When Jay met Dan...

You've undoubtedly heard the rumors about Jay Mariotti, late of the Chicago Sun-Times, taking his tough-guy, contrarian, shit-on-your picnic act to Boston. As someone who has rejoiced in seeing the three teams I love win six championships this decade, I can ask with a straight face...haven't we suffered enough? Even uber-douche "Chicken" Hawk Harrelson can't stand Mariotti. Boston's bag-o-douche already overfloweth with the likes of Stearns, Mazz, Halloran, not to mention most of Guest Street, as Buzz bravely documented below. Is there any more shit to stir in this market? What purpose would Mariotti serve that isn't already being filled by someone, at a fraction of the cost? Before I continue, enraptured reader, let me answer the question that is knawing away at you. Yes, there is a name missing from this list. The man who currently occupies the throne that Mariotti would covet if he were to land here. The pink, soft chinned cherry that sits atop the hot-garbage sundae, the CHB himself. There simply isn't enough room in New England (perhaps the eastern time zone) for the amount of smarm and condescension these two Princes of Petulance create. My physics is rusty, but I believe the theory was that if an unstoppable force meets nut-noodling assclown, an angel gets syphillis. And nobody wants that, right?
As you know by her laborious viewing of Sox Appeal, Tiki is a masochist. But 'tis not all bite down hard and go to your happy place with this dame, folks. She can be sadistic, too. She offered me my next assignment- imagine Mariotti and Shank's first meeting upon Jay's arrival as a Boston Mediot (BM, for short). My protestations and whimpers for mercy fell on deaf ears, unfortunately. Alas-

INTERIOR: The Mirage, Las Vegas. December, 2008. Siegfried and Roy prance by, leashed white tiger in tow, and nobody bats an eye. It's Vegas, after all. The clamor of slot machines and chips is upset by a woman screaming and fainting at the sight of a badly sunburned man, clad in only an ill-fitting towel, ambling away from the bar with a pinot grigio in each hand. Before he reaches the elevator, he is stopped by a man sitting mysteriously at a bench...
"Psst...Dan"
"Huh?
"Shaughnessy...over here!"
"No autographs unless you boug-oh...it's you"
"Did you hear? I'm at the Globe now!"
"Cheers..."
"Top of my profession...just like you! That's what you always said, right?"
"Yeah, but here's the thing..."
"My office is next to yours..just imagine, ordering in Chinese, brainstorming midget jokes about Pedroia together..."
"Jay, I work from home most days, and even when I don't.."
"That's OK! They gave me a car, I can shoot over to...where are you again? Watertown?"
"Pfft! Try Newton? And what did you say? They gave you a car?"
"yeah, friggin' Mercedes. Sully said.."
"He's Sully, now?"
"Yeah, sure, lighten up..he said if I can get Fran-coma...get it? Like he's in a coma? Hahahaha..anyway if I can get him to call me a fag, he said the car is paid for 10 times over."
"Hmmph! Francona is not Ozzie Guillen. He's more measured, he really doesn't give us anything..."
"I'll bet I can break him"
"Oh, I doubt that, I've tried..he doesn't even care that Babe Ruth's daughter and Kevin Cash's grandmother were in the same sorority, albeit at different schools. I tried explaining to him that curses work in mysterious ways, and all they need is a spark...but he wanted to talk about how Wakefield has the best ERA-plus he's had since 2002 with Cash catching him? ERA plus what, I wanted to know!"
"Oh...he's one of those" mimics man hammering away at a calculator
"Yeah...look, Jay...I wasn't really consulted on you getting hired...I'm really not sure what kind of articles you are going to write..."
"You know, stir things up...I like to ruffle feathers a little bit. Sometimes, I'll compare a team or a season to pop culture stuff...like in August '05, I said that The White Sox season is going fine so far, but so was The Titanic for a little while, and howdthatworkoutforLeo? Hahahahahaha"
"Wait...you used a movie reference less than ten years old? Are you mad?"
"Well, it's not always that way..after Zambarano punched out Barrett I was all-fat, drunk, and dumb is no way to go through life! Hahahahaha!"
"Stupid!"
"No, it's a good line..."
"It's fat, drunk, and stupid...not dumb!"
"Are you sure?"
"I've seen the movie hundreds of times!"
"Woah, easy! You almost spilled. I concede, I concede...I've only seen Fletch once"
"Fletch!!!! Why, you insouciant...."
"Insouc-a-what? Easy there, princess, I'm from Pittsburgh, not Middle Earth. What's your problem, anyway?"
"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! I handle the pissing in the corn flakes in this town, not Felger, not Borges, and certainly not a carpetbagger like you!"
"I don't know what to tell you, it's done...I'm here, I signed a big contract, and I intend to honor it...look, i've got an idea...ever seen Fight Club?
"When did it come out?"
"Late nineties, I think..."
"Then no."
"Anyway these two characters have been faking it at support groups for drugs, cancer, and such. Eventually they learn they can't be around each other so they split them up. I say we do the same thing. For example, I get Francona, you get Belichick. I get Pierce, you get Varitek. And so on...think about it! Your workload gets cut in half!"
"Well...I have been burning the 4 p.m. oil a lot lately..."
"Right? It'll be awesome..we will have this town quaking in it's boots, at half the effort! Isn't that the dream?"
"It is...say, Jay, whatever happened to those two characters from Fight Club?"
"Well...there's a lot of boring shit in the middle but in the end they are together! Friends?"
"Friends...let's kick some ass"
"Say fellas, anyone see a bowl of dicks? I'm starving!"
together "Fuck off, Plaschke! Hahahahahaha"

FADE OUT