This is going to be the year that Carlos Zambrano kills someone. The Year One (or whatever the hell people are calling it) version of Zambrano is a seething cauldron of rage. This is like a horror movie. When Zambrano was smashing Gatorade jugs, punching catchers, and ejecting umpires, at least you knew where he was and you could keep an eye on him. This new, placid Zambrano is horrifying because now we have to sit and wait and listen to the scary music and probably have a cat jump out at us from behind some garbage cans before we accidentally back into Zambrano and he slices our throats.

I was nice and calm.

And such a quiet, nice man. I certainly never would have suspected him to be capable of mutilating all of those poor, poor people.

I was trying to do my job, and unfortunately I couldn’t do it today, but it already happened, and I can only think about Cincinnati now.

Population: 364,040 poor souls.

When asked whether or not he still wants the ball on Opening Day, Zambrano said the following:

Whatever the Cubs want to do. I just want to have the ball every five days and do my job.

It gives me a good, solid alibi every fifth day.

…I have the tools…

Ball-peen hammer, bone saw, cat o’ nine tails.

…to pitch good in April.

Pitch WELL in April.

(runs for his life)

I just had a bad game and that’s it. Put it behind me.

Where the beating of its heart will eventually drive me to a state of madness. MADNESS.

Today I gave up eight runs. I will concentrate for my next start. That’s it. There’s nothing I can do about it.

YOU HEAR THAT, VOICES??? THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT!!!

I fear this new Carlos Zambrano. I fear him quite a bit.