A Good, Old-Fashioned Ass-Whupping

(photo from Boston.com)

Now, what did we learn?

Repeat after me: “I will not anger David Ortiz. I will not anger David Ortiz.”

There you go. You’ll get it.

Why do people insist on starting shit? Honestly. It’s one thing if the fans get into it. It’s expected. And sometimes the teams let the bad blood surface and it boils over (or don’t you remember Mitt Sammich Day at Fenway?) But it’s quite another thing when the local news outlets are calling for players to be hit. Rather, that should be “news” since we’re talking about the New York Post here and it can charitably be described as a tabloid but nevertheless, why you gotta go there? To borrow a favorite word of Yankee fans, not very “classy.”

And before you start in on the, “I’m pretty sure you advocated plunking Sheffield” thing, there’s a difference. I am not the media. As much as I’d like to inflate my sense of importance, I don’t have nearly the readership of something like the Post. And furthermore, the players don’t know I exist. And if they did, they wouldn’t care what I thought. (And that’s probably best considering catcher’s uniforms made of tissue paper really aren’t practical).

My point (my long, drawn out, belabored point) being that I consider it rather unprofessional for news outlets to be calling for that kind of thing (and yes, I’d say the same thing if the Herald were pulling this bullshit). And I don’t blame Ortiz for getting upset.

But hey, you anger the big man and, in the parlance of Papa Jack, somebody’s gotta pay.

That someone was Randy Johnson. Or maybe it was Alex Rodriguez. Or possibly, if we’re going with the bigger picture, George Steinbrenner. All I know is that it was delightful.

Some people enjoy tight, grind ’em out games. And I do too, occasionally. Those become classics. You tell your kids about those games. But the games that are fun to watch, the ones where the pressure’s been lifted and we’re all just sitting around, having a party, smacking the ball around the yard are the ones where you walk up behind your most hated rival and pants them in public. Like last night. Fun times all around.

Now, I know how karma works. I know these happy feel good times can’t last forever. And I know that Curt Schilling has already forgotten about it and is preparing for tonight’s game as though the score were reversed. But it’s raining today. It’s cold and raw outside. I’ve got $37 in my checking account. I’ve got a cold and the lone remaining hottie stands a good chance of getting kicked off Idol tonight. You gotta take your joy where you can get it. And 14-3 beatdowns of the Yankees in the Bronx is as good a place as any to start.

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