Tag Archives: jeff kent

The Gift Basket Contents of Major Leaguers, Past and Present

Yankees star Derek Jeter, one of New York’s most eligible hunks since his split with longtime gal pal Minka Kelly, is bedding a bevy of beauties in his Trump World Towerbachelor pad — and then coldly sending them home alone with gift baskets of autographed memorabilia.

The Yankees captain’s wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kiss-offs came to light when he mistakenly pulled the stunt twice on the same woman — forgetting she had been an earlier conquest, a pal told The Post. – NY Post, 12/13/11

ALEX RODRIGUEZ: small picnic basket filled with plush centaurs

STEVE GARVEY: a bad check and a lecture on fiscal responsibility

JOHN KRUK: three jars of his own homemade pomade/gravy

DAVID WELLS: A case of Natty Lite, a convenience store display of Slim Jims, and a gift card to Bass Pro Shops

CJ WILSON: Youth of Today compilation, large bottle of Dr. Bronner’s soap

DARREN DAULTON: step-by-step instructions on how to see into the secret, alien 7th dimension

JEFF KENT: a bag of Hall’s cough drops that happened to be left in the front seat of his car

OLD HOSS RADBOURN: tincture of laudanum, bone chilling stare on your way out of the hotel room

CURT SCHILLING: two-months of free gametime on World of Warcraft

JAMIE MOYER: hand-whittled doorstops–lady’s choice of duck or bear

ROGER MCDOWELL: can of “peanut brittle,” trick gum, pair of Bill Robinson’s cleats charred in successful hotfoot attempt

LUKE SCOTT: detailed manifesto on how the Illuminati and the Swiss bankers’ cabal are keeping evidence of Obama’s Indonesian citizenship from the American public

MANNY RAMIREZ: five pairs of tent-sized pants, several women’s hormone supplements

MIKE PIAZZA: Rush Limbaugh book-on-tape set, complete Cannibal Corpse discography

BABE RUTH: syphilis

My Best Games: I’m Allowed to Go to a Playoff Game?

After writing my kiss-off to the immortal (?) Jeff Kent, I realized that Mr. Kent played a small role in the top three games I ever saw at Shea Stadium. I broached this topic a few times two years ago, though I never got quite as far as I wanted to. And now that Shea is all but rubble, the time has come to pay my last respects.

After dismissing or ignoring baseball for a good chunk of my high school/collegiate career, I got sucked back in by the ridiculously ridonkulous year of 1999. That remains my favorite Met team that I definitively, distinctly remember. 1986 had better results, but I was barely aware of the game at that point. 1969 and 1973 both made the mistake of occurring before I was born. 2006 seemed like magic when it was happening, but has become more and more depressing the more time passes.

1999 was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. It was like a carnival ride that whipped you around in the air a little too hard, and shook a little too much to be safe, and had lots of loose exposed bolts, and was run by a wild-eyed carnie on crank. There are some nights I wake up and I still can’t believe that it all ended on a bases loaded walk. And yet, I can totally believe it. How else could that year end–in a fair and probable manner? Pshaw!

Continue reading My Best Games: I’m Allowed to Go to a Playoff Game?

Jeff Kent Play No More

jeff-kent.jpgYeah, I’m done with baseball. Played 17 seasons, had a lotta highs, lotta lows. Never won a championship, but hey, you can say that about a lot of the greats.

And I am one of the greats, by the way. You reporters write that down, or so help me, I will snap your necks like sourdough pretzels.

I’ll miss lots of things about the game. I’ll miss putting on the Dodger blue. Especially at spring training time. Every year at Vero Beach, I used to try and “accidentally” tip over Tommy Lasorda. Watching that guy struggle and wriggle around on his back is the funniest thing you’ll ever see. When he’s on the ground, the guy is like a turtle. A turtle packed full of undigested pasta.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how much I’ll miss the sweet, sweet road beef that awaited me at every hotel we stayed at. Your ladies’ indiscriminate taste in athlete wang served me well.

Oh, and if any of you are considering a paternity suit, I’d just like to remind you that my lawyer will crush you like grapes. Cheers!

My proudest achievement? I guess it’s being in the top ten of All-Time Guys Who Everyone’s Glad Never Won a Championship. Yeah, being up there with Barry Bonds and Dan Marino and Karl Malone, it’s kind of humbling. I mean, it would be if I had any humility at all.

P.S.: I don’t.

My biggest regret? I wish I’d kicked more children. It was so easy to do! When you’re a big time athlete like myself, kids come up to you all the time and ask for your autograph. You just fly that leg right out there and pretend you had a muscle spasm.

Y’ever kick a kid wearing shorts? Just cleat on bone. Oh, it’s great.

Sure, I did it a couple of times, but I was always like “Oh, you’re gonna get sued!” and “Hey, just kick the next kid!” I didn’t realize that one day, there would be no next kid to kick. Youth is wasted on the young.

Oh, and old people. Wish I’d punched more old people. The only thing that comes close to kicking a kid is punching a dessicated, wrinkly face.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for the beginning of my super awesome motocross career.