Greg Veis wonders what thoughts go through his tortured mind.
So this is the deal.
Im lounging in nothing but my boxers and knee-high turquoise socks,
sipping a can of Natty Light with my pinkie proudly pointing out, alternating
between reruns of Press Your Luck and late night Cinemax, and wondering
what Dave Coulier would look like as a girl.
Most people might deem that a pretty sad Friday night, and some might
even suggest that I take up Quaaludes as a hobby. But little do they know
that this was the best night I had had since Cats and Dogs opened to rave
reviews this summer. The reason is simple really: I no longer held the
distinction of being the human being who sucks the most.
For his handy
work Wednesday and Thursday nights, I handed my crown to Arizona
Diamondback closer Byung-Hung Kim. Normally, I dont like
paying attention to other people and their feelings,
but Kims collapse under the New York lights even drew some
sympathy from this misanthrope.
Byung-Hung took two well-deserved Arizona victories and spun them into
Yankee legend by serving up a pair of meatballs to Tino Martinez and Scott
Two nights, two home runs with two outs, two losses. Too bad.
What really hurts is that Kim was the hope. Journalists from Korea reported
on his performance every night throughout the season, typing away to tell
of their native sons great success in the States. Oh, and Korea
needed a hero too. After having struggled with intense political problems
recently, a guy like Byung-Hung really means something to a nation. He
offers just a little hope, a little distraction to a people who really
need it. Children pretend to be him in pickup games on the streets, and
grandparents tell stories about the mighty Byung-Hung who could bring
a slugger to his knees with a nasty rising fastball.
But he blows it
Kim, only 22, appears to be very mild mannered. Now, Im left to
ponder what kind of sick thoughts are hurriedly traveling through his
tortured mind. I can only hope that they do not involve a nine-iron and
Dom Delouise. The Rage, the Fury, the Venom that must be infiltrating
his every thought now is incomprehensible. I can imagine young Byung-Hung
on the baseball diamond as a youngster in Seoul coming up with different
scenarios in his head:
Ok, Byung-Hung, there are two outs. Its the bottom of the
ninth. You need just one more out and you win it all. The windup, the
.He gets him! He gets him! Byung-Hung is the super master viper
scorpion champion of the world. And the crowd goes wild.
Well, now he has to face the reality that he now is the international
symbol for complete and utter failure. When I get my stats test back next
week, Ill look at the grade, disappointingly nod my head, and declare,
Ive got no excuses. I just Byung-Hunged it. (Side note:
how great is his name? It reminds me of how people say that when a child
is named Jeeves or Godfried, he is destined for life as a butler. If you
go around naming your kids Byung-Hung, youre setting this poor schmuck
up for a life of being either an adult store sanitation monitor or a short,
bitter sportswriter. And nobodys a winner there.)
Now, the natural follow-up question is: how will he respond to this bitter
Will he tank the rest of his career because of the crushing weight of
this fiasco on his shoulders, or will he reemerge triumphantly Meatloaf-style?
My odds are on Byung-Hung coming back to be a solid 25-save man for the
next seven years or so, but for all the success that lies before him,
it just doesnt matter. Hell always be Byung-Hung the Series
Blower, just like my buddy Kirkpatrick, who cured cancer and built the
local schoolhouse with his bare hands, will always be Kirkpatrick the
Goat Humper for his one ill-advised evening of unrequited lust.
But concerning what he should do to alleviate the immediate pain, I am
reminded of one of my favorite quotes. Some old-time ballplayer who probably
cant chew anymore, when asked about how he spends his paychecks,
responded, Well, I spend most of it on liquor and prostitutes, and
I pretty much just waste the rest.
Byung-Hung, I think you know what youve got to do. Make Charlie
© Greg Veis
email: email@example.com - our Florida sports writer.
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