This won't be easy. What you're about to read is an attempt to convey the visceral experience of standing in the batter's box and staring out -- ears wide open -- at A's closer Grant Balfour. The idea is for you to acquaint yourself with the words you're likely to hear and decide how you -- and he -- might react in their aftermath.

Those words, unfortunately, are a significant obstacle in our medium of choice. Balfour's language is the beating heart of this story, and his language is something you're going to have to intuit rather than read. The trick is to write about Balfour's language without using a significant portion of Balfour's actual language. It's all very meta.

Grant Balfour is nothing if not well, mouthy. AP Photo/Ben Margot

Balfour is an Australian, the son of a former professional rugby player, and he plays baseball as if it's a contact sport. He storms in from the bullpen like a Marine taking a hill who doesn't care if the other guy knows he's coming. Balfour starts screaming about the time he throws his last warm-up pitch and stops about the time he gets in his car to drive home.

"I like to get myself pumped up and get to that state of mind," he says. "There are times when I'm out of control."

Balfour is an intense guy. His close-set eyes and MMA fighter's build intensify the intensity. He starts every game with a shot of Extra Strength 5-Hour Energy chased with a cup of strong coffee. He stalks the clubhouse for the first four innings -- showering, dressing, watching some of the game -- before heading to the bullpen, hoping his team stays ahead and the game stays close so he can pitch a meaningful inning, yell as much as he wants and burn off all that caffeine.

"It gets me fired up and locked in," he says. "Some guys don't like to show it on the outside, but I know they're fiery on the inside. I let it out, you know?"

By now, most everyone knows. You get the feeling Balfour was one of those kids who always had to be reminded to use his inside voice. After his first spring training appearance as an Athletic in 2011 -- apparently a noisy, expletive-filled affair -- Balfour walked into the clubhouse and perceived a slightly quizzical look on the face of Oakland media relations man Bob Rose.

"Don't worry, Bobby," Balfour said. "That's just the way I am."