I swore I wasn’t going to pay attention to them this year and for the most part have managed to keep my word, but the latest news sucked me in and I simply couldn’t resist.
All hail, Sir Curt, the epitomy of the entitled white male in America. The one who, in the confines of the two square feet of his self-centered world, decides he will indeed pursue his craft beyond this season. And then, looking every bit the 40-something corporate executive fattened by the life of his corner office, he arrives in camp to claim what he deserves, what he’s earned, what is rightly his. Because he is, afterall, a guy that can throw a ball. A grown man with much talent for a boy’s game.
But fear not, favored one. Good fortune shines on you. For those with the power (and purse strings), will heed your demands. They are, afterall, of the same ilk. And they will, in the end, grant you your “just rewards”. To do otherwise is to break the unwritten rules of your club and we rue the day such might ever occur.
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