Sunday, January 27, 2008

Skunks...

I was thinking (it happens) about skunks. When you stop and think about it, calling somebody a skunk is still a wonderfully descriptive insult. After all, everybody knows what a skunk smells like--nobody ever mistakes a skunk for something else or vice versa.

Further, if you’ve spent anytime in the countryside and happen to be a canine aficionado chances are your fine furry companion(s) has decided to engage a skunk or two mano a mano. I was once walking my two dogs (both golden retrievers at the time) and noticed the smell of skunk but it wasn’t a strong smell at that point.

They ran away quite suddenly. A (low watt) light bulb went off and I took to pursuit. The smell suddenly got very powerful and sure enough, my pooches had fought the skunk and the skunk won. Their eyes were watery, they kept pawing at their noses and rubbing their faces on the ground and I set about the grim task of getting Ren and Stimpy home to have them de-scented.

Not five minutes later another skunk starting crossing the road about 30 yards away. Despite their unpleasant initial encounter, Beavis and Butthead were ready for a rematch. The final score:

Skunks 2
Dumb dogs 0

I learned a lot about skunks (as well as the average intellect of golden retrievers) that day. If you touch anything that a skunk has touched, you too will join the sacred order of unwilling stinkers. You simply cannot interact with a skunk and not come away … well, worse for the experience.

It got me thinking (twice in one day!) that MLB has their fair share of skunks. Guys who not only reek, but also can spread their stench around wherever they go. Like four-legged skunks, the two-legged variety leaves an unmistakable ‘scent’ in their wake that is unlike nothing else. For the most part, if they touch something, it’s going to stink as well.

To be a skunk, one has to be completely dishonourable. Sometimes an individual who, in the course of doing their job in an honourable fashion, might come away smelling badly on occasion. This person is not a skunk. To use an example--Don Fehr is not a skunk. He’s done some things that weren’t admirable, but he’s viewed as an honourable, honest guy who seldom acts in a duplicitous fashion. Yes, occasionally he has left a stench in his wake but that’s due to his style and not the substance of the man himself.

A skunk is a person whose very substance causes us to hold our noses.

Further, just because somebody is inept--it doesn’t mean he is a skunk. Don’t mistake mediocrity (in MLB terms) for being a skunk. Dave Littlefield is inept, not a skunk. Tom Hicks is inept, but not a skunk. Ed Wade is inept, but he too is not a skunk. To be a true skunk, one must deliberately choose to become one. There are no accidental or inadvertent skunks. If somebody makes a conscious choice to be a certain way--then he is a skunk.

Which brings me to today’s snark: Who are some of the biggest skunks in MLB?

Bud Selig The man has achieved a great many things. I even detailed his accomplishments in last week’s MSN Canada column. Nevertheless, the man has raped the taxpayers to the tune of close to $10 billion since he became commissioner. When you wonder where some of your tax dollars are going when you hear about cuts to healthcare, education etc., well part of it is from Bud Selig’s blackmailing your region for ballpark boondoggles. The total rises above $10 billion when you learn about some of the other goodies his cartel enjoys and exploits to the nth degree. He is the guy who attempted contraction, who allowed the steroid era to flourish for profit. He is the guy that the other skunks in MLB want to have lead them for the foreseeable future.

Carl Pohlad Many people strive to be rich. I am not among them. Oh, I like money well enough however; I’d hate to be in the same circles as the likes of Carl Pohlad. This octogenarian septic tank is one of the wealthiest men in America. His hand is always extended in search of handouts be it from revenue sharing or corporate welfare. He offered up his team for contraction. He tried to move the Twins anywhere the handouts were more generous. Even though he is the primary financial beneficiary of the Twins new ballpark, he said, “[Public money] is where it should come from.” He wants Johan Santana to take less so he can keep more and questions Santana’s loyalty for not being willing to subsidize one of America’s wealthiest men. It’ll be easy to tell when Pohlad’s been dead for a week--his smell will improve.

Scott Boras I prefer that the players get their fair share of baseball’s revenues. As we’ve detailed (and will yet detail) it’s better than seeing the skunks of Selig’s cartel get it. However, this man is so fundamentally dishonest in his approach that sometimes his players end up picking up some of his stench. Boras uses many high-minded phrases that are frankly his recipe for deception. An example is this: "Any discussions as to contract terms (are) between the teams and ourselves. It's clear for all of us that we're at that point now where we've got to do a lot of work with the teams involved, and we're going to keep the information and dialogues with the clubs private and confidential as we go forward."

This ‘private and confidential dialogue’ allows Boras to say “That’s an interesting offer, but I have to let you know that there’s a team with a package on the table that is right up there with yours that I’ve been speaking with recently.” Of course, the team with the similar package is the one he owns. If pressed on knowing the identity of the bidding club Boras simply states that all dialogue is, of course, ‘private and confidential.’

If a club has the highest bid but you want more, you tell them that. You just say that his client would prefer to play elsewhere so if the team wants him--they have to dig a little deeper. Finally, Alex Rodriguez has been bathing in P.R. tomato juice to get the skunk smell off of him.

Jeffrey Loria and David Samson

I can’t say it better than this: Two cities, two major league franchises, two wastelands courtesy of the two asses required to spell “assassin.” This is the scorched earth policy employed by these two skunks--the 'rule or ruin' Mongol Hordes of corporate welfare.














Got wood?

Since I’ve been going buggy of late, I thought it might be good to have someone, shall we say … insectoid related to handle the sign off. I tried Adam Ant--nope, The Tick declined as did The Human Fly, Atom Ant, and Spiderman (technically he’s an arachnid--which is also the word peanut in French if memory serves--but I was getting desperate). I didn’t even try any of the not-yet-deceased Beatles though Yoko Ono shrilly volunteered. I had to explain that I was looking for bugs--not vermin.

Sadly, the best I could come up with was Jiminy Cricket. You remember Jiminy--right? He’s the guy that kept telling Pinocchio to let his conscience be his guide, to always tell the truth (even when the Blue Fairy asks if the dress she's wearing makes her butt look fat and she turns him into a spastic colon for his honesty) but neglected to mention that mashing up Viagra tablets and using it as acne cream will have side effects.

Therefore, having little recourse, I have reluctantly allowed the bug to do the sign off and have acquiesced to his request to sing--and not write or say it. I hope that the decent chaps at Drunk Jays Fans are living up to their name--it’ll make this much less painful. O.K. O.K. a teensy weensy little tiny bit (anybody else havin' a Freudian moment right now?) less painful.

(To the tune of: “When You Wish Upon A Star”)

"When you give your best regards,
Makes folks want to hit the bar,
Anything that’s on your blog will make them spew.

If your regards, at the end, causes hate mail to be sent.
Since you gave your best regards as retards do.

Like a dolt in cyberspace, words pile up to cause headaches
When you give your be…
"*CRUNCH*

(checks bottom of shoe)

I’ve waited a long time to do that. When your kids are 5 and 3 years old and they play that movie 33 times in a row--it changes a guy y'know?

Best Regards

John

1 comment:

SBG said...

Carl Pohlad is no octogenerian. He was born in 1915, making him 92 years old.