“Good morning, gentlemen, and welcome to another season of Indians baseball.”- Rachel Phelps
Once a year, I go to the Cleveland Indians website and create a custom player t-shirt…but I never buy it. None of the names I’ve chosen are actually real people. In fact, here’s the logic of why I’ve reasoned myself away from it:
#24- Dorn. That’s right, Roger Dorn. I want to start in reverance by stating my love for his character in LA Law. My parents used to make me watch that show constantly. LA Law isn’t the issue here. Wearing a Roger Dorn shirt…it makes you an asshole. Honestly, who likes an athlete that cares more about his net worth than his performance and winning (this is a not so veiled criticism at Cleveland’s potentially least favorite son: Lebron James). The guy has awful range at 3rd base, is a singles hitter from a corner position (.271 and 86 RBI in your walk year…that’s Pedro Feliz like) and on top of that is a priss that wants to turn his solarium into a Santa Fe. Also, what the hell is a Santa Fe?
#13 Pedro Cerrano- Strangely enough, this Cuban practitioner of Voodoo managed to reinvent himself and get elected president. However, he was also assassinated. Where was Jobu then? Plus, he can’t hit a curveball and I saw someone wearing this shirt at Fenway Park. Oh and he hits breaking pitches as well as Ryan Howard. That’s not a compliment…to either of them.
#0 Ricky Mays Hayes- “You may run like Mays, but you hit like shit.” So tough to like a character who in his sequel changes to the coach of the Steelers (do a google image search of Omar Epps and Mike Tomlin…you’ll see what I mean). For a guy with speed, he seems to be bereft of extra base power. Congrats on being a fictional Juan Pierre.
#Whatever Eddie Harris- Might as well just go out and buy an Andy Pettite jersey.
#7 Jake Taylor- He’s the glue, the heart and soul. He called his shot…and then bunted. You know what, if you call your shot. Hit the ball out of the park. The problem with Jake Taylor is, he has the love story in the film. You can only wear this shirt if you’re prepared to drive the bullpen car to trail home engaged librarians who you’ll defile…and then they go off an marry some jerkass lawyer…OR DO THEY. The other problem here is that I think the best Tom Berenger love story involves Tom Berenger, Billy Zane, a rifle, the jungle and a cartel. Sniper was awesome.
Also, do you really want to wear the t-shirt of the guy who played Sgt. Barnes? Do you really? You psycho. (That’s a Platoon reference if you were born yesterday. And if you haven’t seen Platoon, stop reading this blog. Go see it. Give yourself about 4 hours to recover and then go about your life.)
#34 Lou Brown- A true baseball man. Goes from working in a tire shop to turning a team of misfits around. I can’t wear this shirt either though. He’ll be managing the Marlins next month, treating Hanley Ramirez like Roger Dorn and actually ending up in South Florida like Rachel Phelps wanted. Subsequently, with the same salary restrictions the fictional Indians had in place. Talk about a hybrid. I can’t wear this jersey though. Who buys a fucking manager’s jersey? I mean really. Who wears a managers jersey? I saw a Willie Randolph mets t-shirt on sale and I almost bought it to burn in effigy…ok…I was going to burn GWB in effigy..but..I was going to put him in a Willie Randolph shirt.
#99 Rick Vaughn: “Wild Thing, you make my heart sing.” I’m so conflicted. Charlie Sheen is 1/3 Badass, 1/3 degenerate and 1/3 mega degenerate. Does the jersey come with a cheerleaders outfit? Do I have to watch and claim to enjoy Two and a Half Men? The Wild Thing is everything I ever tried to create in a video game for myself. All fastballs, no secondary pitches and balls 17 times the size of a watermelon (we’re only talking about Major League 1 here and not the softened shitty sequels- and on the note of sequels- Ted McGinley and Scott Bakula? Are you shitting me? Who green lit that?). In the AL his ERA would be 11.00, in the NL 1.00. He rides a bike, he’s been to jail.
Wait a minute- Rick Vaughn represents no stretch for Charlie Sheen at all. I guess it’s easy for a degenerate to play a degenerate.
I know it’s tough to get through an entire essay on Major League without hearing something from Harry Doyle…so here it goes as a closer:
“Just a reminder, fans, comin’ up is our “Die-hard Night” here at the stadium. Free admission to anyone who was actually alive the last time the Indians won a pennant.”