I hear you’re looking for a manager. Oh boy, do I have the person for the job. He’d be perfect, except not really. That person is me. Please let me finish, Obi Wan Bow-Tie-Anobi. At the end of the day (stole your line, bro!), it’s all about making sure our “philosophy” is on the same page.
I don’t want to make the playoffs three years in a row while winning other awards too and end up without a job 16 days after my team won its 17th game in a row. That’s like slaying a busy shift at Pappy’s with no sweet sauce wasted and getting canned the next morning. Talk about a recipe for ultimate disaster. It’s just not good for anyone, especially sportswriters stuck in their cars listening to you talking about one of them possibly jumping out of a moving car.
First off, I can say YES with the best of them. I was trained by Terence Stamp in the “Yes Man” movie. Jim Carrey stole the show, but I was there too, learning how to be the perfect Major League Baseball manager for the St. Louis Cardinals: A prestigious position outlined in baseball espionage. The cloak and dagger doesn’t scare or fool me; I can play the part. I may take 15 or so games of rebellion to adjust, but the message will soon become clear in my head. You are the Death Star. I am the character in “Rogue One,” just an honest fella trying to make a name for himself before getting blown to smithereens.
Second, I get the drift. The rules are clear. Yadier Molina makes the lineup card and I get to check it and make one change. If I make two changes, I get a neck tattoo of a Cubs logo with blood dripping off of it. I’ve heard the stories, Mo. I get it. We all saw the Yadi Insane Face that one time he got tossed out of a game back in 2013. There’s no need to open that door again.
Yeah, I’m good there.
Next, I will say that I know how to get tossed out of a game when necessary. Practiced with my dad a few times on my patio. We really got into it, scared a couple of my cats even. I figured after a lousy six-game losing streak, full of lollygagging Cardinals and bad strike zones, it will be a good time for me to get ejected. Make it to the seventh inning of a 14-2 deficit, and just unleash hell. I read a book on managing (not really), and it said every manager must know how to get tossed. The proper buildup to ejection-a few kicks of dirt and the magic word-and the right Clint Eastwood-type walk back to the dugout. The last guy did this well. Mike Matheny just looked like an angry dad at soccer practice.
Also, I can hit a mean Fungo groundball. It’s as if me and the bat are just one dude hanging out on a park bench together, slapping two-hoppers at Nolan Arenado while hoping not to injure him. By the way, do I have to interview with him or just you? Also, what does Michael Girsch do. He just validated my parking ticket in the lobby. Is that how you treat general managers around here? What would the Blue Jays say?
Lastly, I know you need someone different, yet also the same. Bruce Bochy and Buck Showalter aren’t getting phone calls from your lunch at California Pizza Kitchen tomorrow. You won’t even call Mark McGwire while you’re digging into some Auntie Anne’s. If it’s not Skip-who should have a small statue outside for getting an RBI off Roy Halladay ten years ago-it must be Stubby or Oliver. But by bringing in me, you could go a different route while keeping our minds away from philosophical differences. I just used that phrase with my wife when asked why I didn’t take out the trash. It worked, thanks man!
Before I go, remember this. YES MEN are extremely hard to come by these days. Telling people what to do right now is tough. They can’t even post a picture without four retakes and two filter changes. Made-up minds are good for business. I don’t think I can say yes every time you tell me Jeff Albert doesn’t need to be “taken care of,” but I can try.
Bald and Bearded, it’s in right now.