If a Baseball Brawl Doesn’t End in Death Soon, I’m Going to Stop Watching [Half a Man]
Another brawl in baseball. Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Zack Greinke got plunked in a game last night against the Arizona Diamondbacks and the ensuing brawl is a great reminder to everyone on the East coast that baseball happens after 10PM our time and WHOKNEWAMMARIGHT?
Here is a quick recap -- Greinke hits Cody Ross, Ian Kennedy naturally goes after Dodgers' rookie phenom Yasiel Puig (because his name is hard to pronounce so the guy must be a terrorist) and Greinke comes to bat a few innings later (because his manager wants him to die) and gets a Rawlings high and hard.
Every brawl is the same -- this guy hit this guy so now this guy has to hit this guy but not the guy who hit the other guy no he has to hit the best player on the other team who wasn't even involved in the first place. Now a defenseless and uninvolved player has to take a fastball to the body because pitchers are giant vaginas.
[Side note-- Let's imagine for a moment this behavior were acceptable in other occupations. It's commonplace in Major League Baseball but daydream an accomplished chef picking up the newspaper to find an unfavorable review of his new restaurant. In response, he dumps a crock pot of borscht on a random lunch patron. It's lunacy because have you seen the price of borscht lately!]
Brawls are always the pitcher's fault. The pitcher makes a bad pitch, tosses a meatball or just plain sucks and the batter deposits the offering into the First Trust Bank located in the third deck of the stadium. Maybe he shows up the pitcher with a little dance, admires the rocket shot a little too long or exaggerates a finger-point up to heaven where he assumes his dead family of aholes ended up. The pitcher gets his feelings hurt like a fat kid who didn't get a call back for 'Biggest Loser Families' and retaliates by hitting the best player in the other uniform. At least in the brawl last night, Greinke took the white bullet.
What's next in the brawl manuscript? A bunch of grown men dance, shove and tug on jerseys with about as much malice as broke brides at a wedding dress trunk sale. Hockey players almost maim each other while baseball players two-step around the mound like it's line dance for beginners night at Fartwhistle's Saloon.
I'm serious, if players don't start swinging bats or taking four-seamers to the grill during these dust-ups, these brawls have to stop. It's a waste of time and takes away from the normal buttoned-up and tight five or six hours of entertainment.
Stop prancing and drop a Gatorade jug on a player's melon or I'm watching hockey. That's a lie, I'd never watch hockey, have you seen the names of some of those terrorists?
Chris Illuminati is the editor-in-chief of GuySpeed. He’s written three humor books, ruined many personal relationships and still cries during thunderstorms. His “Half a Man” column appears (almost) every week. You can read more of his work here or follow him on Twitter.