Jose Canseco, you finally quit. The Messiah is finally on his way. Pete Rose has finally confessed that he bet on the Cincinnati Reds losing to the Devil Rays, and the Cubs are pawing their way to a World Series this century.
Congratulations on your career, Jose. The Era of the Mullet is officially over. Even senior Gaucho hurler Jeremy Sugarman will hang up his cleats at the end of the year.
You own two records: 40-40 and 160 in a Ferrari.
Jose Can-You-See that your Hall of Fame aspirations have gone to dust? Baseball is a beautiful game, and you just made fans across the country blow chunks in mass quantities. If there was ever a slower, cruder swinger with no vision, then he only exists in the Twilight Zone and bats ninth for the Washington Senators.
Let’s take a tour down Memory Lane … Do you remember when that baseball careened off your head for a homerun when you were a Ranger? You looked pretty sheepish out there in left field, stumbling back from the warning track like a doped-up Frankenstein.
You became the only two-cent hurler to hurt himself on the mound in a blowout.
Remember when you fell 38 homeruns short of 500? That was yesterday? No way. The Hall of Fame plateau that would redeem your ineptitude is now only a faint glimmer of light in the tunnel exiting Cooperstown. Thirty-eight short. Wow. In the words of an 11-year-old Yankees fan, “You suck.”
Did you really think you could last till 2015 averaging three dingers a year for the next 13 years? Holy cow! You were really onto something there.
Before playing all those years in Oakland, Texas, Boston, Toronto, Tampa Bay, New York and Chicago, you racked up plenty of frequent flyer miles.
Now that you’ve left the game that never wanted you, what’s in store for you? Why don’t you take all those miles and fly to the audition for the part of the stuntman in the 2003 blockbuster The Hulk?
And grow back the mullet, for crying out loud. You’ll have plenty of time fishing for records.