Baseball bozos haven't got a clue

Baseball means a lot to me, I know everything there is to know about my favorite club. And that’s it.

I could not name 20 percent of last year’s MLB All-Star team and can not recognize ten percent of it via photograph. I have not watched a beginning-to-end nationally-televised regular season contest that did not feature my favorite team since, I’d guess, 1991. Every spring this century, it takes me a minute to remember who won the last World Series.

But I love baseball, known everything about it since I was a kid.

I knew someone had to explain the truncated 1981 stats on my baseball cards. I knew the Andre Dawson Blank Check Story and the fight against the lights better than I knew Cub history with the goats and shit. I watched Jack Clark limp to the Yankees and Vince Coleman sprint to the Mets, yet, grunge and all, I was still ready to watch a World Series in 1994.

The labor impasse in 1994 didn’t dim my interest in the sport. What it did was separate baseball’s chinless ownership goons from the rest of the regular, normal assholes in the NFL and NBA.