Monday, June 09, 2003

Baseball and Being a “Nice Guy”

There are a couple of essays here, but I’ll just lay it all down once as a single incoherent jumble of thoughts.

I’m told I’m a “nice guy”. Ok... That and a couple of bucks will get me a cup of coffee. By itself, the only thing being a nice guy has ever gotten me is kicked in the balls.

Jesus, what a baseball season. Not to mince words (not that I ever do), but damn, our team was wretched. There was individual talent on the team, but it was squandered in the interest of constantly starting and playing guys who just were not up to it. Yesterday, the last freaking game of the year, and the manager admits to me that he starts and plays some of the guys (as opposed to keeping them on the bench and substituting them in for the last inning or so of the game) simply because their fathers give him a hard time if he doesn’t. See? Back to the “nice guy” thing again. I back off and let the manager do his job, and my kid subs all season despite that fact that he’s a far better player than some of the starters.

Then there are stupid fans. The official team whiner got hit by a throw as he slid into third. Rather than gut it out for a couple of seconds and hold onto the bag, he decides to launch into histrionics (as is his wont) and rolls around. Needless to say, the third baseman tagged the base and he was out. Well, one of the mothers (her ex is a pretty cool guy, I think I now know why he’s her “ex”) starts screaming at the umpire. I listened for a few then finally turned and snapped at her that the runner was out, the call was correct. Some guy with her, looked like her father but who knows, yells sat me and tells me to shut up. Told the tough guy if he felt froggy to jump on over. He declined. The tough guys always do.

I’ve gotten way too mellow over the last eight or ten years. Everyone likes me now. They all think that I’m a nice guy. Ten years ago people loved me or hated me. Mostly hated, but at least there was passion one-way or the other. Now I’m just “a nice guy”.

This is hyperbole, of course, but this is what being a “nice guy” amounts to:

“Wow, Jim, you’re such a nice guy. I really like you. Why don’t you come over to my place tonight?……………….That way you can baby-sit my Chihuahua while my boyfriend and I go upstairs and fuck like minks”.

Nice guys truly do finish last.

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