Monday, May 26, 2008

Kid Vulture II

Dear Mr. Wilpon,

Now that the Mets have lost two out of three games against the Rockies, I understand that Mr. Randolph is now hanging on by a thread heading into his meeting with you and your son tomorrow.

I would like to let you know that if you indeed decide to fire Willie Randolph, I would like you to know of my availability. I'm only a phone call away, because my contract allows ... ah, who's kidding who. Like it takes a contract to write this blog ... only a commitment (in the insane asylum sense). And I could be in New York tomorrow if necessary. Because unlike Gary Carter, who I understand is also interested in the job, I am in New York right now ... which I believe would be points in my favor.

The comments that David Wright made saying that, you know, there's no spark, there's no fire ... if anything I would love to bring that to the table. You want fire? I hereby promise to take a bat to Carlos Beltran's locker and tell him that if he didn't pick it up, the next swing would be in the general direction of his weak quad muscle. Because that's good motivation. You think Larry Bowa is motivational? I would bring in a small white dog and spray paint it silver in front of the team like I saw a crazy guy do once on the street before he covered his own head with tin foil ... just so the boys would know that I would seriously take a bat to their heads if they crossed me by not hustling. Because again, that's good motivation. They'd know I mean business after that.

Speaking of paint, I would paint my face half blue and half white like in that movie Braveheart? You know? And I would give the most awesome speeches. I would say stuff like "They can take the bunt play away. They could take away the inner half. But they can never take ... our freedom!" You know, because stuff like that is gold.

I would keep the paint on during games too. You want a manager that would go after umpires and protect his players? What's Angel Hernandez going to think when I go out there to argue a fair/foul call with my face painted blue and white while carrying a pointy stick and riding a horse? Angel Hernandez would soil his chest protector at the mere sight of me and my pointy stick! So consider your players protected! (You know, while I'm not going after them with bats.)

While I am indeed fiery, I believe I could adapt to any and all situations because of my versatility. Because while I am part Larry Bowa, I am also part Phil Jackson. You know how he motivates his players with books? I would buy a copy of "Stranding Inherited Runners For Dummies" and leave it in Aaron Heilman's locker ... gift wrapped. I feel it's something he can read and absorb while he's on those long bus rides in the minor leagues. And I could get a discount from Amazon if I buy in bulk in case anyone else needs a copy. See, I'm thinking finances too. I know you and your son can appreciate that.

And as manager, I believe I can show a softer side when the time calls for it. I would reward the players with cookies, Reese's Peanut Butter cups, and trips to strip clubs where Pacman Jones can lecture them on the advantages of restraint. But only if they finished their celery and wheat grass first (no, not marijuana ... I do not condone the usage of marijuana. Another point for me, right?)

In any event, I hope that you will take my over the top campaigning and my shameless self-promotion under consideration. In other words: Your Manager Has Come.

Yours in circling a carcass,



NY Sports Dog said...

How about a three headed manager of Kid Carter, Keith Hernandez, and Wally Backman?

Each one could take turns kicking a current player's ass before the game, either physically (Backman to Luis Castillo), or verbally (Keith to Delgado).

katherine said...

If I was manager I would definitely send Carlos Delgado down to the minors. That would give me such a thrill.

Let Nick Evans play first base for a while.

Anonymous said...

the mets are not good at baseball

thouarthailjohan said...

Everytime that Jose Reyes does not run out a routine grounder, botches a play at Short, and does something wrong, take out the reggaeton and put on John Mellencamp on full blast in the dugout...that way, Jose knows it's business, because it hurts SO good.

Call Da Plumba said...

Help! Some Mutt$ fan has clogged the office toilet again and no matter how many times the janitor flushes it it won't go down!

Typical mutt fan!