Ah, Fuck Him
This entry was posted on 2/28/2006 3:35 PM and is filed under Rant.
I was wondering how long it was going to take me to integrate a swear into an article title. When your goal is to lift quotes from an R rated movie and use them as article titles, the odds that you're going to drop an F-Bomb in there are high. Well it only took me until the last day of February to officially decide that I'm not clapping for Johnny Damon when he returns to Fenway. Johnny has been doing his best to blow up that 300 mile bridge between Boston and New York since his departure. Well the big "can't throw. can't talk" idiot has finally hit the detonator. I know I'm an early jumper, but one or two more comments will get the Damomettes off the wagon as well.
It's fitting that the day would be Fat Tuesday, considering he left solely for the money. While he's gorging on his Gray's Papaya Mr. Puma has suddenly realized that life in the Bronx is not quite like the carefree Boston clubhouse. Gee whiz Johnny, what did you expect when you had to cut your hair and adhere to the dress code? Are you having trouble navigating the Ferrari around Manhattan? In true Johnny fashion he tries to lob another grenade our way to make it look like management pushed him out. Oh sure it's all wrapped up nice and neat like a sweet piece of reminiscing, but it's all too obvious that Johnny has already made a few phone calls home to mommy after she dropped him off at camp. Bottom line JD, New York had the number one offer. Boston had number two. You chose number one, because you possess that sweet combination of not being smart and having Scott Boras as his agent.
Johnny, please stop slamming the Sox. It's heading towards the Hillenbrand line and that's a place, at least with me, that you want to venture near. It's a sign of immaturity with a hint of unprofessionalism, which in reality is your way of hiding the fact that you're beginning to realize you made a mistake. Boston made you and New York is only going to make you average. You're not homegrown like Jeter my friend. They cannot relate to you like Paul O'Neil or Scott Brosius. The people take care of their own and those same people spent the last four years hating every fiber in your body. That is a tough thing to get over. It's the equivalent of Jorge Posada joining the Sox. If that ever happened the entire Nation would collectively re-enact the Crying Game. You're cute and pretty Johnny, not Bronxy. I'm sorry, but you're not a satin jacket and mustard stained sweatpants kind of guy.
No more bring Manny here. No more bring Papi here. No more Millar text messaging you "No clubhouse was like
our clubhouse". It's over. You dug a hole for yourself buddy and no former teammate is going to save you. You're on your own. Johnny Damon is the enemy. You're dead to me. My seat in section 6, row 9 is already waiting for me to keep it warm when Johnny comes to town. What an idi...a dumbass.
