Hey Pedro, WTF?
What the heck, Pedro? What was that about? You sucked yesterday? You looked like ME throwing to big league hitters. I thought you were this fearless bully who throws at someone and then walks toward the plate to show that you are not afraid. I thought you OWNED the batters box and had surgeon-like precision with your pitches. I thought you were going to come into your old town, gun slinger, hat tilted back and show this band of AL hitters what you have left in your tank. THAT is the Pedro I know and hate. Not the wimpy namby-pamby cry baby that came in yesterday. Hell, I was expecting you to sit in the Sox dug-out with the way you were carrying on during the pre-game interview, the day before you pitched, the game before the day you pitched and every other second you got in front of a microphone and talked about your old buddies here at Fenway. If I were Willy Randolph, not only would I have taken you out in the middle of the third, I would have slapped you across your face for being such a bitch. Maybe they should have let Nelson, your midget friend I forgot about until a friend brought it up, get on the mound.
Pedro, you disgust me. Crawl back to the hole you call the National League and pitch to those double A players you have in your division. You don’t belong at Fenway any more. You are not worthy of coming back here unless it’s to play in the washed-out, weak-arm, sissy mary game that you could star in.