Even though it’s only August, it’s never too early to start thinking about the post-season awards. And when I look at the NL Cy Young race, it’s anybody’s game. You could make a case for a lot of guys who are having big years: the Rocket, Chris Carpenter, Pedro, Roy Oswalt. But when I think about it, and I think about what the Cy Young means to me, one name comes to mind:

Eric Milton.

I know what you’re thinking. “Nasty, Eric Milton’s 5-12!” Yeah, well, you need to learn to look behind the numbers and learn a thing or two about what it means to be a great pitcher. Let me tell you asswipes a little story.

Back in ’89, we had a tradition: before every game, Schottzie had to eat a bowl of Skyline Chili. It was kind of a good-luck thing. Anyway, we had a double-header against the Mets, and between games Marge sent us out to get Schottzie a big bowl of 4-way so we’d have the extra mojo to beat Sid Fernandez in the nightcap.

Now, these days, that would never happen. You think a bunch of spoiled millionaire crybabies would pile into Pete Rose’s old Datsun and go get the owner’s dog chili? But back then, baseball was simpler. We did for the love of the game. Not to mention Schottzie. God, we loved that dog.

So anyway, it was me and Charlton, with Sabo driving, and needless to say Sabes wasn’t so great with directions. So to make a long story short, we never found the chili place, and the next thing I knew we were in some T.G.I. Friday’s doing shots and splitting a plate of disco fries with a bunch of Xavier girls. It happens. What can I say?

So we roll back to Riverfront in like the eighth inning. Tie game. When we get into the clubhouse. Pete Rose looks like he’s about to explode. “M-Fer” this, “S-Her” that. Anyway, he goes after Sabo with a fungo bat, and somewhere in the confusion, I drop the leftover disco fries and Schottzie charges in. So here’s Schottzie eating the disco fries, Pete Rose is choking Sabo with the bat, and then Marge runs in and starts whaling on Pete with her purse. The owner of the Reds, beating up Charlie Hustle in the locker room! And I don’t know if it was the excitement or the gravy, but all of a sudden Schottzie’s throwing up all over Pete Rose’s shoes. And in the middle of all this, Norm Charlton steps up, piss-drunk, and says, “Give me the ball, Skip.”

And I’ll be damned if he didn’t go out there and punch them out.

See, Eric Milton’s that kind of player. He may not have the lowest ERA or the most strikeouts, but Cincinnati’s about the toughest place to play in the league. And Eric Milton gives his all every game. He may not have the fastest heater out there, but when he’s on, there’s nobody you’d rather have on the hill.

They didn’t ask me in 1989, but if I had a vote, I would’ve given it to the Sheriff. And even though nobody’s asking me in 2005, Eric Milton’s my man. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a Nasty Boy like the rest of us.