Look, I loved Victor Martinez. Honestly. He was like my Dominican-born, weirdly-accented brother. Who catches.
He was born in Venezuela!
Close enough. The thing is we made what we thought was a pretty sweet offer. I can’t speak to what made him turn it down.
I dunno. Desire to feed his family? To not be insulted by The Man? To take his switch hittin’, .313 with an .865 OPS in 775 at bats ass somewhere it’ll be appreciated?
Lackey dollars! The guy deserved Lackey dollars!
Let’s not talk crazy. He was a good catcher. But, you know, at 32…
So we’re lookin’ at another bridge year? A long-ass bridge year without a decent catcher!
This is about that soccer team, ain’t it. That goddam limey footballin’ club cost us The Vic.
We’ve got a lot of options to explore. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.
Thanksgiving, schmanksgiving. You’ve left us Vic-less, turkey tits. And for what? Fifty million?
That’s an insult in any language. Unless, y’know, there’s a lucrative “suit clause” built in.
PLUS THE WHORES KEEP UPPING THEIR PRICES WHEN YOU ASK THEM TO DO THINGS WITH ETCH-A-SKETCHES AND PONIES. AND I’M SHOUTING ONLY BECAUSE I DON’T SPEAK FROM EXPERIENCE.
Guys, this was a business decision. I know we become emotionally attached to our teammates. But every decision I make is guided by dollars and, of course, whatever Charles Durning suggests.
Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say this f$%king eats my balls, Theo. Eats them right up. And I’m tried of your “boy wonder” bullshit. This was a shit move, and you’ve gotta live with that
I concur. Come on, gents. Let’s go slash some random GM’s tires.
::Two minutes later::
Can I come out now?
Nah, let ‘em bitch me out for a few more weeks. It’ll be more fun that way.