Dear NESN peeps: I know I write you every week with a new series idea. And, admittedly, The Adventures of Dwight Evans: OB-GYN worked better on paper. But after reading today’s Globe bit on Mike Timlin, I’m convinced you’re wasting precious air-time not giving this dude his own reality show. Seriously, how many hours can you devote to The Mentally Challenged Fisherman and BU Hockey? It’s baseball season, motherf–kers, so just hit “delete” on all that Bruins nonsense and give us more Timlin. Jesus, did you pick up some of these soundbytes?
“Pigeons, even though they live in the city and no one’s going to eat pigeons in the city, if you take that same group and move ’em out to the country and feed ’em corn, they’re called rock doves.”
“Be careful with a gun. You don’t ever want to shoot yourself.”
“These kids are out there shooting each other. My son came home, he had a dot on his cheek and a knot on his forehead, even though he had a facemask. I keep telling him. I looked him right in the eye and said, ‘Look, if you come home and you have dots on your face or knots on your face, I don’t want to hear about it because I’m telling you, we don’t want to shoot nobody. Even just pretending, you don’t want to do it.'”
Understand: I love me some Timlin. The guy’s got the heart of a lion and the sheer stompitude of a Wooly Mammoth. He also scares the ever-lovin’ crap out of me, and I’m just watching the games on TV. I can only imgine what it’s like to stand 90 feet away from the guy, knowing he’s about to unleash the buckshot. It’s like sitting in a dentist’s chair and watching Ted Nugent waltz in, steel-tipped drills strapped to his chest. You just wanna grab your nuts and run.
But the more I hear from the guy in interviews, the more I wanna see Timlin outside of the cozy confines of a ballpark, where he’s untethered by the puritanical bylaws of the Authority of Major League Baseball. I wanna see him lurking around the backwoods in his hunting gear, chasing pigeons, deer and Al Qaeda. I wanna see him manning the backyard barbecue with floppy oven mitts and a “Hump the Chef” apron. I wanna see him getting into heated discussions with a neighbor over easements and property lines. I wanna see him explaining yet another “flame thrower-related” incident to the local cops.
Do you seriously want to deprive your loyal viewers of so much awesome? Give me a call, NESN. We can work with this one.