I love me some Timmy Jim, but I don’t want him in my house.      

Before you start in about the fact that Tim Lincecum wouldn’t want to come over to my dumb house in the first place, he would. It’s close to the ballpark, always has a full fridge, is smoker friendly (on deck) and he could relax on my sectional pregame.

So save it—he’d want to hang out…but he can’t, because he’s covered in disgusting dog hair.

I am an expert in such things, unfortunately. My girlfriend has an English Bulldog named Margaret Thatcher, who, at the very least, enjoys equal voting power in our household.

When I get home, I can’t even look this animal in the eye lest she start urinating on my hardwood floors. She ripped up some Dita sunglasses once, and I almost stroked out when she annihilated my leather John Varvatos jacket last summer…that adorable little scamp.

It’s San Francisco, pal, and I enjoy looking fabulous, okay?…guilty.

Know what I also love? Beach Blanket Babylon and watching Ryan Howard strike out looking, thus catapulting my beloved San Francisco Giants into the World Series.

While dog-loving friends come over and coo and fawn over Margie, I spend the time usually sweeping and trying to reclaim my floors. This, of course, never gets me anywhere, as the bone-white dog hair falls off her back like so many snowflakes in winter.

Fellow dog agnostics will certainly affirm when I state that Margaret’s hair is literally everywhere. It is her legacy. It permeates every crevice of my house and snuffs out a little of my soul each passing day.

This hair is not just gross but may also contain the reason for the dominance of Tim Lincecum…and also why he is not welcome at my place.  

Tim has a pair of French Bulldogs named Cy and Young, who have super names, are cute as a button, and guaranteed, shed like gangbusters all over the two-time Cy Young Award winner and everything he owns. 

It’s on his uniform, all over his house, in his car; it coats his beanie collection and is stuck to his straightening iron right this second.

You can’t escape this stuff, trust me. Each time he accepted his back-to-back Cy Young Awards on the field at AT&T Park, he did it full of dog hair. When he struck out 14 Atlanta Braves in the NLDS, he had the little Frenchies’ cheveux de chien all over him.

When he outdueled Roy Halladay in Game 1 of the NLCS, and then again in Game 3 (well, arguably), that crap was on him again…100 percent certain    

This is no fluke, and Lincecum’s otherworldly performance should not be blindly lauded as a timely “finding of his game” or “taking it to the next level”…this is a pattern.    

Experts contend that hitting a baseball is the hardest thing to do in professional sports, and that is when the pitcher is not rubbing up the ball with French bulldog hair.

Seriously, you think a little Vaseline or spit does something to pitches? You think a surreptitiously hidden emery board used to scuff up the ball gives an edge? You think testicle-shrinking PEDs might do the trick?

What if I could offer a technique that spun micro-fine dog hair into a batter’s eye right before they swung? Fox Sports has that ridiculously cool, super-slow motion replay, the one where you can watch every rotation of the ball. All I’m asking you to do is look a little closer next time, watch the fur fly and be honest with yourself.

Lincecum does not appear to be cheating knowingly, so I would please ask the government to continue focusing most of its vast taxpayer resources on chasing down a retired offender who happened to be using the more traditional PEDs.

Even though that guy was just too scared to come clean, because at the time, the entire world had singled him out as the only problem and the U.S. Government was (and is) after him like Al Capone.

You know the guy I’m talking about—the one who caught all the heat for his silent peers and then watched every one of their subsequent tearful confessions. The one who watched these cheaters get nary a slap on the wrist or even praised for “coming clean” after their names were released in the Mitchell Report.

Even though baseball fans have strangely misplaced their syringe signs, and even though the entire public whose money is financing this witch hunt is already past it…or humbled because of a taint on their own favorite player… Let’s still get that first guy! Yeah!

So, I offer continued success to the U.S. Government in their valuable pursuit against only one of the cheaters.

That being said, if you are going to be consistent, you might consider a few dollars towards looking into the effects of dog hair, how it changes the physics of a baseball and whether you can hit an already unhittable changeup when bulldog hair mist is launched into your eyes.

Because I believe that’s exactly what Tim Lincecum is doing, and it’s endangering the integrity of our national pastime.

Go Giants!…but let’s do this the right way. When Josh Hamilton steps out tomorrow seemingly because a little dirt got into his eye, let’s just make sure that really is dirt and win this thing fair and square…

…and to Tim Lincecum, please don’t drop by.

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