Sorry, Phat Albert.
My sincere apologies, Prince.
It has to be said. It just has to. So, here it goes. You ready? This'll feel a whole lot better once I get this off my chest.
Tim Lincecum could (or should) be the 2009 National League MVP.
OK, alright, fire away. Shoot. Let's have it. Let's hear it.
Yeah, I hear you. I do. I know Pujols is an irreparable machine of terror. I realize that he has less chinks in his armor than Vader himself.
I get it, everyone does.
I also hear the arguments all the way from Mr. Fielder down to Ryan Howard and back to Adrian Gonzalez. I can see where you're coming from.
But here's the thing, folks: You can gawk, absorb, and worship the enigma that is Albert Pujols. I do, at times. The guy's an absolute paradox in the game of baseball—he's that good.
Through Tuesday, Sept. 15, the Phatness himself currently sports 47 dingers, 125 RBIs, and a batting average of .329, among his other treasures.
Those are more than just MVP-type numbers. They are MVP numbers to a damn "T."
Here's the dilemma—the ultimate undoing of what those Pujolsian numbers spell instead of state.
Dissect the award itself. The honor is more often than not taken advantage of .
MVP. Most. Valuable. Player.
Translation is reading between the lines, nothing more.
The award should be dished out to a player that is so valuable, so beneficial, so essential, so advantageous that, without the player, his team would have such a precipitous drop off in play it'd be potentially fatal.
Pick Pujols out of that Cardinal lineup, and you have a team far more venomous than the slew of Jekylls and Hydes featured on a daily basis on China Basin.
Matt Holiday, Ryan Ludwick, or even Rick Ankiel could hit clean-up for the Giants. Easily.
Sure, Lincecum doesn't have as many wins as Cardinals' starters Adam Wainwright (18-7) and Chris Carpenter (16-4), but can you really blame the dude?
Don't even think about answering the question. It's absurd. It's also quite simple. Think about this, just for fun, just for a second.
What if Tim Lincecum pitched for an offense that wasn't on life support?
He'd be 25-2, effortlessly.
In the confounding N.L., there's no player more valuable to his team than Lincecum.
At 5'11" and 170 lbs., San Francisco's Zorro, Batman, or Spider-Man is more valuable to his Giants than Pujols is to his Cardinals, or Prince is to his Brew crew.
More than Don Draper is to Sterling Cooper. More than Vincent Chase is to his boys.
You get the picture. Dude's that important.
The kid sneezes wrong and the entire population of the Bay Area holds its breath.
Even the A's fans. After all, what do they have this time of year?
At a seemingly average 14-5 record thus far, Lincecum returned Monday from an inflamed lower back injury just in time to wave hello-and-goodbye to the visiting Rockies.
Doc Brown couldn't have sculpted better timing with his DeLorean.
The 25-year-old tugged, twisted, and launched his way past Colorado—a series that the Giants must sweep if they wish to keep their sketchy postseason heads above water—with a performance so good, it left San Francisco fans scratching their heads.
For good reasons.
After all, the guy's so good we've yet to see him pitch up to his potentially cosmic best.
Seven innings, 11 strikeout-see-ya's, and 119 pitches later, Lincecum brought his team back into contention with one foot in the door.
He's done it all year. Dead in the water and down a life jacket, Lincecum has constantly kept his team afloat. If you don't believe me, look it up—or just turn on SportsCenter on any given night he's on the mound.
The baseball world takes notice and for good measure.
His 2.30 ERA is now the best in the N.L., and after another authoritative performance against a key division rival, Lincecum shouldn't just be considered for the Cy Young award.
That's cute and nice, but Lincecum is the kind of talent, brain, and competitor that comes along every...um...yeah, you get the picture.
Pujols is deserving of the award, without a doubt. Sure, even Mark Reynolds could have his name tossed in the hat there.
But in terms of pure value to a team, Tim Lincecum is second to none.
Your 2009 MVP, should he win his next three or four starts and pitch his Giants to a wild-card berth, should be Lincecum.
Even if he fails to, his name should be thoroughly dealt with and analyzed.
You know you've reached MVP status when the national pundits have run out of ways to praise your skill and ability to deliver in the clutch.
They just simply laugh and shake their heads. An MVP is a player that a team truly cannot do without. Like an addict without its fix or a dog without its bone.
Tim Lincecum, 2009 MVP. Most. Valuable. Phreak.
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