Anyone who knows me will know I am a die hard baseball fan so I wanted to show you the Best Pitcher is Baseball is Gracing GQ Magazine! I'm a Cali girl sorry Texas.
Move over, Sports Illustrated. Step aside, ESPN The Magazine.
San Francisco Giants ace Tim Lincecum has graced the cover of yet another national publication. This time, he's sitting pretty for GQ Magazine.
It's not The Freak's gentlemanly qualities that got him there, though. Lincecum was named one of the 25 Coolest Athletes of All-Time in the February issue, on sale now.
Move over, Sports Illustrated. Step aside, ESPN The Magazine.San Francisco Giants ace Tim Lincecum has graced the cover of yet another national publication. This time, he's sitting pretty for GQ Magazine.
It's not The Freak's gentlemanly qualities that got him there, though. Lincecum was named one of the 25 Coolest Athletes of All-Time in the February issue, on sale now.
The "prepubescent punk" -- as GQ calls him -- led the Giants to their first World Series title since the team moved to the Bay Area 50-something years ago, putting "all of San Francisco on his narrow back."
The magazine also named Tom Brady, Arnold Palmer, Joe Namath, Muhammad Ali, Bjorn Borg, Julius Irving, Kelly Slater, and Michael Jordan (among others) to its Top 25. So yeah, Timmy's in pretty good company.
Here's the full text of the Lincecum excerpt (in case you're not a GQ subscriber):
The magazine also named Tom Brady, Arnold Palmer, Joe Namath, Muhammad Ali, Bjorn Borg, Julius Irving, Kelly Slater, and Michael Jordan (among others) to its Top 25. So yeah, Timmy's in pretty good company.
Here's the full text of the Lincecum excerpt (in case you're not a GQ subscriber):
Sorry, but weed and long hair and VW surf-vans maketh not thee cool. So you'll pardon our dubiosity when San Francisco tried to convince us that the great hope of the team's post-Bonds era was a skinny little white kid known as the Freak. Don't get the wrong idea: Baseball was at its coolest in its sinewy past, when it was ruled by the lean boys of summer rather than grisly gods. But still, this tiny Tim? This prepubescent punk whose warp-speed pinwheel throwing motion made Tommy John surgeons drool? But then, pitch by 97-mph pitch, inning after scoreless inning, Cy Young after Cy Young, the Freak did something genuinely freaky: He put all of San Francisco on his narrow back. Plus, he grinned in the dugout and sang Sinatra. (After he brought the city its first World Series title, a reporter asked him idiotically, "How's that [trophy] look?" His answer: "Shiny.") He led, this Freak, this Franchise, and in the process he became a legend at 26, standing tall on the shoulders of giants who, just like him, did it their way.
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