THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, August 13, 1994 TAG: 9408130026
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: Medium: 76 lines
MY FRIEND MOOSE Moon cracked a beer and dropped onto the sofa in my living room, complaining that the baseball strike is only days away.
``And when they do, there goes the summer,'' he griped. ``The Whitewater hearings are over in Congress. . . . The special series on Watergate has ended. O.J.'s trial ain't gonna crank up until September. And now the prima donkeys that play baseball are going out on strike.''
Moose says it is the end of real TV entertainment until the leaves begin to fall.
``I don't watch baseball all the time,'' he said. ``But I like the game because it lets men be men. Guys can chew tobacco and spit. And scratch their crotches. And hurl their batting helmets into the dugout when they get angry.''
Moose is a Phillies fan, mainly because of their first baseman, John Kruk, who looks like an offspring resulting from the marriage of the Incredible Hulk's daughter with Wolfman. Kruk is one of the best crotch scratchers in the major leagues.
I felt sorry for Moose as he sat nursing his beer, wondering what to do if the boys of summer say sayonara to the season.
``Buck up Moose,'' I said. ``There's always Michael Jackson.''
``You mean Michael Jordan,'' he replied. ``Forget it, he's in the minors.''
``No. Michael Jackson.''
``Well, what about him?''
``He's doing concerts in Europe now. Maybe you should fly over?'' Give you something to do during the strike. Keep you in touch with the fundamentals of the game.''
``You're crazy!''
I told Moose I couldn't be more serious. ``Michael Jackson is one of the great public scratchers of all time. And he's had more hits in the past three years than the entire Phillies team. He's a man's man.''
``You're crazy,'' Moose said. ``Jackson wiggles his butt a lot and wears those fem gloves. Besides, wasn't he the one they claim sexually molested a 13-year-old boy?''
I told him John Kruk wiggles his hips when he's at the plate and wears a batter's glove, too. ``And I'm sure those claims about Michael were trumped up,'' I explained.
``You know how it is in L.A. Bet that detective who people say dropped a black glove behind O.J.'s pool house tossed that kid into bed with Michael when he wasn't looking.''
Moose sat listening with his open mouth wider than a dental patient during a root canal. ``The guy is Peter Pan,'' he said. ``The papers say Jackson bought himself out of that rap with $10 million!''
``Well, of course, he did, Moose. Don't you see the suit was a nuisance to him because he wanted to get married to Lisa Marie Presley? Anyone could see he had a scalding case of the hots for her. And when he paid the money to the kid's parents so they'd drop the suit, he didn't whine about spending cash the way ball players do. Nor did he threaten to go on strike. It was the manly way, no doubt about it.''
Moose gave me a funny look. ``I wouldn't be going around town talking like that to people if I were you,'' he said, crushing the empty beer can with his fist.
``Why?''
``Because nobody thinks that they have a real marriage,'' he replied. ``I'll bet on their wedding night they sat in a silk hammock with tassels and combed marmalade out of each other's hair.''
I told Moose he couldn't be more wrong. And I showed him a photograph of Michael wearing what appeared to be a baseball catcher's shin guards. ``Jackson's a jock,'' I told him.
``Yeah, well he's no Kruk,'' Moose said, sounding like one of Nixon's old lawyers. by CNB