That's what my friend Ryan said as we watched Coco Crisp flail about wildly in the area of third base on Saturday. That and, "Look at how dead he is...hey, why don't ya show off a little more, there buddy?" While watching the replay.
It's the goddamndest type of injury--the completely unecessary one. Crisp is now going to have his finger, fractured on the play, in a splint for 10 days. That means no more hitting, catching or base-stealing for at least that duration of time, maybe longer. It's not that I think the sky's falling--it's not like what happened to Chipper Jones, of course--but it's exasperating knowing it happened because he made an over-the-top try for third in an Opening-Week game.
So let's find our happy place. Or, let's find mine, anyway--young flame-throwing pitchers who holler and pump their fists after striking a guy out. See also this fantastic writeup by who other than Chris Snow (the Globe's own young phenom) on Beckett's outing the other day:
The Rangers' shortstop, with two outs in the Texas seventh, did his best sell, holding his bat where he'd like to think he'd finished his swing. But Beckett, who had told pitching coach Al Nipper earlier in the night that he was good for 110 pitches, wasn't buying it. So he appealed to the masked man behind the plate, Bruce Dreckman, who obliged, checking with first base umpire Ed Hickox. And Beckett got what he wanted. The punchout signal, on his 109th pitch.
''That was about all I had," Beckett said after last night's 2-1 win, ''that last pitch."
Beckett, all arm and energy last night, responded with a motion similar to Hickox's, though significantly far more vociferous. He took a step, stopped, and pumped his fist hard, yelling, like it was October in New York, rather than April 5 in Texas.
Nearing the dugout steps, where Curt Schilling had the excitement of an 11-year-old boy who'd found a playmate exactly like himself, Beckett paused and did something rather Schilling-like. He turned, cupped his glove next to his mouth to help the sound travel, and yelled to Hickox. It took a couple attempts, before Hickox, cracking a smile, turned to Beckett. Thanks, he said. Or something like that.
''I love that [stuff]," David Ortiz said of Beckett's raw emotion. ''People in Boston are going to have fun with this guy. I think we've got two Curt Schillings."
I didn't get to see this game, but I did very recently see the replay of Beckett's primal scream, and it gave me goosebumps. No word of exaggeration. It was great to fill in the story behind it with Snow's article. Hat tip to Soxaholix for the link.
If anyone finds a pic of this, send it my way.