17 Notes

Great Moments in Baseball Journalism, Continued

Dan Shaughnessy:

I reached Lucchino briefly in his office this morning. He said he couldn’t talk to me. He said there would be no announcement today.

Dial tone.

I followed that up with, ‘‘Do you have any comment on how indecisive this makes you guys look?’’

‘‘Goodbye, Dan,’’ he answered. ‘‘Nice to talk to you.’’

Click.

[via Rob Neyer, Great Moments in Journalism]

I rang him right back up.

“So, that’s a ‘fuck you’ on the indecision thing?”

Click. Redial.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to give me a comment on this.”

Click. Dial tone.

Boop-boop-boop-boop-boop-boop-boop. “Should the horse I rode in on also go fuck itself, for the record, Larry?”

Sound of a phone being slammed against the cradle several times. Dial tone.

Trying again. “[sound of a Zippo lighter’s wheel being flicked] I’m lighting my own farts. How about a tidbit on Bobby Valentine’s imminent hiring? Just grunt, anything.”

Airhorn. Click. Dial tone.

Siri, one more time. “That airhorn sounded like a ‘yes’ on Bobby V. Was it yes, or do I have to get my fist up inside myself right now?”

Two clicks, for some reason.

Still on the trail. “I’ve got four knuckles on my prostate, Luc. One world-weary fuuuuuuck for Bobby V, something awful about my mother’s sexual history for Gene Lamont.”

A single gunshot.

Can’t quit now. “You gutshot Cherington, didn’t you? He’s a smart kid, give him Lamont before he bleeds out.”

Two more gunshots.

Conference call with Boston PD. “Larry Lucchino just shot his new GM. And probably his assistant GM and traveling secretary. All because they’re hiring Bobby Valentine and they don’t want to admit it. Right, Larry?”

“As long as it ain’t Grady Little again, go fuck a duck. We’re busy.”

Click. Click.

Last time. “My fist is still up there, Lar. Throw me a bone. Though, fist, no room.”

Dial tone.

Fine. Maybe tomorrow.

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