Sip Does Denver and He Gets Angry

(Note: Y2k will be coming to you Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays during the NY baseball off season)

Denver, the sunshine state. Gorgeous.

What a town. Great bar life, restaurants, friendly people. Cool, crisp rocky mountain air flowing through the sky, blonde girls in North Face's walking their black labs down quiet streets and Coors light flowing out of bar taps like George Gervin floating through the lane getting ready to finger role from the free throw line.

And better.

I meet a dashing coed, beautiful, elegant, a true American. She talked to me about former Chiefs great Marc Boerigter, my favorite obscure athlete who she once rooted for as a die-hard Chiefs fan.



I was immediately taken. And then she told me she tivoed 90210 reruns on the Soap Network and I almost got down on one knee.

I try to paint this pretty picture for you guys of Denver cause I like making people happy.

But truth is. Denver was misery.

Yeah, the pneumonia that I certainly got from Sunday night's Game 3 monsoon stunk. The Rockies dismantling my beloved Dbacks was tough to swallow, too. But I understood the baseball aspect of all this. The Rockies are just a special team. This type of team doesn't come around often in baseball let alone professional sports. If not for the 8-day layoff I would say that the Rockies would sweep whoever they saw in the World Series. But enough of that.

My point is that it wasn't the baseball or the weather or the typhoid fever that brought me true misery.

It was a man and the town that seems to him embrace him like he were Johnny Utah himself:

Kaz Matsui.



Kazuo fucking Matsui.

They love Kaz Matsui.

Let me repeat that. Denveronians love Kaz Matsui.

I haven't booed a player in 5 years. That vacation ended this week in Denver, because this man needed to hear it.

This man was supposed to be our sparkplug. Fresh off the Yankees discovery of Hideki Matsui, we had found the faster-leadoff version. A fixture at the top of our order and an all-star.

He went deep on his first at-bat as a Met and we all rejoiced. The best $21 million dollars we had ever spent. And then there was the rest :two years of hell.

This guy was so terrible. He did nothing right. He couldn't hit and he couldn't field. He wasn't charismatic like Tsuyoshii Shinjo, he couldn't mow down lefties like Takashi Kashiwada, he couldn't throw big postseason innings like Masato Yoshii, hell he couldn't even draw a crowd like Hideo Nomo.

This was the worst asian import ever to hit Queens.

He delayed Jose Reye's growth, grounded out when we needed hit, was caught stealing when we needed an extra base and even looked like a little panzi.

And yet here he is now, Denver's hero.

They love this guy and he is playing well. To be in a stadiumm of 50,000 people loving Kaz Matsui may be the hardest feeling I have ever had to endure in sports. It was wrong on so many levels and yet there was no one who could truly understand my pain.

Which is why there is you. My audience, my brothers and my sisters. And of course, the future Mrs. Coop Momo.

I needed to let you guys know my pain. This is my therapy. And for that I am thankful.

Now someone get me about 7 gallons of nyquil to rid myself of this Whooping Cough that my suddenly soft desert body was left with after 3 cold days tapping the Rockies.


Vaya to all, except Kaz.

Sip

(Pics courtest of viewimages.com, pe.com)