Sal Is Prepared To Share An Intimate Story

Hey, folks. It's me, Sal.

You know, we have a lotta fun here at the ol' blog. We have laughs and cries, and sometimes Sal is happy, and sometimes he's sad, but whatever Sal is feelin' there's always somethin' you can count on: Sal's got somethin' to say. Today is no different, except Sal's gotta bring the room down a little bit and talk about somethin' pretty serious.

In the brotherhood of sports, there's one thing every guy wants for every other guy, and that's for that guy to stay alive. So, when Sal heard about this football player-guy tryin' to kill himself, it hurt Sal. It hurt him to the core, because Sal doesn't want anybody not to be alive. But what hurt Sal, too, is the fact that hearin' about this near-suicide thing brought Sal back to a dark place. It's a dark place that Sal doesn't like talkin' about much, but because he's comfortable talkin' to all of you, he's gonna share it. Here goes:




Sal's shiverin' just lookin' at that again. That's his dark place, folks. Sal has shared it with you, as promised.

Here's the straight talk comin': A lot of people don't know this, but this event sent Sal spiralin' into a depression that resulted in Sal tryin' to take his own life. See, Sal's a catcher, but that title is a little deceivin', because Sal's gotta do a lot more than just catch the ball. He's got to throw it too. And when a catcher doesn't throw the ball good, it can be demoralizin'. Real demoralizin'.

Sal went back to his hotel room that night and laid awake, wonderin' how he could have thrown that ball directly into the ground. Sal thought of fibs that he could tell the guys to get some of the heat off him like, "That's one of them new double gravity balls they're tryin' out. The double gravity makes the ball go directly into the ground when you throw it." Sal also thought about tellin' the guys that as he was about to throw, he saw a poisonous snake on the ground and he wanted to save everybody in the stadium so he decided to kill it with a baseball.

In the end, Sal knew he couldn't say these things without makin' things worse. So, he decided that maybe the best thing to do was just end his playin' days...if you know what Sal means.

Sal went into the bathroom and looked for some pills. He found the NyQuil that he always had with him just in case he has trouble sleepin' and took like 10 times the recommended dose. Then, he laid back down for his eternal sleep...if you know what Sal means.

Before he knew it though, Sal was up and pacin' around his room. Instead of passing into the next world -- if you know what Sal means -- he was shakin' and throwin' himself up against walls and whatnot. Seems Sal had taken a shitload of DayQuil; not the NyQuil he thought would allow him to "reunite" with Grandpa Salvatore, if you know what Sal means.

Instead of dyin', Sal was runnin'. And runnin'. Runnin' all the way back to Philadelphia from Miami in his underwear. 1207 miles in 16 1/2 hours. That's an amazin' time, in case you didn't know.

By the time the guys had gotten off the plane and back to the stadium, Sal had cleaned the clubhouse, mowed the outfield, repaired the scoreboard and prepared a really delicious 5 course meal for everybody.

It was a very refreshin' run.

But the moral of the story is, that day Sal decided that killin' yourself because of sports is a really bad idea. Not only is killin' yourself a bad idea, but if you don't do it right you could find yourself runnin' up the East Coast in your undies, singin' "Freebird" while people just stare at you. And that's not a whole heck of a lotta fun, no matter how refreshin' that run might be.

Don't kill yourself. Just don't.

Tomorrow's another day. And another throw.

Sal <3s Emoticons

Hi kids, it's Sal.

Until Sal started writin' this blog, he didn't have much experience with the computers and laptops and whatnot. This thing is a whole new world for ol' Sal. Today, one of Sal's teammates blew the doors off the whole thing.

This guy (we'll call him Moose McKnucklecurve) is crazy smart. He's always doin' crosswords and talkin' books and he even does some of "Honda Japanese's" Sudoku puzzles. He's probably the smartest guy Sal ever met.

Anyway, Moose McKucklecurve has been readin' big Sallie's blog and he told Sal that he should start usin' these things called emoticons. This is when you use some of the puncuation-type things to make a funny face. And Sal means a REALLY funny face. Look at some of these ones Moose taught Sal:

:-) is for happy. It's a happy face.

:-( is for sad. Like when Sal shaved the Fu Manchu.

:-p is for stickin' out the tongue. Like that kid in Little League did right before Sal broke his jaw.

See? This is crazy funny stuff. But this wasn' t the topper.

The next thing Moose did blew Sal's mind.

Moose typed out this thing here:

:^{

Look at that friggin' thing!

It looks exactly like Sal WITH HIS FU MANCHU!

Here's the straight talk comin': this here thing has Sal tickled pink. Sal laughs every time he thinks about it. And you know what else: Sal will never again type an email or a comment without includin' this here thing.

Sal hasn't loved anythin' this much since he bought those Sea Monkeys last year.

So Sal is happy. Only one problem. Sal can't come up with a name. EmotiSal? No. Fasanicon. Nah. Crazy-funny-typed-face? Too long. So Sal would be willin' to take suggestions if you got any. Let Sal know.

:^{

Crazy funny.

Sal Asks That You Refrain From The Mustache Discussion

Hey, folks. It's me, Sal.

Sal's team's winnin' tonight, and it's winnin' so good that he might actually get in this thing. So, I better be quick, but what Sal's got to say needs sayin'.

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal would really appreciatate it if people stopped talkin' about how his mustache looks like it's growin' longer. Sal was hopin' that nobody would notice that the corners of his 'stache are startin' to work down his chin. But people are startin' to chatter and Sal's gettin' nervous that somebody is gonna get wise to Sal's growth.

See, Sal fancies himself to be like Andy Dufresne, who's a character in one of Sal's favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption (Sal likes that Morgan Freeman). Anyways, Andy Dufresne digs his way out of prison by scrapin' a handful of dirt off the wall each night, little by little. So, it takes the guy like 25 years to dig out, but he does it without anybody knowin', 'cause nobody notices a handful of dirt disappearin' day by day.

Sal figures that if he grows his 'stache slowly enough, nobody'll notice and before ya' know it the fu will be back. Andy Dufresne-like.

Sal probably shouldn't even by typin' this, but he just needed to be clear. Stop talkin' about the 'stache or you might blow Sal's cover.

You don't want that to happen, do you, folks?

Shhhhhh....

Sal Would Like to Quickly Follow Up on Yesterday's Post

Hey, kids. Sorry to have worried you. Turns out Big Sallie didn't have SARS. He has made a complete recovery and is ready to get back to playin' some ball.

The trainer said Sal just had to do somethin' called "re-hydratin'." It's a fancy word for drinkin' an assload of water.

Sal was diagnosed with a disease the trainer called "veisalgia" (he wrote it down for Sal) which he tried to look up on Wikipedia, but it kept redirecting him here, so no luck figuring out how Sal caught it. Friggin' Wikipedia never has the info you want.

So, sorry if you worried about Sal. All's OK now.

Sal May Have a Medical Emergency

Hey, folks. It's Sal here. Gotta level with you. Sal's a bit worried that this might be the last time you hear from him.

You see, Sal is a bit under the weather. And it's scarin' the piss outta him.

Yesterday Sal felt fine. His team (can't mention which one) clinched it's division. Sal was happy, Sal's teammates were happy, life was good. Sal celebrated with some bubbly provided by the owner. And some brewsky, too.

The good times end there.

Sal woke up this mornin' and his head feels like "Johnny D's" did when he smacked into Damian Jackson. That looked like it hurt...but damn it's funny.

Anyways, Sal was confused as to how he could feel so friggin' good last night, only to wake up feelin' like day-old bear crap today. So Sal did a little research and came up with the answer.

Sal has SARS.

Here's the straight talk comin': It seems these hockey-lovin', maple-syrup-eatin', mountie-humpin' people in this here city were lousy with SARS a couple of years ago. And now they've given it to Sal.

Sal passed his concerns onto his trainer today. I don't think the poor guy knew what to do with himself. He only managed a little nervous laughter, and then recommended that Sal drink some Gatorade and "sleep it off." I think this was the only way the guy could tell Sal that there is no known cure or treatment, so Sal should just make himself comfortable.

Sal is off to Tampa now and he hopes he can last the plane ride. Dyin' right before the playoffs is bad, but dyin' right before the playoffs in a foreign country would be worse.

Sal Would Like To Make Something Very Clear

Hey, folks. It's me, Sal.

So, Sal's up here in this place where they get a kick out of hockey and maple syrup, which is pretty weird as it is, but all anybody can talk about is this freakin' article-thing that some guy at some sports magazine-thing has written about one of my guys.

And since everybody's talkin' about this thing, Sal thought he should talk about it too. As has been established in an earlier postin', we'll call this guy who this guy talks about in this article-thing, "B-Rod."

Now, there's no hidin' that Sal has made it obvious how he feels about "B-Rod," especially when it comes to makin' up hijink-ified photos. But, see, Sal doesn't want to be misunderstood, and he knows all of you on the internets is wonderin' what the heck this is all about. So...

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal is not the mystery guy in this article that had all sortsa bad things to say about "B-Rod."

Sal is not the guy who said that he honestly thinks B-Rod, "might be afraid of the ball."

And Sal ain't the guy who said, "Too much of what he does on the field looks...scripted."

Sal would also like to point out that he did not call B-Rod, "bush league" (that was Curt Schilling); a "hypocrite" (that was Ozzie Guillen); and Sal did not say that B-Rod "can't stand up" to other guys on the team (that was Trot Nixon).

Once, Sal said that B-Rod's "intense face" really made it look like a giant pair of elephant balls were wrapped around his head and chokin' him, but Sal only said that once. And that didn't even make it into this article-thing.

So really, folks, stop pointin' fingers at ol' Sal. He did not say all those hurtful-yet-ridiculously-observant things about "The B" that showed up in this magazine-thing. Absolutely not.

Also, some of you folks have been thinkin' and askin' if Sal is the guy who came up with that really freakin' weird idea to divide up all those folks on that "Survivor" show by their color.

Sal has no comment on that.

Sal Presents "T'ree Up, T'ree Down wit' Sal." Today's Guest: 'Milk & Cookies'

Hey, folks. Sal again. Today Sal would like to introduce "T'ree Up, T'ree Down wit' Sal." This is when Sal asks other baseball guys t'ree questions. Today's guest is Melky Cabrera.








Since Melky plays for the same team as Sal, we have to protect his identity, so we'll call him 'Milk and Cookies.'

Sal: Milk and Cookies, thanks for comin' on "T'ree Up, T'ree Down wit' Sal."

M&C: Thank you for the talking with asking.

Sal: You talk funny. Sal likes it. Here's question one comin': Milk and Cookies, how do you feel about the return of the other left fielder on our team? Let's call him 'Honda Japanese.'

M&C: Milk and Cookies is very happy to be play the ball even if the ball is not much time for Milk and Cookies.

Sal: Sal still loves your crazy funny talk. Here's question two comin': Milk and Cookies, one of our pitchers - we'll call him Carl Pansyano - ain't pitched hardly at all this year. The first reason was that there was junk in his elbow - this kept him out for months. Then he fell on his can - again months. Then he crashed his car and broke his friggin' ribs. My question is: how long before we can shoot him?

M&C: Milk and Cookies no think dead Carl is good but Milk and Cookies like to meet hi and talk what's up to Carl's girlfriend.

Sal: Seriously, Sal just wet himself. Never learn how to talk English right - you're crazy funny. Here's the last question comin': let's say a certain teammate set up a petition in the clubhouse to get Fu Manchus off the list of banned facial hair. And said petition needed the signature of all 40 guys on the active roster before it could be sent up to the owner. And let's further say that the petition got 39 signatures right now. My question for you, Milk and Cookies, is how long would it take you to get your ass in gear and sign the petition if - hypotheorettically - you were the only guy who didn't sign it?

M&C: Que?

Sal: That's all the time we got for "T'ree Up, T'ree Down Wit' Sal." Thanks for your time, Milk and Cookies.

Sal Is Concerned For His Friend

Hey, folks.

Sal's a little down in the dumps right now, seein' as his team just dropped a game. But what Sal's really worried abouts'got nothin' to do with him. He's thinkin' about somebody else today; somebody that's in a lot more trouble than him...

Popeye the Sailor Man.

Okay, okay, don't laugh at Sal, folks. I know it seems kinda crazy to worry about some old cartoon character when you're tryin' to make a run at the pennant, but Sal can't help it.

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal grew up lovin' Popeye. He used to get a big kick out of all the Sailor Man's crazy fightin' and singin' and talkin' funny. Sal loved the show so much that one year, for Halloween, he dressed up like J. Willington Wimpy and went around town askin' for hamburgers instead of candy.

It was funny.

But the thing that Sal always knew about Popeye was that if he didn't eat his spinach, he couldn't do his fightin' and he couldn't do his singin'. All he could do was his funny talkin' and, after a while, funny talkin's just not that funny, know what I mean?

So, when Sal heard about this spinach recall thing happenin', he got nervous for Popeye. Is Popeye gonna get Ear-cola virus, or whatever it is? Is he sick right now? And, even if he isn't sick, what's Popeye gonna do if he can't eat his spinach? Bluto's gonna own that town if Popeye's not able to punch his lights out usin' those overgrown spinach-filled forearms of his!

If anybody needs his spinach, it's Popeye. And we all suffer if he doesn't have it. Sure, Poopdeck Pappy's there but, seriously...do you guys think Poopdeck Pappy can do the job that Popeye does?

Nope...exactly.

Anyways, Sal's gotta get to eatin' somethin' (don't worry, it won't be spinach, that would be crazy!) and then get ready for another game. But, Sal just wanted to say that he's thinkin' of Popeye today and hopin' that whatever this spinach-mess is all about we fix it soon.

Sal Does Not Appreciate Hijinks

Sal's pissed.

The shittin' on continues.

Sal was checkin' his email before goin' to bed (Sal's gotta rest up - four games this weekend) and one of his teammates sent Sal this picture.













Now, Sal can take a joke as good as the next guy but this has gone too far. Especially since the guy who sent this to Sal - we'll call him "B-Rod" - is a fuckin' numb nuts.

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal had plenty of things he could have made fun of "B-Rod" about but Sal said nothin'. Sal didn't make fun of "B-Rod" when he talked about goin' to one of them shrinks or when he cried in the shower after he got booed.

Sal didn't even make fun of "B-Rod's" purple lips.

Fuck that.

This is all Sal has to say:

Sal Does Not Believe Professional Wrestling Is Real

Hey, folks. Sal again.

I've got somethin' gettin' my craw. How come a guy can't express himself without gettin' shit on?

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal likes to feel comfortable in his uniform. Always has. So, what's the big deal if he's a little choosey about his undershirts? Since when can't a guy wear a "Hulkamania Rules" t-shirt and walk around the clubhouse?

See, it's rainin' tonight and my teammates (and, no, Sal can't say what team) are all loosey-goosey, figurin' we ain't gonna play. Everybody's layin' out, playin' cards, listenin' to their iPods, doin' whatever they like doin'. You know, bein' comfy.

So, anyways, Sal wants to be comfy too, so he takes off his uni, and his jock, and he's psyched to go check out the "Rock Star: Supernova" finale on TiVo (can you believe Lukas won?).

Well, shit, before you know it all the guys are comin' up to Sal and goin', like, "Whatcha gonna do, brother, when Hulkamania runs wild on you?" and then they're flexin' their muscles all different kinda weird ways. And Sal's kina confused until one of my guys (let's call him "Gary The Shef") points at Sal's shirt and says, "White boy's crazy."

Now, Sal is a good teammate, all about the chemistry. But he's a little upset that he's gettin' picked on for wearin' a Hulk Hogan shirt. This shirt preaches what Sal believes, cuz Sal says his prayers and eats his vitamins too.

And Sal likes yellow and red color combinations.

So, I'm kinda mad. Sal hopes he's not gettin' picked on cuz he's the new guy. Sal hopes he's gettin' picked on cuz it's easier to make fun of a t-shirt during a rain delay than the size of some of these guys' schlongs.

Sal Feels He Was Misrepresented

Hey, folks. Sal is a little angry. Some fruitcake posted this thing about Sal on Wikipedia that says some stuff about Sal that is just not true.

This thing here says that Sal's favorite love song is "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," by Poison. This is what we in baseball call "bullshit."

The truth is that "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison is Sal's favorite song. NOT Sal's favorite love song.

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal knows what is necessary when tryin' to woo a lady or woman. When you woo, a lady or woman enjoys bein' told what's good about her. She does NOT enjoy bein' told she's great...BUT here's what's wrong with her.

Recently wooed ladies or women like feelin' like a rose. NOT a rose with a thorn. For example, if you were a lady or a woman would you try to woo Sal by sayin', "Hey Sal. You're a great catcher, and you can hit sometimes, too," or, "Sal, you had a great fu manchu. It looked good on your face. But you know what, Sal? There's all this good stuff about you, but you have a big fat can, Sal. It is fat"?

This is not a good way to woo. So Sal does not think "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison is a love song.

So, please, when wooin' or lookin' for a love song, choose one of Sal's real favorites like, "Love is a Many Splendored Thing" by the Four Aces, or, "I Will Always Love You" by Dolly Parton, or, "Freak'n You" by Jodeci.

One good thing Sal can say about Wikipedia is that somebody took the time to figure out what Sal would look like if his new team (can't mention which one) let him keep his fu manchu. It looks like this:

Sal's Not Whole

Alright. Sal thought of somethin' that needed sayin'.

Sal misses his fu manchu moustache.

Don't get Sal wrong, he loves playin' with the team he's with now (can't mention the name - they might find out it's me writin' this stuff) but the owner told Sal that there was no dice on his fu manchu.

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal's fu manchu was his signature. This is how folks knew Sal. Look at it up there on the top of the page. That is a real man's piece of facial hair. Now I got this thing like Magnum PI which is OK, 'cause sometimes Sal's buddy, "Johnny D," comes over and pretends to be Higgins. And "Johnny D" is all like, "I got somethin' for you Magnum," and Sal usually plays along.

That's OK, but Sal needs the fu manchu back. Sal feels like somethin' is missin'. And you know what's missin'?

Half of Sal's fuckin' moustache.

Sal's Got Stuff To Say

Hey, kids. Welcome to big Sal's blog.

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal's got some stuff to say. When you sit on the bench as much as I do you get to thinkin'. So Sal needs an outlet; a place to vent and to think out loud in print. So this is it.

Check back when I got somethin' to say.

Right now, I got nothin'.

I'm feelin OK.

Knees hurt.