Tito's Day

“OK everyone...I know it's been tough but we're having this meeting to cheer everyone up. We have singing, jokes, motivational talks all sponsored by Theo Epstein...but first a joke or two.”

Tito, having broken the silence unraveled a crumbled paper of material. He delivered it with his usual low key manner.

“Ah...why does six hate...ah...seven...that's because seven ate nine. Get it?”

A small cough was heard from David Ortiz and Tim Wakefield nodded.

“Ah...OK...I have a problem with seven times eight. That's because it's 56...get it...5, 6, 7, 8...Ah...get it?”

Tito paused to watch the ripple of sighs run through the room.

“OK...last one...”

That evoked a cheer through the audience.

Tito sighed.

“OK...three Yankee players are in a clubhouse...putting together a puzzle you know a kids puzzle...oh that's the joke...but you don't know that yet because I haven't told you...ah...OK.”

A pause.

A long pause with sighs

“Well...ya...let here's our motivational speaker. The Reverend Hard Thug.”

Tito stepped aside. A man in a tall dark suit with a Bible in his hands and fire in his breath stepped forward starring over the audience.

“I look amongst you and see wickedness and sin. I see you all are going to burn ye all in hell for your sins and you are BURIED IN THEM!”

The man held his fist up in the air.

“David Ortiz...you wicked vial sinner....your failings as a man will send you to hell and I will laugh when you beg for mercy!”

The man opened the Bible.

“Do you read the word of God ye sinners who work on Sunday...you will in hell!”

Tito grabbed the man.

“OK...well...that was uplifting and I fear mass suicide if you uplift us any more.”

“Stand aside you wicked sinners and watch ye burn!”

Tito moved him off the stage.

“OK...this is going so...well but we can't do anything wrong with this man.”

Paul Simon stepped on the stage to a rousing welcome. He strummed his guitar.

“Here is an uplifting song...an old one!”

There were two men down,

And the season lost,

when the pitcher died,

The guitar strut and Paul seemed really into his song.

And they laid his spikes

On the pitcher's mound

And the night turned cold

The Stars were white as bones

The stadium was old

Older than the screams...

Older than the dreams...

“OK, “shouted Tito. “That was just great! Let's hear it for Paul Simon.”

Paul was abruptly pushed off the stage wondering what he did wrong.

“Wow...”
Tito smiled a forced smile.

“OK...well this guy is going to get us going. A psychologist from the Massachusetts Institute of Health.”

The glum figure with sagging shoulders and a large bottle of Vodka in his hand walked on the stage. The beard was crumbled and old as was his coat.

“OK...just hang in their folks.”

The man slugged his Vodka down and smiled.

“I have a drinking problem...I'm an alcoholic and I'm not afraid to admit it. Would you guys like some crack?”

Tito grabbed the man and pulled him off the stage.

“Well...ah...OK...well...guess that's it for our inspirational...talks...OK.”

Tito nodded and left the stage. A team of sagging shoulders followed.