FanPost

Peanutball, by Stomper. Chapter 1: The offseason

First thing ya gotta know:  I really do love the kids.  They're why I got into this biz 10 years ago...from HS gymnastics to yell squad leader at Bemidji State to the mortarboard at Klown Kollege, summa cum laude.  Back then I was fit and strong and full of the joy of possibility that I wanted to share with the world.  Man, my upside had an upside!

I still love the kids.  But that's all I love.  My innocence was siphoned dry by Billy Beane, price-tagged, commodified and sold to a sucker for blue chips.  Not just me.  Ellis, Crosby, Harden....the media says they're locked up, but I say they're locked down, free spirits traded for dollars to feed the Vacuum Billy Beane.   That bastard Beane would suck TJ's face off a nickel, crap out pennies and collect `em to sweeten the next deal.  Potential is to Billy what blood was to Dracula.

I've been working on Maharaja Beane's plantation for too long, and I don't care anymore.  He's turned me from the exuberant prospect to a guy who'll be lucky to stave off the DT tremors long enough to cash in on my free agent year.  Seriously, most days I'm lucky to make it to noon before downing my first bourbon-and-concrete-seasoned-rainwater highball.  And the two packs of Pall Malls a day ain't making the stairs any easier.  The Phanatic sets the market, and there's no f'in way Billy's paying me Philly money come next spring.  So I got nothing to lose, and I'm talkin'.

Cheapskate Beane has me living at the Coliseum...didja know that?  Not just April to October, but year round, sleeping on the thin mat in the Stomper Fun Zone batting cage, with a corner of uninflated bounce house for a blanket.  It's miserable, and I can't leave, because my stupid no-leverage contract includes the graveyard security shift, in season and out.  Damn agent screwed me, I knew he would, you could tell Billy had him showing his cards at the ante.  From my perch at the SFZ I can see the comings and goings of ice follies, tractor pulls, and Warrior games.   Sometimes Thunder brings me hot dog buns gone moldy at arena concession stands.  But I'm here every day, and I see stuff, and that bastard Beane is going to pay...

I see Macha most days.  It wasn't reported, but when Ken came crawling back for his job, Beane made him agree to hose the seagull droppings off the 3rd deck tarps three times a week.  Billy loves to show the world who's boss ...don't be surprised to hear the bird crap bit leaked to Slusser at the first three game losing streak.  But she didn't hear it from me.

Kendall's working with the grounds crew.  This ain't another hu-Billy-ation, though.  Kendall's figured his average will go up if he plants hundreds of marble-sized rocks into the dirt at double play depth.  It was either that or learn to take real swings again, so his choice was pretty easy.  Watch out when Crosby's out there, though, that guy kicks up rocks like a semi.

Kotsay keeps calling about that dream commercial last year.  "I'm still dreaming about you, this really means something, please call me back this time!"  A thousand Berkeley dream interpretation gurus in the yellow pages and he won't stop bothering me.  I might have to get the payphone number of the SFZ changed again.

Milton Bradley came by the night after Fan Fest...seemed in good health...just to tell me that he hates mascots, and if I ever try to work him into my routine he'll go Randall Simon on my ass.

Larry Davis has packrat psychosis, and already has the space under the tarps in Section 317 filled with used Ace bandages.  I mean, every seat, every aisle, reeking of sweat and blood and dirt.  Larry was muttering something the other day about getting his collection of sanitary hose of the 70s, 80s, and 90s out of the Public Storage locker.

Chavez thinks he's too damn good to be seen with a mascot now that he's "the Man."  Try breaking .700 OPS when the heat's on first, whydoncha?  In the stuck in a tree commercial we did together last year it was him, I found out later, who had the best boy pull the foam pad away just before I hit ground.  Hah hah, so funny.  A cracked rib, and you think Billy springs for mascot health insurance?  Fat chance.  Well, we'll just see if Eric likes the "present" I left for him behind third base.

Jay Payton and Bobby Kielty stop by every couple of days to steal each other's locker.  They figure whoever sits closest to Macha's office has the inside track for 4th outfielder/pinch hitter jobs.  Idiots...I could tell them they'd score more points feeding Macha the hose on gullshit spraying days, but to hell with `em.  If I hear Kielty make that same old "Your Pachydermis is Showing" joke one more time, I swear he's gonna open his suitcase on the first road trip to find nothing but the socket and plug costumes Swisher and Blanton wore for hazing last year.  Socket and plug, huh?  Who pitches and who catches, you mean.  Let's just say that if you think it'd be a hoot for you and Andre to wear your "Swisher" and "Harden" jerseys to the Castro next Halloween, you won't be the first.

The whole bullpen hates me.  I almost got Duke in a bit one day, until Calero screamed "Hey, pachuco, if you play once he'll be back every day!"  That was it...Calero runs that pen and Duke's his biyatch.  Look at Kiko wrong just one time and you're facing the very serious, very nasty wrong end of a Santeria stick.

I'm getting ready to be ready for the spring, though.  I have to...I need this bad.  Billy'd just a soon trade me for horse kibble to feed the Kane County Cougar, but it would hurt him even more to pay the extra chump change it'd take to buy me out and dress up Adam the ballboy instead.  So I've got '06, and maybe I can parlay this into a new gig next year.  There's some interest from Seibu, Japan...the Seibu Lion has a Yakuza problem.  So I'm ready to bring it for the full 162, and that bastard Beane can just kiss my lightly furred leathery grey ass.

More to come from Phoenix...