True MLB Stories: Mike Timlin Edition

Last night, after the Red Sox crushing defeat delivered from the old, ineffective arm of Mike Timlin, the Sox lockerroom was a somber place. As the players began to file out of the lockerroom, Timlin remained seated at his locker, uniform still on, head hung low. Players passed him on the way out, some shaking their heads, other patting him on the back. Some wishing he'd just go away. David Ortiz, the last player to leave, stops by Timlin on his way home. PAPI: Mikey, lift your head up, buddy. [he ruffles Timlin's hair. Timlin doesn't react]. It's just one game. We'll catch those guys. Don't beat yourself up over it. Ortiz flashes his bright smile, hoping to cheer up Timlin, but it has zero effect. Ortiz gives Timlin one last pat on the back, then exits the lockerroom, leaving Timlin alone. A few minutes pass, and Timlin remains seated, head hung low. Camouflage shirt poking up over his jersey. There's a knock at the door. Timlin springs out of his chair and hustles to the door, opening it. In pops Arthur Slugworth. [continued]