I am very depressed about the state of the
major professional sports here in Boston (the Cannons and Rev are fine - leave
'em out of this). The Bruins forgot to
show up last season, the Patriots remind me of the Grogan Years, and the Red
Sox are as reliable and honest as a plaid-suited used car salesman.
So I got to thinking. What the
hell would light a fire under these damn teams?
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| "Help us, Obi Wan!" |
Okay, okay, I know the man has passed, but
his genius lives on. This guy won world
titles in both leagues (the sport doesn't even matter at this point), and that
alone should raise flags of glory. But
the real, true, honest reason we need Sparky Anderson is because he was a
Boston nemesis. People in Boston loved
to hate Sparky, and they hated to love him because the man knew his stuff. For those who remember 1975, you know exactly
what I mean, foul pole and space ball and all.
The man was more than a genius and a
legend. He knew exactly what it took to
get under the skin of Boston players and fans.
So, players of the Boston Trifecta of Shame, pay attention. Here are some winning words of Sparky
Anderson Wisdom I wish to share with all of you.
Players have two things to do. Play and keep
their mouths shut. This should be Rule #1. Anyone who grants an interview after a loss
(and says things like "We're playing shitty, shitty baseball right
now") should be drawn and quartered.
You think the fans want to hear that while you have a wad of their
ticket-receipt cash in your back pocket?
When you guys are losing, and losing like you're some junior pony league
team, sit down and shut up and do not talk to ANYONE, not your teammates, not
your wife, not your bookie, and certainly NOT the press.
Which brings me to Rule #2: I understand people who boo us. It's like
going to a Broadway show, you pay for your tickets and expect to be entertained.
When you're not, you have a right to complain.
Remember who pays your ridiculously inflated salaries (I am so
tempted to add, "you douche-bags" to that statement). If you suck, how dare you tell me I'm being
ungrateful and punitive if I let you know how badly you suck. If we can discipline spoiled children, we
certainly ought to be able to discipline spoiled professional athletes. (PS - Please see Rule #1.)
The only thing I believe is this: A player
does not have to like a manager and he does not have to respect a manager. All
he has to do is obey the rules. This
is the Rule of Rocket Science. One does
not need to actually be a rocket scientist to understand the correlation
between obeying the rules (following directions) and being successful. People can argue that Belichick and Francona
and Julien are dicks, but no one can argue that they managed to win championships. Of course, they're no Sparky Anderson, which
is why I'm not quoting them. And let's
not even talk about the fried chicken and beer in the clubhouse because those
players are just retarded.
This one is for the fans, including me, as
well as the teams and upper management. People
who live in the past generally are afraid to compete in the present. I've got
my faults, but living in the past is not one of them. There's no future in it. Now I take back what I just said
about Belichick, Francona, and Julien because, quite frankly, what have they
done for me lately? Nothing. Bullshit.
Crap. Stop sitting on your
laurels, boys, and shape up your teams.
Well, not Francona because he has gone on to greener pastures, but not
as green as Sparky's. Not yet, anyway,
though the Red Sox management did their best to try and bury him.
You're probably thinking right about now,
"Can we trust Sparky? How do we
know he spoke the truth?" For one
thing, he didn't claim to be some know-it-all.
As a matter of fact, he claimed just the opposite: I only had a high school education and,
believe me, I had to cheat to get that. Look,
this statement right here puts him leaps and bounds above some of the greatest
major leaguers to ever play in any sport arena at any level. Why?
Because unlike other cheaters (Clemens comes to mind) in
professional sports, he actually admits to it, and I personally don't
think it affected his performance one way or the other. (Of course, I don't think cheating helped
that fat-ass Clemens much, either.)
The most crucial of all reasons why I truly
in my heart of hearts believe Sparky Anderson would and could (if he were alive
and kicking to do it) be the best thing to happen to Boston professional sports
is because Sparky knew his place. He
understood his role and embraced the fact that he was a dirt-dusting,
ego-stroking, hands-filthy manager, and that it was the only thing that suited
him. He never tried to be anything but
the manager with the cleats who belonged in the dug-out. He once said:
Me carrying a briefcase is like a hotdog wearing earrings. We need that sentiment in Boston
because a lot of our players are wieners, earrings on or off, doesn't matter,
and deserve a good roasting.
Last, but certainly not least, Sparky
Anderson had some great advice for the sports-lovelorn amongst us, which proves he
never forgot about the fan-base, either.
Sometimes his advice was not only good for himself, the team, and the
sport, but it carried over generically into the Real World. Sparky Anderson understood this simple rule
of success: If I ever find a pitcher who has
heat, a good curve, and a slider, I might seriously consider marrying him, or
at least proposing. This
seems like a solid foundation to me and probably works a helluva lot better
than Speed Dating.
Love him or hate him, Sparky had it right: Shut up, obey the
rules, and eat Humble Pie when it's fed to ya.
Hmmm, anybody want to play ball?
