That pitcher from Montreal.

"According to a source involved in the discussions, Vazquez's declared refusal to play for the Dodgers was the primary impetus for the action by Los Angeles. Vazquez, a native of Puerto Rico, considered the West Coast to be too far away from his home. The righthander refused to fly to Los Angeles this week to undergo a physical examination."

If this is true, I shall never speak his name again.

Actually, I put that rule into effect after the grand slam to Johnny Damon.

Actually, I hated that piece of garbage pitcher since around mid-August.

The Unmentionable One was even the starting pitcher in that 22-0 loss to Cleveland, and I was in attendance. Fun times. I think I started booing on pitch #1. I think I started booing before pitch #1.

It reminded me of the time I went to see Showtime at the Apollo. (With the same folks who went to the 22-0 loss to Cleveland, actually.) All I wanted to see was Amateur Night. Specifically, all I wanted to see was one of those amateur poets. I started booing before the first word was spoken because I knew ... I knew ... his poem was going to suck.

Homeboy starts with some ridiculous nonsense: "My love is like a word / It flies to the sky like a bird." Before long, the entire crowd had joined the Felz. Sandman Sims had him outta there before the third verse amidst a chorus of boos. Change "third verse" to "third inning" and you see the connection.

Come to think of it, my two friends and I were lucky enough to witness two of the worst performances by the worst entertainers in modern history. The all-time nadirs of 21st Century pop culture. We were there, man.

At least that amateur poet guy didn't get paid to suck.