Will somebody please tell me what I have done to piss off all of baseball and possibly the Almighty? I used to have it pretty good. Nobody drafted me out of college, but the Reds, in their infinite wisdom, saw something in my pimpled face. They saw promise. They saw greatness. They saw Austin. And I worked my tail off and made it to the big show. Sure, I got my nicks and bruises along the way, but who doesn't? Things got even better--the Reds got rid of the floozy Wily Mo Pena in '06, giving me a permanent spot, and we even got off to a fast start. Life was good. Check that. Life was great.
Then do you know what happened? Shut up, I'm going to tell you what the fuck happened. That asshat Wayne Krivsky got this beautiful notion that because we were in contention, he didn't need all his outfielders. Really Wayne? Based on what fact did you get this brainfart? The fact we were under 20 games out for the first time since Bill Clinton was on his knees in DC? Or the fact that we were playing over our fricking heads by any rational measurement? Yeah, we needed more pitching. I agreed with that. I even called up Asshat Wayne and suggested he phone my teenage idols Tom Browning and Tim Belcher. Hell, they're not doing shit. They're playing pinochle and drinking Natty Light in between turkey shoots. Those guys would've been better than Ryan Wagner in the bullpen. Hell, your wife would've been better than him, and she's fat as shit.
But noooooooo. He instead stole Schottzie brain's from the pet cemetery. Instead, Asshat Wayne decided to trade me. Yes, ME. Me who was en route to his first 30-home run season. Me who patiently sat through getting jerked around while Ken Griffey kept popping his vulva and whining about his old age. Boo-hoo Kenny boy. You're the pinhead that wanted out of Seattle, suck it up. But back to me. Did I mention I was about to hit 30 homers? Did I mention I was playing in the best ballpark for power EVER? Two more years there, and I would have hit a hundie dingers during my arbitration years. That's $100 million range, boys and girls.
And Asshat Wayne traded me to Washington. Where you need a howitzer to hit it out of the park. And where the lineup genuinely blows. Do you think I ever saw a real pitch there, when I was protected by the Ryans, Church & Langerhans? Where the team perpetually sucked? Right. No.
Still, it was starting to look better. Skip Acta's a nice guy, Ryan Zimmerman and I joined a bowling league, and we've got a new park next year that can't be as bad as this dump RFK. I mean seriously. The Redskins left here, and we were sharing locker space with Freddy Adu's entourage. What the fuck man? Isn't DC a real town? Anyway, we heard that the new park is fair to hitters. Which means---home run push, more dough and happiness for ol' Austin, right?
FUCK NO. Apparently Jim Bowden is a lovechild of Asshat Wayne. Or his dad. Whatever. First, the schmuck decides to bring BACK Wily Mo. Would it have killed him to knock on my locker and ask me what I thought of him? I could've told him bluntly--he sucks. Everyone hates him. He's a loud obnoxious prick. Him leaving was what helped us in Cincy in '06. Instead, I got to spend my summer months with him hanging all over me like a pain-in-the-ass little cousin, and trying to watch him chase GW chicks. Wily? Word to the wise--take a fucking shower.
Even that wasn't the end of the world; at least Wily was starting to hit a little at the end of the year. Then there was this rumor that we'd get A-Rod in here, which would actually give me some protection in the lineup. Hoo-boy, that sounded good, right? Yeah, that didn't happen. Plan B got invoked instead. We shipped out a couple of nice guys who can't play in Ryan and Brian for a couple of assholes that can't play. That's right kids--I've now got to play babysitter to Lastings Goddamn Milledge, who has the attitude of a menstrual hippopotamus, and Elijah Dukes, who likes to beat the shit out of women. And now I've got to split time with these clowns? And serve as their mentor? Are you fucking kidding me? Who did I piss off to have this happen? And who the hell is my agent? Correction--ex-agent. That waste of sperm has been fired effective now.
So here's my public plea to the Nats: you win. You have broken me. You have broken my spirit. You have crushed my will to be anywhere near the Tidal Basin. I'll accept a trade to anywhere. Even Tampa. Hell, even to the Independent League. It doesn't matter. It cannot be worse than this. Please. I'm begging you.