In Which I State the Obvious

In Which I State the Obvious

Since the Sloth's not around here lately...

Some things are constant. You can count on them. They're just a given. You dont even think about them. The Sun Comes Up. Rain's Gonna be wet. Sammy Sosa's gonna act like a petulant child.

What a douche.

I've not slept much, so I'm not terribly coherent.

There were a couple times in my life, back in the days when Sammy was still with the Cubs, when people would find out I'm a Cub fan, and they'd want to rip them, and they'd always apologize for ripping Sammy, because apparently all Cub fans are supposed to hug the big turd like he's a teddy bear. And it wouldn't fail that not only could I outpace them with my distaste for Sammy, I could often end the conversation and scare them away with my vehemence about it.

But then, maybe that speaks more to my anti-social behavior than it does my dislike of Sosa.

Let my qualify my next statement with this one: While I think Sammy actually is contemplating retirement, and for the reasons listed in the article, I think Sammy will end up playing somewhere this year. Not because he'll give in and play for an incentive laden deal, but because somebody, somewhere will cough up a little more dough.

But if I may say so, if it were to come down to Sammy giving up the ghost and retiring, I think it would be the perfect punctuation mark on his entire useless career. This whole little pissy outburst is indicative of little more than Sammy Sosa's outright Refusal (not Failure mind you, but Refusal) to adjust. The world is supposed to change for Sammy, and definitely not the other way around.

Apparently, a baseball team is supposed to guarantee more money for juiced up clubhouse cancers who can't see themselves playing any other role on a team than batting cleanup, hitting the hhhhome ruhhhn, starting right field, and being the team teddy bear and/or team martyr.

And apparently, one has to get paid several millions to do so.

And any situation that does not meet every one of those tenets (except maybe that teddy bear thing), it is Absolutely Unacceptable to the big retard.

Sammy...shorten your swing with two strikes.

"No. I heet da hhhome ruhhhn."

Sammy...try hitting to the opposite field, you're hitting around the Mendoza Line.

"No. I heet da hhhome ruhhn."

Sammy...we're gonna bat you sixth, see if we can get you out of this slump.

"No. I seet on da bench."

Sammy...you haven't had a health season since the turn of the century. You injured yourself sneezing, for Christ's sake. You were out weeks because of an ingrown toenail. Your output the last two seasons, when you are playing, is pathetic. We can't guarantee you power player money, because you can't guarantee us you'll be a power player. You aren't useful at all to us as a team, unless you do work to protect the younger players and take a deal where you get more money if you perform up to standards.

"No. I a Hhhhall ov Famer. I get guaranteed deal. Beisboll been berry guhd to me."

If it's been so berry guhd, rest up on those millions, live on that for a while, take less money, and show us that you can still perform. Maybe you'll get that Hall of Fame nod you so roundly want.

And that's a rant that I can see coming five years down the road. Damn, dude. If Sammy Sosa gets in the Hall of Fame, I might stroke out.

I'll finish with these last two statements. To me, it shows that not even Sammy thinks he can perform up to snuff in the majors, even in a reduced role where his job would be protecting Jose Guillen, if he's refusing an incentive-laden deal. And if that's the case, he needs to retire. Get out of the game. Protect what little bit of that useless legacy you have left.

And from a personal standpoint. I'll just say "Retire Sammy." It'll be one less spotlight-hogging, no-basepath-thinking, no-strike-count-considering, corked-bat-using, juiced-up, petulant, refusing-to-adjust, music-playing-too-loud-in-the-lockerroom, clubhouse cancerous, fragile, egomaniacal, prima-donna turding up the game of baseball.