Monday, June 26, 2006

Managerial Report

Inspired by this recent outburst by Minor League manager Joe Mikulik, I thought it was about time for a Major League managerial evaluation. The wittiest, dumbest, shrewdest—there can be only one.

Give him eight Albert Pujol’s and five Johan Santana’s and this man will still find a way to lose.

Dusty Baker has had some success in his career, managing the Giants to a thrilling World Series loss to the rally monkey inspired Angels of Anaheim in 2002. But then again, he had Bonds. Currently, the Cubs are the third worst team in baseball with a record of 28-46. Now, I know the Cubs have been riddled with injuries, but many of these**cough cough**Mark Prior and Kerry Wood, have resulted from outdated baseball rhetoric and extremely high pitch counts. I can’t blame Dusty (though I’d like too) for Derek Lee’s freakish injury, and the Cubs should be a little more successful the rest of the year with him, but this record is inexcusable. There is no excuse for hating young talent and giving Neifi Perez playing time.

I wouldn’t want to date his daughter.

It’s Senior Prom 2001. You pull up in your dad’s SUV to pick up your date. You ring the doorbell—here it is, the moment you’ve lost sleep over the past two weeks. Tony La Russa opens up. He stands instinctively holding a glass of rye whiskey on the rocks in one hand and shakes your hand with the other. You walk in the living room as La Russa sizes you up. You know what he’s thinking, ‘WHAT DA FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO MY DAUGHTER? I WILL SLICE YOUR FUCKING FACE OPEN YOU SKINNY, ROTTEN PIECE OF SHIT BASTARD OF A PROM DATE! YOU KNOW WHO I AM! A GUARDIAN ANGEL! MY DAUGHTER’S FUCKING GUARDIAN ANGEL!’ Sweat slowly beads down your head. “Come here, I want to show you something,” La Russa jeers. The trophy room shines with medieval weapons—a ballista here, a thrusting dagger there. “Have her home by midnight,” is all the wise man says, but you get the feeling he means much more.

He’s got a good poker face.

I sincerely believe that Joe could take fifteen tequila shots, smoke six joints, drop a tab of ecstasy and still manage the Yanks the same way he has been over the past decade. Torre has sat in the in same place on the bench, and while the people around him have changed somewhat, the Yankee maxims have remained the same: Jeter’s pretty good at that backhand play in the hole, and bring in Rivera as often as humanly possible. The media says this is the first year Joe has had to really manage. The truth is, the real Joe Torre died ages ago. Steinbrenner had worked on project T for sometime, before perfecting the appropriate terminology and personality that a robot manager needed. The project has been a complete success—since taking over on Nov. 2nd, 1995, Robot Torre has won four world series rings, a manager of the year award in 1998, and offered some colorful quotes, including: “I have arthritis in my fingers, and picking my nose helps stretch the finger joints and keep them flexible. Oftentimes I switch fingers -- even hands -- mid-pick.”

What a Buzz Kill.

The Scene: A bar, let’s say, Mother’s in Chicago, made famous by the 1980’s classic About Last Night.

Ozzie Guillen: What are you doing? Light beer is for fucking fags.

ME: Om…I like Amstel Light, and in the Netherlands Amstel Light is actually just Amstel, so it’s not really a…

Guillen: Shut the fuck up, you Eistein-wanna-be clown faced motherfucker. I saw you dancing with a fat chick too.

ME: I mean, she wasn’t skinny, but fat seems a bit harsh.

Guillen: You want to have fat fucking retarded fag children, go right a fucking head—see if Ozzie gives a shit.

ME: Well…

Guillen: Just kidding man. In Venezuela this means we’re buddies.

(In case you didn’t get the memo, Guillen called a reporter a fag last week. Albeit, a really shitty reporter.)

I’m not jealous of his job.

Buddy Bell has the worst job in baseball, and, possibly, the entire United States of America. He has to somehow manage the Royals out of embarrassment and into respectability. The mess Allan Baird and the rest of the brains in upper management, have left Bell with nominal, AKA awful, non-talented trash: Mark Grudzielenak, Doug Mientkiewicz and Scott Elarton are the “stars.” To add insult to injury, the rest of the division is really good: the Twins have won 12/13, the Indians were picked by many to win the division, and the White Sox and Tigers are dominating not just the AL Central, but MLB as a whole. Good luck Buddy, good luck.


Anonymous MB said...

Dusty sucks... I have basically dedicated a blog to it, check it out if you want to.

Great blog BTW

2:18 PM  
Blogger darthmoridin said...

Nice post--you have to take this further, Celebrity Deathmatch-style!

2:24 PM  
Blogger robustyoungsoul said...

Fabulous! I want to see similar analysis for the NL East!

2:40 PM  
Blogger Passion of the Weiss said...

Give Guillen four beers and the immaculate collection and next thing you know he turns into an extra from Will and Grace. That's what I hear. He might need his own fake blog...the mind of Ozzie Guillen. Could be incredible.

1:04 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Whaaaa? No Bobby Cox? You are more of a loser than the Braves are this year

5:17 AM  
Blogger Sandro said...

Bobby Cox may be a great manager, but he's certainly not funny. I'll try to brew something up, however...and reality show, I like it.

12:40 PM  

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