Timlin stands tall on and off mound

"My father was a truck driver," Timlin said. "He drove through Midland one day and called my mom, said he wanted to see me.

"The first time I ever saw my dad, it was outside of a truck stop. I was 11 or 12, maybe a little younger. I can still smell the diner, sitting at the truck stop. If I'm driving down the street and I go to a jet stop on the way to Clearwater, I can still feel that.

"I guess I had no interest. It was a protective meeting. I guarded my mind at the time. If he didn't really care to know me, then I didn't really care to know him. Nothing more really transpired."

He saw his father again when he was in college. Like his son, the father was tall -- maybe a couple of inches shorter than his 6-foot-4-inch son -- but with a similar build. Then, a couple of years ago, when the Red Sox were in Texas, a clubhouse kid told Timlin that his dad was waiting outside. Timlin, who had gone to Southwestern University in Georgetown, Texas, thought it was his college coach. That's what they had all called him, Dad.

Instead, he saw his father.

"It was him and his two boys," Timlin said. "I said, `Whoa.' I was cordial. I felt that I did what God would require me to do -- be nice. I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his children. I took care of what I had to take care of, and said, `Gotta go.' "

Funny how far faith, a mother's love, and a survivor's instinct can take a man. The White House? Hey, that was a great day, don't misunderstand. Timlin couldn't have stood much taller than he did that afternoon, when George W. Bush saluted a fellow Texan. But if you really want to take the measure of the man, beyond the fact that this is his 15th year in the big leagues and he has pitched for a half-dozen teams and has three World Series rings and has appeared in more games than all but 26 pitchers in big-league history, you'd do well to recall what Red Sox manager Terry Francona said earlier this spring.