You might have heard that Randy Johnson retired last night, giving me as good a reason as any to link up this guy. This might be the craziest thing that’s ever happened:

That moment has honestly been the subject of as many late-night debates amongst me and my friends as any in history.

One of my buddies is absolutely convinced it should serve as proof of the existence of some higher power because, as he points out:

A) How many times have you ever seen a bird fly between a pitcher and a batter during a pitch before, and so what could be the chances that the one time it does, the bird (briefly) occupies the exact same space as a baseball moving 100 miles per hour?

And B) What are the chances that if, should any pitcher hit a bird with his fastball, it’s going to be Randy Johnson, the guy with the reputation for throwing about as hard as anybody in baseball who just so happens to LOOK EXACTLY LIKE A SCARECROW, a device created to discourage birds from entering an area?

It’s as if Randy Johnson wanted to up his scarecrowing game to a whole new level and wanted to make an example of that one bird to make sure that no other bird ever dares come anywhere near a pitcher’s mound again. Because that one bird, ahh… it didn’t work out so well for that one bird.

Anyway, I’m not trying to hate on Johnson with the scarecrow stuff because I really did love watching the guy pitch, which is odd as I usually prefer smaller, puppetmaster type pitchers like Pedro, Santana and Maddux.

But how Johnson looked was a big part of what made him such a sight to behold, plus I always got the feeling it fueled his fastballs at least a little bit.

I’ve got no evidence, of course, but looking at that pockmarked face and that awkward body, I couldn’t help but assume every one of those heaters came with a little bit of extra mustard from so many lonely middle-school lunches.

And so I read stories like Jeff Pearlman’s, asserting that Johnson was a jerk who deserves to be treated as such, and I actually just feel bad for the guy. And I read anecdotes like this totally unconfirmed one in the Amazin’ Avenue comments section and I really hope they’re true, and that Johnson’s just some misunderstood metalhead with a heart of gold who’d help you out when you’re sick and is interested in photography, because that’d all jive a lot better with the sad former seventh-grader Randy Johnson I’ve created in my head. Although I guess that guy could grow up to bully reporters, too.

Anyway, his baseball legacy is as follows: one of the greatest pitchers of his generation, one of the greatest lefthanders ever, that really tall dude, anecdotal evidence that tall pitchers mature late, the guy who’ll be labeled “the last 300 game winner” until the next “last 300 game winner,” World Series hero to Diamondbacks fans, postseason goat to Yankees fans, and, of course, that guy who totally destroyed that bird that time.