MFY--Creeps!

[G-Fafif]

Keith Olbermann notes how absolutely creepy the posthumous Bob Sheppard introduction of Cap'n Intangibles has become:

I revered Bob Sheppard and I revere his memory daily. But the post-mortem introductions of Jeter have, I think, become disturbing.

The good news is, whether its random or spooooooky, Jeter has kinda sucked since the ghost of Sheppard began broadcasting from another realm.

Since Bob Sheppard died last July 11 and the tribute to the absent and beloved Public Address Voice of Yankee Stadium became instead a memorial, Derek Jeter is hitting just .263 here with one homer, 10 RBI, a .338 On Base Percentage and a .349 Slugging Percentage in 43 games. There are various dates and causes to assign to Jeter�s midseason eclipse last year but Mr. Sheppard�s passing is not exactly a random one � which makes the stat all the creepier. As of that sad day, Jeter had had 161 home at bats. Thereafter he had�exactly the same number: 161 home at bats. But in the first half of his home 2010 season Jeter was batting .316, with six homers, an On Base of .380 and a Slugging of .472. Would it all turn around if Jeter had Sheppard�s successor Paul Olden announce his name, too? No, of course not. It would just be a little less�creepy.

[G-Fafif]

And speaking of creepy MFYness, this from Sam Anderson in Sunday's NYT Magazine on the Meaning of Jeter, or whatever the fuck:

The culture of major league baseball is a jumbo platter of deep-fried masculinity: it�s like a y-chromosome throwing a bachelor party for a penis with a beard.

The point of article was, of course, to deify Jeter (however ironically), but obviously the effect was a jumbo platter of deep-fried creepiness.

[soupcan]

That was a very good and entertaining article.

[batmagadanleadoff]

I'd like for the voice of Katharine Hepburn to introduce Jeter's future at bats.

[metirish]

A small piece of Jeter died that day along with Bob Shepard.Seriously though , it's fucking creepy that he uses the voice.

[Guest themetfairy]

And speaking of creepy MFYness, this from Sam Anderson in Sunday's NYT Magazine on the Meaning of Jeter, or whatever the fuck: The culture of major league baseball is a jumbo platter of deep-fried masculinity: it�s like a y-chromosome throwing a bachelor party for a penis with a beard.

Huh? Is that supposed to be a compliment of some sort?

[Guest John Cougar Lunchbucket]

I think they mean it's totally gay.

[Guest LeiterWagnerFasterStrongr]

Closeted gay. And marrying, no less.

Me, I just want my deep-fried penises to be honest with themselves and others.

[G-Fafif]

Full context:

3. The Eternal Son The culture of major league baseball is a jumbo platter of deep-fried masculinity: it�s like a y-chromosome throwing a bachelor party for a penis with a beard. It�s all about fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, grandfathers, great-grandfathers, sons of sons, etc. And the Yankees take this tradition (as they do most traditions) outrageously over the top. George Steinbrenner cast himself notoriously, for decades, as the classic tyrannical father � curfews, grooming fetish, knee-jerk abuse � which makes sense, given that he bought the team largely to impress his own tyrannical father. (His father, somehow, remained unimpressed.) When Steinbrenner surrendered control of the team, he left it, fittingly, for his two sons to scrap over � even though there were two very accomplished daughters in the picture. One son, Hank, is named after his unimpressed grandfather and has apparently adopted the personality and even the dress code (light jacket, turtleneck) of his father. The other successor � just in case the Shakespearean resonances weren�t already strong enough here � is named Hal. In the great Yankee patriarchy, Jeter is the eternal son: the precocious boy who follows the rules, knows his heritage and honors his elders. His career has been guided by a little sweat lodge of symbolic fathers: Steinbrenner, whom Jeter always addressed as Mr. Steinbrenner; Joe Torre, whom he referred to explicitly as a father figure; and the benevolent ghost of Joe DiMaggio, who pioneered Jeter�s signature combination of natural grace on the field and private dignity off of it. Jeter�s simmering drama with Alex Rodriguez, meanwhile, is exactly like a sibling rivalry, with the insecure little brother struggling in his perfect older brother�s shadow. The psychological gulf between the two is often traced to their childhoods: Jeter grew up with a father; A-Rod didn�t. As silly as it seems, American culture needs St. Jeter. In an era of flawed sports icons � Kobe, LeBron, Lance, Tiger, Favre � he might be the last of the unblemished, not just now but forever. We�re practically holding our breath, rooting for him to make it through these last few years: please no steroid revelation, no creepy sex scandal, no prima-donna meltdown. It is his public duty to always be the Great and Pure Young Yankee Shortstop, eternally 22 years old. He has been frozen in time his entire life. This might explain why he�s aging less gracefully than you would have expected: refusing to give up the shortstop position, complaining about contract negotiations after the worst season of his life, building a Florida mansion so huge that the locals call it St. Jetersburg. Youth, for Jeter, is less an age than an existential state. He is every father�s son. And we love him for that.

[Guest Edgy DC]

The culture of major league baseball is a jumbo platter of deep-fried masculinity: it�s like a y-chromosome throwing a bachelor party for a penis with a beard.

And Larry Anderson's profiles are a jumbo platter of mixed metaphors.

[Guest Edgy DC]

We�re practically holding our breath, rooting for him to make it through these last few years: please no steroid revelation, no creepy sex scandal, no prima-donna meltdown.

It is his public duty to always be the Great and Pure Young Yankee Shortstop, eternally 22 years old. He has been frozen in time his entire life. This might explain why he�s aging less gracefully than you would have expected: refusing to give up the shortstop position, complaining about contract negotiations after the worst season of his life, building a Florida mansion so huge that the locals call it St. Jetersburg. Youth, for Jeter, is less an age than an existential state. He is every father�s son. And we love him for that.

Well, by "we," you mean "you." But if that last paragraph isn't about a prima-donna meltdown, what is it exactly? I understand and accept that you have to make a virtue out of it all to reconcile your cogntive dissonance. We all do what we gotta do. I just don't understand why an editor would print such nonsense.