Yard Work

Mike Wilmer (Host): Welcome back to The FAN590, I’m your host Mike Wilmer. Another tough loss for the Blue Jays tonight, as they fall 8-7 to the Milwaukee Brewers here in Milwaukee. A.J. Burnett was roughed up for eight runs, former Jay David Bush carried a no-hitter into the seventh, but the Blue Jays came storming back with six in the ninth only for the comeback to fall just short, with Saloman Torres closing it out for the save in the 9th. We’re going to talk about that and a whole lot more in our postgame show on a special Thursday edition of our usual “Wednesdays with J.P.” call-in show. Welcome to the studio, J.P.

Toronto Blue Jays General Manager J. P. Ricciardi: Hi, Mike, thanks for having me as always.

Host: Let’s go straight to the phones, how about it J.P.?

J. P. Ricciardi: Sounds great.

Host: Here’s Mike in Newmarket, Mike, you’re live with J.P.

Mike in Newmarket: How’s it going J.P?

J. P. Ricciardi: I’m good, Mike.

Mike in Newmarket: My question is about A.J. Burnett. Right now, the team has plenty of strong young pitching, and not enough bats. So in retrospect, that eleven million per year could have been better spent on a couple of big bats. What’s your feeling about Burnett’s contract now, I mean, do you think he’s been worth the money, and do you think he’ll opt out and play somewhere else next year?

J. P. Ricciardi: Well first of all, Mike, you can never have enough pitching. That’s a saying in baseball that goes way back. Now, I heard some criticism when we signed Burnett to that deal, but we carefully weighed our options and took into consideration what we needed to do to contend in a very tough division, and so we made that deal. And if you look at what happened with the free agent pitching market one year later, the cost of free agent pitching went way up. You had guys like Gil Meche and Jeff Suppan who were getting signed for the same kind of money that we gave to Burnett. No offense to those guys because they’re quality performers, but they’re simply nowhere near the talent level of A.J. Burnett. I mean, neither Suppan or Meche is fit to carry Burnett’s jock, or even to lick the sweat of his jock, or even to be in the same division with A.J.’s jocksweat. Now we’re all professionals, and I don’t want to put those guys down, but those are the facts, plain and simple.

Host: And what about Mike’s question regarding Burnett’s future? Does he have a future with the Blue Jays beyond 2008?

J. P. Ricciardi: The thing is, I’m not A.J. Burnett, and you’re not A.J .Burnett, and the only person who can answer that question is A.J. Burnett. A.J. knows how his contract is structured, and he knows what his options are, and he knows that in 2008 we expect nothing less than his full commitment to the team and to competing for a championship. And I’m confident that we have that commitment from him, even if he’s talking about playing for the Cubs. Next year is next year, and I don’t want to speculate on what A.J. Burnett is feeling about 2009 and beyond, but if he wants to take his ball and go home or sign with another club, then he can do that, even though it would make him a giant money-grubbing pussy traitor as far as I’m concerned.

Host: All right, let’s take another call, we have Steve from Orangeville on line 2, Steve, you’re on with J.P.

Steve in Orangeville: Hey J.P., I’m sure you’ve been following Carlos Delgado’s career since he left Toronto, and considering how quickly his skills have deteriorated, are you happy with your decision to not resign him in 2005?

J. P. Ricciardi: Well, that’s a terrific question. Yes, I have been following Carlos’ career quite closely, not only because it’s my job to keep on top of how everyone in baseball is performing, but because Carlos was a great player for us and he’ll always be part of the Blue Jay family. But at the time, we were considering our options and were looking to take the team in a different direction with some fresh talent, and that’s what we ended up doing. It was partly a money issue, where we thought that Carlos wasn’t worth thirteen million in that market. However, we also felt that we needed to part ways with the pinkos on our club, and take the team in a non-pinko direction with players who support America, not bash it. After all, even if we’re a Canadian team, we’re playing an American sport, and we’re responsible for supporting the country that created this game, and that means not signing paychecks for unpatriotic foreigners who won’t stand up for America’s national anthem. That’s what Toronto baseball fans expect from Blue Jay management, and we listen to what our fans want.

Host: OK, next we’ve got –

J. P. Ricciardi: No pinkos, Mike!

Host: Fantastic. Craig from Ajax, Ontario, you’re on with J.P. Ricciardi.

Craig in Ajax: How’s it going, J.P.?

J. P. Ricciardi: Pretty awesome, Craig, how the hell are you?

Craig in Ajax: I’m … great. Listen, I have two very short questions for you J.P. Frank Thomas has hit pretty well since joining the A’s. My first question is, did the Blue Jays give up on him too soon? And my second question is, were the team’s problems with Thomas more business or personal?

J. P. Ricciardi: Wow, that’s a new one. Haven’t been asked about that yet [laughs]. Actually, if you check the newspapers right now Craig, you’ll find that Thomas isn’t hitting very well at all right now, because he’s on the DL [laughs]. That’s one instance, in dealing with players on the DL, where you’re more than happy to let other teams deal with that problem instead of you. But regardless, you need to understand that Frank Thomas is a tremendous talent. On the other hand, it’s no secret that there were some philosophical differences between him and Blue Jays management regarding the most appropriate way to utilize that talent. And when we couldn’t come to an agreement on that issue, it was mutually decided that it was best for Frank Thomas to pursue other options. Now about your second question, making personnel decisions based on personal biases is not an effective way to run a baseball club. The main focus must always be on putting a competitive product on the field, and that means assembling the best possible talent. But I won’t lie to you and say that team chemistry isn’t a factor in all this. Essentially, we’re not the only club that has cut ties with Thomas during his career because it’s fairly well known throughout baseball that he’s an asshole. And by that I mean a round, hairy 230-pound shit-caked asshole with a cherry on top, and most clubs would rather pay him to not be around. So no, I don’t think our problems with Frank Thomas were of a personal nature, considering that our experiences with him were obviously the norm, not the exception. Do you see what I mean?

Host: That’s some straight talk from J.P. Ricciardi, right here on the FAN 590 –

J. P. Ricciardi: That’s for damned sure, Mike. I mean, I don’t waste an hour of my precious time every week to come on your show and pussyfoot around with devoted Blue Jay fans who spend their hard earned money to tune into this radio station. They want answers, and I supply them. And on that note, I’d just like to thank all the many fans that have supported me throughout this slow, but steady, rebuilding process, and I look forward to your support going forward. It’s going to be Toronto’s year to shine soon enough. Go ahead, Mike.

Host: Thanks, J.P. Let’s take one more call. Here’s Bill from Thornhill, Bill, you’re on with current Toronto Blue Jays GM J.P. Ricciardi.

Bill in Thornhill: Hi J.P., thanks for taking my call.

J. P. Ricciardi: My pleasure, Bill. Thanks for being taken. [laughs]

Bill in Thornhill: Yeah, funny. So you probably heard that Adam Dunn responded to the comments that you made during last week’s show. Do you have anything to say about Dunn’s remarks?

J. P. Ricciardi: Well, not really, but I got a bit carried away on yesterday’s show and have called the Reds to offer my apologies for the things I said. I spoke with Reds GM Walt Jocketty, and he understands that my outburst was completely out of character and that no harm was intended toward his players or his baseball club. I also wanted to extend my apologies to Adam Dunn personally, but my calls into him and his agent were never returned. I can understand why he doesn’t wish to speak to me, but him not manning up to accept my apology more or less confirms that he’s a one-trick pony without any heart or passion, and not a player that we consider to be a good fit for our baseball club. I considered this issue to be closed a long time ago, but if Adam Dunn wants to milk this a little more, then that’s his business. And if he wants to throw down with me, then I have no problem with that either. I’ll wipe his ass with his lips in ten seconds flat if that’s what it comes to. But other than that, Bill, no, I don’t have any specific comments about Dunn’s chickenshit remarks.

Host: Hang on, we have a special report for our listeners at home — we have just received breaking news here in the studio, in regards to an unconfirmed report, I repeat, an unconfirmed report that the Toronto Blue Jays have fired manager John Gibbons and have replaced him with former Blue Jays manager Cito Gaston. This is surprising news to say the least, but let’s get the answer straight from the horse’s mouth — J.P., is there any truth to what we’re hearing?

J. P. Ricciardi: Well, let me just say this: John Gibbons is a close personal friend of mine. We were roommates down in the minors when we were kids. So I’ve known John Gibbons for a long long time, and I’m as proud to call him a colleague as I am to call him a friend. Now, as an organization, we had to closely examine how the club was faring relative to the expectations we set for ourselves. We want to be competitive in the present and to have a strong foundation for the future, and both of those things are well within our organization’s reach in 2008. And I think that we can do that with the on-field leadership currently in place. Let’s not forget that we were in the wildcard hunt not 2 years — wait a minute. You said that Gibby was FIRED?

Host: That’s right, J.P. John Gibbons out, 2 time World Series champion manager Cito Gaston in.

J. P. Ricciardi: Cito Gaston? Really? This isn’t some wacky radio show prank?

Host: That’s right, J.P.

J. P. Ricciardi: Holy shit. I thought they were kidding. [laughs] Those cocksmocking bastards.

Host: Is it safe to say that you’re surprised by this news, J.P.?

J. P. Ricciardi: Surprised? Yeah, you could say that. You could also say that the Blue Jays ownership wouldn’t know how to run a dishwasher, let alone a fucking sports franchise. Let me tell all you folks out there wondering why Cito Gaston never got another shot at managing a major league club, it’s not because of the color of his skin. Stupidity is color blind, and boy oh boy Cito Gaston was his own goddamn Rainbow Coalition of Stupid. “Hey, look, I’m Cito Gaston, and I won the World Series with one of the best teams in baseball! Watch me play the same nine stiffs every damn day! Joe Carter past his prime is awesome! Orlando Merced is awesome! Ed Sprague is awesome! Otis Nixon is awesome! I’m awesome! Ruining Pet Hengten’s arm by working him like a ancient Egyptian slave — that was so so so awesome. Or that time I let Hentgen cough up eleven runs in eight innings against Boston because I thought I “owed it to him” — truly the plateau of awesome! Scolding Shawn Green and benching him to give a washed-up Ruben Sierra another chance — 31 flavours of awesome!” I could go on, but why not just bring Gord Ash’s fat ass back in if you really want to take a ride on the Fudgepack Express. Yeah, Gordo, I’m talking to you — look at the piece of crap team you left me with when you were shitcanned, you Jabba-looking sweaty bitch. Why don’t you come on over from your bratwurst plate and try to take a bite out of J.P.? Come on, I dare ya!

Host: And that’s all the time we have today. Thanks, J.P.

J. P. Ricciardi: Come and get me, you fucking hosers! Come on! I got your home and native land right fucking here!

“Wednesdays with J.P.” airs every week on the FAN590 at the conclusion of that night’s game.

I know this has nothing to do with baseball, but since I am a baseball commentator, and this concerns something I supposedly did during a baseball game, then I guess it’s a baseball matter. A loyal fan e-mailed me this little “blog” link concerning a little something I said last night concerning the lovely and talented (wink wink) ESPN journalist Erin Andrews. In case you don’t want to read the link, this guy DMZ — yeah, that’s a name — calls me out for making some comments about Erin’s attractiveness and drop-dead sexiness. Oh no! I called a woman sexy and attractive! Call out the police and arrest me for that awful crime while drug dealers and other terroritsts roam the streets!

I’d talk about the lacking credibility of “blogs,” but famous writer Buzz Bissinger (a personal pal of mine, if you must know) already took them out to the woodshed and gave it to ‘em good. Besides, there’s only so much time in the day to talk about unemployed virgins that live rent-free in their parents’ basement eating Taco Bell and playing Pac-Man all day. (Ouch!) Instead, I’m going to talk today about women, and what it means to be a woman in today’s society, and in the sport’s world, and how hard it is for a man to appreciate the modern woman without getting a bunch of guff from know-nothing namby-pamby losers.

Though you may not know it, back when I was growing up, old Sut was quite the ladies man — I had plenty of pretty young things lining up to wear my letterman jacket. When I saw a sweet little something that caught my eye, I made sure they knew the Sut was interested. A wink, a smile, a little swat on the heinie, a little Tune In Tokyo in the yearbook office — it was all out in the open, and it was totally harmless. I dare say it was actually respectful, but I don’t want to get myself in trouble with a certain militant and hair-covered sect of society, if you catch my meaning.

Today in the 21st century? Well, I already hinted at it. You follow a girl around for an hour or two, she’ll think you’re a weirdo. You show up at her front door unannounced, she’ll sic the cops on you! You even glance at a girl while walking by her bedroom window in the middle of the night, she’ll sue you for sexual harrassment! And don’t even try to talk to her about your new super-sturdy bedroom furniture! Don’t let ‘em tell you otherwise: chivalry is in fact dead, and I got the cat-scratches to prove it.

The fact is, women want to have it both ways — they want to walk around showing off their legs and ankles to every Tom Dick and Harry on the street, and yet they want men to respect them for their mind while they’re flashing all that skin. Sorry, honey, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t expect to go around dressed up in your skirts and blouses and expect men to ignore how nice and round your rear end is. If you don’t want your looks to be an issue, then don’t make them an issue. Newsflash, ladies: if you’re a professional, and you’re working around other professionals, maybe you should dress in a professional fashion. And ladies, another word of advice: get out of the kitchen if you can’t take the heat. And lemme tell you, even with the ball and chain wrapped around me like a hangman’s noose, Sut still brings the heat.

A lot of you young women our there could learn something from former presidential nominee Hillary Clinton — she was a looker back in the day, but now that she’s in politics, it’s all about frumpy pantsuits and low-heeled pumps. She doesn’t get my blood pumping the way she used to, but would you vote for a President that gave you wood? Exactly. Now, Chelsea, on the other hand … well, I guess I should stop there before I offend any of our sensitive readers with my totally respectful and offense-free opinions about the supple juicy mound that is the Rodham-Clinton derierre.

See, it’s resorting to that sort of PC shuck-and-jive that totally rusts my wagon. I come from a place and time where, if a man sees a woman’s butt or chest and likes the way it looks and says so, it’s called a complement. Way I see it, if it walks like a duck, and it’s got a nice ass, then I’m going to say, “God damn, that duck’s got a nice ass!” It’s not like we fellas give out these sorts of things like condoms at an abortion clinic. If I was dealing with ESPN’s Rachel Nichols, I can guarantee I wouldn’t have said one thing about her butt-ugly face. If I wanted to put up with women whose teeth look like they were flossed with a crowbar, I’d visit my mother-in-law (may she rest in peace, even if she’s not dead, the old battleax).

If only I was so lucky. Instead, I have to deal with the hottest thing in front of a microphone, and because I’m a man that appreciates the finer points (and curves!) of the fairer sex, I have to be reprimanded by some loser stranger out in Hippietown, USA because I got stuck working with a woman with legs out to here and a nice rack to boot? No way, buddy. Last I remember, this is America, and I can say whatever I want. This is why we’re fighting that war on terror over there, because I’m proud to be from somewhere where I can say that Erin Andrews gets me harder than quick-dry cement and not take any guff about it from nobody. Save that sort of book-burning facism for Iraq or the Middle East, because the Sut ain’t having none of that. And you can take that to the bank. With interest.

Cy Young Award winner Rick Sutcliffe wants you to know that the fine piece to his left in the picture above is his daughter, so you’d better watch what you’re thinking, buddy.

Dag, y’all, has this been a boring baseball season so far or what? Everything is falling into place, just as I thought it would. Utley and Hamilton, leading their leagues in tacos largos? CALLED IT, knew it, locked ‘em both up with my first two picks in every league. Cliff Lee, best pitcher in the majors? NAILED IT, took him before any overrated Santana or Hernandez action. Edison Volquez, who is arguably better? NOSTRADAMUSED IT, knew I could snag him with my last pick in every single draft and did so. Cubs and Rays in first on June 1? DUH, got it in my lockbox for anyone to see. (Email me for password, and therefore proof.)

As for the other so-called controversies — come on, duderz, if you think the “issue” of instant replay on homers is even worth talking about, then you are a small small man inside and out. I know YOU all know where I stand on THAT one. Yankees in last place? Um, obviously they were going to have pitching problems, holes in the lineup, overhyped young manager, meddling boss, easy as an all-day pass in Bangkok Boys’ Town. Anyone shocked by the sudden power outage on the “new, slimmer Pudge”? Yeah, me neither, wink wink. Whatever else has been going on, I already knew it; yawn, ho-hum, so sleepy. My algorithms this year are as right on as a red traffic light.

Some ask me if it gets boring, knowing every single thing that is going to happen all year long in virtually every situation, just based on my superior knowledge of mathematics and baseball. Well, I guess you’d just have to refer that question to a certain Dr. Jonathan Osterman, wouldn’t you? Like the good Dr., I pretty much see everything simultaneously, future and past and present all jumbled together like your mom and the milkman. So it’s all the same to me.

Still, though, there are some developments that even I, your ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Spart-diggity, could not foresee. Here are some of those developments, and my excuses.

1. It looks like this is a big year for home-field advantage, at least so far. I knew that would be the case; all the indicators pointed to it. (I have a lot of indicators, fools.) But I only thought the percentage would be up to about .565 or .568 at the most, not .577. I guess I underestimated the pussiness of professional baseball players. “Oh, poor us, we have to travel around the country in private jets and stay in five-star hotels for free — of COURSE we can’t be expected to win on the road.” What a sick, sick joke. Moving on…

2. Longtime readers of my work know that I like b.s. like “Player of the Month” about as much as I like cancer. (Want a small sample size? Check your pantalones, loser.) So I lolled my tidy ass off when I saw that May’s POM was Lance Freakin’ Berkman. For what? All the articles are like “Ooh, he’s hitting for a really high average.” Um, stats discredited much? BA is worth about as much as diarrhea in an elevator — funny, and you know there’s a story behind it, but not really very much of a big deal. And, sure, he had 21 extra-base hits in the month and scored 31 runs; better, but still not that impressive when you figure in the fact that HE PLAYS IN A DAMN CHILD’S PARK. Seriously, the dimensions of Minute Maid Park are the game’s biggest scandal, and any HR hit over that left-field wall, or even down the right-field line, are more suspect than a prom date with an adam’s apple. Berkman, Carlos Lee, anyone who takes credit for anything more than a long double into deep center is as much of a damn cheat as Roger Clemens. Word.

3. Okay, this one kills me — I would have completely housed the standings of both leagues, but I somehow had a mental poot and had the Padres last in the NL West instead of the Rockies. OUCH. Go ahead, kill me in the comments, you know you want to.

Okay, that’s about it so far. Sorry there ain’t more but I am really smart and I don’t make a lot of mistakes. Leave a comment exalting my superiority, or don’t, all the same to me.

Holas y muy besos to you, readers of El Yard-Work.org! It is I, your internacional ambassadoress of beisbol, pop music, y the grande Bolivar-ish revolución del Húgo Chavez!

Excuse of me to you for not so much writing on this e-weblog. But it is hard work being the public beautiful face of the new Venezuela. Every week I have appearing on “¡Hola, Presidente!” with our great leader — my role is a sidekick, to laugh heartily at jokes he tell and then also to sing all my songs popular in medley fashion. Every week. Over and over. Live. For six or at times ten hours at a time until the show is over. Of course, it is a blessing and an honor to serve my country, therefore I cannot complain. I would like to see your countries popular divas holding it down like this, but ¿who would want to see that much of Christina Aguilera? And her fake nuñitas, jajaja.

Also, I am forever traveling, traveling, making public appearance for Citgo and for Invepal and Telcel Cellular, all our big companies. Also I am sometimes bringing documentos to these appearances in a suitcase shackled to my slender and supple wrists. Further, I at times have assignment to “charm” certain leaders with my dazzle good looks and ready smiles, so that Venezuelan agents can do things they need to do. Ay yi yi, it is hard to being me!

All these has left me very little time for the beisbol season in the U.S. But now that I am look at the standings I am very upset about what I see! My poor Marineros del Seattle having the worse record in the entire both leagues? This is not good! This is not right! This fact sticks in my craw all night! How can such a thing as this be happening?

First of, Los Seattles are not hitting. Except unless you are talking about the other team’s pitcher, with a batting helmet. Then yes, at least Richie Sexson is hitting. But other than that it is muy poor at the batter box. Only two regular person has a batting average over .300…and it is Jose Lopez and Raul Ibañez! What a surprising! And the OBP is in addition a pile of fecal matter, homers are nowhere or very little to be found, and no one wants to run on the basepaths except Ichiro. I have cried hot tears of melancholy watching this team, and once evomited too.

But never so hard have I vomited as when I think about the Marinero’s pitching. What a hot slippery malodorous mess! My dear countryman Felix is doing well, mostlies, with an ERA of pretty low and some strikeouts that are a lot. But walking too many! and giving up more hits than innings! That will catch up with one faster than a spoiled arepa. But over all Feliz is not the problem, even though he has only a 2 to 4 record. The rest of the starter pitchers is the problem, even my homesboy Carlos Silva, who pitching about as well as the ass of my dead aunt Thereze. And the relievers también. And the manager who does not know how to leverage his staff. And the GM who was supposed to make everything great. And the Moose, I hate him too.

Most of all, who I really hate is myself for believing too ferventamente. I espect too much from a team that is just not very good. When I find myself lighting candles in a shrine to Wladimir Balentin, running scenarios about what would our record be without the Bedard trade (much mas good, doy). or trying to figure out what is a yuniesky betancourt, it makes me confused plus sad. This happens all the time, with even some results in boyfriends and in charismatic leaders of a country. Maybe someday I will elearn “not to wear my heart on my sleeve” for a team, or at least to get a new phrase to describe that process because ew no yuck no way wtf, I do not want a heart on my sleeve.

And sí there are times when I would like to cambiar my choice for a favorite team, especially when Kenji Johjima does another 0-4 caca night, or when the ferkakte Beltré does a big airy whiffy swing to no avail. But Presidente Húgo loves them so emuch, based on Seattle’s righteous stance against the G8 summit years ago, and because they’re stadium is suppose “Go Green” with innovations for the lungs of working class folks. So if Presidente likes them, so do we all, and so do I. I know the bread’s correct butterside.

So come on you brave Merineros! Shock the world by going all in first place! Do it for me; do it for yourself; do it for Venezuela; do it for the internationale struggle in the streets of Caracas and its classrooms. So go Marineros, even though you are a lot less good than we all thought. Yay hooray. And remember that you are still in the ALWest, a bad division because of weird days all over but we can get this done.

Ana Maria Callejeo Guillén’s new workout video, “Escuchando Esta Música, Sude su Culo Gordo Apagado con Ana Maria,” is on constant rotation on Venezuela’s Canal Nacionál 5.

Don’t let the tricky title fool you. Yes, it’s another edition of DUCK SNORTS! I’m ready if you are. Let’s do this thing, people!

CUBS HAVE HAD MORE THAN ENOUGH PIE: The Chicago Cubs, finding themselves locked into a struggle for first place in the NL Central with the St. Louis Cardinals (who are totally for real, by the way), can’t afford to play anyone that’s not contributing. This is why I’m glad they finally ended the Felix Pie experiment. Pie, a formerly highly-touted prospect in the Cubs’ organization, has been given plenty of opportunities to stake his claim on the center-field job that lots of so-called experts expected to be his. But so far, in over 110 major league games, he’s proven only that he’s not ready, forcing the Cubs to look elsewhere for answers. It looks like they’ve finally found their answer in former Padre great Jim Edmonds. His clutch hitting and spectacular defense means that Pie can spend more time in Triple A working on his game, though if he hasn’t hit yet, I’m not sure he ever will. It’s sad to see someone’s career end at the age of 23, but it looks like Felix Pie is, pardon the expression, burnt toast.

While I’m here, I’d like to offer kudos to the Padres organization for a classy move. With their team mired in last place in baseball’s most competitive division, the season’s all but lost. Giving a veteran like Edmonds a chance to play for a contender, instead of forcing him to put up meaningless numbers for a lame-duck team, shows that the Padres’ heart and mind are in the right place. That they simply let Edmonds go, instead of prolonging the process by trying to bilk a team of prospects, makes the team even classier in my eye. Here’s hoping for better times ahead for those long-suffering lowly Padres.

A STEINBRENNER SHOUTING? GUESS THAT MEANS THE YANKEES ARE BACK: If you’re a Steinbrenner, you want what you want when you want it. If you’re a Steinbrenner, you’re not going to settle for second best. When George Steinbrenner was in the public eye, he let folks know this on a regular basis whenever his New York Yankees didn’t play well. Now that George has retired, I’m glad his son Hank has taken over in his stead. Following in his father’s storied footsteps, Hank ripped into the Yankees for their disappointing effort to date this year. Not only did he make the right move — they responded to his pointed comments with a gutty 2-1 victory last night — but he’s also right about the team’s underwhelming performance. Even with their best two hitters out with injuries, and their two young prospect pitchers struggling, and two veteran starters scuffling, and a handful of slumps from regular players, the Yankees shouldn’t be under .500 and closer to last place than the top of the division they usually win.

A franchise as storied and well-known as the Yankees should never have to suffer the sort of disgraces this team has dealt with this year. It not only reflects poorly on the handful of millionaires the team employs. It also reflects poorly on the team’s ownership, all the fans of Yankeeville, USA (my own name — please don’t steal it without permission!), and the storied history of the franchise. It takes a special type of man to stand up and say that enough is enough, and to voice his displeasure for all the world to hear. Based on what he’s said so far since taking over for his father, Hank Steinbrenner is that type of man. And I think this is good for baseball.

ROOTING FOR TORONTO’S NOT FOR THE BIRDS: A lot of people are making a big deal about the Tampa Bay Rays and their first-place standing in the AL East. My position on this is that people shouldn’t believe that a team as historically bad as the Rays can suddenly start playing well. If I was a betting man this year, I’d put my money on the Toronto Blue Jays as the team to beat this year. This is because of the man in charge of the personnel moves, a person I also singled out for praise in my last DUCK SNORT column, General Manager J.P. Ricciardi.

He might be taking a lot of heat for the Jays’ struggles, but Ricciardi, a former disciple of Moneyball kinping Billy Beane, has finally climbed out from under the shadow of his mentor and become one of the best GMs in baseball. He’s a man that understands two important things about General Managing: you can’t be afraid to make moves, and you can never have too much of a good thing. This offseason is a perfect example. When third basemen Troy Glaus turned out to be a steroid-using injury-prone strikeout machine, Ricciardi flipped him to the Cardinals for Scott Rolen, a respected veteran with a reputation as a great clubhouse guy. After the A’s mistakenly cut bait on speedster Shannon Stewart, JP invited him into camp, and Stewart became the team’s starting left fielder over light-hitting Reed Johnson. And then there’s his masterpiece move this winter — after inking slick-fielding shortstop John McDonald to a new contract, he went out and acquired World Series dynamo David Eckstein. Unfortunately, both of these gritty stars are currently out with injuries, but the decision to keep two excellent shortstops on the roster is a good one.

The same goes for his most recent acquisitions: outfielders Brad Wilkerson and Kevin Mench. Both players, unceremoniously discarded by their former teams, are sluggers that can help jumpstart any offense. Signing only one of them would be enough to make Ricciardi GM-Of-The-Year material, if only to replace the woeful lack of production they were getting from another former prospect, Toronto farmhand Adam Lind. Getting both these players for pennies on the dollar, however, makes me wonder what other teams were thinking when these guys showed up on the waiver wire. Adding them to a roster that’s loaded to bear — thanks to shrewd contract extensions awarded to boppers Vernon Wells and Alex Rios — gives the team unenviable outfield and bench depth. JP manages to combine the out-of-the-box thinking that made his stat-centric Moneyball cronies so desirable once upon a time with an understanding of what actually works in baseball. It’s only a matter of time before everything finally breaks his way and Ricciardi can give our foreign neighbors up north the World Series championship they want so badly.

INTERLEAGUE MEANS THE SEASON CAN FINALLY START FOR REAL: In conclusion, I’d just like to share my thoughts on the upcoming slate of interleague games. Before interleague became a regular part of the baseball season, I would always find myself losing interest in baseball around this time of the year. When you’re always seeing the same teams play each other year after year, it gets boring pretty fast. And I’ve been a hardcore baseball fan for almost four years — I can only imagine how bored regular people get! But now that interleague play is a regular occurrence in May, I like to think that the first six weeks of the season are just extended Spring Training, and now is when the season finally begins.

With interleague, we get to see the sort of matchups that you used to only dream about. Now New York finally gets to see who’s better, the Yankees or the Mets. Now the White Sox and Cubs can finally lay claim on who owns Chicago. And where else can you find a series so packed with tension and excitement as with the Citrus Series between the Florida Marlins and Tampa Bay Rays? And then there are the unexpected pairings — the Rangers and the Giants? the Royals and the Pirates? I don’t know anyone would would ever think of having these two teams play together, which is why it’s so great. Interleague brings excitement back to baseball, something that’s sorely missing in this Steroid Era. For all those folks that say interleague play is nothing more than a gimmick that makes the unbalanced schedule a joke and limits the amount of meaningful games a team can play intra-league that have actual impact on postseason chances, I have one thing to say — you’re missing out, because it’s great!

David Michael Smithson is still waiting for the next Under Siege movie — put down the guitar, Steven, and go kick some terrorist butt!

Today, Yard Work will step aside and introduce today’s Season Preview post from longtime A’s manager Connie Mack with an anecdote from Mack’s Wikipedia page: “Once, when [Mack] visited the mound to remove the notoriously hot-tempered [Lefty] Grove from a game, Grove said, ‘Go take a shit,’ when Mack held out his hand for the ball. Mack looked Grove straight in the eye and calmly said, ‘You go take a shit, Robert.’”

Before I begin in earnest, I must say, from where I sit, I have no idea what in the world is going on down there. I’m certain the fine people of Philadelphia would never stand for this nonsense some pretend is baseball! This William Beaner, he’s supposed to be some sort of savant? Perhaps an idiot savant, I would think! Who would want to watch millionaires — millionaires! — performing what amounts to a basic constitutional when they could very well take in a moving picture show at the local cinema, or quench their thirst with a refreshing sarsaparilla? Where is the panache? Where is the flair? And where, I ask you, is the well-groomed facial hair? These players might be wearing the insignia of the team I am proud to call my own, but looking at what these glorified ruffians and unseemly characters are doing to my fair game, they are no more baseball players than they are speakeasy drunks.

How unseemly of these players to just stand there and watch as the balls sail past their idle bats! And athletes — my word, I shudder to think how these paunchy slouch-ridden so-called “men” can call themselves athletes. The countenance of this Jack Cust, for instance, reminds me of nothing more than a bowl of “Cust”-ard — pun most assuredly intended! — that has sat out in the noonday sun for too long. The same goes for that Eveland character, or this rotund Blanton man that is the team’s defacto “ace”. Given how heavy these lads look, I am thinking Mr. Beaner acquires his hurlers based on bulk rather than talent. And now, to join these molasses-footed individuals, they have acquired a dark-skinned Canadian fellow by the name Francis Thomas — how such a mountainous man can be so massive and powerful and yet so brittle that he cannot play the field is beyond my understanding of what I thought of this sport we call baseball.

I doubt even the most passionate fan of this squad could name four of the nine Oakland starters without a scorecard, even if they were spotted three of the names. Their leading run producer and best hitter both are first-year A’s that, ironically, were castoffs from that dismal Kansas City squad that suits its backwater burgh to a quite cross T. Their best pitcher from the previous year has a losing record in this one, and is still a desired hurler from many teams! And yet, they win! More so, this team is in first place! As God as my witness, it might take me one thousand lifetimes to wrap my head around this quandry. Clearly the entirety of the sport has fallen onto hard times when such a motley misshapen collection of humanity can position themselves for an honest-to-goodness World Championship!

Though I am not one to boast, it is with no false modesty that I make the following claim. I would wager with any betting man that I could employ merely a handful of my former players — Charles Bender, James Foxx, Edward Collins, perhaps even that foul-mouthed Robert Grove character, just to name a few of those I was fortunate to steward during my tenure — and fill any roster vacancies with hopeful young men playing stickball in the streets of Philadelphia or Brooklyn, children that were stout of heart and character. I could take this patchwork squad, and in a series of seven or nine games, or even over the course of the regular season, I would guarantee that my rag-tag squad would soundly trounce those well-funded anonymous upstarts with multiple games to spare!

Of course, it should go without saying that my failure to understand the ways and means of the modern-day Athletics goes hand in hand with my failures to grasp the nuances of the game as it exists in the 21st century. All this unseemly showboating! All the jewelry and wanton bodily mutilation! Narcotics use that is better suited for opium dens and lurid pulp novels than America’s past-time! Those inscrutable Orientals! Oh, I know that the game must change with the times, but my word! I guess my sensibilities are more in tune with the ribald and jovial antics of Michael Joseph Kelly — or, heaven help me, that swill-swallowing wastrel George Ruth! — than the grunts and hand gestures of these players that reminds me of the primitive means of communication utilized by the common African bushman.

But I digress. This elderly man is woefully out of sorts even imagining the advances, technological and societal, that have come and gone in the three score years since I last stood in the dugout at grand old Shibe Park. Clearly I am in no position to speak sensibly of such things, though I have undoubtedly said more than enough for some. No matter — things are what they are, and though the franchise that once took the field beside the Atlantic Ocean now plies its wares beside the Pacific Ocean, and though they play a style of ball that churns my innards with a nauseating vigor, I shall root for her all the same, be they in first place or last place or even no place at all. So go on, you Crosby, you Sweeney, you … you Duchscherer! Do my glorious elephant proud, men!

What, you think the Yard Work 2008 Season Preview shriveled up and died like the site usually does between May and August? Shut up! For the San Diego Padres’ preview, we took a big flying leap and reached out to one of our favorite rock stars, golden god Scott Weiland! And he reached back! Like, totally for real! Get excited!

Look I dont know who you are that you got my e-mail address out of the blue and wrote to me thinking Id have enough time to write something for your pennyante little “famous baseball website”. In case you forgot who youre talking to this is MULTI PLATINUM SELLING ROCK AND ROLL ARTIST Scott Weiland. Ive got millions of fans two world famous bands a successful solo career and an upcoming solo album recordted by STEVE FUCKING ALBAINI and more important things to do with my time instead of writing about the stupid SanDiego Padres for your “famous baseball website”. I dont care if you got Iggy Pop and Lou Reed to drop trou for you, those guys are washed up hasbeens and woudl give it up gratis for soem dryhumpin Snikemax crap and a subscription to Tiger Beat. I’m at the peak of my creative powers and fcuk the Padres.

Yeah back in the day I used to love the Pads before the SUCKED. how many years did Tony Gwynn hve to suffer being the only player on that squad worth a damn? I mean who the hell were Timm Tuffel and Cragi Shipley and Archi Cionfuckinfranco? Theyre no Derek Jeter thats for damn sure. Hell they aint even mark Loretta.

Man for a while I though STP was gonna be the Phil Plantier of the music world… some one-hit wondersquat that hit 33 homers and did nothgn after that. Of course that corny grunge shti went away and were still here.. the heck wiht abseball tho. Besides baseballs for stupid jocks and shutins in their moms basement what the fuck. Im out making ROCK AND ROLL and getting all sorts of hot ladies gvign me handjobs and telephone numebrs. Following some crappy Padres team just because I grew up with that stupid Ozzie Smith trade and those awful awful yellow-brown unis and cheapass Ray Krock of Shit and cried after 1984 doesnt mean I give a crap now about that stupid nerdy kid crap.

OK so maybe Im a fairweathered fan… when the Pads FINALLY made it back to the World Series in 98 I tuned in and began hoping againt and of course the Pads can’t win against the NEW YORK YANKESS because thats not supposed to happen. 4 game sweep whatever. And then that team loess Kevin Brown AND Greg Vaughn AND Ken MVP Caminiti (RIP) and the team goes back to sucking agian because thats what they do and fkcu I dont even care. EVen when they wont he division they suck and get bounced like a superrball because Bruce Bochy No Balls couldnt win a roto league if he had 5 Barry Bonds and 5 Pedro Martinezs from 1999.

(And spekaing of Pedros sick 99 whtas up with ERA+? I dont get how you can really use ERA as a basis for that sort of universal metric when ERAs totally flawed? If I got some gratis smakc every time some BS reliever with a 1.00 ERA allowed 3 inherited runnrs to score and came out smelling like a rose because the next guy cleaned up his mess Id be dead twenty times over. And reall that fat neck Joba had an 1174 ERA+ last year? Right.. and Chinese Democray’s comin down the pipe any day now…)

ANyway this team is dogmeant nowadays… you got the Dodgers that cant help byt do well despite themsvels, the D-Backs are stacked like Pam aNdersno, thr Rockes just made it to thw WS last yer. Hell if it wasnt for the GIanst San Diego might have classy last place all to themselsvs WOOHOOOO. Mabye Kevin Towrs can get more washd up vetrerans to go with the less crapyp Giles brother and Ednomsds (ha RIP bro-dive) and one of the bdest pitchign staffs in baseball. Im ean Maddux and Wofl (and Justing German-oh-no) might be meat outsdie of Petco but damn Peavy’d shut down all cummers on the moon let alone in bornig old Earth’s gravity. Dudes a beast and a beastmaster right? My man T-Hoff tho.. damn. Love the guy but Im ridng the Heathh Bell FoR Closer bandwagon until the tires pop and Im stuck thumbing a ride somewhers in Baja.

Really tho just change it up guys plz. Biirng up Chase Headly stick him in left and stick Harston in cneter (or in a trash compactor whatves) and see what happesn — the defense might turn to starigh up slop but at least they might get a hit or 2. OR SIGN BARY BONDS HOW ABOTU THAT APPLE? I only wish they cd mayeb bring up Matt Antonelli or stick my boy Kahlil with the same magic juice that Ken C (RIP) used. And wtha is up with that fascists Honor THy Troops fatigue uni crap? this ain’t Nouremberg this is AMERICA and besides those unies make the Krok McD’s shitstains looke like Versace+. (hahaha.)

Sitll tho I lveo shit team and cant wish them ill will even if they annoy the shit out of me. But thats fandom right? Anyway I got go straighten msyelfff out — one of the DeLeos is gonna check up on me bretty soon. thanks for writng dood — reminds me I need to renew my sub to BPro! (I bet cHristinak Karhl is totally bangin.) Hpe the ladyfriends not riding on some other dudes clap-ridden knob, and dont snort where you shti. Peace in the NL EAST1!

Scotty Wee

I’ve always loved baseball. The crack of the bat. The cheer of the crowd. The intoxicating power of the game’s biggest stars. As a child getting pummeled by bullies in Miami after my parents went through a scarring divorce, the daily boxscores were all I had to hold on to to keep my life from slipping away. Well, that and my close relationship with G-d. But that goes without saying.

And back then, the greatest players were like deities themselves. I still remember them: Reggie Jackson! Mike Schmidt! Jim Palmer! George Foster! The list goes on and on. I won’t say I idolized them — keep in mind what happened to those Israelites who built and worshipped a golden calf while Moses received the commandments!

But those great hitters and pitchers seemed to have an aura about them, a bubble of respectability and power that I desperately wanted to emulate. Everyone knew their names; journalists relentlessly analyzed everything they said; they could buy and sell every single schlemiel yelling obscenities from the crowd. Too bad I couldn’t hit a curveball, or really any other kind of pitch at all. Also, too bad I was hopeless in the field and on the basepaths as well. Wouldn’t it have been great to have a major league baseball player named Shmuley Boteach?

Now, of course, baseball is more popular than ever. Attendance rises every year, and so does the media attention paid to the sport; so, too, do the salaries of its players. The best players make multi-millions of dollars, and even the worst ones make “only” a million or so. And that is before endorsements, appearance fees, speaking engagements, and all the free things that rich people always get from other rich people.

But being a rich and famous baseball player is a little harder than you might think. One is on the road for half of each year, away from the comforts of home. These players risk injury every game — both physical and emotional. The more money one gets, the more one has to pay to agents, handlers, sycophants, weed carriers, and one’s Uncle Gummo back home who just found out he’s got the diabetes. And then there are the temptations faced by all rich and famous men.

By which, of course, I mean women.

Don’t get me wrong, I love women. I respect their soulful wisdom, their fierce protectiveness, and their springlike demeanor…as well as their rosy, apple-shaped cheeks! But let’s face it — there is poison in those lovely apples. Men are not strong enough to handle the intoxicating essence of femininity. This is one of the main themes in the Torah, and there is evidence everywhere you look.

For example: the other night I was relaxing in my living room and I happened to turn on a new sitcom called “Samantha Who?” In it, the lead actresses behaved with a remarkable disregard for truth, for propriety, and for the traditional male-centered household. Yet every single man on the show fell for every snare put out by Samantha Newly and her friends Andrea and Dena. Just a situation comedy, you say? I can only remind you that where there’s smoke, there’s fire; and if there is any kind of smoke on the landscape, it can be found on ABC at 9:30 PM on Monday nights.

Let’s just imagine a young and handsome millionaire from Trailer Park, Florida, just a rookie trying to make his way as a professional ballplayer. He is nothing more than a baby, really, a tabula rasa if you will. To such an innocent, a visible magenta bra strap on a waitress or a flirtatious comment by a Baseball Annie might as well be black tar heroin injected straight into his heart. We need only look at the dating “career” of actress Alyssa Milano, and the effect it has had on the careers of her temporary paramours. Sure, she is now well-known as a personable — and knowledgeable — baseball fan. But was it worth the shattered careers of Carl Pavano, Barry Zito, and Brad Penny? (UPDATE: She says she’s changed. But can we believe her?)

Other examples abound. Here, a player is assaulted by his formerly famous wife. There, a woman takes control of a young player’s life, reminding us all of the story of Delilah. It is clear that even the strongest and most athletic of us all must only wilt under the steady gaze of what is usually called, ironically, “the weaker sex.”

But that is not to say that men should react to this domination with anger or violence. It is clear that Brett Myers, for example, should not have punched his wife Kim in the face on a Boston street. Hitting a woman is a deplorable act. Threatening to kill one’s ex-wife, as did Elijah Dukes last year, is also a deplorable act, for which we must surely condemn him also. But one wonders if this sort of behavior would even exist in a world where men were not constantly exposed to violent images, in the form of video games and Civil War re-enactments. And, I must point out, good things CAN come from bad — the Myers seem to have worked out their differences, to everyone’s satisfaction.

Ultimately, what I am saying is that these athletes are really just another example of what I call “The Broken American Male.” (Now on sale!) They have been raised in a world of pornography, drugs, and shoulders exposed, “Flashdance”-style; they have been told how wonderful they are by everyone, which is not real praise at all; they have had millions of dollars thrust at them for playing a children’s game, instead of for doing important things like debating famous atheists at Oxford. Their lives are neither holistic nor satisfying. I guess all the acclaim in the world doesn’t help broken souls become magically healed.

So I guess it’s a good thing that I never learned to hit a slider after all!

SHMULEYISM OF THE DAY: I am better than baseball players, because I don’t beat my wife, nor have I been beaten by her.

Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, “America’s Rabbi,” has been the host of TLC’s “Shalom in the Home” and can currently be heard on the Oprah & Friends XM radio channel. He usually has great taste in his choice of mentors, but sometimes not so much. Such is life.

It’s never too late for another 2008 Season Preview from your favorite baseball weblog, especially when the preview concerns the New York Mets, and extra-especially when it’s written by longtime Yard Work commentator (and former Mets player / coach) Rickey Henderson! Get paid with Met knowledge!

Man, all Rickey has to say about those toilet clowns in Flushing is that he has no more love in his heart for the New York Mets. In case you didn’t figure it out by looking at that butt-ugly chump taking Rickey’s spot in the first base box, Rickey’s not coaching for the Mets. That’s because the Mets don’t see the need to have the all-time leading runs and stolen-base king coaching their players, because what could Rickey teach them about baseball? It’s not like Rickey was the greatest of all time or anything, and it’s not like the Mets have an exciting Rickey-esque player with the name of Jose Reyes on their roster, right?

Look, all Rickey has to say about that is this — remember when Jose Reyes was going to be all serious about baseball and not joke around and have any fun? Remember how long that lasted? If Rickey was there, he would’ve told Jose that only a straight-laced sucker chump thinks that you have to be serious all the time to play baseball the right way. Rickey believes different strokes rule the world. (Yo, Jose — Rickey wants to talk to you about getting some Rickey bobbleheads made like those Jose bobbleheads you got for that video game. Rickey put you in his Fave Five from T-Mobile, so hook a brother up. But don’t text Rickey and expect some sort of response to that nonsense. Two things: Rickey don’t type on any of those Monchichi keys, and Rickey is most definitely not down with this LOL garbage. You got an education, young America — speak English!)

And don’t get Rickey started on this Lastings Milledge nonsense. No doubt about it, Mets got rope-a-doped by an expansion team — you’re telling Rickey that the best you can get for a 23-year-old kid that’s got all sorts of upside is some broke-ass catcher and a Jew-hating outfielder? Rickey’s not down with that, the trade or the bigotry. Hating Jews is like a gateway drug into more insidious and dangerous forms of racism, like hating on the black man, or the Chinese man, or even women. And the honky’s last name is Church, if you can believe that! Chump should know better! For Rickey, Church is about loving your fellow man, praising The Lord for sacrificing his only son, waking your dead ass up early Sunday morning, and getting a few quick winks during the preacher’s corny-ass sermon before heading off to IHOP for some Rooty Tooty Double Covered and Smothered action. Rickey loves the strawberry syrup more than he loves his stolen base record (and Rickey sleeps with that base every night). Anyway, Rickey calls BOOYAH on this racially-motivated trade, and hopes Lastings whups up on those jive Jew-hating chumps every chance he gets.

And speaking of racism, Rickey wants to know what the heck’s going on with Carlos Delgado? Brother cannot catch a break — they boo him when he doesn’t hit, they boo him when he hits, and they’d boo him for ordering the #6 at Wendy’s. “Boo, Carlos Delgado! Rickey says boo! Rickey wanted you to get the Big Bacon Classic with a side of chili and a vanilla Frosty! You’re a chicken-eating chump, Carlos Delgado!” Rickey supports Carlos Delgado in his telling Mets fans to go have sex with their butt-ugly sister. New York fans are nothing but chumps if they got nothing better to do than harass this beautiful, beautiful man with their stank-ass beer mouths.

That’s right, Rickey called another man beautiful. In case you didn’t catch it from all of those gorgeous pictures of Rickey floating in the internet, Rickey himself is beautiful, so he knows what he’s talking about. Ain’t nothing wrong with another man showing a man some love like that. Rickey knows that even beautiful men need that positive reinforcement from another beautiful man. Rickey is all about the platonic man-love. Rickey wishes he could grow a goatee that good. When Rickey tries to grow out his facial hair, Rickey turns into one of those raggedy-ass Fraggles they showed on the TV with the Monchichis and the Flintstones. You’d think Rickey could style and profile with that, the goatee, but sad to say Rickey can’t. Same with bellbottoms and double-breasted suits. Believe it or not, there are some things even Rickey can’t pull off.

Yard Work told Rickey that he should try to talk about the whole team, but that means talking about the pitchers, and Rickey don’t like talking about pitchers. Who’s this Johan Santana? Is he some sort of hot-shot kid with a great fastball and change-up, or one of them corny split-finger throwing turkeys that’s all twitchy and freaked out? Don’t matter to Rickey. If Santana or Pedro or any other chump on the Mets had to pitch against The Greatest Of All Time (also known as Rickey), they’d be stuck scratching their heads after Rickey works a walk and turns it into a triple. Or maybe Rickey just cuts out the middle man and passes the savings onto the fan in the form of a majestic screaming line drive over the fence. Rickey treats pitchers the way babies treat diapers — Rickey just does his business all over their face.

Rickey’s gonna do his business all over the Mets, too. Rickey don’t care about no Carlos Beltran running face-first into chumps or no Moises Alou pissing all over himself like some old fart or no John Olerud in his Little League batting helmet asking Rickey stupid questions about whether Rickey remembers playing with his pasty helmet-wearing ass. The minute the Mets stopped caring about Rickey, that’s the minute Rickey stopped caring about the Mets. You don’t pay Rickey, then Rickey sure as hell don’t pay you. This year, Rickey’s a fan of the Florida team, the one with that Han-Ram on there. Rickey saw him play in some Sportscenter highlights. That Han-Ram has some speed and some pop! With a little coaching, that Han-Ram could be pretty good. And only one beautiful, beautiful man has the experience and credentials and the Hall of Fame accolades to teach that Han-Ram how to play. That’s right, Florida, Rickey is ready to do you one solid.

But you know what you gotta do first. Don’t make Rickey say it.

ALAN: It was nice to see you when I went home last month even though it was a sad time with my dad being sick and everything. I hope every thing is cool with you guys at the Lincoln Maintenance Department. I still say it was the best job I ever had! You guys are great and always have been. You know I will always have yr back, even if you are doing fine and don’t really need my help at all.

By now you know that yr boy is doing real well in New York. I love playing for the Yankees, although not as much as I love my hometown team — go Huskers! There is a real sense of pride every time I go to the ballpark and put on those pinstripes. But the guys on my team are kind of crazy though! Giambi is a funny guy and we get along real well as long as he’s not in one of his bad moods where he gets real depressed for no reason and won’t talk to anyone except to say “I’m sorry I’m sorry” over and over. He does that like every two weeks. That ain’t normal is it Alan?

Some of these other guys are pretty weird. Damon always walks around naked, not just in the shower and the clubhouse but also on the airplane, and he sometimes shows up at the stadium like that too. Pettite always seems super friendly but the other guys warned me to watch out for him and I found out why. Three or four minutes of talking and then he’s trying to get you to kneel down and pray with him, and nuts to that. And Mussina is usually reading something that looks like a college textbook and muttering stuff to himself about vectors and something called “The Illuminati” and writing on his locker in felt pen. I am glad I went to college but I think there is such a thing as too much college, right Alan?

And then there are our big stars. Jeter is always smiling and perky no matter what time of day it is or how bad he played in the field. That’s pretty cool I guess, but it gets annoying that every time Joe Girardi loses his clipboard Jeter is like “Here is is Skip I got it!” I feel sorry for that guy. But I feel sorrier for A-Rod who pretty much keeps to himself and I guess I understand why. Everywhere he goes there are cameras and reporters and big blonde stripper-looking ladies who are trying to tempt him into a life of sin and an expensive divorce. It sounds pretty glamorous but I don’t think it’s really all it’s cracked up to be.

But I got my friends on the team. Hughes is a real good egg and so are Cano and Melky and Wang, who are real funny even though I don’t know what they are saying. And let me tell you that my favorite night of the week is “Monday Video Night” at Matsui’s apartment, even though it’s been on hold for the last few weeks.

I have to say that the weirdest part of being a Yankee is all the people talking about me all the time. It’s one thing when it’s fans and they’re like “Yo Joba!”, that’s awesome. But when I’m on the back page of the newspaper and people are writing whole columns about me it’s kind of creepy. I just want to pitch, you know me Alan.

Here is an example: I want to be a starter, right? But they have been using me as a late reliever, just one inning at a time. I’m not even the closer! That’s Rivera and he’s like the greatest of all time. I have been trying to learn stuff from him but it’s hard because he is all into science and stuff, what to throw to what guy, different speeds of changeups, etc. Me, I just throw my four pitches and good luck to the hitter. But it’s not up to me to decide where I pitch, that’s up to Joe Girardi, right? Well, it turns out it’s more complicated than that. There’s a bunch of writers who say I should be a starter, and that’s pretty cool but those guys have about as much power as a used battery.

But then we also have our owner Hank — who’s not really our owner but actually the owner’s son — who says I should be a starter. But I don’t really trust that guy Alan. He’s always hanging around trying to be cool but he’s not really very cool at all. He tried to get in on Posada’s card game the other day and we didn’t want to let him but what could we do. And he is a horrible card player too, he kept losing and whining about it and then calling us “fags” for kicking his ass and taking his money. What is that all about Alan? What makes a man act like he’s hot snot on a silver platter when he’s only cold boogers on a paper plate?

Sometimes I feel like you’re the lucky one Alan. Life was a lot simpler when we worked for the Lincoln Maintenance Department. Remember when we had to pick up that dead elk on I-80, and it was all swollen up from the sun and gas? And you went to pick up its head and it let out that huge fart that smelled like metal and Jello? Man that was funny. I miss those days. Don’t get me wrong, I like having millions of dollars and being a big baseball star and stuff. But I’m not going to get all high and mighty about everything. You know me Alan.

So okay, that’s all I have to say for now. I will write you later and tell you about some other stuff. But for now I have to get ready, we’re playing Cleveland again and you know those damn bugs are still after me. Haha right Alan?

Your pal,

Joba