Poor Tom Haudricourt was forced into another online chat with the mouth-breathing masses of the JSOnline commentariat yesterday. And, as a service to Tom, I'm once again going to present the answers he wishes he could've written.
(And, really, everybody needs to try this at some point. It's so much cheaper than therapy. Take all that pent-up anger, drop a few "fucks" and a handful of "skeet moppers," and -- poof. Anger gone.)
Q: Glenn, Kenosha - Assuming his knee heals properly, do you think the Brewers would consider trying McGehee at catcher next season? It would thin the logjam at third and put another potent bat where there hasn"t been one this season.
A: Typically, when I do these chats with you uninformed buttplugs, I like to start off with a question that's moderately dumb, just to warm myself up. I don't want to start with the really, really, brain-numbingly dumb stuff, since answering those questions makes me want to lay down in traffic. Today, though, I'm making an exception -- I'm starting off with a really fucking dumb question, a question so dumb that, if it's idiocy could be expressed as a picture, that picture would simply be a short bus.
You're actually proposing that the Brewers attempt to convert Casey McGehee into a major-league ready catcher in one off-season? You know he's a third baseman, right? He didn't come through the minors as a catcher; he just caught every once in a while -- most recently, 17 games for the AAA Iowa Cubs in '08. Not exactly a budding Carlton Fisk, there.
I want you to think long and hard -- when's the last time someone who didn't come up as a catcher and then played a whole season in the majors at a position other than catcher converted to catching in a single off-season? Think long. Think hard. Go think long and hard over there in the corner, and stay there 'til you come up with an answer. I'll move on to other questions.
Q: 38yearbrewerfan, neenah - Tom, we are 11 games under .500 since May 19th. What do you as a professional sports writer attribute that too, surely it can't be all Ricky Weeks' injury.
A: Bad gas. Seriously, that's it. Since May 19th, everybody's been battling some kind of GI problem, and the clubhouse smells like an overflowing septic. It's awful. Nobody can concentrate. Hence: 11 under in that stretch.
Or: it's the fucking pitching. It's been the fucking pitching all year long. The shitty start? The fucking pitching sucked. The hot stretch from the end of April to June? The fucking pitching got better. Since then? The fucking pitching got worse again. The end. Good night. Fuck off.
Q: Brent, Fort Wayne, IN - I'm going to throw two names out there that could be a fit for our rotation next year that we could potentially get for a package involving JJ Hardy. I would be interested to hear your opinion to find out if this is the type of player you think we could get. The players are Brian Bannister of the Royals and Jeremy Guthrie of the Orioles.
A: Jesus, 007, did we really need the intrigue at the beginning of the question? You're acting like you're guarding some kind of State secret here: "I have an envelope. Inside this envelope are two names. Those names correspond to two starting pitchers. Those starting pitchers play for baseball teams. Those baseball teams ... might be willing to part with these pitchers for other baseball players ... players from the Milwaukee Brewers."
Q: Justink8996 - From what you have heard the organization is going to look outside of Kendall at catcher next year right? Like Jeff Mathis, or Chris Snyder? Maybe Bengi Molina if San Fran goes with Posey. People can say what they want about Johnny Estrada but the offense hasn't been the same since 07' when their wasnt a gaping hole in the 7 8 9.
A: I'm glad to hear that people "can say what they want about Johnny Estrada," 'cuz I've got plenty to share. Let's start with: he's a shitty baseball player who's a clubhouse cancer to boot. In fact, he's such a shitty baseball player / clubhouse cancer that the Mets, immediately after trading for him, didn't offer him arbitration and let him walk. And then he got cut by the Washington Nationals in the middle of the season, and he's never been heard from since. That about covers it. Thanks for letting me say what I wanted to about Johnny Estrada.
Q: daedbird - Beyond tapping a waek free agent market, or trading a franchise player away like Fielder, is there another option for the Brewers to get another arm in the starting pitching lineup?
A: Kidnapping? Cloning? Get Jeff Suppan a surrogate, like in that new Bruce Willis movie?
I speak of trading with Melvin's hometown Blue Jays for Roy Halladay.
Who the fuck are you, Chaucer? Who the fuck says: "I speak of" anymore?
The Crew has Brett Lawrie, the pride of the white north. Could a deal involving Lawrie, Hardy, and Salome get it done for him, or would that be too much to pay? Also, how much could the free market change IF some top arms opt out of contracts after being traded (Peavy, Lee, Garland)?
Lemme get this straight: you're wondering if a kid who spent most of his time this year at A-ball, a shortstop who had a terrible year (and who the Brewers have all but put on eBay after dicking with his service time in August), and a catching prospect who struggled at AAA are too much to offer for Roy Halladay? I'm gonna go out on a limb: I think the Jays might be looking for a bit more, especially since there's no pitching prospect the Brewers can offer.
(An aside: according to Baseball Reference, Salome's only 5'7". And he weighs 200 pounds. Tubby little fucker, that Angel.)
Q: Thomas F Pokrandt, Saint Francis, WI - What are the payrolls of the St. Louis Cardinals & the Milwaukee Brewers? What are the populations of metro areas of the two cities mentioned above?
A: Hey, asshole -- it's called Google.
Q: Justin, WI born, NJ raised - Hey Tom, thanks for the Capuano update a little while back. Chatted with him during BP a couple of times in years past, seems like a really decent guy, is that true?
A: Seems that way, doesn't it, Justin? Seems like a real clean-cut, respectful fellow, one that a young lady would be proud to introduce to her folks, right? Doesn't seem like the type of guy who you'd see in the clubhouse after the game and you'd say, 'Hey, Cap, good outing tonight, can I get a couple of quotes for the paper?', and he'd say, 'Sure, T-Haud, happy to help. But let me get changed and showered up; maybe we can grab a bite to eat somewhere.' And you'd say 'Sure, Cap, sounds good,' and so the two of you head over to the IHOP that's just up the road from Miller Park, and maybe you have the Chocolate Chip Pancakes with a side of bacon (since it's been a long day, and all, and you'll make time to go to the gym tomorrow), and maybe Cappy gets something healthier, like an omelette made with egg whites or some shit like that, and you're just about to enjoy your pancakes when these two young ladies walk over to the table and say, 'Hey, aren't you Milwaukee Brewers starting pitcher Chris Capuano?'
And maybe Cappy's a bit modest, and says: 'Nah, I just look like him,' but you're excited because, hey, there's two young ladies at the table, and one of them -- can't tell which -- smells like cinnamon (just a little bit, nothing overpowering -- it's nice, not like she smells like an oversized piece of Big Red), so you say: 'No, that's him! It's him! It's really him! And I'm Tom Haudricourt. I write for the paper.' And the girls smile and ask why you're wasting your time at an IHOP, and you mumble something about: 'I really like pancakes, and it's cheap,' and they laugh a little bit, though it seems forced, and that kind of pisses you off, 'cuz you thought it was sort of charming, especially when you were mentally complimenting the one lady on how she smelled of cinnamon but didn't overdo it -- but, whatever.
So, you look up at them, not knowing what else to say, and then Cappy says: 'So: do you girls know anywhere where we could finish these 'cakes that's a little more private?' And now you're sweating a little bit -- what're we talking about here? You might be a married man, and the guy who's writing this fictional piece about your night with Chris Capuano might be too lazy to look up that particular piece of information. Anyway, there's no way in hell that line is going to work, right? But maybe, after a pause, the girls say: 'Well, we live not too far from here ... I suppose we could go there,' and then they look at each other and giggle and then look back at Cappy and smile and holy shit if you're a professional journalist can you use your real name if you write a letter to Penthouse?
So, you leave the IHOP and pile into your Celica and goddammit if you haven't left the fucking Supertramp tape in there and had to deal with the awkward looks when fucking "Breakfast in America" came on when you turned on the car, but that's OK. You're with Chris Capuano and two hot girls. Everything's good. Everything's awesome.
So, you get back to the girls' apartment, and they offer you and Cap a Michelob, and, even though you wouldn't feed that shit to your dog, you want to be a good guest, and that one still smells of sweet cinnamon, and Cap said 'I'd love a Michelob' already, and now if you don't say you'd love a Michelob, too, you're going to look like a dick, so, sure, you say, I'll take a Lobe. And you choke down a few swallows and talk to the girls a little bit about the game that night, and working for the paper, and spending so much time on the road and how lonely it gets when it's just a man and his notepad and his scorebook.
And then maybe Cap says: 'So, do you guys know where we can get any X?'
And, whoa FUCK, what the hell are we talking about now? This is getting out of hand. But the girls look at each other and they do that giggling thing again, and maybe one of them says: 'It's funny you should ask. We keep some for just such an occasion.' And now you're freaking out -- after all, you've still got a game story to file, and it's getting close to deadline -- but you read something on the Internet once about how people just want to give each other backrubs and have sex and do wild shit when they're on ecstasy, so ... well ...
Then, the next thing you know, Cap is standing over you, slapping you in the face -- and he's slapping you in the face really hard. And he seems pissed. 'Fuck, dude,' he's saying. 'What the fuck did you do to that chick?' And you realize you're laying on a bed, and you're down to your skivvies, and something smells a lot like blood -- Christ, it stinks like a raw steak in here. You shake your head to clear the cobwebs, and as you're looking to your left ...
OH MY GOD THAT'S A DEAD CHICK. That's totally a dead chick. Oh my God, where did all that blood come from? And how did you end up covered in it?
Oh no. Oh, Christ, you're going to be the story in the paper the next day, and your editor always says: 'Just report the story, don't become part of the story," and now you're going up the river and all those folks are going to do double-takes because they recognize your face from the photo of you that accompanies the Sunday "Notes" column, and everybody's going to say: 'Wow, that Haudricourt really turned out to be a psychopath, didn't he? I always thought he was off,' and -- oh, no. It turns your stomach to even think about this one -- they're going to give the beat to Witrado, the doucheclown who thinks it's a good idea for the team to trade one of the best under-30 hitters in the game when they still control his rights for next season plus the one after that.
This is more than you can bear, and the smell of the blood is making you nauseous, and Cappy is pacing back and forth saying: 'I knew that old man shouldn't be doing drugs,' and the other girl is in the corner rocking back and forth, and now Cappy's saying that they have to call the cops soon -- all this, just because you wanted a couple quotes for the paper.
And then, just after you've pulled your pants back on, and while you begin to quietly sob, the Dead Chick leaps to her feet and says: 'GOTCHA, YOU OLD FUCK!' And now Cappy's laughing like a bastard -- the fucker's doubled over, and he's laughing so hard that he's almost retching. And the other girl -- the one who had been in the corner, rocking back and forth -- is laughing, too, and she's slapping Cap on the back so he doesn't choke to death, and the formerly Dead One starts wiping the blood off of her and she's having a good laugh, too.
Now you're confused, and righteously pissed. 'Hey, shitheads, what the fuck is going on here?' you scream. 'What the fuck was this all about?'
Cappy does his best to get his breath back, and he wipes the tears from his eyes, and he says: 'Oh, don't get all pissy Tom. These are my friends, Amanda and Sarah. We're just having a laugh. It's the old "you got stoned and murdered a chick" routine. We put a little something in your Michelob, and you passed out for a couple minutes. I've done this to all the guys from the Journal. Garry Howard actually ran out of here, buck naked, when we pulled it on him. He wasn't seen for three days, and when I finally found him -- man, was he pissed. He didn't talk to me for a week. And you don't want to know what happened when we tried this with Wolfley -- lemme just say: we had Amanda all deaded up over here, and Wolfley was still trying to get with Sarah. The guy's a maniac.'
You're enraged, on the point of tears. You gather your clothes, and wipe off the fake "blood" as best you can, and glare at Capuano: 'You're a real asshole,' you say. 'I hope you tear up your arm again.'
So, Justin who was born in WI but raised in NJ: yeah, he's a real decent guy, that Chris Capuano.