Sez Me …
San Diego doesn’t need any old exorcist. It needs the Charlemagne of exorcists, a man who did so much despite having a son named Pepin the Hunchback.
And not just someone to drive out the sports demons, a monster job Hercules would look at and say: “Find some other sap.” But a cleaner who can get rid of the gang of evil spirits who have found inept San Diego a welcoming coven without fear of reprisal.
The Curse has created Padreing. To go along with Chargering and San Diegoing.
The Padres, as with most of us, are caught in The Curse’s clutches. And the sad thing is that, despite recognizing their fate in this particular place, they are content to allow the beast’s clutches to squeeze all the sense out of them.
So San Diego. Doomed to listen and be duped and swayed by the Siren’s Song.
The Pads have finished what is by far, from Petco to Minsk, the most disappointing season in their history — hell, maybe any baseball team’s history. Even for San Diego, this was a doozy. An expensive cow patty.
And now, here we are with a season totally wasted, and all is well at the top and below. Utopia.
The Pads are playing poker and standing pat with the Devil’s Hand.
I never used to believe in the San Diego Curse. But, curses! The longer I hang around my city, the more I’m convinced The Curse exists. And it is capable of metastasizing, spreading everywhere.
It seems that, no matter what it is, we actually try to screw it up. We are pushed into senselessness by this beast. We have succumbed to it. We have eaten the forbidden fruit and found it impossible to get the taste out of our mouths. We have failed and wasted so much.
Our solution to everything is ignorance.
I need “War and Peace”-space to get into everything wrong or what has gone wrong in this town and its environs over the past two decades, involving sports or government.
City Hall’s Ham & Eggers, with an impossible-to-solve pension problem they designed, lost the NFL to Los Angeles, where the Judases have about two real fans. Our tourist mecca has become filthy and lawless. Raw sewage has poured for decades onto pristine breaches. The city allows developers to build living spaces without garages and turn our neighborhoods into parking nightmares.
Meanwhile, Steve Fisher and Brian Dutcher somehow found (but didn’t share) a hoops exorcist, and San Diego State basketball is a national power, while foundering Aztecs football would bore the many thousands of alums — if they didn’t stay away. And what’s happening there? The Curse has seen to it that the coach has a dream nearly-$5-million buyout the athletic department would need a bank heist to pay off.
Then there are the Padres, who decided to play real baseball 135 games too late. Couldn’t make the playoffs because the multi-millionaires couldn’t come through in the broken-record clutch, nights and days on end.
So then what? The millionaires disperse, back to their mansions amid speculation they will return to new bosses in February. Besties Bob Melvin (manager) or A.J. Preller (GM), or both, were getting The Big Haircut.
But the owner, Peter Seidler, put away the shears. Status: whoa!
Then Preller, who had nine years to concoct this mess, goes on Zoom with the media and proclaims all’s right with the world. Melvin, he says, will return.
This wasn’t Bob’s fault. But why would he stay in a place where he finds his immediate boss to be everything he doesn’t like in a baseball man? I still wouldn’t be surprised if he bailed.
I ire Seidler, a good man, family man, a generous man, who has been battling illness and yet retains an incredible, positive attitude. But for whatever reason, he sees something — something great — in Preller that Preller may not see in himself. And he sees a lot in himself.
There will be some different participants to next year’s team. But I can see no valid reasons as to why the 2024 outcome will be different.
Why should I suddenly believe in Preller?
He’s had three winning seasons (one during a shortened COVID-19 campaign) in nine tries. He’s lost more than 100 games than he’s won. Doesn’t deserve a participation trophy.
In this modern era of impatient owners, how many people with Preller’s resume hang onto their jobs for nine years?
I’ll guess: None?
Preller has become Fredo Jr. — except, as the J’s owner, Fredo Spanos could move on to be embarrassed to the north, where The Curse has followed him. He couldn’t win anything. Still can’t.
Now we know the dastardly Curse isn’t trying to get Preller to leave. It’s making him stay.
Damned Curse. Get thee behind me, Satan. You’ve done your disservice. Go ruin another great place. …
———————————————————————-Bill Walton on Bicycle Mayor II: “Todd Gloria has completely failed me.” I can see Bill Walton as Mr. Mayor. He’s brilliant and he’s overcome every obstacle outside his body that fell on his path. Bill would have to stoop a bit to cut ribbons, though. …
Preller thinks he can save Trent Grisham. They both bat under .200. …
Defenders don’t know how to tackle. Why should a QB? Did Justin Herbert have to prove to his locker room that he’s a tough guy? When a QB throws a pick, he should go to the con and become a submarine captain. “Dive!” …
Herbert’s doing a Subway commercial and there’s no bandage on his left middle finger as he’s holding that hoagie. Mortadella, Prosciutto and mozzarella. Italy’s quick healing agents. …
If the Jets play a game in Lourdes, Aaron Rodgers has a chance to start again this year. His only other hope is if he can find a bearded man on a Middle Eastern mount, listen to the sermon, and get in line for a miracle after dining on loaves and fishes. …
Enough with “the Steelers have a great defense.” They do not. They haven’t had a great defense in many years. History and reputation do not win games. …
The Curse doesn’t hit music. The San Diego Symphony is playing Carnegie Hall. Now that’s chemistry. …
Tampa Bay does not deserve a baseball team. …
Georgia tight end Brock Bowers is the Travis Kelce of college football. NFL teams love Bowers, but before those desperate for attendance hikes draft him and make comparisons, they want to know if he’s dating anyone famous, and how long it’s projected to last. …
A great stat:. In Larry Fitzgerald’s 17-year career, he had 39 tackles and 29 dropped es. …
Buck Showalter has been canned. Just think, he was Yankees manager and became the only person to take George Costanza’s advice, changing unis from polyester to cotton on “Seinfeld.” …
See where the Midway Sinking project has hit some congestion. I smell Ham & Eggs. …
To limit fire danger in a residential area, the Ham & Eggers should listen to a former president and dampen the floor of the Great North India Street Weed Forest. Aerial fighters can use the nearby Grand Pothole as a reservoir. …
Dick Butkus was Chicago. Chicago was Dick Butkus. The best middle linebacker. The Last Gladiator. RIP. …
If Dick played the way he played under today’s rules, he’d be out of football after one down and pounding deep-dish pizza dough. …
The NFL’s love affair with the Taylor Swift-Travis Kelce love affair will fade. Quit complaining. Me, I’d much rather see in-game booth shots of Taylor than Jerry Jones. …
And the best thing? Kelce seems distracted. The Chiefs also may fade. Swiftly. …
Grantland Rice on 2023 football: It’s not whether you win or lose, but if you covered.
