Thursday, December 16, 2004

Who's your daddy now, bitch?

DISCLAIMER #1:


Today I really wanted to put up a picture of Pedro Martinez wearing his Yoda mask in the dugout but, alas, could not readily find it. I would have dug deeper, but I don't want to get sued--I know Pedro is rich and tempermental, and I should also probably watch out with the orgy of proprietary images... At any rate, if I had been able to find the Yoda picture, the headline would have been the much more hilarious "My new Daddy you are (bitch)."

DISCLAIMER #2:


I try each day to find worthy news from beyond the world of sport but it seems as though the harder I try to avoid it, the more that sprouts up to report. There are plenty of sites out there for tales of the strange but true, rumor & inquiry, marginalia & minutiae, and other sundry diversions. I estimate my current readership around 3; this does not include any pets or non-englishspeakers, but the margin of error is exactly +/- 2. All of this being said, I will henceforth try to limit the sports reporting to a minimum, or at least to supplant such material with a laundry list of other items when possible.

Chapter I: Pedro signs with Mets


I'll make this quick: the Mets may be Pedro's new daddy, but his new bitch is the NY sports media.

All day he was faced with would-be "tough" questions that were little more than poorly worded jibes, such as "what about New York fans who don't like you?" and "what do you have to say about your health, or suggestions that you have lost your stuff." Pedro's consistent reply to such idiocy (roughly): "you guys make all that crap up."

He's absolutely right. He has been playing in Boston, folks, not Kansas City. He doesn't put up with annoying questions that cannot be neatly fielded without stepping on toes. He knows that only his performance, and his team's performance, really matter in the end. He will not bite at such idle bait--he knows better, tosses it aside and occaissionally displays a keen sense of humor in doing so. New York sports reporters will not eat him; he will eat them.

Of course, the reporters will say they are just doing their jobs and they are correct in this. This does not alter the fact that Pedro is their new daddy. Concerns about Pedro's health and attitude are entirely justified, but he cannot be expected to acknowledge them if he hopes to remain a top-calliber pitcher--especially given that he was sought by the Mets to catylize winning attitude as much as immediate success.

Chapter II: Other


(As you can see, my ability to create a reasonable chapter structure is not as developed as Halfzie's... Then again, I don't have the arsenal of T-Model material that is slowly filling his Premier Tome.)

All of you nerds out there will no doubt be delighted to hear that I have finally taken the plunge and upgraded to mac's OS X Panther. I'll spare you the lurid detail. All I have to say is one word: Exposé. For those of you who aren't nerds, this name refers to the feature whereby hitting the "f9" key allows the user to see all of the programs running at a given moment on screen, at once. You can then toggle from one window to another without having to guess which one to view.

Another, perhaps more poignant, meaning of "Exposé" has to do with (once again) the D.C. baseball fiasco. I thought that Exposés would be a much better nickname than "Nationals" for two reasons--One, the fact that the team used to be the Expos and had undergone a somewhat passive change. This would definately be hilarious to a French person. Two, Washington D.C. is a place rife with rumor and inquiry, and the pesky paper trails they tend to exhume. An honest-to-God double entendre!

Now that the deal seems to be entirely dead, and the so-called Nationals bound for Las Vegas, Richmond, or any number of other nauseating locales, I suppose exposé might take on a third meaning. But more importantly, if they remain the Nationals, does that mean we can move our central government to Nevada? It would be a more fitting place, I think.

Epilogue


Oops, I did it again. Sports and more sports, alleviated only by some nerdly self-indulgence. Oh well. William Saffire I'm not, but don't be suprised if he steals that little "exposé" bit.

Word.