Write Derek at drksmart @ gmail.com
Write Phil at phil.bencomo @ gmail.com
by Derek Smart
I had a whole rant written out for when Andrew Jones won the MVP today. It was pretty good, too. Problem is, he didn't win. Albert Pujols did, and while I would have, quite naturally, preferred to see Our Savior Derrek Lee get the hardware, I'm actually at peace with the writers' choice for the trophy.
Of course, Lee did finish a distant third behind Pujols and Jones, so I've got a little something to be upset about, even in the face of perhaps the best news ever. So while I won't go off on an extended spiel, I will say that I'm less upset by Lee's regrettable if predictable snubbing than I am about what his third-place finish implies about the state of the institution that votes on such things. Not that its foolishness is news.
In fact, I now have so little confidence in the BBWAA, I've got a little experiment I'd love to try:
Put Andrew Jones (or a piece of shiny, shiny tinfoil) in a clear, narrow-necked bottle
Secure bottle to something immobile, like Jason Dubois
Set BBWAA member loose in the area
Enjoy the hilarity
If I understand their tendencies correctly, once the writer reaches for the bauble, saying "Ooooo! Sparkly!" all the way, he'll close his fist around it, refusing to let go despite the fact that his paw is now too large to pass through the bottle's opening, thus proving once and for all that, at best, BBWAA members are the raccoons of the writing world.
Which, of course, begs the question: Derek, what did raccoons ever do to you?