On Wednesday night, Detroit Tigers' pitcher Armando Galarraga fell one out short of a perfect game when first-base umpire Jim Joyce incorrectly ruled that Jason Donald of the Cleveland Indians beat the throw to first base. The replay showed that Donald was out and that Galarraga was unfairly denied a perfect game. After the call, Tigers' manager Jim Leyland stormed out of the dugout to argue with the crustiness, vulgarity and cigarette breath one might associate with an old-school 1950s fire-breathing dragon of a football coach. The kind that offered no water breaks, believed pain heals itself with more pain and thought the color red was for gay people and communists, which in his eyes might have been the same thing.
So that got the wheels turning upstairs (normally they don't work after 6 PM) and a thought was created. What if the fine body of men who make up the coaches of the SEC were in that dugout? What might they have done if they knew anything about baseball and had the tolerance to sit through a four-hour sporting event...wait, they already have that, nevermind. I believe if they charged out to first base to get in Jim Joyce's face to argue, it might have gone something like this:
"YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Tell me this isn't my fault!! I didn't do something wrong this time did I!?! Should I be worried!?! They can't pin this one on me!! Tell me I'm doing a good job!! Tell me!! I need to feel loved!!"
*Begins to weep and is led back to the dugout by an assistant. Before reaching the dugout, he stops to call a timeout he doesn't have.*
*Cyborg stare that penetrates Joyce's soul. Waits until Joyce begins to weep, then dismisses him with a wave of the hand.*
"Now, Jimmy, what'd ya see? You sure about that? Positive? I don't know, Jimmy...say, once had a book in high school. Written by James Joyce. Not sure if he went by Jim or Jimmy. Never read it though. Too long. Compound sentences. Adverbs on adverbs. Gerunds. Can't enjoy that kinda read. Gotta see some pictures. Let's me know what's going on. Say, Jimmy..."
*Never leaves dugout*
"Dang it, I do not appreciate this, sir. Do you hear me? Do NOT appreciate this one bit, sir. Good day."
"You must be from The School Up North. Only someone from The School Up North can make a call like that. I beat The School Up North. The School Up North would produce someone like you. The School Up North...
"Jim, you, your mother and that stranger you call dad can #$@%(#*&@(#*@(#*&;(@#&(@*#^#^&;@^$^@$*#@^@)$_@&;$)@&@$(!%!$&;@&@#&;*!*$%#^@*@!*#$&!^!%#&$*@^$%#*@*@^$@^$&;@&;$^@*$^@$*($)@*@!@#&@ until your ears bleed."
*Sends Trooper Taylor out to wave his towel at Joyce and fire up the crowd. Taylor also gives Galarraga a flying side bump before waving his towel some more and heading back to the dugout.*
*Phones Rich Brooks to get a refresher course in proper cursing technique. The lesson lasts so long that the game ends before Phillips can put his acquired knowledge to use.*
"(In robotic voice) Jim. I. promise. to. do. everything. the. opposite. of. whatever. Lane. Kiffin. did. have. a. nice. day."
*Obligatory visor toss, smirk, teeth grinding, flushed face*
"Jim, that call was so easy even Stephen Garcia could have made the right decision."