There’s little that gets under my skin more than people who should be tearing each other’s throats into shards of flesh, bone and becalmed windpipes smiling and chatting and keeping their sharp instruments to themselves.
What’s really set me off over the last few years is the behavior of Major League Baseball players. Here’s the set up. Eric Hosmer, Kansas City’s Royal pain in the ass to the Detroit Tigers, reaches first base. Back in the day, runner and fielder would glare at each other, maybe spit tobacco on each other’s spikes, make rude comments about their mothers and claim each other’s fathers wear silk panties. Yeah..the good old days.
But instead there’s Tigers superstar Miguel Cabrerra, the first baseman, grinning and chatting up Hosmer who’s returning the yuks, the two gazillionaires comparing their portfolios, features on their new Ferarris, or which yacht has the best resale value. Maybe they’re complimenting each other on their swings or the stitching on their spikes or artwork on their tattoos. “Oh Miggy, what wonderful layering on your new haircut. So becoming!” Hosmer should be thinking of how he’s going to try to steal second and Miggy how he and the pitcher can pick off his ass. Miggy should have been trash talking Hosmer to distract and demean him, while Hosmer should have stepped on Miggy’s foot as he reached the bag.
But no. Time after time this scene plays itself out as a guy reaches base and immediately gets into a Barney “I love you, you love me” moment. I like how they do it in hockey. Beat the living hell out of each other during the game and save the handshakes and other friendly nonsense when the game is over.
The bottom line is opponents need to despise each other and wish for their demise in a painful and creative manner. Oh, they can respect each other, sure, but keep it for the postgame show…or sauna.