Thursday, June 5, 2014

A Serious Proposal


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.
I hereby declare myself available for a million-dollar signing bonus--I'm open to more--from the New York Yankees. I am willing to go down to single-A, slog through the bus rides, eat bad food and fail miserably, like any good young Latin American (or other) signing. After a couple of seasons, no doubt plagued by injury, I will quietly go away and lick my wounds and count my money, which would still be substantial even after I pay off my enormous debt and restore my wife's depleted trading accounts. I may even be able to retire from my job, or at least scale back to part-time for the remainder of my so-called career.

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.
Meanwhile, the Yankees pull the sports world's eyes off the increasingly lousier team they're shelling out gazillions for at the major league level. There might even be an angle about how they're finally wasting some money on a guy who really needs it, diffusing some of the ill will built up over the years from "buying pennants." (cough...not this year, kids, and ask Mattingly how the big-spending Dodgers are working out for him.)

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.

14 comments:

el duque said...

You'll have to undergo Tommy John surgery, but don't worry: The Yankees know that everybody comes back from it, and they throw harder than before.

Anonymous said...

Why is this guy John writing on this blog? Is El Duque sponsoring him in some sort of 12 step program?

KD said...

Thanks for the laugh, John M. BTW, you've got really nice boobs for a 50-something. hope you tipped the surgeon!

Anonymous said...

John M should stick to commenting, and not writing entire columns. This was painful to read.

I love Duque, Alphonzo and Alibi Ike. But John M is just plain BAD.

He's the Kei Igawa of this blog

el duque said...

John M, you can blog for me anytime.

Anonymous said...

If your investing skills are anything like your writing skills, it all makes sense....

Booo this man!

John M said...

Thanks, Duque. Do you think all three Anonymous comments are from our acid-tongued pal, or do we have more Anonymi with nasty attitudes now?

Anonymous said...

There's more than one

Anonymous said...

Blah Blah Blahhh blllahhh Blah Bla Blaaaah Blaaaah lllBaaaH Bllllaaaa, bad John M Blaaahhhh Bllaaahhh Blaaahhha Blllahhhh, John M no good, bad bad BAD, Bllah Blah Bllaaahhh Blaahhh, why why why people like John M not me, blah BLAH BLAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Anonymous said...

even John M.'s fake anonymous sucks

Anonymous said...

There are FAR more than one, John. I was the 7:42 am post yesterday morning. But I wish I could take credit for the 5:57 am comment. It was hysterical.

I said Kei Igawa. But now, I'm thinking you're the Fat Pussy Toad of this blog.

Ken of Brooklyn said...

John M, I look forward to each and every one of your posts, always insightful and very funny, your a welcome addition to the IIHIIFIIC blogging family.

Anonymous said...

Ken of Brooklyn is the fat pussy toadie of this blog

Ken of Brooklyn said...

Thanks, Anonymous! Glad to see that your still the same toxic, disgruntled, shit slinging curmudgeon we have come to loath,, and love.