When a Major League Baseball team fires the majority of its relief pitching staff
and restocks it with a fresh cast of bumming bandits headlined by the
ubiquitously underachieving journeyman Kip Wells (of all waifs), you
can be certain that that team has hit its absolute rock bottom.
Congratulations, Washington Nationals! You are the burnt toast of our nation’s capital. We are going to eat you up.
Of course, picking on the Nationals is a lot like kicking a quadriplegic — it does get old after a while — and since my indomitably fatalistic colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, already did a good job
of slamming the organization for all its follies, I would like to
propose a more optimistic approach to gibing this laughingstock of a
But first, let us agree that whether Nationals’ manager
Manny Acta is responsible for the team’s atrocious play or not is, at
this point, quite negligible; because, just like a Kyle Farnsworth
fastball to the number eight hitter, Acta is gonna be outta here.
And after two miserable years and countless futile attempts at
corralling the motley crew of ex-cons, high profile free agents and
drug addicts, Acta probably won’t mind taking his rightful place in the
So I — humble paragon of hope that I am —
would like to offer the D.C. brass some friendly advice on who should
replace Acta at the managerial helm. Let’s face it: right now what the
Nationals need more than anything is a fiery, go get ’em, gnarly
skipper who won’t take crap from anyone — someone who eschews personal
dignity and goes right for the jugular!
Mitt Romney comes to
mind. He’s in the D.C. loop. He’s Mormon (synonymous with “scary”).
He supports blowing up people if they don’t agree with him, which is
evident in his recent remarks that President Obama is a “timid advocate of freedom”
for trying to conduct a sensible dialogue with Latin American leaders rather
than walking into the meetings strapped with an AK-47 and a briefcase
full of Zyklon gas.
Then again, like the Nationals, Romney can be better summed up as a simple loser.
hear George W. Bush is looking for a job. And though he is most known
for his stints at drunk driving, mismanaging war and ignoring a city in
peril, I must admit he did do a pretty decent job during his baseball
days in Arlington. Still, something with Dubya will always be amiss.
He just doesn’t have the necessary flair it takes to rally a country,
let alone a hapless baseball team.
If not these men, then who,
dear readers, can lead the way? Who has the guts, the guile, the zip, the zap, the
unadulterated masochism, the uncanny madness… who has what it takes
to whip those gutterball Nationals into a state of frenzied affirmation
and show them what real success tastes like?
There is but one answer. One man (boy?). His name is Fred. And Fred is awesome.
Send Fred into the Nats’ clubhouse — just once —
and I guarantee Elijah Dukes will never screw up again. Don’t believe
me? See the wrath of Fred (without his medication no less) for
…just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.