Curtis Granderson is an outstanding citizen. He is also making a lot of money as a crappy baseball player. This is troubling for New York Mets fans, who might be used to expensive, disappointing players on their favorite team, but are more accustomed to players proving themselves to be rotten, spoiled, human shaped pieces of hot garbage off the field while hitting .220 on it.
Whatever happened to the good old days of George Foster, who was so bad he was released while getting paid 2 million 1986 dollars? He had the decency to accuse the Mets of racism, even though he was replaced by Kevin Mitchell, another black player. You can boo to that.
Kevin McReynolds was a charmless, out-of-shape left fielder. Boo.
Vince Coleman, the fireworks enthusiast; Carl Everett, the wife beater and possible actual crazy person. Boo and boo.
Rickey Henderson: bit of an ego. Boo.
Butch Huskey, very out-of-shape; Bobby Bonilla, “Jenny From the Block” level Bronx enthusiast; Roger Cedeno, fistfight with Roberto Alomar over who is better looking. Boo, boo, wait seriously?
And those are just the outfielders.
There has been a disturbing trend in recent years of awful Mets players wasting space and possibly sucking the talent and health of his teammates while technically not doing or saying anything wrong, or even illegal. An up close hint of what was to come came in 2005. Carlos Beltran was the absolute worst – a.k.a. not the best, immediately – in his first year with the club. On an April night at Shea, he failed to do anything in a key at-bat late in the game. Some boos cascaded, but before I joined the chorus, I saw Beltran’s face as he walked despondently to the safety of the dugout. I couldn’t do it – the one time I had good seats I had to see that the worst player ever had a human face (and mole). He would end up being worth his big contract and cementing his place as one of the most underrated players in major league history, except for you-know-when and it-was-one-mistake and take-some-advice-from-the-Frozen-soundtrack, okay?
Jeff Francoeur seemed like a great baseball player and a nice young man. He had a great arm, an arm that you would assume was probably draped over someone in need of companionship on many nights when he totally could have gotten some strange. Unfortunately, he was kind of bad at his job. He was booed by the knowledgeable fans who did stuff like read a statistic once in awhile and didn’t appreciate the rarity of seeing an unassisted triple play. But he was 25 and traded for Ryan Church, and not costing that much money.
Jason Bay on the other hand was making a lot of cash while embarrassing his pasty self. But he was just this milquetoast Canadian dude. I once saw him pull out of the Citi parking lot. He was driving his own car. It was a minivan. He was wearing sunglasses, sucking on a lollipop. It was breathtakingly uncool. Fortunately for Bay, being uncool is not a crime in non-Brooklyn boroughs.
Bay (presumably) tried. His expensive failures were predicted by most experts and by sabermetrics. Fans hated Omar Minaya, the guy who hired him. Boo.
Curtis Granderson in 2008 established The Grand Kids Foundation, an organization that “enforces educational initiatives while helping to return the sport of baseball to the nation’s inner cities” – which was totally my idea, but great stuff. The next year he released a children’s book, All You Can Be: Dream It, Draw It, Become It, which encourages children to chase their dreams – dreams are nice! He said the true baseball fans in New York were Mets fans – a cute and unnecessary “dig” that Met fans secretly nodded along with. He gives excellent interview. He tries.
Curtis Granderson is hitting .141 [As we go to press, Granderson’s average is up to a whopping .170 – Ed.]. When he was hitting clean up, he should have been hitting sixth. When he was hitting second, he should have been hitting eighth. He’s currently hitting sixth, when he should be hitting in an underground batting cage, far away from everybody he loves. If we blame Sandy Alderson for signing him, than it is Sandy Alderson’s fault. If it is Sandy Alderson’s fault, the Mets’ blueprint for future success was actually for a toilet. That will not do.
Curtis Granderson must become a bad man if he is to continue sucking. Here are some suggestions:
– Admit that All You Can Be: Dream It, Draw It, Become It is actually an allegory, metaphor, and parable that only “people that are real” and “maybe Joe Maddon” could ever understand.
– Repeatedly refer to Josh Satin as “John.” Smack him really hard on the back every time. Eventually he’ll snap.
– Post an instagram of yourself and Mrs. Met late at night. Look drunk and happy. Delete it a few minutes later. Deny, deny, deny. Then admit, admit, admit.
– Demand that Terry Collins wastes a challenge to see if your hat looks good.
– Say that you gave it some thought and, you know what, Yankee fans are the real New York baseball fans. Much, much richer. And better looking, definitely.
– Say you know where the Malaysian plane is, but you’re not revealing anything until you get some “respect.” Never completely explain how that can be achieved.
– Say you gambled. Elaborate that you bet that Mets fans could possibly get even uglier looking and won.
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