The North Pole- The latest controversy over Baseball’s Hall of Fame voting took a bizarre turn last night, as Jim Rice, former American League MVP, intentionally petrified five to ten sportswriters in an apparent attempt to scare up some votes… the good old fashioned way.
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LIKE SANTA CLAUS OR SOMETHING
Rice, reputed to be the most feared hitter of his era by many of the same men he sought to terrify, hopped across multiple states during his deranged campaign.
“ The bizarre thing is… what’s really mystifying us, is that this man went from Boston, to New York, to Seattle, to all over, in the span of one night,” chuckled baffled investigator Vincent Hannah, adding that jurisdiction for the case hadn’t yet been determined.
“ This guy is good. Like Santa Claus, or something. ”
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“THAT MAN WAS SCARY”
Rice’s motive is clear: Staggered by statistical daggers, a healthy percentage of baseball writing’s old guard, nervously spinning their bow ties, have been left reaching for ridiculous measures in an attempt to insure Jim’s entrance within the hallowed halls of Cooperstown. The most publicized of these philosophies is undoubtedly the mysterious claim that Rice reaped mental terror on pitchers, through the sheer prospect of his looming specter. This is enough, according to some, to cast Rice a Hall of Fame vote.
“ That man was scary”, remarked a source that refused to be identified, for fear of retribution from Jim Rice.
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RICE. DINOSAURS. COINCIDENCE?
Despite this admirable crusade, Rice hasn’t yet joined the immortals. Frustrated by this lack of progress, he took matters into his hands last night, in a final measure to solidify his reputation as the scariest man of his era. What constituted his era hasn’t exactly been answered, but one could assume it began at the start of his career and ended at its abrupt conclusion.
“ Jim Rice time,” Peter Gammons would explain later.
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DUNWOODY: THE MAN AND HIS DREAM
Rob Neyer was woken at three in the morning by a crash reverberating from his living room. Upon investigation, the sweater clad journalistic dynamo discovered Rice destroying a most prized possession: Neyer’s sealed collection of 1985 Royals action figures, including Onix Concepcion with karate chop action.
“ He was just standing there, with a crazed look in his eyes, screaming double plays this double plays that, walks this walk that, early decline this and limited peak that, and all the while I’m thinking dude… I’m not a violent man, but if you touch my George Brett, it’s going to be on. But than I remembered I have him stored in a safe.”
Neyer was left amazed when, according to his sketchy account, Rice evaporated into a puff of smoke, leaving behind no trace of evidence, except for a shiny replica of his 1978 MVP Award.
“ It’s really shiny,” added Neyer. “He was wearing the 70’s Red Sox uniform, you know, the one with the killer Red Hats? How weird is that?”
At this point I thanked Neyer for his time, but not before lecturing him on being way too hard on Todd Dunwoody back in the day.
“ He was just trying to earn a living man,” I argued, as Neyer nodded in solemn agreement.
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IT’S LOBSTER TIME
Next on Rice’s hit list was Hall of Fame writer Peter Gammons, who, after a spirited jam session in the wee hours, was ready to call it a night. Unfortunately for Gammons, he was shocked to find Rice going through his refrigerator.
Here’s how the situation went down, according to Gammon’s sealed testimony.
“ GAMMONS immediately asked the suspect what he was doing in his kitchen, and how the hell he’d gotten in there. RICE said he needed to take a break from “business”, and wondered if he could borrow some of Gammons’ food. GAMMONS agreed. The two sat down and discussed a time when they were “kings”. RICE thought he should scare GAMMONS, “just to be safe” so he offered a half-hearted “boo” as the two enjoyed LOBSTER. GAMMONS recoiled in terror, but only to make RICE feel better. He claimed RICE didn’t notice this insincerity. GAMMONS mentioned that the two wore bibs reading: “It’s Lobster time”. Indeed, it was. This is a confidential report. ”
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GEEKS HANG OUT IN BASEMENTS AND ARE RELUCTANT TO APPROACH ATTRACTIVE MEMBERS OF THE OPPOSITE SEX
Among other writers petrified included Bill James, Dayn Perry, and, well, just about every practicing sabrmetrician claiming citizenship on the frenzied American frontier. Many bemoaned that they’d “never feel safe in [our] basements again.”
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HEAT NOT WINNING THE OSCAR IS LIKE TIM RAINES NOT GETTING ELECTED TO THE HALL OF FAME
As for Rice, he’s a man on the run. Detective Hannah isn’t worried, however.
“ Everyone knows Rice has no speed. After all, he hit into all those double plays… he’s here… I can sense it…”
Hannah than launched into an impassioned tirade about huge asses, whereupon I knew this story was dynamite, pure dynamite.
“ When I think of asses, a woman’s ass, something just comes out of me,” he said calmly, returning to the task at hand with anguished, yet dignified, reluctance.
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Matt Waters is an unemployed writer. He is amused annually by the Hall of Fame hysteria. He thinks you should compare the numbers of Dennis Martinez and Jack Morris, before comparing the latter to Bert Blyleven. This is why he thinks the Hall of Fame is a joke. This article is dedicated to the stat geeks, the board members at Baseball Think Factory, the analysts at Hardball Times, the number crunchers at Replacement Level Yankee blog. Don’t sweat it guys. It’s just a stupid club. The museum, however, is very nice.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
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