Jason Marquis pitched the Padres to victory over the Dodgers last night allowing 2 runs in 6 1/3 innings of work. Included in Corey Brock’s write-up of the game, I found this:
“He’s done what we ask of our starting pitchers,” Black said. “He’s hung in there and given us a chance to win. He’s a bulldog.”
A Bulldog? As someone who grew up with Bulldogs, I don’t know about the use of this as an analogy.
I can testify that Bulldogs are one of God’s more comically disgusting offerings to our world. These animals have terrible flatulence regardless of what they are fed. Our first Bulldog, Sanibel, once pulled a turkey carcass out of the trash on Thanksgiving after we had mistakenly forgotten to place the garbage can back under the sink. The AJM household paid for this indiscretion across the better part of a fortnight.
Bulldogs also have major issues with their nasal and throat passages. On account of this divine blunder the breed has a propensity to snore like a chainsaw cutting through a secluded wood. I never cared for the jilt to my senses during each day of my adolescence.
Sanibel also liked to abscond with our GI Joe and Star Wars figures as we staged monumental, intergalactic, battle scenes on the floor of our bedroom. If she managed to get her savage under-bite around Luke Skywalker’s torso or Storm Shadow’s head it often heralded the end for our dear warriors. To this day I still have a Chewbacca in my possession that bears the Mark of the Dog – a tooth mark piercing the forehead.
We would try to deceive the stout beast but our subterfuge could never deter her unbending will to destroy those with a molded Kung-fu grip. Her tenacity unrivaled, she simply lowered her head and rammed it through the door if the occasion called for it . . . ohhh, now I get it.
Sanibel, despite her shortcomings, was a fine dog.
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