An Open Letter To Joba : Fat, Stupid & Disrespecting The Greatest Closer Of All Time Is No Way To Go Thru Life
(Editor’s Note : Though the Thought Police over at Yelp.com have unfortunately shut down the account of our good friend, Randy L. of the Bronx, he’s graciously offered to weigh in a subject that’s bound to dominate the tabloids and talk radio tomorrow morning – GC)
Greetings, mouthbreathers, premature ejaculators and social networking enthusiasts — or am I being redundant? Much as I’d love to talk about the splendid job Joe Girardi has done keeping the New York Yankees in contention despite the ineptitude of our oversexed GM and the routinely poor judgement shown by our disabled third baseman, once again, there’s a distraction to deal with. Fear not, Yankee Universe, I’ll not allow this latest family spat to derail our attempts to capture a 28th World Championship. But given that Hank Steinbrenner is unconscious at this hour (most hours, actually) and the aforementioned Brian Cashman is too busy updating his Christian Mingle profile, ONCE AGAIN, it comes down to yours truly to clean up the shit pile.
I’m sure I’ll get no arguments from even a cynical bunch of creeps like yourselves when I call Mariano Rivera the classiest individual who ever set foot on G-d’s earth. The Anti-Michael Kay, if you will. Mo has long exemplified what it means to be a great competitor and a wonderful, humble human being (though to be frank, it’s not hard to look like a relative saint when you’re sharing a locker room with the likes of Jason Giambi and Nick Swisher). If I had a son, I’d want him to grow up exactly like Mo — though developing a second pitch wouldn’t hurt. If I had a daughter, I’d also want her to grow up like Mo, though I will grant you he’d make a somewhat homely girl, and given all the terrible bullying problems we read about each day, maybe her path to becoming as successful as dear old dad would be a little less rough if she could resemble, say, Fox News’ Megyn Kelly. When you really think about it, having the values of Mariano Rivera and the good looks of Megyn Kelly would be quite the winning combination. Hey, what d’ya say, scientists?
Standing in stark contrast to the grace and professionalism that Mariano Rivera has exhibited throughout his sure-thing Hall of Fame career, is reliever Joba Chamberlain. Though I give the latter some credit for having made it to the big time despite a mother who makes Courtney Love look like June Cleaver by comparison, this organization’s patience with Joba is wearing thin. We’re a little more than a year past this fat tub of goo’s ill-advised decision to jump around on a trampoline like he’s the second coming of Nadia Comaneci…WHICH HE ISN’T. Bad enough we had to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, but that’s nothing compared to the shit this mental defect pulled yesterday in full view of media and spectators. Thankfully, it happened in some baseball backwater where most of the rubes and hicks in attendance are too slow-witted to grasp the enormity of what they just witnessed.
Let me make this perfectly clear for you, Mr. Chamberlain. Your teammate, the great Mariano Rivera, is going to enter the National Baseball Hall of Fame & Museum on the first ballot. You, on the other hand, stand a very good chance of making the Arby’s Frequent Customer Hall Of Fame, that is, if you don’t choke to death on their grey “meat” products that you so gleefully shovel into the trash compactor you call a mouth.
I cannot help but notice that while all of this nonsense is going on, there’s an exciting young player in Flushing who seems to have fallen out of favor with his manager and teammates. We’re badly in need of youth in the Bronx. The Mets are desperately in need of bullpen assistance — so desperate, they might even take your contract if we’re willing to pick up all of it. Their tastes in relief specialists are sort of like
Nick Swisher’s in escort services yours in trampoline emporiums, Joba ; super cheap and poorly maintained.
So let this be a warning the next time you even think of looking at The Great Mariano Rivera sideways. It would be a pleasure to rid the New Stadium’s otherwise perfect clubhouse of your flatulence, and don’t think Cashman can save you this time. I’m calling the fucking shots around here and the sooner you get that through your misshapen skull, the better. You’re no Mariano Rivera. You’re no Megyn Kelly. And you’re sure as shit not Nadia Comaneci.