Whether it compares to the real thing, we can only imagine. The Chicago Sun-Times’ Jay Mariotti (above, right) isn’t quite ready to put the fag-flap behind him.
I have to chuckle at some people — including some writers — using this opportunity to blame me and tell lies about how I do my work. Would people like to explain what I’ve done here, other than my job? To cut through some of the b.s. I’ve been reading, hear this: I have nothing against locker rooms and clubhouses as long as they’re civil. Again, if Guillen wants me to join his nightly OzFest charm sessions before games, he and Sox management will have to address and apologize for a history of threatening and unprofessional episodes. It’s certainly not about fear. It’s about dignity, couth, professionalism and a refusal to lower myself to laws made by jockdom.
One incident involved Guillen himself on a night in Baltimore when he stood naked behind me in the clubhouse and — how do I put this? — pretended to have sex with me. If that happens out on the street, he gets arrested for lewd behavior. A screaming Carl Everett, mean guy, confronted me outside the Sox’ clubhouse last October. Oh, and before a playoff game, while I joined a live ESPN “SportsCenter” segment on the field, Guillen yelled at me from the dugout, “Get off our field before I kick your ass!”
So, do you want me on your field, Ozzie, or do you not want me on your field? Can’t have it both ways. I’m confused.
There have been incidents involving Frank Thomas and a bat he wanted to put up my butt “sideways.” There was a disturbing 15-minute standoff with a screaming Tony Phillips. Aaron Rowand always yapped about wanting a piece of my hide. Hawk Harrelson blathers on in that drawl about some bird, and all it does is enflame fans who make threats on e-mail and voice mail.