Whether they go on strike or not, the fact that they’re talking seriously about it is enough:
FUCK major league baseball. Fuck them hard and slow and all night and not in a pleasant way. I’ve had enough. I’ve been a fan all my life; I’m one of those people who talk about baseball like it’s a fucking symphony. But in this case, I’ve had it; they’ve pissed me off to the point that the spell is broken, and all I want now is to HURT BACK.
I say let’s take our cue from Reagan with the air-traffic controllers: fire every fecking one of them and ban them from baseball forever. I’ve spent enough time watching the minors to know that the talent is mighty deep. In fact, if that’s what it takes, cut the minors too; I’ll watch college baseball. Hell, I’ll watch fucking high-school baseball before I’ll watch the majors again. A-Rod makes FOUR TIMES my yearly salary in one day! No exaggeration! And he wants us to sympathize with him about his working conditions? He has the goddamned gall to say he’s doing it to keep “future generations from playing under harsh conditions”? Fuck him. He should do my goddam job for a couple years. At the very least, he should shut his mealy mouth during all this.
Yes, I say fire every one of them. Let them dig ditches for minimum wage for a while (which is what they’d ALL be doing if they didn’t have freakish athletic abilities and good high school coaches) and then we’ll see how they bitch about an average of $2.4 mil a year.
This is it. I’m thirty years old, and now, after thirty years, the spell is broken, the love affair is over, and I am THROUGH with major-league baseball. Strike or not, I’m done, because taking the threat this far, whether they strike or not, has proven that they have no idea why people love baseball (i.e., why they have jobs).
Not to mention the fact that the fans have made clear over and over how we feel, and the players have apparently forgotten what is the root source of all the money they make: THE FUCKING FANS, who spend hard-earned dollars to pay easily-earned dollars to the players. We’re done, goddammit!
Cast 'em out on their ears. Every fucking bench-warming second-baseman.