It Is Fun, And It Is Funny
By now you've all probably heard the big, non-prostitute-related news from yesterday: The Yankees are signing Billy Crystal to a one-day contract and will let him play in a spring training game this Thursday against the Pirates. Yes, Billy fucking Crystal is going to put on the Yankee pinstripes in an actual game.
Now, because I love a good freakshow as much as they next guy, I actually have no problem with this (although I do wish he'd been playing catcher for them this past Saturday). In fact, I think it further confirms that this DNA lottery winner/ne'er-do-well/lunatic Hank Steinbrenner is going to take this franchise down a very strange road, replete with phony tough talk, "Joba Rules," a hothead manager, a constantly second-guessed GM, and an HGH-addled "ace," with a missed chance at Johan Santana looming over everything from Phil Hughes's confidence to Derek Jeter's herpes. Let the games begin.
Anyway, Billy Crystal plans on addressing his teammates before Thursday's game. Fortunately, I've obtained a sneak preview of his prepared remarks:
Value this time in your life, boys, because this is the time in your life when you still have your choices, and it goes by so quickly.
When you're a teenager you crack a few jokes and people tell you to become a comedian.
Your twenties, you land a supporting role in a hit sitcom, and you get people thinking you're a serious actor.
Your thirties, you raise your family, you make a little money, you land a one-season gig on SNL.
Your forties, you grow a little pot belly, you grow another chin, and you start mincing around the stage at the Oscars.
Your fifties, you direct "America's Sweethearts," you star in "My Giant," you spend most of your time running around sniffing Yankee jocks and wondering "what the hell happened to my career? What the hell happened to my career?"
Your sixties, you head down to Legends Field, where you accept a pity invitation from the Yankees to actually suit up in a Spring Training game.
Your seventies, you and the wife retire to Tampa. You start eating dinner at two, lunch around ten, breakfast the night before. You spend all of your time hanging around the Yankees' Spring Training complex, muttering "how come Hank doesn't call? How come Hank doesn't call?"
By your eighties, you've had a major stroke, and you end up babbling to some retired Yankee shortstop named Derek who your wife can't stand but who you call mama. Any questions?