Colon Cleansing

This time of year always brings about a few baseball signings that leave a fan scratching his head. Every team has a few holes, so they'll pore over the scrap heap of free agents. Mostly clubs are looking for someone to push their prospect for a roster spot, or fill out a few innings in split-squad games. Rarely do these signings ever elicit more than a yawn from me.

Until the Red Sox signed Bartolo Colon.

I apologize, Spanish speakers, that the House of Georges does not have access to the little accent marks needed to differentiate this pitcher from the piece of human plumbing currently funneling shit toward your asshole. Bartolo deserves better. The guy won a Cy Young once, even if he had to carjack it from Johan Santana.

If you've never seen Bartolo pitch, you are missing one of the truly sublime pleasures of baseball. Follow me, dear reader, to the land of effective fatness.

Bartolo is not a physically imposing gentleman. He's short and he's wide, a human can of tuna. He wears his uniform like a burlap sack. His hair squirts out the side of his cap in permy curls, and combined with his round red nose he looks a bit like a circus clown.

Best of all, Bartolo sweats like Chris Berman after a Wild Turkey bender. His forehead starts to glisten just from the effort of putting on his spikes. His warmup tosses produce a fountain of perspiration. By the time the fans have nestled comfortably into their seats, the big man is dripping with moisture. And this is no mere sweat, it's a petroleum-based goo that forms a shiny glaze upon his visage.

Now I'm not saying the man doctors the baseball--cheating is wrong, kids, wrong! But Gaylord Perry would pay a thousand dollars an ounce for Bartolo Sweat. Some pitchers have a reputation for improving as a game matures. They loosen up, their fastball gets a little more jump, and opposing teams repeat a mantra that "We have to jump on him early." Bartolo similarly appreciates with more innings, but it's not because of a few more MPH on the gun. It's that beautiful, disgusting sweat.
Granted, Bartolo Colon has been one of the worst pitchers in baseball since he won that Cy Young Award. He went a combined 7-14 with a 5.91 ERA in '06 and '07, battling injuries to his back and whatever other body parts fat people abuse. He's most likely done, but a kid can dream.

Will he actually make the club? Probably not. Even though Curt Schilling is on the shelf until midsummer, the first three rotation spots are filled by Josh Beckett, Daisuke Matsuzaka and Tim Wakefield. Boston hopes that youngsters Jon Lester and Clay Buchholz--he of the no-hitter in '07--will fill out the last two assignments. If that were to happen, if Lester and Buchholz look reliable this spring, then the fat man and his nonguaranteed contract take a walk.

But it's moves like this that display the forward-thinking competence of clubs like the Red Sox, and inadvertently highlight the boneheaded bunker mentality of clubs like the Colorado Rockies. I know, I've already ranted about my frustrations with Rockies management this winter, and I promise I'll do so again, perhaps even this week. But what in God's name would have been wrong with Colorado bringing this particular overweight icon to camp? You're still hoping for the kid pitchers to shine, just like Boston, but the difference is you don't have to count on them so much. If Jimenez and Morales are busts the Rockies have zero shot at the playoffs this season. If Lester and Buchholz falter, the Red Sox can summon a greasy savior to the hill. Hallelujah.

Update: Just got this from The Big Lead, and it will surely be everywhere in Blogstralia in a matter of seconds. Just as TBL points out, it is life-alteringly awesome. Can you imagine a team doing this today? What was it about the 1980s that led athletes to engage in cheesy videos like this and the Super Bowl Shuffle? One word: Cocaine.