i would suspend my hero sammy sosa, of my favorite baseball team, the chicago cubs, for the rest of this young season.
a corked bat of any sort, especially one in the hands of the most loved player in baseball today shouldnt be tolerated any more than a locker full of kiddie porn.
because what it does is makes the public wince.
we want to trust our idols, especially in chicago, especially on the northside.
especially when our magic number is 121.
some might say that a corked bat is the same as a scuffed ball, or sandpaper in a pitchers glove.
we rooted for gaylord perry and his spitball, and we smile at ty cobb sharpening his cleats.
players cover their mouths with their gloves nowadays to prevent enemy lip-readers. cheating isnt cheating in baseball it’s playing.
if you dont get caught: good for you. if you do: nice try you old dog.
but even in baseball at some point you have to draw the line and a guy who is on pace to be the all time home run king has to hit all of those home runs fair and square.
it was your practice bat? fuck you.
and fuck you for having a corked practice bat.
if i was commissioner of baseball i would be saying fuck you a lot i have a feeling.
someone got a piece of paper, rolled it up, wrote dunce on it and put it on my sammy bobblehead on my desk.
the sammy sosa story is a great one. skinny outfielder who gets tossed from team to team until he bulks up and starts hitting the ball over the ivy of wrigley field.
latin hero who blows kisses to his mother, and hustles, and has a gun for an arm.
he took the cubs to the playoffs in 89 almost singlehandedly.
and broke everyones hearts with a ground out
against the devil rays of tampa bay.
i keep telling you about night games at wrigley.
and its evil.