Congratulations, Randy. You just won your 300th game of your career and I'm sure you've earned the respect of enough portly sportswriters to nab a plaque in Cooperstown. You might even be the greatest pitcher of your generation and perhaps the best pitcher I'll ever see. But that doesn't mean I like you.
Folks, here's why yesterday's massive milestone won't change my opinion about the Big Unit:
- His former teammates probably hate him, too: Mark Reynolds and Danny Haren played with Johnson last year on the D-Backs and had nothing bad to say about the guy but they also had nothing good to say either. The media folk tell us that Johnson is a solitary type which is not necessarily a despicable thing. I generally despise human beings too and try not to seek interaction with them, so I understand. But when thrown into a situation like a MLB clubhouse where you are shoulder-to-shoulder with the guy at the locker next to you, well, sometimes it pays off to be affable and friendly.
- He's really tall: Life isn't fair, I get it. But at six foot ten, Randy Johnson is almost a foot and a half taller than me and every time I see him on television, the announcers banter about his height and I am reminded that I stopped growing at age thirteen. Not down there though, ladies. I meant my belly.
- He did really well in the playoffs against my favorite team: At the tender age of 31, Johnson started Game 3 of the 1995 ALDS for the Mariners against my Yanks. Fella earned the win, going seven strong and mowing down ten with his hot hot heat. Two days later, he famously came on in relief in the ninth inning of the deciding Game Five, all tied up with two runners on and two out. He recorded three straight outs in the ninth, struck out the side in the tenth, and gave up a single run in the top half of the eleventh before the Mariners came back in the bottom half to walk off with a win. Fast forward to the 2001 World Series where he beat the Yankees three times (allowing only two runs in 17 IP) to help the D-Backs win it all.
- His ghostly visage reminds me of my own mortality: I mean look at this demon. It's the last face any of us see before crossing the River Styx, I'm sure.
- He did really poorly in the playoffs for my favorite team: In two playoff starts for the Yanks in 2005 and 2006, Johnson gave up 20 hits and let in 10 runs in just 13 innings, and sent me home crying from the ballpark at least once. How does it feel to make a 27-year-old cry, Randy? Huh? You feel like a big man now?
But hey, at least I don't hold a grudge or anything.