Its been a long time since I've had the pleasure of kicking an undiserable guest out of my home. So long that I've forgotten the pleasure it brings once the door slams shut on the heels of the unwanted nuisance.
Today we Giants fans are basking in that pleasureable afterglow of watching the door slam on the heels of our former closer Armando Benitez, an undesirable guest on our ballclub. The SF Giants have finally given Armando the boot after allowing him a stay in our home, a stay that almost all feel was overextended and disruptive to our team.
What made Armando's stay so unwelcome in the home that Barry built are the little things. Things like leaving the toilet seat up, the cap off the toothpaste, drinking out of the carton of milk and putting it back in the refridgerator, blowing saves. Then giving that all familiar Armando smirk when caught and shrugging it off like it wasn't his fault. If only he'd once said "I'm Sorry, I'll try harder next time."
Maybe its rude to celebrate the eviction of a tenant or guest, but when said tenant/guest has menacingly caused you pain and grief through his lack of effort to perform the duties he was contracted to do, as the saying goes, "Its Time For A Change (a speedy oil change at that).
The Giants have shipped Armando off to the Marlins of Florida; a place known for humidity, swamps, drugs, spring break Parties, alligators, hurricanes and Jeb Bush. In other words, they've given him a one-way ticket to Hell and Satan was more than happy to have'em.
MLB Insider sources have quoted Satan as saying he wanted to bring the troubled closer back to Hell because "Armando makes godfearing souls say and do the damndest of things."
So as we celebrate what seems an answer to our Giants prayers (May Armando burn in Hell) let us ask God to forgive us our evil thoughts of the former closer, lest we end up in Hell ourselves one day; forced to wear a silly hat with a wriggling fish on the front while watching our pitiful team closer balk in the tying run, then give up the game winning home run, again. We sit in our flaming seats of fate watching this eternal game over and over. And as Armando comes in to close yet another game, it occurs to us what banal act of ours has banished us to such a hellish place. We remember Armando as he was back in our home, the undesireable guest who infuriated us so that we cursed him to hell. We awake from this nightmare in a drenching sweat, reciting a mantra that'll stick with us for the rest of our earth walking lives.
"Hell is for people who can't say "I'm Sorry."
Guess I'll be seeing you in Hell someday Armando. May your bones incinerate into ashes before my arrival though you balking bastard.
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