BRONX, NY – Writing this on Valentine’s Day night and, for once, it’s a welcome distraction. My kid’s been eating candy all day and I need to tune out the sugar-charged hyperactivity. Since it’s V-Day, I’ve decided to focus on matters of the heart or, rather, lack thereof.
Sports Owners. At the top of the list of the most heartless figures in all of sports are team owners. Now I don’t want to convict every single one of them, but for every lovable Bill Veeck, there are a dozen despicable George Steinbrenners. Jerry Jones, Jeffrey Loria, James Dolan… there’s a seemingly endless parade of Satan’s minions running professional sports franchises. They screw players, treat coaches like garbage, and rape the fans every chance they get. They are, for the most part, sub-scum, all in desperate need of a Grinch-like cardiac boner.
Golfers. Focused? Oh yeah. Determined? You betcha! Somewhat weak of heart? Yeah, I’d say golfers have temperamental tickers. If so much as a twig snaps during their back swing, they snap ten times worse. Miss a gimme putt and it stays with them for days. And when they choke, I mean, they CHOKE! Sure, there are exceptions like Nicklaus and Palmer and Danny Noonan, but even golf’s supposed toughest hombre, the one they call Tiger, has never been the same since his wife tried to brain him with a 5-iron. There’s no shortage of balls in golf, but where’s the heart?
Michael T. Flynn. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Trump’s presidency isn’t even a month old and already we have our first resignation. National Security adviser Michael T. Flynn was in bed with the Russians, but not in a sexy James Bond kinda way. Heartless, gutless, clueless… label it however you like. Michael T. Flynn had a far more short-lived and lackluster career than Doug Flynn had with the Mets, and that’s saying something. At least Dougie won a gold glove in 1980. All Michael T. Flynn accomplished was falling on his rubber sword for Mayor McCheese. Meanwhile–*This Just In*–Kansas City Royals pitcher Brian Flynn is out 8 weeks after falling through the roof of his barn. Clearly not a good week to be a Flynn. #outlikeflynn
The Liars Club. So many liars in sports that we’ve lost count. Let’s see, of course there’s A-Rod and Rajah Clemens and Lance Armstrong (let’s not forget him) and Rosie Ruiz and the former owner of the New Jersey Generals and every boxing promoter ever… the list goes on and on. At the bottom of every liar and cheater is a lack of heart. The roster of stand-up guys and gals in sports is dwindling down to a precious few.
Millennials. Cheesy Bruin brought up these cell phone zombies in his Sunday column. This generation doesn’t have the guts to even pick up the phone and ask someone out on a date. Jeez. Everything needs to be done for them… EVERYTHING! If the Rolling Stones wrote “Waiting on a Friend” for these slackers it would be called “I’m Just Waiting on an Uber.” To them, sports events are for snapchat not slap shots, self-aggrandizement over grand slams. Yes, I sound old, but that’s only because I AM old, dagnabbit!
Anyway, I just don’t have the heart to write any more this week. Come back tomorrow for this site’s pacemaker, the one and only Buddy Diaz. And you can find us on Twitter at @Angry_Ward & @MeetTheMatts, Instagram @MeetTheMatts and our Facebook page, Meet The Matts.