by: Sam’s-A-Fan
LINCOLN, NE –
“Obviously, I play for the Yankees.” Truer words were never spoken. When Joba Chamberlain was out driving around drunk, talking smack about the greatest city in the world, and belittling a national treasure like Yogi Berra, it was obvious for whom he played. His actions were a true emblem both of the team he plays for, and what it now means to wear pinstripes. While it is true that once upon a time proud men who played the game of baseball the way it was meant to be played wore the uniform with the iconic interlocking N and Y, unfortunately now a days it is no longer the team of Ruth and Gehrig, DiMaggio and Mantle. Now it is the team of A-Rod and Joba, and both are about as classy as Joba’s choice of fine spirits sitting open in the passenger seat next to him as he rolled down the flat plains of the heartland.
The website smokinggun.com recently released a portion of the police video of Chamberlain’s sobriety field test and arrest on charges of DUI, and newspapers across the country published the transcripts, but the intrepid investigative reporters as SmokingMatts.com dig a little deeper and have turned up the full tape and transcript of all that passed between the Yankee’s 5th starter, Joba Chamberlain and Nebraska State Trooper, Michael Grummert. For those with a feint heart or weak stomach, I warn you what has been previously published is nothing, what you are about to read is ugly and horrific!
Trooper Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, you were doing 100mph and weaving all over the road, why is that?”
Joba Chamberlain: “It’s these damn gnats, I can’t get away from them, I try driving faster and they just keep hitting my windshield splat, splat, splat. There’s bugs all over me I tell you.”
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, is that an open bottle of Crown Royal on the seat next to you? Why don’t you just pass it over here to me?”
Joba: “No sir, it’s bug spray, all the guys in the big leagues use it! You know I play for the Yankees.”
Grummert: “Sir, please just pass it over to me.”
Joba: “The bugs getting to you too? You know I play for the Yankees? Do you want to meet Derek Jeter?”
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, I’m going to need you to step out of the car now.”
(Joba tries to get out of the car but gets caught in the seat belt which he can’t seem to figure out is still buckled. After 5 minutes wrestling with the seat belt he finally gets it unhooked and falls out of the car onto his face.)
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, I need you to stand up right here on this spot. Now, with your feet together, leaning back and with your arms extended outward, I want you to try and touch the tip of your nose with the finger tip of your index finger on your right hand, and then with the tip of your index finger on your left hand. Do you understand?”
Joba: “Which hand? It’s easier if you tell me my pitching hand or my scratching hand, okay? That what they do on the Yankees, where I play…baseball.”
Grummert: “Just use one hand then the other please, Mr. Chamberlain.”
Joba: “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, I asked you to touch your nose, not slap the back of your neck.”
Joba: “It’s these damn gnats, they won’t leave me alone! Ouch, ouch. Can’t you see them, they’re crawling under my skin. Can I please have my bottle back, it’s the one that says property of the New York Yankees.”
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, I get it you play baseball, but that has nothing to do with the way you were driving and endangering peoples lives. Do you understand? That’s all I care about, I don’t care that you play for the Yankees, and frankly I don’t want to hear another peep about the Yankees from you.”
Joba: “You wanna know about the Yankees? I can tell you a thing or two.”
Grummert: “No Mr. Chamberlain, I want to see you pull your pants up and walk a straight line, heel to toe!”
Joba: “Did you know that Yogi Berra is really really short?”
Grummert: “No and I don’t care.”
Joba: Yogi Berra is so short he poses for trophies. I’m telling you he’s short. Yogi is so short, you can see his feet on his driver’s license photo, I’m talking short!
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, if you ever want to get your driver’s license back, you will walk this line.”
Joba: “No I mean it, I love Yogi, but he probably doesn’t come up to the hood of your car. He’s so short he has to slam dunk his bus fare. He’s really really short.”
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, I don’t want to hear about Yogi Berra!”
Joba: “Well how about CC Sabathia, that guy is fat!”
Grummert: “What?!?”
Joba: “Yeah, CC Sabathia is so fat, when he hauls ass, he has to take two trips!” “He’s so fat, his blood type is Ragu.” “CC is so fat he eats Wheat Thicks.” “His picture in the media guide had to be taken with a satellite.” I’m talking fat.”
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain cut that out!”
Joba: “Hee hee hee, CC is so fat that whenever his beeper goes off, people think he’s backing up. He’s so fat he has to put on his belt with a boomerang! When he lay on the beach, Greenpeace comes and tries to rescue him. He put on a pair of Guess jeans, and the answer popped out. CC is so fat he drives a spandex car. He’s so fat he sweats Crisco.”
Grummert: “Shut up!” (Trooper Grummert in frustration smashes his flashlight down on Chamberlain’s head)
Joba: “Ow, damn gnats!”
Grummert: “That’s enough about Sabathia!”
Joba: “Okay, did I tell you about Yogi? Me and him work for the Yankees!”
Grummert: “Yes, I know Yogi Berra is short, right? Mr. Berra is an elderly man Mr. Chamberlain, sometimes seniors lose bone mass, you know.”
Joba: “Old, Yogi is so old he owes Jesus three bucks! I told Yogi to act his age, and he died, ha, ha, ha, ha! “Yogi is so old, when he was in school, there was no history class. He’s old boy, you know his social security number is one. His teeth are so rotten they look like dice. He’s so wrinkled he has to screw his hat on, I’m telling you he’s old. And short too. Did I tell you I play for the Yankees?”
Grummert: (On his radio) “Central, I’m going to need back-up.” (Hits Chamberlain with his flashlight again)
Joba: “I hate gnats!” (Slaps his neck)
Grummert: “Mr. Chamberlain, I’m going to need you to get into the back seat of my patrol car now.”
Joba: “Oh no, Randy Levine once tried to get me in the back seat of his Benz, I’m not going to fall for that for a third or fourth time.”
Grummert: “Randy Levine?”
Joba: “Randy Levine is so nasty he brings crabs to the beach.”
Grummert” “What, who?”
Joba: “Randy Levine. He’s so nasty he has to creep up on bathwater.” “I called to say hello once, he gave me an ear infection.” That Levine, he’s nasty alright.”
Grummert: “What are you talking about? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
Joba: “Stupid, you mean Hal. Hal Steinbrenner.”
Grummert: “I didn’t say…”
Joba: “Hal Steinbrenner is so stupid it takes him two hours to watch 60 Minutes, ha, ha! Hal is so stupid, he took the Pepsi Challenge and chose Jif. Hoo boy, I’m talking stupid. The Psychic Friends Network only charges him half price to read his mind. “This guy is not smart. He’s so stupid he sent his brother Hank to rehab cause he was hooked on phonics…And don’t get me started on Hank.”
Grummert (very frustrated): “I wasn’t going to…”
Joba: “Hank Steinbrenner is so ugly, he joined an ugly contest and they told him ‘Sorry, no professionals.’ Hank is so ugly they filmed ‘Gorillas in the mist’ in his shower. I’m talking ug-ly. When this guy walks into a bank they turn off the surveillence cameras. This is not a good looking guy! Hank is so ugly his wife goes to work with him just so she wont have to kiss him goodbye! His mother had to be drunk to breast feed him…”
Grummert: “I know, I know, they had to tie a steak around his neck to get the dog to play with him right? When he was born, the doctor slapped his mother. What else, huh? What else, he’s so ugly it looks like his neck threw up? Right?”
Joba: “Who? Who are you talking about? Have you seen my bottle? You know I’m a baseball player?”
Grummert: “WHO?!? WHO? Steinbrenner, that’s who!”
Joba: “George Steinbrenner? I know him. Obviously, I play for the Yankees.”
Grummert: “GEORGE STEINBRENNER?!?”
Joba: “You know George Steinbrenner is really cheap.”
Grummert (sobbing): “Cheap?”
Joba: “George Steinbrenner is so cheap, he eats cereal with a fork to save milk. George is so cheap, he goes to KFC to lick other peoples fingers. Sometimes he brings Levine with him, I don’t know what that’s about, but he’s cheap I tell you.
Grummert (with his gun drawn): “Mr. Chamberlain, that’s enough. Baseball is a great sport, and you’ve been given a once in a lifetime opportunity to make millions playing a beautiful game. To go out there on hallowed ground and to pitch on the same mound where Whitey Ford used to toe the rubber, where Don Larsen pitched the only perfect game in World Series history. And what do you do, you get liquored up and get behind the wheel of an automobile and drive like a homicidal maniac. Now a few minutes ago I was going to arrest you, but I’m not going to do that now. And do you know why?”
Joba: “Because I’m a Yankee!”
Grummert: “No, because I’m not going to let some sweet kid open the paper tomorrw while he eats his Froot Loops and read about another one of his heros acting like a bum. I’m not going to let what’s good in baseball be ruined for him by a spoiled drunken lout. He’s not going to learn from you that if you can throw 93 miles an hour, you just get a slap on the wrist for endangering countless innocent lives with senseless immature behavior. He’s going to learn to play the game clean, the right way. Your not going to ruin tht for him, not on my watch Joba. (Cocking the hammer on his pistol) We’re going to start walking out there, out onto the plain where there’s no one out there to hear you. We’re going to keep going until I say stop.”
Joba: “Are you sure? There sure could be a lot of bugs out there.”
Grummert: “I’m sure kid, I’m sure.”
Joba: “If the Yankees call, will you tell them where I am?”
Grummert: “I’ll tell ’em.”
Joba: “I sure hate bugs, you know?”
Grummert: “There won’t be any more bugs Joba…”
Joba and Trooper Grummert didn’t get any further though, because Trooper Grummert’s back-up arrived. And while Chamberlain might have only gotten a slap on the wrist, Trooper Michael Grummert got a much needed vacation and continues to patrol our nations highways keeping us all safe. But what of little Jimmy, eating his Froot Loops and reading the sports page before his mother makes him wash up for school? I don’t know what’s going to become of him, if his world will be a little colder, a little meaner; if that coldness and meanness will echo across all of time like ripples on a glassy lake early in the morning. Will Jimmy never know the love of a good woman? Will he stab his best friend in the back just to get ahead in the dog-eat-dog world of appliance sales? Will he die lonely and afraid? We don’t know what lies ahead for little Jimmy, we just know that right now he’s got to get to class, and Joba Chamberlain ain’t got none.
