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 Major league rudeness
Posted: Tuesday April 27, 1999 05:34 PM
Being blown off in a big league clubhouse isn't altogether different than having to sit through a third showing of Meet Joe Black. Why? Umm, well, no particular reason, except I've endured both experiences within the past 24 hours (for the record, Mute Joe Blacklist has been the American Airlines redeye breakfast of champions for the past month, and is thusly unavoidable), and one sucks no greater than the other. As for the blow-off, the latest came at the hands of Donovan Osborne, the St. Louis lefthander and a man way too mediocre to dispatch the cold shoulder. No matter -- he is a baseball player, and baseball players tend to act as such. I approached Osborne in Dodger Stadium last Sunday, gently sliding up next to his locker. In a very casual, very shy, very respectful manner, I uttered a soft, "Uh, Donovan?" Donovan, no more than two feet straight ahead, barely looked up. He grabbed his mitt, shrugged and walked away. This column, I have been told, is about baseball, baseball, baseball. No more Webster references. Cut the fart jokes. But what's more baseball, more traditional, more American than the Boy of Summer staring down a schlub scribe as if he were liquid snot? Hell, just a day prior to the Osborne incident, San Francisco's Mark Gardner -- not even on the active roster -- was warm enough to order me far, far away. Again, I approached Gardner no less politely than I would my own mother: "Hey, Mark, can I talk to you about the Giants?" "No." Thanks, bud. The reporter blow-off is hardly the hot rage. To suggest such would be an insult to the game's notorious blow-offers, namely Thurman Munson, Frank Thomas, (pre- Christ) Gary Gaetti, Bruce Kison, George Foster, Rafael Palmeiro, et al. The most hailed, of course, is Dave Kingman, the 400-home-run hitter from Planet Ass. Kingman's legacy isn't his long blasts, but his short comprehension of humanity. Once, when he was with the A's, Kingman sent a female writer a small box, neatly adorned with a pink ribbon. When she opened it, the scribe found a rat. Kingman was once a Giant, which makes sense. Outside of Jeff Kent, Shawn Estes, Ellis Burks and a few rookie scrubs and bullpen stragglers, these Jints do Dave proud. Kirk Rueter, a man whose ERA reads like a Saks Fifth Avenue pricetag, told me he's be happy to chat -- later. When? "I need to loosen up first." OK. I waited. And waited. And waited. No Kirk. Of course, there's the incomparable Barry Bonds, a man whose idea of good media is dead media. Bonds is the one man reporters dislike more than Albert Belle. Belle, to his credit, has made it clear that any encroaching pen handlers will be Louisvilled upside the cranium. Bonds offers 8,000 reasons why he's Barry and you're not ... then swings away. Sports Illustrated staff writer Jeff Pearlman offers his unique view on baseball every week.
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