Monday, January 29, 2007
Black Snake Moan, The Prequel
Don't believe what anyone else tells you, kids. The worst part about getting older…the single sh*ttiest aspect of aging…is watching your heroes get old. Back in 1985, none of us thought that Decepticon Soundwave – easily the best bad guy amongst Megatron's minions – would be rendered obsolete with the advent of the CD.
One summer later, my Oakland A's would sign journeyman pitcher Dave Stewart and start him on a nationally televised Monday Night game against Red Sox phenom, Roger Clemens. Stew won that night, en route to a 9-5 season in Oakland. In the next four years, from 1987 to 1990, he'd win 20 games each season, along with a World Series ring and a pair of postseason MVP awards.
Dave Stewart is my all-time favorite pitcher and he's on the short list of reasons why I remain planet Earth's last Black baseball fan.
He's been retired since 1995. Stewart has bounced around from a spectacularly catastrophic run as assistant GM with the Blue Jays to successful pitching coach for one season in San Diego to sports agent to Pros vs. Joes "celebrity".
Now, it seems that Dave Stewart is determined to sully my mind's dirt n' grass flashbacks of the Oakland native toeing the rubber and winning game after game for baseball's marquee team.
The above video is from Dave Stewart's latest gig as a retroactive locker room gossip.
This…this is not happening. Dave Stewart, who signed his baseball card for me before a game and, a few years later, threw me a ball during batting practice is…whoring himself out to a dot-com domain. And, worse, he's breaking all kinds of "guy code" here.
Every night on the road for athletes has to be better than Groundhog Day meets Bachelor Party, people. And, now, Dave Stewart has become the guy who clicks his camera phone in the direction of your lap dance and thinks it's cool.
This is not happening.
But, since it obviously is, you might as well watch the video and try'n guess which former teammate actually owns the "anaconda" that inspired this soliloquy.
I call Luis Polonia.