Racism isn’t just a diversion, it also works as a tremendous motivator. Consider this: if it weren’t for racism, would Jackie Robinson be the legend that he is today? Sound kooky? I think not. If we had been a perfectly integrated society back in 1947, then Jackie Robinson wouldn’t have had to endure all the terrible, racist catcalls he received from the stands. He wouldn’t have gotten a single death threat, or even an ominous postcard. Without racism, Robinson never would have gotten the chance to show off the fiery dignity for which he would later be so revered. Hell, he wouldn’t have even been the first black ballplayer! Jazzy Bones Harrison would have been. Think about what we would have lost. Robinson would have been just another ballplayer in a perfect social utopia free of prejudice and injustice. And that would be terrible. Jackie Robinson was a great baseball player, but racism made him even better! It made him a pioneer! An icon!
Nothing will fire you up like a good racist taunt. I remember seeing Mississippi Burning once and wanting the American South napalmed out of existence. And I’m not even black! And I still feel the same way today! Racism is the best natural catalyst to help get your competitive juices flowing. There’s no better adrenaline rush out there. Imagine hitting a home run. Now, imagine hitting a home run in Fenway, where they throw Sambo dolls at any black player who walks into the park. How much sweeter is it to shut those annoying fucking Massholes up once and for all?
That’s racism working for you. You should send that guy in Tennessee a box of chocolates.
(Note: If you found this section racist, please mail any death threats to my home address: 15 Cherrydale Terrace, Merkin, CT, 06781. If you could send it prior to my book tour and include a handful of anthrax spores in the envelope, I would appreciate it.)
“Sign this, asshole.” Autographs and fan encounters.
The proliferation of Applebee’s restaurants in this nation has created a massive demand for sports memorabilia. Restaurant decorators are in desperate need of autographed pictures, jerseys, game balls, shoes, and anything else to distract patrons from wondering what part of the chicken was used to make the boneless buffalo wings. That means everything you touch from now on turns to gold. Or, if you suck, fine pewter.
You may think signing autographs is a nice thing to do for fans. You’d be wrong. Remember: that fan asking you for your signature just paid $350 to see you play. He isn’t looking for a memento. He’s looking to get back in the black. Or worse, he’s a professional collector. Is he wearing a plaid shirt and pleated khakis with white socks? Does he have visible dandruff? Oh, yeah, he’s one of them.
The average sports memorabilia collector starts off as an aspiring serial killer, only to discover he lacks the requisite evil genius to lure teenage girls into his ’87 Dodge van (with curtains on the windows!). Now he has his eyes trained on you, the pro athlete. He’ll do anything to add you to his list, including harassing you wherever you go, regardless of what or whom you are doing. The autograph hound will use a variety of disguises and even send his children out in an effort to get you to sign. Yes, he has children. Incredible! For this reason, you should only sign autographs for children who have no visible adult guardian present. Baltimore is littered with kids like this. It’s a great town for parental neglect.
The problem with avoiding autograph seekers altogether is that normal fans will find you mean and standoffish. In the case of Patrick Ewing, this is deadly accurate. But if, unlike Ewing, you aren’t a total prick, you might want to pick a few select places to give the people what they want: an autograph they can sell on eBay for pot money. Places like next to the stands during pregame warm-ups and charity functions are a good choice. Make sure you bring a large bottle of Purell to kill all the peasant germs.
You need to do this periodically so that fans will have a good experience with you and tell others about it. It especially helps if your public image is suffering. Give an autograph to a fan and he may say, “You know, I know Michael Vick once slaughtered dogs for sport, but he was really cool when I met him!” It’s amazing how one nice gesture can really sucker people like that.
On the flip side, being rude to fans can cost you. Sure, at the ballpark they’ll chant your name in fawning adoration, but if you’re rude to them in a moment of weakness, they will never forget it. In fact, they’ll tell other people about it. As many as they can. Did you know there’s a blog called garygaettiwouldntsignformesofuckhim.blogspot.com? Now you do. Word gets around.
When signing, always be sure to include your jersey number, plus a brief message to the fan in question that incorporates some sort of cliché from your chosen sport (“Dear Mikey, your mother can give me strokes anytime! Love, John Daly”). Your signature should be fluid and distinctive. This will be hard to master, since you are part of the generation raised on computers and have handwriting that resembles an EKG monitor. Check out some of the signatures below for a good guide on how to sign.
(John Elway)
(Gilbert Arenas)
(Barry Bonds)
(Arnold Palmer)
(Chris Simms)
(Johnny Damon)
One last thing: you can refuse an autograph request if the fan does not have a pen. Even kids. If they can’t be bothered to remember a goddamn Sharpie, fuck ’em.
Clippable Motivational Slogan!
Remember: we’re in this business for the fans. Largely because they’re so easy to bleed dry. God, I just fucking hate them so MUCH.
— MARGE SCHOTT
HEAR IT FROM A MASCOT!
I don’t think you understand just how fucking hot it is in here