Tirico Suave

Before Michael Kay awakened me to the fascinatingly disturbing story of how Milton Bradley came to be, well, Milton Bradley, I always just thought he was misunderstood.

Kay’s words flowed over Bradley’s at bat against the Yankees’ Jose Veras in the eighth-inning of last night’s game.

If you don’t want to watch the video below, here is the transcript of the story:

Milton Bradley’s dad was separated from his mom when the mom gave birth. She did not want to name her son Milton. The dad’s name was Milton and he wanted a junior. When she was coming out of anesthesia, he signed the birth certificate and put Milton — much to the dismay of mom. So he is Milton Bradley Jr.

Coming into the at bat, Milton had already struck out three times and was looking to avoid the golden sombrero. Well, his efforts of aversion were futile at best.

Whilst in the process of whiffing, he managed to lose a bat 50 yards into the stands. Then, as if trying to go out in style, he lost another bat — which landed right in front of the pitchers mound — after letting it go on strike three. Despondent, Milton trudged to the dugout, leaving his wand on the field. As the Bronx cheers rained down, he looked up, casually glancing at the fans before ducking into hiding.

Two things struck me during this sequence of events:

1) After Kay’s story, which couldn’t have come at more opportune time, I felt like, if only for a fleeting moment, that I understood the madness of Milton Bradley. This, of course, made his surreal strikeout sequence that much more terrifying. This man’s pain was born on the same day he was. I could only imagine the demons that played uncle with his mind on a daily basis.

2) Listening to ESPN 1050 on the drive to work this morning, I heard two fill-ins for Quirky and Fatty discuss the difficulties today’s announcers face. In a binge-processing media world, the thirst for new information creates a situation in which announcers look like drunks recycling cans to to buy camo ice.

Insightful and well-timed info is the only way to get the announcer and, more importantly, the audience, drunk. Kay, with the seemingly premeditated Bradley story, poured a tall glass of everclear with a chaser of Tullamore Dew.

I drank it.

Anyway, here is the video: