Poor Barry Zito. People are really tearing him apart — as is expected because he has been awful — but sometimes the human in me can’t help but empathize. Despite my sympathies, Bochy’s plan is to yank him from the rotation and send him to the bullpen so he can ‘work things out’.
If I’m Barry Zito, I’m loving this.
How great would it be if I went to work tomorrow and my boss said: “Jeff, you’re doing a lousy job, so we’re going to allow you to not work so hard, lighten your stress, workload, etc. so you only have to work every couple of days or so in non-pressure situations. Oh, and don’t worry, we’ll still pay you the salary you get paid now.”
Eureka! Sign me up, Boss! I’ll show up and sit on my ^ss for the first two thirds of the work day, practice making shaving cream pies and chew on sunflower seeds. Just holler when you need me and make sure that the money is still in the bank.
Yes, I’m being silly. I know that Zito probably hates Zito’s performance more than anyone else ever could. But honestly, I wish things were so “awful” in my life that I got a guaranteed 100 million dollars coming my way whether I do good work ever again or not.
Though I previously alluded to a theory that Zito’s poor performance is perhaps rooted in his propensity for courting high-profile, high-maintenance divas, I am beginning to wonder if this isn’t just another deserved consequence of dealing with the Devil himself (in this case, the Devil is Scott Boras, not Ann Coulter, though she is still the Devil too). Seven years and $126 million? That’s a lot of dough. Yet Major League teams are still willing to take on (and pay for) the inherent risks associated with any Scott Boras deal. The J.D. Drews, Adrian Beltres and Carlos Beltrans of the world have been laughing all the way to the bank while not really living up to expectations, or their contracts. So it seems that Zito may just be another chapter in this ongoing saga of moral quandaries teams face when dealing with the Devil. I wonder if Boras represents Chinese speaking white dudes with an affinity for Asian antiquities?
On a lighter note, to quell the idea that I am a blatant misogynist proposed by a recent nameless commenter on a previous post, let me just say that, for me, it was hard not to notice that Zito’s troubles started shortly after his frolic with Lizzie McGuire. I’m a guy. I analyze. That’s what I do. And, generally speaking, I’m arrogant, but not rude. I love my mother and enjoy spraying women’s perfume in department stores when no one is looking. So sue me.
To prove that I am indeed a fun-filled philogynist at heart, I have included some lovely pictures of Barry’s most famously attractive paramours. It’s hard to argue with beauty — or attitude.
While it’s great fun and all, looking at these pretty ladies forces me to face a moral quandary of my own; therefore, I will say goodbye, for now, so I can come to terms with the situation. In the meantime, please don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As Allen’s moral quandary comes to a close, I am left in a somewhat reflective mood. His terse analysis of the character of Chicagoans was not only a fierce example of absolutism, but it was also a plain indicator of why he is so bitter and jaded towards life in general. Having grown up in a small no-name Michigan town, then spending several soul-searching years in France, Chicago, Cameroon and New York City, it is no wonder why he knows not the real nature of his being — except that it exists, even if just barely. The Truth is, Allen Krause lives a pretty good life (obviously, otherwise he’d post more often) and yet he chooses to complain about it. In reality, Allen’s life could be much worse.
He could be me for example.
Indeed, my life has been tough this week. My city was flooded by the gangs of New York, Hillary left Pennsylvania as victor, the Cubs have been on a tear, the Cardinals pitching staff has been showing weakness, the Sox haven’t been able to outslug the Evil Empire and the Reds hired Walt Jocketty, whom I once wanted to honor by naming my first born (boy or girl) after him. Oh, and I should probably also mention that I haven’t been on a date since September.
Sure, it would be real easy for me to slip into the cesspool of sympathy-seeking sadness while feeling sorry for myself. It would be real easy for me to put my teeth on a curb and ask an innocent bystander to stomp on the back of my skull. But no. No! I am a U.S. American. And one of the fundamental principles of our country — what makes this nation stand out among the rest — is our individual freedom of choice. Yes, that’s right, folks. I have a choice: hate life or live life. And who better to sum up American idealism than English gentleman and poet George Eliot (1819 – 1880) who said:
“The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice.”
I choose to choose. I choose to grow. I choose to make Mike’s Hard Lemonade out of the tree of lemons in my front yard. I choose to analyze, scrutinize and ultimately pursue the right path. But beware… many a moral quandary and philosophical pitfall await the anxious do-gooder. And bad things happen to those who screw up (just ask the gatekeeper at Wrigley who wouldn’t let the goat in to see the game).
Mirror my example and take heed, for these choices were not easy to make:
Erin Andrews and ESPN or Kerry Sayers and Comcast Sportsnet:
Hmm. Watch the world-class ESPN broadcast featuring the hottest woman in baseball or Hawk and DJ rehash the ‘glory days’ on CSN with mojo buzzkiller Kerry Sayers. These are the choices I thought I would have when preparing to watch Wendesday night’s broadcast of the Yankees versus the White Sox. The Baseball Tonight teaser featuring Erin licking her lips and winking at me through the tube made it an easy choice; but DirectTV took the choice out of my hands and blacked out the ESPN broadcast. I wrote my congressman and he assured me he would do absolutely nothing about it. At least I wrote my congressman.
Write an Exposé on the Greatness that is Evan Longoria or the Greatness that is Eva Longoria:
I know, I know, seems like a tired joke already. It’s not. This, like farts, will always be funny. Longoria is a great future star who will be a staple of all my fantasy teams. Respectively, Longoria is a great star who will be a future staple of all my fantasies. Longoria is not just great, Longoria is perfect and Longoria is awesome and Longoria is the epicenter of my earthquake, the eye of my storm, the cow in my tornado.
Ah, Longoria. Longoria Longoria Longoria. Longoria Longing Longoria Longoria Long Longoria Lung… Eva Longoria-Lung.
Mrs. Eva Longoria-Lung.
Lead a Life of Fame or Lead a Life of Obscurity:
Now that the press has relaxed its death grip on my every move in favor of reporting on a much more successful, more “professional” MLBlog from a more attractive, more “informed” writer (Alyssa Milano) I have resorted back to the mundane existence I once lived. Oh sure, the paparazzi on the 62/Archer bus can still be a pain and yes, I can’t get into US Cellular Field without signing an autograph or three, but when we come right down to it: I am of the People. Though my success has avalanched in recent weeks, I must keep a humble heart and leave such pompous and pedantic acts to my colleague/opponent, Mr. Allen Krause. For I know what victory tastes like and my reservations will ultimately prove me to be the bigger man.
I choose to sit on the couch, watch some ball and feel damn good about it.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.