Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Posted by el duque at 8:10 AM
Nobody in the free world promoted Kevin Millwood's future as a Yankee more than we did. Nobody. Not Millwood's mom. Not Millwood's therapist. Not even John Sterling. So what happens? He signs with us, goes to Scranton, pitches like Betty White, opts-out and scurries right to our enemies, like the double-agent snitch he always was.
Surely, Pawtucket now knows every secret bunt sign and sure-thing party girl in the Scranton phonebook, courtesy of our friend, the Millmeister.
But now this: He starts pitching well for Pawtucket, reaching his opt-out deadline of June 25, and gets passed over for another minor league spitballer, and what happens? He tells his Redsock soulmates/masters that he'll stay, he'll remain a Redsock until humankind's urine flows backward and Lady Gaga's crotch grows a ZZ-Top beard.
Arod should receive that kind of loyalty from his next Hollywood IT girl. Jeter should get that kind of comfort level from his 15th bathroom.
What did we do? Where did we go wrong? Are we guilty of loving too much? Is it us? Were we too coddling? Were we too demanding? If we had it to do over again, could we - would we - have done right by the Millster?
Alas, he's a Redsock. Maybe it was in his DNA. I don't care. He's God's to judge now. (Pssst, Hey, Big Guy: Don't trust a word he says.)