June 05, 2006

Smells Like Electricity

  • For some reason I have a distinct memory of when Jeff Weaver first came up to the big leagues several years ago, and after facing the young righty, Frank Thomas said something along the lines of "His shit is electric." Big Frank, as it just so happens, was not referring to Weaver's poop; rather, he was saying that his pitches were endowed with an exceptional amount of movement. (Not, mind you, bowel movement. Sorry, couldn't resist.) The point is that when Jeff Weaver first came up, he was a true sensation. And in the past couple of weeks, his younger brother Jered has similarly blown up since arriving in the bigs. I happened to watch Jered's start against the Indians earlier in the week, and, if you'll excuse the expression, he dropped his trousers and took a dump all over the Tribe's lineup. And, I might add, with his distinct mop of locks hanging out the back of his hat, he calls to mind another famous pitcher of yesteryear -- Mitch Kramer from "Dazed and Confused." No word yet on whether or not Weaver has been spanked with the "Soul Pole" as an initiation by his veteran teammates. If you haven't seen "Dazed and Confused" and have no idea what I'm talking about, you can just assume I've lost my mind, which I have.
  • Last week I made the bold move of comparing Mets' rookie OF Lastings Milledge to Deion Sanders in terms of the electricity he generates on the field (electricity in this case having nothing to do with feces). And I'm proud to say that young Lastings made me look good on Sunday by making himself look like an ass when he took a victory lap in the outfield, high-fiving fans before the game was even over (he had just hit a game-tying homer). I know it's sacrilege to all the old school, tightwad types out there who don't approve of such behavior, but I'll go on record as saying bravo, Lastings. Sports are supposed to be entertaining, and it doesn't get much better than ridiculous acts of bravado, especially if they end in embarassment. And in today's game, that was exactly what happened -- the Mets lost in 12 innings.
  • In a piece of news that can only be described as perplexing, it has recently come to light that Brewers' announcer Bob Uecker has filed a restraining order against a woman he claims is stalking him. While I would like to sympathize with Bob in this case, I'm afraid I cannot. Why am I being so heartless, you ask? Simple -- Uecker is 71, and if you ask me, once you pass 60, having a stalker should not be considered an inconvenience or a threat. It should be considered an honor. When I'm 71, I'll be happy if I'm not dead, let alone fending off insane women in their mid-40's. Uke -- embrace it, my friend. The glory days of "Mr. Belvedere" are, as you may know, behind us, but apparently your star still shines brighter than ever. Viagra? Botox? Adult undergarments? Who needs 'em. In a nod to the sublime "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka," I nominate you, Bob Uecker, for Pimp of the Year.


Post a Comment

<< Home