Time for This Year’s Tofu Turkey Nominees!

DATELINE: Tofu Turkey Nominees

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We have reached that benighted time of the season when our annual Tofu Turkey Awards must be given. Boston has spread its usual list of losers nationwide this year. We are proud to say that many of our nominees have reputations that precede them like Pepe LePew.

It takes a particular mix of hubris, idiocy, and power, to combine into a combustible formula for disaster. This year the sports world has been cursed with more than enough to pass around. We could have multiple winners this season when real turkeys are not as appalling as fake ones.

Our list of nominees in no particular order of odor.

ROGER GOODELL.  The Commissioner of the NFL has gone out of his way to be an egregious Grinch this year. He has single-handedly tried to destroy the career of one of his league’s greatest stars, Tom Brady. By inventing and holding on to Deflategate as if it were the Hope Diamond, Goodell has proven his ability to be blind when it comes to justice to no one’s good.

BEN CHERINGTON.  The former Red Sox general manager has already lost his job over ineptness. But, we have no compunctions about kicking a man when he’s down for the count. Cherington recently parlayed his bad management skills into a visiting graduate professor at Columbia University recently, showing those who can’t do, can always teach.

AARON HERNANDEZ. You’d think this stiff would be in the Tofu Hall of Shame by now, but he still has a double murder trial coming up in January—though his Ninja attorneys continue to attempt to have the previous jury decision of guilty thrown out by impugning jurors. The next trial may double our fun.

NESN. New England’s own Cable Sports Network, not to be confused with its sister news station NECN managed to do the impossible. They fired Don Orsillo, long time beloved voice of the Red Sox for no apparent reason. The true recipient of the Tofu Turkey likely belongs to media mogul Tom Werner, part-time owner of the Sox, who fancies himself as an expert in entertainment. Yes, he hired Cosby, folks, and has capped his career by firing Orsillo. Clearly this man is full of Tofu.

ESPN.  Going hand in glove with the NFL, the backpocket media arm of Roger Goodell manages to fire people who defend the New England Patriots, cancel any show that shows intelligence, and keeps liars like Chris Mortensen aboard their sinking ship. Losing credibility seems to help their ratings. We believe a Tofu Turkey is deserved, but only you the voters can decide.

So, that is the slate. If it resembles a Republican primary ballot, we apologize. We couldn’t add Bernie Sanders to the group because he hates emails—which warms the Tofu Turkey heart.

We have asked Donald Trump to bestow this year’s honor, but he is too busy doing standup comedy on NBC, a previous Tofu Turkey winner.

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Red Sox Redux 2015, Reduction by Subtraction

DATELINE: RETURN TO RED SOX QUALITY

Featured imageBen Cherington Rides Off into Sunset

King John Henry VIII is up to his old tricks.

This time Ben Cherington keeps his head, but loses his job. For some reason he did not want to stay on under the new President of Baseball Operations, Dave Dumbowsky, who once worked as GM for King John Henry at the Marlins fiefdom.

Now they will be reunited in mediocrity, replacing the nonentities that Cherington brought into the organization through his dartboard process and selection of players.

Cherington will always be remembered as the man who sounded like Theo Epstein and unloaded a quarter of a billion dollars worth of bad baseball contracts, sending them all to Los Angeles for a bag of onion chips.

Lately Ben Cherington has been exhibiting more than his usual smarmy style, having brought to this year’s team the concept of a “team ace,” meaning no pitcher was ready before his time—and certainly not ready period.

He also brought aboard two slugs, another Ramirez and a Panda bear. Both seem to have more injuries than Dustin Pedroia. He found a wide range of psychotherapists for Clay Bucholz.

We suppose Cherington did only what he was told by retiring poohba Larry Lucchino—and he followed the yellow goldbrick road right out the door to Yawkey Way.

Sox brass praised Cherington as the right man to run the Red Sox when a mad bomber blows up the Boston Marathon. Cherington knew how to make the team part of the Boston Strong public relations juggernaut. Praise, indeed.

If we really cared about the Red Sox this season, we might have followed this fiasco to its inevitable conclusion—but we swore off the Sox about four months ago. We make an occasional right decision.

 

 

Smarmy Ben Cherington Destroys Red Sox

DATELINE: SPORTS WHIMSY

Hynkel's Dance Partner

You can place blame for the sell-off, send-off, let-down, set-down, down-the-drain Boston Red Sox season on one man: General Manager Ben Cherington.

Smiling Ben is about as much fun as the man who makes nooses to hang around town.

Cherington dismantled the band of bearded brothers almost immediately after they surprisingly won the World Series. He sent key players packing, unwilling to pay more than ten cents on the dollar for a contract.

Then, he set about destroying the clubhouse chemistry.

It was easy: bring in A.J. Pierzynski and let Ortiz be overpaid and overbearing.

Once the bad apples were in place, your barrel of fun was over.

Cherington is now orchestrating the fire sale of the century for the Red Sox. His August version of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre featured Josh Beckett, Adrian Gonzalez, and Carl Crawford, who were sent packing by machine gunners holding violin cases. Everyone loved that scenario. Now Ben is planning another massacre.

He intends to dismantle the Fenway Cathedral one brick at a time. Jake Peavy went sailing off on his duck boat, and now Jon Lester is taking the A-train.

Other future free agents may go with him. So long to Koji, Johnny, Carp, Dubront, and anyone else who smiled more than Ben. The list is long.

It does not matter much that the clubhouse now resembles a place where dead men tell no tales. Suppose you hold a resurrection party in a morgue, and none of the corpses came back to life? You have an idea of what it’s like to be on the Red Sox champagne voyage of 2014.

That’s the style of Ben Cherington.

Time to Dump Ben Cherington?

DATELINE: HUMOR

Laughing Cavalier

RED SOX GM BEN CHERINGTON SMILES

GM Ben Cherington woke up and smelled the coffee this week.

After months of behind-the-scenes grumbling, he finally took the wax out of his ears and listened to the horror stories about A.J. Pierzynski.

Yes, Cherington hates to admit he was wrong. But, lately, his wrong-headedness is beginning to look as obvious as a World Series champion team in the American League cellar.

Cherington dumped Jarred Saltalamacchia, a catcher of modest skills who was willing to live and to die for the Red Sox. He did every charity event, and he worked with every pitcher. But, he just did not fit the Cherington mold. That is to say, he was not Jello when Cherington spoke to him.

We expect the next few months of the lost 2014 season will become the Pawn Stars version of baseball. Ben will bring every player to the pawn shop for appraisal, whether or not it seems like a smart move.

The vaunted Ivy League brain of Cherington has bamboozled the likes of Boston media (all graduates it would seem of the local community college system). Only one so-called Harvard man is thought to be as smart as Cherington. He is a bum-kisser who shall remain nameless, though his verbosity tars him.

Like so many stories of the Red Sox, this time the media withheld from fans the truth about Pierzynski’s clubhouse antics. We don’t think the scouting report on him was nearly as damning as that of Aaron Hernandez, but the Sox clearly did not read between the lines.

So, now the Red Sox seem to be a championship team with five starting rookies. If this isn’t a bridge year, we’d swear we were watching the Boston Celtics.

A Night to Forget, Sox Fans

DATELINE: HUMORLESS

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Leave it to those Red Sox. When one of the worst hitting teams in the major leagues shows up at Fenway, the Red Sox do them one better, or in this case two runs worse.

At first we thought it was the hometown debut of Sookie from Bon Temps. No, we were wrong. It was the hometown debut of Mookie from Pawtucket.

It didn’t matter because those Red Sox were all day suckers against the Chicago Cubs.

Yes, the man who couldn’t win at Fenway pitched a near no-hitter against the Sox. It takes a spoilsport to spoil another sport’s night. So, Stephen Drew—with his gaudy batting average at .135 broke up the no-hitter in the ninth inning.

Sookie may be replacing the CDC on True Blood, but the bloodless Sox have Mookie Betts to replace Jacoby Ellsbury.

To celebrate this impressive loss after beating the hapless Yankees two out of three at the Big Apple, smarmy Ben Cherington banished any sentiment when he traded minor league favorite Rich Hill to the West Coast.

Hill’s infant son died six months ago, and he had been commuting to Pawtucket to be near his family in Boston.

Now he can jet here once or twice during the rest of the season. Here’s to sentiment, Mr. Cherington. In the meantime, Smarmy Ben continues to fiddle away whilst the Red Sox empire reaches a half-way point of no return.

Nowadays it’s almost like last season never happened.

Red Sox Score: Love All

BrockDATELINE: HUMOR

Boston media has finally jumped on our sarcastic bandwagon.

Last season the Boston bum-kissing media were having more orgasms than a happy hooker. This season, dressed as austere Puritans, media have returned with stocks for the Boston Common.

Fans who want to throw rotten tomatoes at the key non-players are encouraged to do so.

Not since the championship year of Koufax and Drysdale has a team had so little offense to support its pitchers. Only this is not a champion team, and the starting pitchers are starting to look more like the 1964 Mets rotation.

The Red Sox have become Seward’s Folly. Around Fenway the chill is palpable for Cherington’s Folly.

Stephen Drew has pulled his Brink’s truck up to the Sox box office and cleaned the place out. Last time we looked he went 0 for 4 (again) and was batting .125. That is not only below the Mendoza Line, it is a kick below the belt. He took the Cherington family jewels too.

Media members are now concluding that Dustin Pedroia’s career is in the downswing and David Ortiz is, at long last, reaching blowhard status.

In the on-deck circle is John Farrell waiting to morph into Bobby Valentine.

For those who deal in human misery, this team is a godsend.

For those who expected a repeat World Series, this team is your worst nightmare.

They can’t score a run. They can’t do the fundamentals to eke out a victory. They mostly eeek like they see a mouse.

Boston’s all-sports networks on radio and television are now actually watching soccer and the World Cup with fake enthusiasm. When the Red Sox tank, ‘u got 2 do what u got 2 do’—to borrow a phrase from the Twitter generation.

David Ortiz Returns to Cement Head Form

OBAMA & ORTIZ DATELINE: HUMOR

 

After bullying a lowly paid official scorer of baseball, David Ortiz may be shocked to hear that a bigger bully is now after him. Yes, Joe Torre let it be known that MLB is unhappy that Ortiz is biting the hand that feeds him.

By calling into question the objectivity of official scorers, Ortiz seems to have missed the point that he expects his game to be pre-ordained in favor of hometown teams.

This may be regular in the NBA, as everyone may point out, but baseball is supposed to be a game of gentlemen.

We expect that MLB has fined Ortiz for his flagrant flopping, though no one wants to talk about it now. Big Papi is not too bright.

We are not sure that Joe Torre’s comments reached the cement head of Ortiz. In a career of indulgence and spoiled brat antics, Ortiz now seems immune to anything outside his own little world.

Knowing the noblesse oblige attitude of Red Sox ownership, you can count on the likelihood that they paid any fine levied on Big Dopey.

Whether it’s dropping an F-bomb on live television at a family event to honor Boston Strong, or sticking his dumb head into a manager’s press conference, Big David epitomizes obtuse.

Last season he nearly decapitated Dustin Pedroia with one of his patented Godzilla temper tantrums. And, now his General Manager, Smarmy Ben Cherington has excused Ortiz because he is “emotional.”

Emotionally disturbed may be closer to accurate.

His legion of fans may be equally double-digit IQ material.

Stephen Drew Gives Red Sox a Black Eye & Tooth Ache

DATELINE: FUNNY BONE

Sox Rookie

When the Red Sox signed Stephen Drew for millions, they paid not one red cent for defense. It made no sense except as the act of a desperate team in the midst of their ten-game losing streak.

Then, the unimaginable happened. Well, not so unimaginable if you remember Red Sox star J.D. Drew, brother to the DL’s best friend. Stephen’s DNA rose to the surface of his oblique muscle, which he promptly strained after sitting out two months of the season.

The more muscles strain, the more you can tell a Drew. The Red Sox drew the shortstop straw.

In an effort to upset a rookie who was the best hitter on the team, the Sox replaced him with a man whose oblique muscle showed every chance of being attached to the shin bone and funny bone. We call this a nuts and Holt issue.

All this sort of proved yet again that you must never let Super Agent Scott Boras count your teeth. The Sox are now missing two good-sized molars. The good news is that the Drew contract is merely for one season and two more front teeth. Christmas can’t come soon enough.

Before you can say back to the drawing board, the Sox are losing again and Drew can’t help them until someone massages his wallet.

Fingers are pointing at Ben Cherington as GM of the Year. Alas, it is not for this year.

Though we are straining to join the chorus of hundreds of media experts singing the blues and another refrain from the old Sox standby, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game (I Told You So),” we will take an oblique approach to the Drew problem.

Vampires, Voodoo, and the Red Sox

DATELINE: HUMOR

Unusual Suspicions

Josh Beckett received a blood transfusion when he heard the Red Sox had lost ten games in a row.

The Old Vampire rose from his grave, went to the mound, and promptly threw a no-hitter. You’d think he’d been transformed into Sandy Koufax for the Los Angeles Dodgers.

The Sox pulled the plug on his life support almost two years ago, and Beckett has been plagued for nearly the entire time with hangnails on his thumb.

Now he is hanging the Red Sox on the same pitching hand.

In a world constantly under attack from biting irony, this was the bite of a toothless vampire. But when you’re a vampire, a daytime game victory is sweet indeed.

The Red Sox devolved into brawling and bawling and bailing instead of balling and batting.

For the want of a nail in the old horseshoe, the battle was lost. In this case, the Red Sox have become horsemeat.

If you can find old Red Sox castoffs around the league, they are smiling. From Adrian Gonzalez to Jacoby Ellsbury, the rejects of Ben Cherington have been rejuvenated by the blood of sacrificial lambs.

Only Stephen Drew is not smiling. He just decided to re-sign with the Red Sox when he could have been sitting home, knitting like Madame DeFarge. Now he will be dropping pearls on the field with the losing champions.

The Invisible Man, Daniel Nava, has returned, but no one has seen fit to notice him.

Before another game is lost, a voodoo shaman named Ben Cherington will be called up from Pawtucket. As expected, his curses ended the losing streak.

Stephen Drew Offers Red Sox No-Deposit Soda Pop

DATELINE: HUMOR

Dumb America

If the Celtics’ bad luck gets any worse, they may start signing Scott Boras’ clients.

Trying to swear off the super agent, the Red Sox finally took a sip from the liquor cabinet, and before you could say “J.D.”, the Sox had given Stephen Drew a contract. Whether he is the hard stuff, or merely a carbonated chaser, only the upcoming months will tell.

The distant laughter belongs to Scott Boras.

Who could blame the Sox for being capitulators and appeasers? With injuries only making the cellar of the American League East a more sure thing, the Sox needed to recall better days. SS Stephen Drew gives them that at least. He may still yet make them a laughingstock, but right now the Sox stock is about as low as the batting averages of the team.

Having told the Sox to take a flying leap only a few scant months ago, Drew now has re-assessed his penniless days as a lonely free agent, playing pinball at the end of May. He chose to return for a decent percentage of the original Sox offer.

Drew may not represent the lost heart of the team, but he is at least one of the missing ventricles. Yes, the Sox need a complete heart transplant, but the other valves are long gone and cannot be retrieved. Only Drew can give a little oxygen boost to the moribund pale pink hose.

That thump thump is not Drew’s bat.

Smarmy Ben Cherington had to eat crow off the Limoges china belonging to Scott Boras. It may yet prove a palatable meal if Drew can change the dirty Sox into hometown contenders.

Red Sox at White House: Not an April Fool’s Joke

DATELINE: HUMOR!

 OBAMA & ORTIZOH, BOY: Obama & Ortiz

No, President Obama did not send Vice President Joe Biden to meet with the Red Sox while offering his regrets as part of his April Fool’s Day shenanigans. The Chicago White Sox fan could not resist throwing a barb the way of the wrongfully colored Sox.

Thanks to Jonny Gomes, the Sox were truly the right color: red, white and blue. Gomes gifted the entire team with American flag blazers. And, there was enough material left over for an extra jacket for the Commander-in-Chief.

It was the kind of day you might expect the President of the United States to be playful after a week of Russian border incursions and Malaysian missing jet planes, not to mention talk about the Yellowstone caldera blowing up.

The Red Sox for their part did not have an international crisis keeping all the players in line for the meeting. These are not your Boston Bruins. For the most part the players are actually voting Americans, not Canadians who may not recognize Mr. Obama.

Aruban Xavier Bogaerts is not a citizen, but still managed to make it past the White House security. Cuban refugee Jose Iglesias has been thrown to the dogs in Detroit—and was a no-show.

We half expected Shane Victorino to ask about Obamacare after being put on the Disabled List yesterday.

Manager John Farrell has his Dudley Do-Right impersonation down pat and kept the loose cannons in line.

Alas, Jacoby Ellsbury and Jared Saltalamacchia were unable to don the right uniform and make the connecting flight for an honor they deserved too.

David Ortiz shook the hand of the President after spitting into his palm. The leader of the free world looked like a man who never met mucus in his campaigns.

Smarmy Ben Cherington was there, as was Lucky Larry Lucchino and King John Henry VIII. All you needed were the Skipper and Gilligan—and the Good Ship Lollipop could sail into the choppy waters of the Potomac.

 

Be sure to read RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP to relive your favorite moments with a satiric touch of humor. The work is the only book to catalogue all the shenanigans leading up to the World Series on a month by month basis. Hilarious and favorite memories will live forever. Available on Amazon.com.

Whatever Lola Wants, Squeaky Ortiz Gets!

AristotlePapiDATELINE: HUMOR!

 Squeaky Ortiz rewrites history almost as often as Super Bowl crank Richard Sherman.

Now the media apologists are avoiding the talk of walking that came from Ortiz and now play up the “bad rumors.” David ‘Squeaky’ Ortiz has no idea how such terrible notions develop. He is happy to hear from the Red Sox.

Yes, one would think. Jon Lester probably wishes he heard from the Sox as often when it comes to paychecks.

Now Ortiz opines that he only wants one one-year extension. That’s all. What’s the big deal? Well, it was never about the extension. It was about Loudmouth Ortiz’s claim he would move on if the Sox don’t kowtow and genuflect.

Now shills like sports radio WEEI’s waterboy are “interviewing” Ortiz to set the record straight. It’s sort of like taking Stalin’s picture out of the Yalta Conference to rewrite history. A better comparison would be to take Ray Allen’s name off Rajon Rondo’s Christmas card list. No, hold on: that is not a metaphor.

The bad rumors include the one that Ortiz is one of the lowest paid superstars. Yes, it’s true. But, well, he only plays offense, never defense. It’s sort of like shadow boxing.

So, the dust is settling, and Dusty Pedroia is insisting that the Sox give Ortiz whatever he wants. Maybe we ought to call him Lola Ortiz.

Whatever Lola Ortiz wants, Lola gets. And little man, he wants your wallet.

So, fans, all’s well that ends well with Squeaky dipping his pen into the ink well to sign an extension.

That is, when the Red Sox get around to actually printing up that contract. Of course, Squeaky now has Smarmy Ben Cherington’s verbal promise. Oh, yeah, all’s right with the world of the Red Sox.

Long Term Deals with Red Sox Unlikely

DATELINE: CONTRACTUAL HUMOR

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Following Josh Beckett?

Jon Lester may be having pipe dreams.

He wants to remain a member of the Red Sox till the cows come home, or at least until they rip the Sox jersey from his back—as he demurely put it.

The cows in Boston have a better chance of returning to the Boston Common where they last grazed during Colonial times.

Why would Texan Jon Lester want to stay in Boston? He noted that his growing son now refers to Boston as his hometown. That’s enough for any Texan to pull up stakes and build a ranch in the South End.

But, hold your horses, pardner. Smarmy Ben Cherington, one of the meanest hombres this side of Amherst College, is not champing at the bit to sign Lester.

Indeed, he has not even bothered to contact Lester about an extension before free agency hits. No, that Cherington is a cool customer. He will sign no players before their time.

As a consequence, old Ben has ice water in his veins. If Jon Lester is sentimental, he is so at his own peril. Love of Boston will not make Cherington one whit more apt to sign a pitcher to a long-term deal.

Though Lester cites Dustin Pedroia’s contact that keeps him a Sox player forever, pitchers are a different breed– if you care to ask pitchers like Pedro Martinez or Justin Masterson.

Don’t ask Bronson Arroyo who signed a deal to stay with the Sox for the rest of his career, only to find himself traded shortly thereafter.

Lester needs his agent to wake him up and hand him the coffee mug. Better yet, he should join the Scott Boras list of clients. That will guarantee him a one-way ticket out of town for millions.

Reading RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP will put everything into perspective. Now available at Amazon.com.

Red Sox Put the “Dis” in Mantle

DATELINE: SPORTS SATIRE

 ImageCherington Sizes Up the Sox Roster!

MLB has Mantle in the Hall of Fame, and the mantle of baseball remains a powerful force.

For the Red Sox, always the anti-matter of baseball, we now have Dismantle.

Ben the Beadle Cherington and his minions of fan are quick to dismantle the team that only a few months ago was the toast of the town.  Now they are just toast.

Life is fluid and change is inevitable, but the team that won the World Series hoped to stay together a bit longer. Instead, greed and monetary concerns have ripped them asunder.

A house divided against itself finds termites in the foundation.

Cherington looked to be on the verge of selling high or dropping the highest paid, but players seemed irked by that. So, now Ben the Beadle has signed Mike Napoli and insists he has no plans to trade away any of the six starters.

Jake Peavy and Ryan Dempster are looking at contracts that must send shivers up the spine of smarmy Ben.  Those two pitchers will receive $25 million next year. Amounts like that have been known to motivate Danny Ainge into breaking up his Big Three.

So whatever words you hear this off-season from Beadle Ben, the idea that players like David ‘Copperfield’ Ortiz wanted “more, please,” are numbered.

Cherington will be separating the fat and the gristle from his team in short order. Don’t ask what’s cooking; ask what you can do to help owner John Henry eat leaner.kindlecoverredsox2013

For those who want to relive the pleasure and happiness of the Red Sox this past season, there is always RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP!  It’s available on Amazon.com in softcover.

Mike Napoli Takes on The Beadle for a Little More Gruel

DATELINE: SPORTS SATIRE

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Ben Cherington in the Red Sox Clubhouse

Smarmy Ben Cherington, the head executioner for Red Sox owner King John Henry VIII, is feeling his oats lately. The Sox version of Mr. Bumble has been ladling out gruel to players like it was from his personal stash of gold.

The Beadle with his finger on the guillotine of Red Sox transactions and player personnel has been single-handedly proving he is Executive of the Year by sending players to the gulag without any supper or any contract.

Jose Iglesias was merely an appetizer for Cherington.  Now that the World Series trophy is firmly in the bank, Smarmy Ben has been polishing his gold nugget heart again and again.

In a week he sent Jarrod Saltalamacchia and Jacoby Ellsbury to the knackers factory with big contracts for other teams. In each case, the players went to arch-rivals of the Red Sox. Gee, we wonder if there is some satisfaction in trying to defeat Beadle Cherington next season.

Now word leaked out of a revolt among Red Sox players. A significant number have become disturbed and are risking their own careers to cross Cherington. They have urged him to sign Mike Napoli.

Players don’t stick their necks out on these sorts of issues for the most part. Reports have it that a key players urged Cherington to raise his ante and save Napoli.

They know he is the new heart of the team.  Try telling that to a man who has no heart. Bumble Cherington has a tin ear.

Yet, Mr. Bumble Cherington seems heard the rumblings. Faced with a palace revolt that rivals anything that Bobby Valentine saw in his season in hell, Cherington has deigned to offer Napoli a few centavos more.

Like little Oliver Twist, Napoli wanted a little more gruel from the bulky and intimidating Red Sox Beadle.

It appears Napoli is eating well this evening after all, thanks to his teammates.

 

 

 For a complete account of the Red Sox winning the World Series, read the hilarious and heart warming version by Ossurworld: RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP is now available for your delectation on Amazon.com.