Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Gritty Words by a Gritty Guy


Hi, I'm world famous catcher and beloved World Series hero Jason Varitek, and I'd like to set a few things straight today before I uneventfully sign a contract with the Red Sox and return and play for my hometown favorite city, Boston.

Basically, I'm here for one simple reason: to hide behind my agent and refuse to acknowledge that I'm not worth half of what I'm asking for to convince you that I should receive the salary I deserve!

Now, I know what you're thinking - you're thinking, "Hey Tek, shouldn't you give that dirty Jew Boy Wonder, Theo Epstein, a break? Maybe agree to a nice, incentive laden 1-year deal? Everyone knows he's uncharacteristically preparing to offer you two years out of guilt, even though your career died almost three full years ago - this just doesn't make sense?"

I know, I know, it seems unfair. But that's the difference between you and me. What you think is unfair is in fact, actually fair. And what kind of precedent would I be setting as the grittiest player in history if I took a pay cut? After all, gritty guys get paid to do the dirty work.

(is asked to clarify this statement by someone in attendance)
(laughs uproariously and encourages the rest of the media in attendance to do the same)

Moving on. How do I know all of this? Well, if I told you, then we'd all be wearing that little 'C' on our chest's, now wouldn't we?

(winks)

And how could the Boston Red Sox survive without my down-to-earth, blue collar, working class style? Not to mention the signature goatee and flat-top that defines a fan-base? Everyone knows the team was lacking in the grittiness department before I came around. If you don't believe me, just ask the corpse of Peter Gammons.

(shoots fingers at rotting corpse propped in chair with pencil behind ear)

When Jonathan Papelbon gets drunk and starts pushing around a 150 lb MIT grad student at the bar, who do you think stops him? When David Ortiz threatens to eat himself into a diabetic coma, who do you think talks him out of it? When J.D. Drew wants to go hunting for intoxicated homeless men, who helps him load his rifle? When Dice-K wants to long toss for seven straight hours, who do think is there to catch and throw it back?

This guy, that's who.

That's what I do. That's what captains are for. I bet you'll never see Derek Jeter driving C.C. Sabathia to an IHOP at 3am for a Lumberjack breakfast and four gallons of half-and-half - but I sure as hell would! That's what defines girtty. That's what defines a champion. That's what defines Tek.

(crowd of Boston fans ohhs and ahhs, cries, then names their first born "Tek", only in ten years through a fog of whiskey forget why)

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