Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Where Are My Hall Of Fame Votes?

Over the last few days I've been reading a lot of columns and tweets written by Hall of Fame voters about who they voted for or didn't vote for on their Hall of Fame ballots and why this year. Throughout the process I've noticed a very startling and scary trend.

Nobody has voted for me.

Where are the votes for the Hawkaroo?

These bastards voted in Andre Dawson last year, and he wasn't even the greatest Hawk to ever Hawk. First of all, why was that asshole even called "Hawk?" He doesn't look like a hawk, nor does he eat small rodents.

Have you seen my nose? I am the only Hawk out there. I don't eat rodents any more, but there were times as a youngster when I didn't have any other choice.

And those are just my Hawk credentials, which are amazing, but probably not good enough to get me into the Hall of Fame on their own. So let's look at my numbers, shall we?

I may have only been a career .239 hitter, but I did so in an era where pitchers dominated. Why they got to pitch from mounds that were ten feet high, and the baseballs were only the size of a golf ball back then. Plus we had to play in two feet of snow where ever we went, even in July, and barefoot at that.

I'd like to see these overpaid pussies of today play in those conditions. Albert Pujols would have played 3 games before running back to his mommy in the Dominican Republic. Also, in my day, we didn't have steroids. No, we just took amphetamines, like real men.

You ever tried to hit a baseball with speed coursing through your veins? It took all the concentration in the world to not just turn around and either strangle or hump the umpire. That shit wasn't easy. Plus the colors, man. The fucking colors.

But fuck my batting average, right? You kids these days and your fucking nerd stats know that batting average doesn't really mean anything. Well, I had a career on-base percentage of .325 and it was a lot harder to get on base back then. Not just because of the snow and shit, but because the basepaths were 180 feet in my day.

You'd have to stop for a cigarette and a beer two-thirds of the way to first because you were just so damn tired. Nobody seems to remember that. Not you voters with your size-46 waistbands and handfuls of potato chips. No, since you were too slow and fat to be any good at baseball, you've decided to dedicate your life to telling people who could play baseball that they didn't play well enough.

Well how about my career OPS+ (NERD ALERT) of 109? Triple fucking digits, bitch. You couldn't do that shit.

Oh, and did I mention that I used to hang out and get drunk with guys like Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams and YAZ? You put them assholes into the Hall of Fame, right? Well then aren't I a god damned Hall of Famer by association?

So where the fuck are my votes you fat slobs?

This is the question I'll be asking you voters as I see you around the country this year. Let's just hope you can mutter an acceptable answer before the life leaves your eyes as I'm choking you out in a press box somewhere.

You dick.

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