It only takes one to ruin a righteous Hall of Fame vote

We found the one sportswriter in America who didn't vote for Derek Jeter...

He lives outside Sarasota with a Lay-Z Boy and satellite dish. He has the gout, a nose full of burst capillaries, and his prostate is the size of a newborn baby's head. It's been 15 years since he drove a car, and 30 since he filed his last column for the Topeka paper. It was an insightful rant about these uppity, pampered, smart-mouth pro athletes, who think they're so big. They make way too much money. If he ran sports, he'd set things straight. If he can ever remember that internet password, he'll see if the column is still there.

He sleeps with a C-Pap under an erotic poster of Jayne Mansfield beside his sacred pile of vintage Playboys, and the TV, whose knob has been removed, so nobody can tinker with the channel-changer. He listens to one channel, and one channel only. He hates liberals, hates New York, despises George Steinbrenner - who has ruined the game by spending all that money on those uppity, smart-mouths, the ethnics, that's what he'll call them, who think they're so big. Billy Martin knew what to do. Billy wasn't afraid to punch Reggie right in the nose. But now the game is full of Reggies, and damn, it might as well be the NBA. He refuses to watch. 

Once, long ago, he was supposed to interview Derek Jeter. It was Kansas City, back in the 90s. Well, he got snubbed. Jeter was probably out partying, sleeping with his wenches, forgot all about it. That day, he recognized that Jeter was a street punk with a sassy attitude, who thought he was big. He may have fooled everybody else; all you need in NY is an uppity, smart-mouth attitude, and everybody falls all over you, but Jeter didn't fool him, no way! Ever since, he's been waiting for his chance to let Jeter know exactly what he thinks. Hey, who's the big guy now, eh? 

He hates these modern players. The Joe Pepitones, with their hair sprays and perfumes. Jeter had a perfume. What was that about? And what the hell was ever wrong with Vitalis, anyway? Didn't Pete Rose say it: "A man wants to smell like a man!"  Now, there's a guy who should be in the Hall. Pete was never uppity. Who's that guy on the Angels, what's his name, that uppity pitcher? Oh, yeah, Bo Belinsky! Those Hollywood types. They've ruined the game, with their fur coats and their rap music. 

That's another thing. The music. Can you even call it music? He'll be goddamned if he's ever going to vote for another one of these hooligans, who broadcast their crap over the stadium p.a. whenever they step up to bat. Curt Schilling never did that. Next year, Curt will get his vote. He can't wait. Once Curt gets in the Hall, those uppity, smart-mouth - he's not gonna say what they are; you can't say those words anymore - but they will get an earful! Now, that's a speech he'll want to watch, and he'll have time to watch it, now that they're outlawing dog races. (That's another reason not to vote for Jeter; send a message that people are goddamn pissed. Bring back the dogs, Governor Chiles!) 

Last year, he relented with Mario Rivera. (Actually, he forgot to send in his ballot. It fell into the recliner, and he only found it last month.) But that's okay. Mario was a good guy, respectful. He might have even voted for Mario, anyway. But this Jeter punk, he thought he had everybody fooled. Well, who's the fool now?