimidates. Whether it’s through his dead sprint on and off the mound, the shadow windmill stretch and phantom pitch, or the bulldog look in his eyes, dudes just don’t want to face him.
The look in Oswalt’s eyes reflects someone who would like to order a chocolate milk from “Lou” the surly diner owner before he professes that Lorraine Baines is his density, er, destiny.
When the deal happened, I professed my praise because, ultimately, Amaro got Doc Halladay and George McFly Oswalt for J Happ and Cliff Lee. Not bad. From Facebook to text messages to long phone conversations, I didn’t see a downside of the deal. After last night though, my reservations about the dude remain in tact. I don’t even fear this guy from my couch.
I’d love to be wrong about Lil’ Roy but after watching his post-game presser, I got the sinking feeling that I was listening to a mismatched girlfriend or to an underwhelming George McFly. I’m not sure Oswalt is our density or destiny.
Finally, I’d like to welcome ESPN self-promoter, self-aggrandizer, baseball analyst, Joe Morgan to my “list.” We all have a list. Those select few (or hundred in my case) who we abhor, at whom we cringe, who we’d love to punch square in the face. One of the few downsides of the Phils’ national attention over the last few years is the influx of Sunday Night Baseball games they are afforded. Because of the spotlight, we are forced to listen to Morgan drop in completely unnecessary references to his playing days, his insistence on belittling partners Jon Miller (now a Hall of Famer himself) and Orel Hershiser, and a smugness rivaled only by the number one person on my list, Michael Jordan.
"Kiss the ring, Jon Miller!"
I guarantee that if it hadn’t dawned on you before, you’ll be forced to recognize the narcissism of which I speak. Get the iPod ready.
Washington was one game relax debbie downer. you don’t have to be scary to be good, the guy has proven he is an ace year after year. he also has an NLCS MVP. i don’t care what his face looks like he is still a stud. enjoyed listening to you wine about your ex girlfriend though, thanks for that… that’s 5 minutes of my life i wont be getting back haha.