After last night's debacle, when the porous membrane that was once the Yankees bullpen coughed up another game and sent us to .500, 6 games back, I got up in the middle of the night (that would be now) after too many vodka and tonics the previous evening (all that sugar...and, OK, alcohol...). To be honest, stress is also involved. Let's just say I have not been the best of money managers over my lifetime, and the resulting huge, gaping hole I've put the wife and myself in is getting to me--both very near-term and every other term looking forward.
(Oh, yeah, and Don Zimmer died. Did they really have to put that clip of Pedro fending off the charging bull in Zim's ESPN obit piece? Jesus. Between that and being forced to look at Torre's imperious mug in the obligatory Zim and Joe pic, all sadness was washed away by a creeping nausea. But that may be the vodka and tonics again.)
Seeking solace after reading the sad recap of our latest meltdown, including another key error by the Captain, and awaiting the ECB policy decision and Mario Draghi press conference at 8:30 EDT, I naturally turned to IIH for comfort.
And there, in Duque's piece about the draft, was a ray of hope. Not for the team, they're toast for a good long while, like he said. But as he ran down the list of failed millionaire prospects, a solution to my woes presented itself (Alka Seltzer for the tonic stomach aside).
|Put me in, coach, I'm ready to play. Today.|
This may sound crazy, mostly because it is, but what I'm offering is a serious proposition. I would be the oldest-ever signing by a major league baseball team, a freak and an oddity like Bill Veeck's midget, but a tremendous lift for middle- and senior-aged fans across the country. Wherever the team bus pulled into town, there could be special promotions--say, 50-cent admission for men 50 and older, with 50-cent beers (the lines to the ballpark men's rooms starts now; remember, these are guys over 50). Sure, I'd suck, but if the Yanks play their cards right, they'll make back all the money they spent on the Ripley's Believe It Or Not season I'll give them in year one. Did any of their 16-year-old prospects do that? Nope. I could.
|Dear Yankees brass: if the million-dollar|
contract doesn't appeal to you, I have other ideas
for boosting attendance. Call me.
I'll play the freak, the clown, the good-time Charlie who downs beer and dogs like the Babe and hits like the Hoss...hell, a lot worse than Hoss. My organized baseball experience amounts to one at-bat in a Connie Mack game (grounded to second) and a half-inning in right field (caught a high fly with one hand, causing comment from other players that I could hear drifting out from the infield). But I will strive to always be entertaining and use my decades of marketing experience to find ways to pack a minor-league ballpark, even if injured, which at my age is extremely likely.
Think about it, Yankees braintrust. It's a solid idea. I need the money, you need the publicity and distraction. It's a win-win. And it can't be worse than the stuff you do trying to make good decisions.