700hitter, you would get along great with Phil.
Players’ Weekend disaster shows MLB’s continuing foolishness
Phil Mushnick
August 29, 2019 10:02 PM
In the 1934 movie “You’re Telling Me!” W.C. Fields says he “bought a wonderful club in Toronto,” then tells his caddie, “Give me the Canadian Club.”
By the time MLB’s “Players’ Weekend” ended, no elixir was strong enough to clear or further dull the mind of the systemic senselessness.
But MLB never runs low on rotten ideas. It suffers from advanced nearsightedness while self-deluded into practicing the kind of innovative thinking that guarantees a maximum of unintended, unforeseen, ridiculous circumstances. So does the NFL.
Thus, our question for commissioner/marketing genius Rob Manfred:
Given that every game for three consecutive days appeared the same — Johnny Cash and the San Quentin 9 versus the psychiatric facility security detail from the movie “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” — which game or games did he choose to watch? After all, by design they all looked alike.
The players wore monochromatic white-on-white or black-on-black self-selected nicknames on the backs of their corresponding all-white or all-black monochromatic uniforms, making it impossible to know for sure who many of them were — even if you knew their nicknames, which were mostly inside gags.
Reader Joe Plitnick thinks Gary Sanchez went with “No Sweat.”
Of course, at MLB no one saw this coming. MLB placed everyone in the same clown suit then hit “send” under the full impression and authority that it knows exactly what it’s doing.
So all 44 games over the weekend were played in indecipherable secret code — white ink put to white paper, black ink on black paper. Morons.
Or as the bibulous W.C. Fields said of his African safari: “We forgot the corkscrew. All we had to live on was food and water.”