Hey, Skipper. Since the Royals are currently playing a game of baseball, I figure you have some time to peruse the interwebs until finding a way to blow the game in the seventh inning. Take a seat.
Recently, you were asked about the state of my beloved Royals and their elusive as the Loch Ness Monster style offense. When asked a perfectly reasonable question about coming out from beneath the infernal cloud of this shitstorm, you responded, “What are you asking me to do? Take my belt off and spank them? Yell at them? Scream at them?”
Putting aside for the moment that you should only take your belt off and spank people if it is consensual and done for sexual gratification, allow me to explain why this is perhaps the most offensive comment Royals fans have had to endure over the last month, and considering we listen to the nonstop procession of ridiculous nonsense that flows from Rex Hudler’s mouth, that’s a bold claim indeed.
See, the problem with that statement is it gives us the impression (and quite rightly so) that you have thrown up your hands in defeat, completely stymied by our lack of offensive production, the goofs on defense, and the utter absence of game management skills in nearly all routine situations. The suggestion that the only thing you can think of to right this ship is abusing grown men with a leather strip is so utterly preposterous it gives us the impression you think there’s NOTHING you can do period.
Maybe that’s true. And if that is true, then why do we need you in the dugout? If you seriously cannot think of a single thing to do to break this slump, how about we fire you and put a pregnant golden retriever in your place? If you are wholly incapable of motivating, managing, and holding people accountable, a pregnant golden retriever literally cannot do any worse, and as a bonus, we will have puppies to look forward to in August.
Frankly, I’m not surprised you can’t figure out a way out of this slump. Because you also said, “My job is to stay positive.” I’m all for the power of positive thinking, but I believe you have a fundamental misunderstanding of your job description. See, all of us at home assume your job is to win baseball games. I’m a claims adjuster, and while it helps me to have a positive attitude, I doubt I would keep my job for long if I was super-nice on the phone but never, you know, adjusted the damn claim.
Royals fans are a special breed. We come by it honestly. We love. We ache. We dream. We scratch out our eyeballs with flaming tongs every time Frenchy strikes out or Billy treats us to a GIDP. We are coming to the end of this ten-year plan we’ve been hearing about for the last, um, ten years, and our patience has worn thin. We deserve better, and so do the players. You may be impotent in your ability to motivate, manage, and respond with anything but flippancy to fans who apparently care more about your team than you ever will, but you shouldn’t assume Royals fans are going to take that condescending bullshit lying down.
Even if you don’t give a whooping funt what the fans think, you should care what your players think. If I had a boss who sent me the message I could do whatever I wanted, perform as badly as humanly possible, and be protected when anyone pointed out that I kind of suck, you bet your sweet bippy I would take advantage and spend most of my days on the beach, not in front of my computer.
If that’s how you feel, Ned, if you really are at a loss when it comes to steering out of this storm, allow me to enlighten you as to what happens in the real world when people become incapable of doing their jobs. They get fucking fired. Luckily, your guys have the minor leagues where they can get their heads on straight. So rather than putting them across Daddy’s knee or screaming at them or lining the insides of their batting gloves with peanut butter, maybe some corrective instruction might be in order.
The most frustrating thing for fans right now is that the talent is there. God, it’s right at your fingertips, it’s so close it’s palpable. That hasn’t always been the case, and it breaks our long-suffering hearts to see it mishandled. There’s nothing sadder than a carpenter who doesn’t know how to use his tools, except maybe the idea of a middle-aged man spanking strapping young lads without the promise of an orgasm.
Do better. Be better. And if you’re not capable of that, you should seriously look into that golden retriever thing. We would name her Splitty Slumpbuster Brent Mayne Hot Dog Derby and remark about how she always seems to bring in the right pitcher at the right time and cheer as she leads us to victory.