Angry Ward Wednesday: Yankee Dopes, Rusty on the Ropes, Other Anti Social Behavior


BRONX, NY – Just recently I decided to take a break from so-called “social media” and revert to my Unabomber-like anti-tech roots and, you know what, it’s been pretty goddamn glorious. There’s just way too many people putting in their 2 cents on everything pretty much all the time these days. Whether or not I agree with your politics or sports alliances or taste in food, can you people just please shut the f**k up every now and again, put it in neutral, and let the rest of us enjoy a moment sans YOU. As I said to a friend recently: It’s as if everyone feels that they’re the star of their own show… and pretty much all of those shows suck worse than the worst episode of Cop Rock or Rugby Wrap Up. And, don’t worry, I get the irony as I crank out yet another column in a tired weekly segment that should have died a merciful, Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo, death years ago. With each passing post the internet gathers another piece of incontrovertible evidence in its eventual #MeToo case against me. But, for now, I’ve been listening more. Here’s a few things I heard.

Yankees Fans are Just Like Us… Stupid. Heard two New York Yankees fans having an intensely deep convo about the upcoming season the other day, and it was quite hilarious. Eventually, their intellectual review came around to the topic of Alex Rodriguez, and this Bronx Bomber Woodward & Bernstein did not disappoint. One strongly opined that A-Rod would eventually manage the Yanks, while the other was having none of it. The best part was that each had inside info from stadium security guard friends on just what kinda guy A-Rod is. One was quite animated about the fact that he was smart and sensitive and a “good baseball man” while the other made him sound as universally reviled as grade school hot lunch Fish Cake Day. Watching these two was truly like taking in an exciting new zoo exhibit.

Prayers for Rusty Staub. It’s been in the news this past week that “Le Grande Orange” is in pretty rough shape down in a Palm Beach, FL hospital. This isn’t just another in a long line of Spring Training maladies for the Mets. This is Rusty Staub fighting for his life. I actually got to meet Mr. Staub one year at Shea during Opening Day. Ran into him by chance, and he was nice enough to sign the bill of my well-worn Mets cap, which I then gave to my brother, who’s a much bigger fan than I’ll ever be. Here’s hoping Rusty can fight this thing off the way he did borderline pitches, and hit safely back into good health. I’d wish him a “speedy recovery,” but speed was never his thing.

Photo Credit: Chuck Solomon, Getty Images

Friends? As I write this, my wife is in the living room guffawing at reruns of Friends on Netflix. This behavior is starting to concern me. It won’t be long before she’s chasing me through a hedge maze with an ax. Spring can’t come fast enough.

Terry Forster, aka “The Fat Tub of Goo.”

Hot Wheels.  The Arizona Diamondbacks have announced that they are bringing back the bullpen cart this season. This decision pleases me to no end. I long for the good ol’ days when relief pitchers were unshaven, ornery, and wildly out of shape. I’m hoping that bringing back bullpen carts will return relievers to their “natural state.” Most of these guys barely break a sweat, so why make them jog in from the outfield to record their one out and leave. No, these baby-men need to be needlessly pampered and chauffeured to the bump in golf carts outfitted with baseball caps. Only then will they fully understand that they are barely athletes and embrace their inner sloth. Give America the relief pitchers we deserve. Give us Terry Forster and Rich “El Guapo” Garces.

That’s all for today. But, before I sign off, a belated Happy Birthday to our own commenter extraordinaire, JG Clancy. Come back tomorrow for Buddy Diaz, who is far too young to remember bullpen carts.

All right, I’m just gonna stop right here. I’ll leave it to the peanut gallery to deal with The Notebook, Sleepless in Seattle, and Clueless. There’s some real low-hanging fruit there.

Be sure to come back tomorrow for our own Dirty Dancer, Buddy Diaz. And you can find us on Twitter at @Angry_Ward, @MeetTheMatts & @Matt_McCarthy00, Instagram @MeetTheMatts and like our Facebook page, Meet The Matts.

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Wednesday: Angry Ward, who has admirers at the NY Times, is the quintessential angry sports fan but one exception... he's flat-out funny. And the angrier he gets, the more amusing his work becomes. Psychiatrists say, "Angry Ward's 'anger' is a direct result of "Bronx/Mets syndrome: growing up in the Bronx as a Mets fan." As if that weren't enough, his Minnesota North Stars abandoned him for Dallas, forcing him to embrace The Wild the way conservatives embrace Mitt Romney. While the Vikings tease him incessantly with flirtations of success, the Golden State Warriors, "Don't have a enough short, white angry guys but I don't dislike them... that much." A-Dubya is MTM's longest-tenured indentured servant, its Larry David and quite simply, The Franchise.

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