For a guy who comes from the land of the "excellent" Bill and Ted, Jon Garland is no "Wyld Stallyn."
In fact, given the amount of enthusiasm he shows on the mound, we could reuse the same headline for every time he loses: Beating a dead horse.
The too-cool-for-school Garland became the first White Sox right-hander to ever post 10 wins and 30 starts in six straight seasons with
his three-hit shutout over the Royals, but for once you should follow Garland's lead and spare the excitement. Because when you dig beneath the surface -- that's how the Clampetts made their way to Beverly Hills, after all -- you'll see the whole the story.
Even if he was thinking "surf's up," Garland saw his run support go "surf's down" even in victory. He entered the game with 4.19 runs of support a game,
good for 43rd out of 46 American League starters with at least 140 innings under their belt.
He only got three tonight.
As one of those Hollywood movies might say, "Houston, we have a problem."
You connect the dots, you see a guy with the laid-back, dude-the-place-across-the-street-has-the-best-chop-suey-ever-
I'm-totally-putting-that-number-in-my-cell-phone's-speed-dial attitude who sets the "whatever" tone for his offense every time he takes the mound.
Unfortunately, if you ask Garland to connect the same dots, he'd probably draw a sailboat. That's where his mind is 100 percent of the time -- he'd rather be kicking back and "chillaxing" on the Pacific Ocean than rearing back and firing a few miles west of Lake Michigan.
It's an act better suited for Grauman's Chinese Theatre than U.S. Cellular Field; one that performs at the box office but falls flat in the eyes of critics. It's the baseball equivalent of "Rush Hour 3," in that it gives you what you expect. But it doesn't leave you wanting "Rush Hour 4," unless you're Chris Tucker's agent.
It's telling that Garland wasn't invited on the outdoors expedition with Mark Buehrle, A.J. Pierzynski, Jermaine Dye and Jim Thome, during which Mark Buehrle snagged a 200-pound-bear. This is a clubhouse that likes to hunt in the wild; Garland only wants to be hunting honeys on Rodeo Drive.
So if tonight was the end of a White Sox career for the low-carb hang-loose, what's-up, avacado-eating, Napa-Valley-frequenting beach boy, it couldn't come soon enough. He might look at the situation through the eyes of the only governor whose authority he recognizes and say "I'll be back," but Kenny Williams should channel the Governator and tell him "Hasta la vista."
Whatever you might call Ahnuld's language, it might be the only one Garland knows. He certainly doesn't seem to listen to anything anybody else says.