Good luck with that, Jerry Manuel. I have some suggestions about how you teach guys to get clutchier:
1. Just before Jose Reyes takes a swing in BP, scream in his ear “It’s Game 7 of the World Series!” and also punch him in the gut because that’s what butterflies in the stomach feel like.
2. Secretly feed the team laxatives before practice because that’s what butterflies in the stomach feel like.
3. Make the team eat butterflies.
4. Kidnap Carlos Delgado’s kids and hold them at gunpoint while Carlos takes BP. “You like pressure, Carlos? This is what the playoffs feel like.” Then, after Carlos strokes a home run, shoot one of the kids. Just in the leg, though. Remember, it’s just a game.
5. Strap Luis Castillo to a speeding train. “Unless you hit in the clutch, Castillo becomes the meat in a train sandwich.” Everyone comes through, and you reveal that you basically just wanted Castillo gone anyway.
6. One bat in the clubhouse is filled with plastic explosives. Stay on your toes, gentlemen.
7. Put up a picture of Derek Jeter in the clubhouse.
8. Be positive.
Imelda Marcos, wife of Fernando Marcos.
After returning home from work, I discovered I have a message of textination. Upon reading it, I get the message: “Guess who this is? I love boots.” [Note, I cleaned this up grammatically.] My first inclination was Dora the Explorer due to her love for monkey pal Boots, seen below. Personally, I think Boots looks like a monk-rooster, due to his weird hair, but even the most mad of scientists would not create such a terror.
This is a monkey; or is it ?!?!.
Then I thought further. Perhaps the text0r meant boots in the literal sense. I could think of only one person to fill that bill, and replied “Imelda Marcos?” As it turns out, it was not Imelda Marcos either. He then added this cryptic clue: “Kansas, 6th grade, I love boots.”
As you can imagine, this further confused me. Perhaps it was the guitarist for the band Kansas?
Frightened by the possibility of either a twisted science experiment, the wife of a Filipino dictator, or a band of hippies secretly stalking me, I surrendered and said “Are you sure you have the right person?” Then the person responded with “Is this Tanya?” This floored me. There were only two possibilities: 1) The person was mistaken or 2) This is a text message from a parallel universe in which I am female. I can only assume 2) is the correct answer. The dude stopped textinating me, but that exchange will haunt me to this day.
Less lame than the state of Kansas, mostly due to Captain Eyepatch