It turns out Rich Harden isn’t a vampire after all.
I was starting to wonder, after Lou Piniella announced that Harden would only be pitching night games from now on. I wanted to ask Lou if he had also begun hanging garlic from his office door, or whether he had noticed Harden leaving any reflections in mirrors around the clubhouse.
Then I realized that the Cubs‘ clubhouse doesn’t have mirrors, just like it doesn’t have air conditioning, drainage or any other amenities invented since the 1930s.
But now I don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. I watched Harden pitch on my TV Sunday afternoon, in the bright Wrigley Field sun, and saw no evidence at all of smoldering, blistering or any of that other nasty stuff I remember from all those movies I wasted my youth on.
Nor did Harden appear to be sprouting bat wings manipulated via all-too-conspicuous piano wire. Nor did he hang out with a cabal of pissed-off looking California wash-outs led by Kiefer Sutherland. Nor did Winona Ryder come down from the stands and start breathing hard and heaving her bosom, begging him to take her away from all this death…and beer-breath.
So it’s all good then. Rich Harden is a regular, warm-blooded human being like the rest of us, and not a character out of a silly Tom Cruise movie filled with people in frilly collars talking in cheesy accents. He’s not a member of a weird family that travels around in a van with blacked-out windows, stalking the desert wastes for victims. He doesn’t have Hugh Jackman trying to kill him, or Kate Beckinsale trying to recruit him for the war against the werewolves.
Actually, after seeing Beckinsale in that outfit, I don’t think I would mind having her recruit me. Even if there was a good chance I would end up being eaten by a Lycan.
Speaking of Lycans…has anyone noticed Milton Bradley sprouting profuse body hair, growing an elongated snout or listening to a lot of Warren Zevon? Just asking.