Tony Dungy has noted that there is a high number of alleged homosexuals appearing on this site. And he wants it stopped. So in an effort to weed out these sinners, THN has sought out the advice of when of the most swingiest, butches dudes ever, Liberace, to determine who is going to go to hell.
Some might say that the voice of Liberace sounds an awful lot like Ted over at A Price Above Bip Roberts, but that is merely a coincidence. Even though, as a life-long Mets fan, Ted is an Angels fan because of the way they spank the Yankees.
So take it away, Liberace:
"I'm not gay. I'm heterosexual," Mike Piazza said once and for all on Tuesday, May 21, 2002, while still with the Mets. He continued, ever defensive: "I can't control what people think. I date women."
Fine. Be that way.
You know what, Michael? We don't even want you on our team any-damn-way.
See, the issue is moot. Sure, you have a girlfriend, who used to pose nude for heterosexual males to enjoy; sure, you have a child with her. That doesn't matter. Leo dated Gisele, and we all know where he's been. Tom's bagged Katie, and believe me, that might be the first one of those he's seen in a while. What you say and what you do are quite different, Michael, and all the signs are there: the metrosexual attire, the childhood with all brothers, the fact that Lasorda drafted you probably because your dad told him he was "worried" about you, the penchant for performing on stage, the odd poses that seem to always accompany your interviews. You're one of us, Michael. I just wish you were comfortable enough to admit it.
After all, in that same interview, you did say "Baseball is ready for an openly gay player." After that whole controversy in the latter part of the last decade - where someone claimed to be dating an East Coast player who was a perennial All-Star but "not a household name" - people have thought maybe it was you, maybe Scott Rolen (at the time a Phillie), or maybe Brady Anderson (who once stole NFL Adam's girl friend in college). You've been on the run from your true self, Michael, and I just wish you would own up to it.
But, alas, you're not the kind of man who can just do that, and I guess I see where you're coming from. You want to keep up this masquerade of the alpha male lifestyle - signing the big contracts with the various teams to jack home runs all over hell and gone even though your knees are shot farther than hell and gone (and why exactly is that, Michael?). You want all your boys across the MLB - Major Losers Brigade, is what I call it - to think that you embody everything a young man should: being good at sports, making bread, and getting laid by some ridiculously unproportioned female.
But while you're doing this, Michael, while you're living this lie - do you have to hurt me in so many other ways? I mean, sure, I was born in Wisconsin, but I try to forget that period of my life. I lived my best days in California, and even in death, I consider myself a full-on member of the Halo Brigade. I cheered from heaven right alongside the Cowboy in '02 - him with a cigar, I with my chocolate martini - as Garrett and John and company brought one home to all of us north of the clouds. I actually adopted the first Rally Monkey up here when he passed; that's what the Angels mean to me. Heck, all of heaven has to root for them, just because of the moniker, but I'm a true fan.
And of course, after years of denying your love for our clubhouse, you go and club a home run last night to beat my team. You start the season 1 for 12 - everyone in the Bay Area, and believe me, I know a lot of people in the Bay Area, is calling for your head and Frank Thomas to return - and then you decide it'll be a good idea to go yard off K-Rod (that little darling!) in the 9th last night to start a big weekend series? You deny us for so many years, then you beat us with one crack of your bat?
Shame on you, Michael. Shame on you. Someday, when your double life is exposed for the fraud that it is, vengenance shall be mine. And when you get up here, and you look for the comfort of your parents, or Tommy, or even Brady Anderson (yep, he was the one!), you'll just find me, smiling that eerie smile, wanting nothing more than a hug. And Michael, this is when you'll have to make decisions: are you the Michael Piazza you want society to believe you are, or the Michael Piazza you know in your heart you always have been?
In the meantime, though: stay away from the walk offs against my boys. What happens to you up here will just be a wee bit worse if you persist with that.