“Just what right does Carl Pavano have to still be a member of the New York Yankees?” he asked. “The answer, of course, is none. And yet, here he is, all 6 feet and 5 wasted inches of him, all 241 useless pounds, the only man in the clubhouse who looks more out-of-place than the sportswriters. And more out of shape than many of them.”
Nothing else going on today? Then let's whip Pavano! Haven't hit him lately. Nobody will defend him. Look! He has the audacity to come to camp! How dare he show his face among sportswriters, the lions of truth!
Well, dammnit, Wallace. Ever think that the guy has feelings, like you and me?
Pavano is sad. He got hurt and fell apart. Should he stay home? Would that make you writers happy?
Cut the guy a break. Pavano may have cost us a lot of money. But he's our Britney. He's our Paris Hilton.
As a punch line, he's worth every penny.
Leave him alone. He's ours.
Yours, then. Not ours. Feh.
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