"The start after I hurt my hip, I felt discomfort in the last inning I pitched," Bedard said. "I know exactly when I did it. After that it got worse and worse"
Erik Bedard hurt his hip in this game also known as Opening Day, or better known now as the last day any single of us was ever happy with this loony bunch of retarded monkey bangers called a professional baseball team. Just in case this intolerable season has dulled your wits to the point where a ball of wax laying in the hot sun would be a sharper cutting instrument let me point out that this was the goddamn first start of the entire season! Erik Bedard has been experiencing shoulder discomfort, along with his myriad of other illnesses, plagues, epidemics, injuries and sympathy pains since THE FIRST START OF THE FECKIN SEASON!
But hey, none of that actually matters because Erik Bedard is a pussy right? He's so much of a pussy that's he thinks there's only 25 letters in the alphabet because he has no concept of the letter Y. That's how much of a weakling he is. At least, that's what the local media would have had you think up until today when I'm confident they will now backtrack and retroactively cover their asses. I would have liked to have every single word of that preceding sentence be a hot link to a piece showcasing the assbaggery that's occurred this season by the media in flaming Bedard for not pitching more, but lucky for them their words are so poorly archived so as to make finding where I left my last shred of happiness a more accomplishable task. Bravo.
Oh well, maybe it's for the best because you shouldn't have to be exposed to that trite a second time anyways because that would be akin to curiosity getting the better of you and deciding to investigate what the one mysterious light switch in your house actually controls only to find yourself opening a previously unknown door in some closet somewhere and being viciously attacked by scorpions wielding the sharded remains of blister packaging and then, once you finally escape from that surrealist nightmare, deciding, hey, you know what sounds fun? Doing that over again!
But that's neither here nor there nor in that demon closet. What's pertinent here is that once again we have an exhibit of a pitcher gutting it out through pain beyond reasonable measures and not owning up to it. Now, as I've written before, I can empathize with Bedard here. Nobody wants to admit they're hurting. But what I find tragically hilarious in all this is that our grandly delusional ideals about gritting it out through pain always end up with said hero being worshiped for the sheer gargantuanism of his testicles while in this case all that Bedard got was heaping piles of shit thrown his way by critics who used their inside access to ascertain that he was nothing but a tight-lipped jackass who didn't want to do them any favors in the way of making their job easier with silly banal quotes and so in turn they slammed him while he sat around and stewed in what must have been agonizing pain and got blamed for it.
I don't want to get into all the layers of blame that go into this because frankly everyone deserves blame and trying to figure out who deserves what proportions is ultimately more fruitless than trying to figure out why Jim Riggelman draws a salary while a collection of penguins with down's syndrome and a fetish for swimming into the mouths of killer whales would make a better manager. Suffice to say however that screw you Bill Bavasi for making that blindingly obviously stupid trade in the first place; screw you Mel Stottlemyre for being so bad at your job that you either didn't notice your ace pitcher was having shoulder pain or so negligent that you didn't care; and screw you media for questioning Bedard's heart while taking swipes at the blogging community when you knew as much of the complete story as we bloggers did.
Erik, I wish you would stay because I do have a raging inner lust for your curveball, but unlike when Adrian leaves is forced out, I will shed no tears for you because I will know that you will be better off somewhere that doesn't treat it's most talented players as pinatas for their wank sessions. Find health and happiness Erik.