Randy Come Home: A Post Break-Up Letter to Randy Wolf

Dear Randy,

There's only one question on my mind.

Why?

Why did you go and sign a one-year, $9 million contract with the Padres on Saturday? Why did I have to find this out two days later from ESPN? Did you know I would be distracted on the weekend, with football and basketball season in full swing? Did you think I just wouldn't find out until it was too late for me to get really upset? It wasn't even mentioned on any Phillies website or blog, Randy. It was as if those 8 seasons you spent in Philadelphia didn't even exist.

I was fine with your brief flirtation with the Dodgers last year. After all, it was only a one-year contract. And after respecting your wishes to go off and "find yourself" or whatever it is that left-handed pitchers do, Phillies management showered you with attention once you came back on the market. But is running to San Diego the way to treat the franchise that drafted and discovered you, that stuck with you through Tommy John surgery and forgave you for leaving the first time?

Is it our ballpark, Randy? Sure, you got a few more grounders in LA but the numbers were pretty much the same when you were healthy at CBP. Moving to the Padres' cow pasture makes you look kinda shallow, if I'm being honest. And if you thought the Dodgers had offensive problems, wait until you see the run support you'll get from the Giles brothers, et al.

Look, I know things haven't gone perfectly. Philadelphia is a demanding place for a professional athlete, especially for one who grew up in touchy-feely SoCal. There's no excuse for why you were never an Opening Day starter, not when some of the alternatives were Kevin Millwood, Robert Person, and (good Lord) Omar Daal.

If you're worried about your career, I'd like to introduce you to Jamie Moyer. He's a lefty that's never really tried to overpower hitters much. He knows he'll playing in a bandbox, but he's smart enough to utilize his defensive support and capitalize on the hubris of sluggers. He's funny, articulate, and a good example for the rest of the team. Sound like any free agent you know knew? (Hint: it's not Mark Redman)

Finally, I challenge you to name one thing in Canoga Park--besides your family--that you can't find in Chester County. On the other hand, Randy, I know something you won't find anywhere but in Philadelphia. No way you could get this in California--not in the vomit-soaked all-you-can-eat bleachers in Dodger Stadium, definitely not in a place where even Bill Walton and Milton Bradley couldn't alienate the fans into fits of delirium for maddening but talented athletes. I just hope you haven't forgotten:



Sincerely,
Eric Ambler

Shannon Stewart Is A Singles-Hitting Coward

In case you missed it, Curt Schilling took another no-hit bid into the late innings only to have it obliterated by a punchy little ground ball. Schill must be taking this one pretty hard because his blog has nothing to say about it yet. Or maybe he's just tired. The 40-year-old has averaged 6.5 innings per start this season, which is a ratio Freddy Garcia can only dream of.

Still no no-nos for Schilling in his career, his most recent chance (actually an attempt at a perfect game) being the infamous "chickenshit" game that led to another one of those stupid debates about the "unwritten rules." More importantly, that game triggered the storied Bochy-Brenly rivalry. And good from them, because until then they were pretty much the same guy for an entire generation of young fans.

It's nice to see an older pitcher who resists that "he can't fire it anymore, but he's wily" paradigm and isn't an aloof Texan that sweats testosterone. Schill, for all his detractors, is still easier to like than Roger "No Neck" Clemens because he resembles the guy pitching in your softball beer league more than a creepy middle-aged gym rat.

Curt Schilling--the best pitcher of the last 30 years to never throw a no-hitter or win a Cy Young?




Apologies to Shannon Stewart, of whom the Baker Bowl is quite fond.