Two Peas in a Pod, BFFs!
Ned Colletti was not happy. The Dodgers were in the middle of a terrible swoon, his prized possession (and the man who had completely and totally saved his job by being run out of Boston) was on the DL and he had a terrible case of moustache gout flaring up. There was only one thing to do when he was not happy and that thing involved rollerblading. A lot. Ned turned the volume up on his stereo so he could still hear the faint strains of the new Black Eyed Peas track as he walked to the garage to retrieve his gear. He hummed along with “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Good Night” while he located his athletic bag, heavy with his equipment. “This song should really win the Pulitzer for best song, the people that vote on these things are idiots if it doesn’t win,” he thought to himself.
Ned kept his rollerblades in top condition because they were his most prized possession. He had bought them from a shop named Radd Skatez when he lived in San Francisco but it hadn’t been until he moved to LA that he really tricked them out with high performance bearings and totally bitchin’ stickers. He’d felt he had earned the right to spoil himself after hunting down and signing some of the top talent in the league: Jason Schmidt, Andrew Jones, JD Drew…the list was impressive and Ned let out a chortled grunt of satisfaction at the amazing crop of free agents that he’d brought into the fold. His skates were fire engine red and he oiled them down with tri-flo lubricant after each usage so he could achieve top speed as he rocketed along the Santa Monica boardwalk, weaving in and out between the awe-struck passersby.
After lacing up his blades and strapping on his elbow pads, knee pads, wrist guards, cut off gloves and locking his chin strap he gingerly walked through the living room towards the front door, trying his hardest not to scuff the hardwood floor in the landing. He was tired of his wife yelling at him every time he left rubber marks on the new flooring they had gotten from Home Depot six months prior (in celebration of the Vicente Padilla contract extension). The front steps posed no problem as he clutched deftly to the banister on the way down, taking the stairs one at a time on his way to the street below. Out of his fannypack (which he wore on the side) he whipped his polarized Oakley Blades and placed them firmly over the bridge of his nose. He cursed as he noticed his iPod Nano hadn’t been charged after its last use; if the batteries died during the Ke$ha record he was going to be pissed.
Fifteen minutes later Ned found himself screaming along the boardwalk, whizzing with incredible speed past street vendors, overweight tourists, and homeless bums. Even though he was going too fast to get a good look at their faces he imagined they stared at him with reverence as his blurred form whistled past them. His mustache curled into a grin as he lowered his head and pumped furiously along the smooth surface. It was with great displeasure that he heard his Motorola Razr ring in his fannypack. Slowing just a hair he expertly unzipped his pouch and turned a small pirouette as he jabbed the phone to his year and snarled, “Hello?”
“Hi Ned,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “This is Richard Azwater of KKPX Radio, are you ready for your phone interview with Sportz Nation?”
Now Ned was really upset. He’d totally forgotten about his radio spot! He made a mental note to fire his personal assistant but then remembered Frank McCourt had laid off his PA last year. How was a man of his stature supposed to operate under these conditions?
Barely breaking stride amongst the throng of humanity Ned intoned back into the receiver in what he thought was a calm and cool voice, “Yes, of course I’m ready. Let’s talk about Dodger baseball, now is a great time for me to be talking about the team, I’m just out getting a bit of exercise but I’m Ned Colletti I’m very capable of multitasking and doing many things at once.”
“Hey, that’s just great Ned…you’re live in 5-4-3-2-and 1. Ned you’re on the line with Xavier Stone.” Ned slowed another tick, still going faster than any mortal had the right to travel but at least this way he could put more effort into giving a great radio interview, something he was completely famous for. “Hi Xavier, this is Ned Colletti of the Dodgers. I’m the General Manager of the team and I sign all of the players to their deals. I’m very capable of answering all of the questions that you are going to ask me, let’s begin the interview.” Unfortunately the howling wind created by the skate’s incredible velocity made it impossible for Ned to hear any of the questions asked; rather than slow to a stop and ask for clarification he instead decided to just anticipate what question was asked and respond with what was on his mind and what was on his mind right now was that the Dodgers were not good and it was probably Matt Kemp’s fault. It was Matt Kemp’s fault that all the rocket line drives served up by the crappy pitching staff and worked-to-the-bone relief corps weren’t getting caught. Kemp was the center fielder after all, he had priority over the entire field! If batted balls weren’t being converted into outs, it was probably (definitely) Kemp’s fault. “Willie Mays would have caught most of those balls,” Ned found himself saying time and again as Kemp went crashing into the wall at full tilt only to see the ball nick off the tip of his glove. “I’m positive Ken Griffey Junior circa 1995 would have gone clavicle first into the fence to make that play,” he lamented after Kemp couldn’t come up with a rocket off the bat of Ike Davis yesterday.
Ned hadn’t meant to get worked up but once he got started he found he couldn’t stop. He ranted into the phone for thirty minutes before finally hanging up. He never actually heard any of Xavier Stone’s questions but he figured it really didn’t matter anyway. It was probable that Kemp was their best player and sometimes you had to light a fire under your best players by telling random radio programs that they basically sucked. Ned flipped the Razr shut and jammed it back into his fanny pack, picking up speed as he approached the end of the boardwalk. He thought about grabbing a corndog for the push back home but decided against it at the last minute. Ned’s Nano was on shuffle and he grinned a grin of triumph as the opening strains of “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Good Night” bleeped awesomely into his ear buds. “My lucky day,” he said aloud to nobody in particular, ducking his head and increasing his pace.
