The following is a reproduction of an email we received from one of our many (?) ROOMOFZEN correspondents. I really enjoyed getting this report and I hope you do to...(Note: The total lack of regard for the paragraph break was left intact to preserve its artistic integrity)
"So yesterday I was at the Natick mall doing some of my Christmas shopping, and after I was done I decided to hit the food court to get something to eat before I left. Now as I was walking through the all the tables, I noticed a there was a guy to my left wearing a Colorado All Star Game varsity letter jacket, and I mean purple fabric for the jacket and black leather for the sleeves, a serious varsity letter jacket. He was sitting sort of hunched over at the table with his back to me but I could see his pants were all jacked up at the ankles (which means they were probably tapered jeans) and I could see his exposed bunched up half calf socks, and I just sort of thought to myself, "Who is this fucking clown?" I walked by and didn't give it much of a second thought. After I got my food I was looking for a place to sit and I sort of walked back towards the way I came in and I noticed that the guy in the varsity jacket had two huge hot dogs and an absolute pile of chili cheese and bacon fries in front of him and I thought to myself as I was walking past where he was sitting "what a fucking piece of..." and just as I was about to finish my thought I saw his face. It was none other than CURT McGURT SCHILLING!! The blogger himself, I shit you not. I mean the bloody sock. I mean the curse killer. I mean arguably the most dominant post season game pitcher in the history of the game, right in front me. At the natick fucking mall. No way. There he was, boasting the glory of his All-Star appearance at Coors field with his preposterous letter jacket, looking like he hasn't shaved in three weeks, wearing some jacked up pants, about to gorge himself on hot dogs and fries. I'm telling you fellas, I could feel the greatness emanating off of him like a warm summer breeze. After I did a bit of a double take, I walked past his table and found a spot that was sort of back behind him on the right where I could see him, but if he was going to see me he would have had to turn around, if that makes sense. So I sat down and started to eat so I wasn't obviously staring at him, and then I saw him go to work. He sort of sat for a minute like he was gathering his thoughts, and then he started to go to work. First he went in for one of his profoundly large hot dogs, and this thing was in no way a weenie, this was an honest to God jumbo frank, one metric pound of meat in a bun. He added no ketchup, no mustard, no relish. Just a plain dog, personally I respect a man who takes it plain. He scooted up to the table, flared his elbows wide, leaned in hard, grabbed the dog with two hands, and opened wide and I mean wide. I wouldn't say his pace was fast, but he was consistently taking huge bites and chewing, taking huge bites and chewing, much like a batter might take batting practice. A hard swing, followed by composure followed by another hard swing. He dabbled in his fries and drink, but only a dabble. That hot dog was clearly his focus. And once he was finished with his first dog, he moved promptly to the next in the same wide mouthed methodical manner. I can see why this guy is in the show. He had dispatched of his first two opponents rather easily, now there was only the mound (pardon the pun) of chili cheese and bacon fries that stood between him and victory, and there was no way those fries were going to beat him. After maybe a moment's pause, he dove right in and did...not...stop. One hand full after another, after another. It was as if there were two outs in the bottom of the ninth and the man had business to attend to, and his business was fries. I'm talking gobs of cheese, chili, and bacon running all down his fingers and grease all over the rim of his mouth. Dripping down his chin, the whole nine. Now you may be asking yourself, "Did Stratton really just sit there and watch Schilling eat?" and the answer to your question is, yes I did, but that was not my intention. I wanted to go up to him and say, "Fantastic season, best of luck next year." And that was all. No hand shakes, no autographs, just in and out. I was wating for a break in the action so I wasn't going to disturb him while he was eating and get a look from him that said, "Can't you see I'm fucking eating?" But alas, that break never came because the guy didn't come up for air. Looking back I think it was a wiley veteran move that he pulled because if his mouth was completely full of food he wouldn't be able to talk to his adoring public and it worked, no one bothered him. So that's how a top of the line professional athlete stokes his competitive fires, with two pounds of hot dog and a hill(again, pardon the pun) of chilli cheese and bacon fries. But I guess that's what makes him great."
You heard it here first,
Stratton, Junior Field Correspondent
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