Seriously, a painting? Like he's got a bare wall? Where will it go? The garage?
A painting. No set of steak knives? Cuff links? Aroma Therapy Briquettes? Something from the Sharper Image catalog? (Leave the price tag, so he'll be impressed.) A painting?
No mass mooning.
At least, on TV, Papi mooned New York.
Last night, the Yankees won a game that epitomizes life: At the beginning, everything seemed so important; by the end, it was meaningless farce.
They gave David Ortiz a painting. If the TV coverage is any indicator, most fans stood, some didn't, everybody clapped, and nobody was seen giving Papi a sendoff he could never forget, and stop laughing over - a mass mooning to go down in the the "anals" of history.
So, as I say, he gave us one.
Frankly, I've seen most emotional farewells given to pizza delivery men, depending on how stoned the recipients were. All the while, the YES Publicity Patrol blathered about Hal Steinbrenner's incredible generosity - (they're worse than Rudy talking up Trump) - and the heroic "assroots campaign" to moon the man was never mentioned.
A painting? Really? How about:
1. An old Yankee bullpen car. (I know they're out there. Last winter, I saw one in Sarasota, Florida.) Let him drive the world, surrounded by the Yankee logo. Hah.
2. The tattered remnants of that Ortiz jersey they dug up under the new Yankee Stadium, back when it was under construction. If you remember: Some Redsock infiltrator attempted to hex the new stadium by burying Papi's uniform under the foundation. Frankly, I say we should bulldoze the park and start over, because the guy clearly buried another one. That would explain everything.
3. A fan-based mass mooning. Or "ass mooning." Today, I'm awaiting a first-hand report from Local Bargain Jerk - the 2016 IT IS HIGH Fan of the Year, by the way - on what happened. He's probably lashed to a seat, wearing a hood, heading to Git-Mo for breaking the esteemed Yankee Code of Personal Conduct (which never applied to Mel Hall and Chad Curtis, eh?). Nothing was mentioned on TV.
(I should note that I couldn't make it to the game because my wife and I were donning clown costumes and lurking in the woods near Syracuse, luring children to our candy cove. Bad night: It rained.)
And yes, though it was Big Papi's finale, let's face it: We are preparing to say farewell to a bunch of Yankees this winter.
Soon, everything about 2016 will be in a garage.