Last winter, after the Cliff Lee/Carl Crawford fiascos, we barely lifted a shot glass to salute the signings of Freddy Garcia and Bartolo Colon. We saw no beauty, no elegance, in those cartoonish, paunchy frames. We had been turned down by the hot cheerleader. Who expected to be so delightfully ravaged in bed by the horny middle school librarian with visible ringworm?This year, we know exactly what Freddy Garcia's magic fingers can do while "on the mound!" Nevertheless, just pondering Bartolo...
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