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[15 Apr 2005|01:07pm]
[ mood | determined ]

I am the greatest hero in all the world.

All puny mortals must bow before me, King of Reaching Out and Saying 'Hey, Kid, Look Both Ways Before You Cross the Street'.

For my next trick, I will stop childhood obesity by noting to a Yankees fan in Toronto that salads are yummy.

I am such a wonderful human being, even I'm astounded at the philanthropy of America's Greatest Baseball Player sometimes.

Now why won't D call me? I thought he would have been impressed. I left like, seventeen messages telling him all about it.

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[12 Apr 2005|02:56pm]
Oh, my God, y'all.

They like me! They really, really like me.

I have to say, I was totally nervous before the game started. I mean, I went out there on the field totally shaking like a leaf, but D told me to be strong, so I tried to hold it together. HM also told me something, but I totally don't speak Korean, so I don't know what he was saying.

Anyway, I got out there in one piece, and that meanie CS didn't even try to trip me, although JV was grinning like he's planning something later in the season, which would NOT BE COOL. That little bitch BA just started laughing. I hate him SO MUCH.

So the game goes on, and I was so nervous I made a couple really stupid mistakes. I thought D was going to kick my ass in the dugout. KB was totally eyeing me up like I was a piece of drywall.

But then it happened. I made this awesome out, and it was SO GOOD that the fans in Boston stood up and gave me a standing ovation. I totally knew they'd come around. Who wouldn't love America's Greatest Baseball Player?
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[09 Mar 2005|10:47pm]
[ mood | lonely ]

Did I do something to someone? I was just sitting here, waiting for the rain delay, and this pitcher from the Indians just....ran up to me and punched me. Hard. In a very uncomfortable place.

No, not the back of a Volkswagon.

I'm walking through the training facility, and everyone's just watching me struggle to get to the ice packs (Mr. McCarver was nice enough to bring them down to Tampa for me, except he keeps asking me if he can adjust them for me. Weird.), and nobody was helping me, and I just...I fell down. I couldn't help it. It hurt so much.

And there was D. standing in front of me, and I reached up to him for help, and he just...shook his head and walked away to go talk to K.B.

I just...I don't know what I did. I mean, all of those conversations I had with those reporters this offseason were totally off the record, and none of them would sell out America's Greatest Baseball Player, so I don't know why everyone's so mad at me all of a sudden.

On top of all of this, I have to read about how that little bitch Brandon Arroflo, or whatever his name is, doesn't care about our little spat in New York? I've been working out nonstop, running until I puke, lifting weights with the Miami Hurricanes (the things I've seen in that locker room) until I can't lift my arms any more, and he doesn't care?

God. I feel so unloved. I'm going to go eat like, four pints of Haagen Daaz. Maybe I'll have some amaretto sours and call D.

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[16 Feb 2005|09:12am]
What's all this about Trot Nixon's children?
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[14 Feb 2005|09:27am]
Phew. I just got back from a whirlwind tour of Christos' new installment in Central Park. I'm not sure I understand it, but...hey. I suppose it never hurts to go look, right?

Another Valentine's Day, alone again...naturally. I hate today- I go into the locker room, and everyone's got flowers and cards and presents sticking out of their lockers, and there sits my locker, empty. Last year, D. put a little stuffed monkey in there last year, but I think he might have gotten it out of a vending machine. Still, I suppose it's the thought that counts, right? Right. It really was a cute monkey- it was holding a little heart that said 'I go Bananas for you'. Hee. Get it? Bananas?

It's almost time to head down to Florida- I'm so excited. G. told me he has some kind of new lotion for me that'll help clear up this little acne problem I've developed over the winter. He says that getting rid of the acne will help me regain the confidence I need to 'hit the cover off the ball'. I don't know if it'll work that well, but he says BB swears by the stuff, and I've never seen one single solitary pimple on his face, so it's worth a shot.

I'm off to Trader Joe's...I think I'm going to surprise D. with a gourmet dinner tonight. He's all broken up because J. told him she couldn't deal with him always talking about M. Poor guy.

Now, I left those rose-scented candles around here somewhere...
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[02 Feb 2005|09:38am]
[ mood | sick ]

Just ducking away from A.S. for a few minutes to hide out in the weight room before I start bench pressing my daily 600 pounds. I just can't take another wind sprint right now without vomiting up everything I made myself for breakfast this morning. Homemade blueberry cinnamon pancakes- I picked the blueberries myself yesterday. You really have to do it yourself- that's what makes my pancakes The Best. I even put the blueberries into the pancakes in little stripes! It was so cool! Mr. S. would have totally been proud of me.

I'm wondering, now, if D. is reading all of these silly articles about how Mr. S. wants me to take over the team and lead. I mean, why would I try to take it from him? He's the great D., man! Choirs of Angels sing when he takes the field. Jesus himself stops to watch when he steps into the batter's box, and children weep when he fields. How could I ever take over for him?

I have to be honest with you, though, Dear Diary- there are some folks on the team who might be a little more comfortable with me leading the team. I mean, you and I know how much I love D., but let's be honest, just between us, we know I'm better. I'm not sure why I'm still stuck over here at third when Mr. S. totally promised me that I'd be back playing short halfway through last season. 'Just wait,' he said to me. 'The fans can't wait to see you play your position. You're only the Greatest Shortstop That Ever Lived. Why wouldn't he be happy to step aside for you?'

And you know what? God help me, I believed him. I really thought that D. would put aside his totally selfish fixation and step over for the good of the team, knowing how much better I am than him. Serves him right, I suppose, to have choked in such a spectacular fashion last year. Lord knows I was totally working my ass off to get hits, especially in that last game. Okay, so my bat kind of went dead for a while there, but I was working my intimidating mojo all the same. You sure didn't see Ass-oroyo come near me again, did you? No ma'am you did not. At least I wasn't puking like that bitch T.G. Honestly. have a little respect. You don't get to be The Best by yakking in the dugout.

Speaking of yakking...ugh. Pinstriped pancakes, coming right back up...

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[02 Feb 2005|08:55am]
[ mood | hungry ]

Chamomile tea just doesn't do what it used to for a raging chardonnay hangover any more. I'm craving some kind of grease to coat my stomach...or maybe I'm just trying to stay upright. Ugh.

I'm a little afraid to look at my cell phone this morning. I have a vague recollection of calling D. and demanding to know why we couldn't do shots of Midori before all of our games, and then...I think we got in a fight because I heard some girl in his room...it wasn't S.- it sounded like T.R., and you'd think he would have learned his lesson about the crazy after the M.C. incident. Anyway, I think he hung up on me, and I think I may have called N.G. crying. Or it could have just been a dream brought on by too much spicy food after 11. I'm really, really hoping it's just the pad thai.

So it's four days until the Super Bowl, and I'm just so...blah on the teams. I don't think I can bring myself to root for New England: I just keep seeing C.S. in that Brady jersey holding the trophy that should be mine ours, and I start shaking. Then again, Philadelphia certainly has a lot of loudmouths on that team, and I don't think I like people who talk to the press about folks on other teams. That's just tacky and uncalled for. Unless they won't return your calls any more.

Maybe I'll just rent Anne of Green Gables and eat ice cream on Sunday instead of watching the game.

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[01 Feb 2005|10:07pm]
[ mood | full ]

So I watched The Amazing Race all alone again. (Note to self: Make sure D. is actually coming over before you buy shrimp pad thai for him. Too many carbs and too much chardonnay is not good for a lonely boy's sleeping patterns.)

I think I'd like to go on The Amazing Race one day, although I don't think I'd want to eat in Japan, because I don't want to get any of those weird stomach things that J.G. came down with the last time we were there. You should have seen what it did to him! I mean, I saw him right before I moved up here, and he looked great, but by the time Spring Training rolled around, he just looked awful. Gosh. His mother must be so worried. I know I'm worried about him- he's just not hitting the way he used to, and he just looks so sad all the time, like he's holding in some deep, dark secret. Maybe I'll have him over for margaritas and some Sex in the City reruns. I know that always makes me feel better.

Well, it's getting late, diary o'mine. I should wrap this up. Mr. B. (my agent) tells me I have a lot of things to sign in the morning for needy kids. I'm not quite sure why they want baseballs- I mean, I have plenty of leftovers, can't I just give them those?

::eyes shrimp pad thai::

Oh, hell. It's calling my name. I'm going to pay for this tomorrow, you betcha.

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[01 Feb 2005|07:07pm]
[ mood | crazy ]

I'm packing up my bags and getting ready to head to Spring Training again. It's awful nice to not have this year be such a circus, like last year was. I think the fans know what to expect from me, which is nice- but they could have asked Seattle and Texas what to expect. I'm sure the fans in those cities would have let them know.

I just got back from Tampa, visiting Mr. S. He let me know how happy he was with the way I played last year, and totally agreed with me that that Ass-oroyo is a total bitch who shouldn't have gotten in my way. Next time, I'll knock his cornrowed ass over, Saturn-sized nuts or not. (Do you really think they're that big? How does he pitch with them, then? Maybe I'll ask P.- I have to take him to some 'Welcome to the City' dinner next week. What am I, the freaking Welcome Wagon? Stupid M.P., getting married and leaving the rest of us to do his work.)

He also told me that maybe, just maybe, if D. says it's okay, we can be co-captains next year. Between you and me, Dear Diary, I don't think that would make D. very happy. Before I moved up here to be with him, he'd always talk about how cool it would be if we were in the same city and how we'd totally kick ass on the field together. Ever since I got here, though, he's been all quiet. It's like he never really wanted me here in the first place, Dear Diary, and it hurts me to think I came all this way for him, and he won't even look my way any more. Ever since October, he keeps ducking my calls. I saw him leaving the stadium yesterday, and I tried to call after him, but he just kept walking. What did I do wrong? It's like he's embarrassed to be seen with me.

Well, I have to go finish packing, Dear Diary. The Chapstick people were so nice: they sent me a whole flat of that blue raspberry chapstick I like so much. How'd they know that was my favorite kind? Man. It really does pay to play for the best team in the whole world.

P.S.: I heard that R. is pitching for another year. Do you think, if I called him, I could talk to him about J.B.? I heard Boston didn't want him, either. I wonder if he has any advice...

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