Friday, May 13

In defense of my at-bat music selection

By Brent Lillibridge
Infielder, Chicago White Sox

Three-time American Music Awards Rock/Pop Male Artist of the Year.
Two-time Grammy winner.
Seventy-five million albums sold worldwide.

Dude writes the songs the whole world sings, yet no one wants to hear the legendary Mandy as I'm strutting into the batters box? What is wrong with you people?

I've taken so much shit for this selection, I feel I must take to the media to defend it, despite thinking it exonerates itself on its own musical merits.

Listen to those sweet, sweet words: "You came and you gave, without taking." That means this Mandy chick digs blowjobs, but she doesn't swallow.

Leave it to master of tergiversation Barry Alan Pincus (Manilow to the great unwashed) to imbue a sweet "love song" like Mandy with the clandestine ruminations of oral sex. Personally, I'm not into spitters, but this track is so hype I'll look the other way. Listen, I know what you're thinking: Brent Lillibridge, this thing is no Ice Cream Paint Job or even Rude Boy — It has little groove and I can't dance to it. You're at a baseball game, numbnuts — sit down, enjoy your $7.50 Bud Light and watch in awe as I work a 2-2 count into a foul tip out.  Save the dancing for the ubiquitous playing of Let's Get It Started.

What would you prefer? Some Pussy by Lords of Acid? It sure gets the point across, but certainly without the grace and aplomb that only Manilow can muster.

You say you don't like innuendo? Well, in-your-end-o! For those of us with a more sophisticated appreciation of the arts of beautiful music, I'm sticking with Mandy. I'm not sending her away, and you shouldn't either.