First, I should probably explain who that kid with the funny hair cut is to people, unlike myself, who are not lacking in the "having a life" department, and actually go outside sometimes—other than rare occasions when his building's fire alarm sounds.
That is this month's teen idol, Justin Bieber.
He has fourth grade girls in a tizzy, and fifth grade boys hitting hair stylists, and asking for the "Bieber Cut" when they should be asking for the "Illya Cut."
Bieber is currently in his ninth minute of the allotted 15 given to young men of his ilk.
Okay, thank God that is over with. On to the Reds:
The Cincinnati Reds are in first place for the second consecutive day.
This is one reason I love pulling for a small market team. Think New York gets this excited when the Yankees are a half-game up in the middle of May?
No. They expect it.
Anyway, I had a dream last night. Or a nightmare.
Not a Martin Luther King dream or anything even remotely important enough to alter the despicable treatment of others.
Well, unless you count one man's diet, and the heart health of Reds' fans.
On Monday night, versus the Brewers, heading into the bottom of the ninth, the Reds held a comfy 6-1 lead.
The starting pitchers have been lights-out as of late.
So much that their middle-inning relievers are rusty. A perfect example came during Monday night's game.
The normally dependable Daniel Ray Herrera was brought in to start the ninth and finish off what looked like a sure victory—one that would keep The Queen City abuzz for a second consecutive day.
Herrera had not been on the mound in a game situation in over a week. He gave up a homer, and a couple of hits.
This is what led to the dream/nightmare
Understandably Reds' skipper Dusty Baker made his way to the mound, raised his right hand, and signaled closer Coco Cordero to the hill.
Before they went to commercial, the television showed him running onto the field.
I had to turn away in horror and wait for that brilliant motorcycle safety commercial.
As Coco ran to the mound, everything waist-up was jiggling.
His neck, facial fat; I had never seen a man's forehead jiggle before last night.
Cordero came into the season less fat than I thought he would be. And he was efficiently nailing down games. What in the world has he been eating?
Now, his JaMarcus Russell-type fat is slowing down his delivery to the plate. Thus, making it easier for the opposing batter to pick up the pitch.
During Monday night's contest, Coco once again survived—barely.
The Reds are in Yankee Stadium playing in the seventh game of the 2010 World Series.
The Reds are up by three. Coco is called on for a clean opportunity save.
But he has ballooned to twice the size seen on Monday night. The high-definition telecast shows him jiggle his way to the mound.
The announcers can't help but laugh. They even show the high-def replay of his trip to the hill, first in slow-mo. Then to really rub it in, super-slow-mo.
I woke up in a cold sweat...thankfully before he had thrown any pitches to Jeter & Co.
Place Coco on the 15-day DL, and send him to one of those fat farms.
Then when he gets back:
You know how Josh Hamilton has that guy who constantly follows him around to make sure he doesn't smoke any crack?
Coco needs one of those guys to keep him from dining with JaMarcus Russell, and eating whatever is making him jiggle.
This is more than imperative.
In order to keep the Reds from being the Justin Bieber's of the NL Central, Coco will need a two week stint on a fat farm, a guy to follow him around 24/7, and a treadmill or exercise bike.
If the Reds can keep their $13 million dollar closer fairly fit, they have a shot to stay above the Cards.
Please Coco, I beg you, please don't let our beloved Reds become baseball Bieber's.
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