Randy Rage is a long-time local columnist and radio personality. We will reveal his real identity…once we can get him to calm the hell down.
SATIRE
I guess it had to happen, but it still makes me sick: baseball has gone PC. Those hilarious hazing rituals — the ones where the rooks dress up like gals — have gone the way of the high hard one. Hell, you probably can’t light your farts in the clubhouse or sit naked on your teammates’ birthday cakes any more. Ty Cobb must be spinning in his grave.
Do these buzz-killers realize that some of our greatest American men — and I’m talking real men — have been known to don the apparel of the fairer sex? I don’t recall anyone complaining about America’s Mayor, Rudy Giuliani, showing up at formal dinners wearing a slinky-but-tasteful taffeta cocktail dress. Not only did Rudy show that he could laugh at himself (a rare quality for the current breed of the boys of summer), but even a guy’s guy like myself has to admit that those shoulders of his looked mighty fine supporting some breathtaking spaghetti straps. And what about the greatest G-man in American history? — that’s right, J. Edgar Hoover. Of course, he favored a more conservative style, maybe a floor-level evening gown consistent with his rigid morality. Which is too bad, because I have friends in the law enforcement community who swear that he had the ankles of a cow-eyed, pony-riding Texas debutante.
What we need in this country is Political Erectness, not Political Correctness. What’s next? Participation ribbons for the losers — yes, I said losers — who don’t make it to the World Series? And, for the love of Ditka, even football has gone soft. I always get a chill up my spine when my favorite color guy, Matt Millen, complains about the nauseating coddling of today’s QBs. Like Matt says, why don’t they just put tutus on the quarterback?
Now, some people might say that this is a rhetorical question. To which I say: rhetorical my hairy ass! Millen is just expressing a desire that’s as old as liberty itself. In fact, if our history books weren’t censored by the libtards who control our public schools these days, fifth graders would know that when Paul Revere saddled up for that midnight ride, he was wearing exquisite sequined jockey silks over a lacey push-up bra and whimsical pantyhose that accentuated his legendary come-hither calves. (If you don’t believe me, you can read all about it on inforwars.com.) And — footnote alert! — as it turns out, Baltimore Orioles he-Manny Machado did wear a fetching white tutu a few years ago as part of a team-building ritual…and he looked smashing, although one might quibble that he would have looked even better had he groomed a little closer to his unmentionables. (I would recommend the Gillette Venus bikini trimmer — it’s like a Brazilian in a box!)
I guess what really ruffles my truffles is that the PC Police have decreed that hundreds of rookies who were just going along with the joke were somehow demeaning women. You know, like in that famous photo of the 2008 San Diego Padres rookies dressed up as Hooters waitresses. (Or, as our local Star-Pravda called them, “waitpeople.” OMFG!) Look, no one is forcing the Hooters babes to wear short-shorts and skimpy t-shirts. The tips are good, the leftover wings are tasty (but watch your weight, girls!) and gee, I’m sorry, but not every woman can qualify for a more “dignified” ladylike job, like schoolmarm, or stewardess or wet nurse. And, like it or not, PC killjoys, a lot of those Hooters girls have met their future husbands while serving up cocktails and chicken parts. I suppose there’s something wrong with that!
If you don’t believe me, listen to superstar Kevin Youkilis, who tweeted: “Seriously?! Had to wear a Hooters outfit going through customs in Toronto and wore it proudly (because) I was in the Show.” And he added: “Way more important topics and problems in the world that need attention.”
Exactly. Like the sex crimes committed at that pizza joint in D.C. or the crafty Orientals ginning up lies about global warming in order to add another notch to their abacus.
I’ll tell you how bad things are these days: a couple of years ago, when I was coaching my son’s Little League team, some of the parents had nothing better to do than bitch about our innocent little welcome-to-the-big-league moment. You can’t win with these PCers. First they’ll tell you that there’s nothing wrong with boys playing with dolls; but dress ’em up like Barbie and all of a sudden it’s a federal case!
Well, I guess the sissification of sports is almost complete. You can’t dress up in baseball. You get your bell rung in football and you have to spend the next two weeks sitting on the sideline reading Mademoiselle. You use your hockey stick to break an opponents’ skull and you’re suspended for a week. Hell, you can’t even kick a guy’s balls on the basketball court without being fined.
Now that they have women driving race cars, there’s only one manly sport left, and I have a feeling that it won’t be long before the cowboys who ride the broncs will have their own safe word. Hell, it might even be “tutu.”
