(and sorry for the crap formatting -- it's cnnsi's fault!)

**

"Major league rudeness

Posted: Tuesday April 27, 1999 05:34 PM

Being blown off in a big league clubhouse isn't
altogether different than having to sit through a third
showing of Meet Joe Black. Why? Umm, well, no
particular reason, except I've endured both
experiences within the past 24 hours (for the
record, Mute Joe Blacklist has been the American
Airlines redeye breakfast of champions for the past
month, and is thusly unavoidable), and one sucks
no greater than the other.

As for the blow-off, the latest came at the hands of Donovan Osborne, the
St. Louis
lefthander and a man way too mediocre to dispatch the cold shoulder. No
matter -- he is a
baseball player, and baseball players tend to act as such. I approached
Osborne in Dodger
Stadium last Sunday, gently sliding up next to his locker. In a very
casual, very shy, very
respectful manner, I uttered a soft, "Uh, Donovan?" Donovan, no more than
two feet straight
ahead, barely looked up. He grabbed his mitt, shrugged and walked away.

This column, I have been told, is about baseball, baseball, baseball. No
more Webster
references. Cut the fart jokes. But what's more baseball, more
traditional, more American than
the Boy of Summer staring down a schlub scribe as if he were liquid snot?
Hell, just a day prior
to the Osborne incident, San Francisco's Mark Gardner -- not even on the
active roster -- was
warm enough to order me far, far away. Again, I approached Gardner no less
politely than I
would my own mother: "Hey, Mark, can I talk to you about the Giants?"

"No."

Thanks, bud.

The reporter blow-off is hardly the hot rage. To suggest such would be an
insult to the game's
notorious blow-offers, namely Thurman Munson, Frank Thomas, (pre- Christ) Gary
Gaetti, Bruce Kison, George Foster, Rafael Palmeiro, et al. The most hailed, of
course, is Dave Kingman, the 400-home-run hitter from Planet Ass.
Kingman's legacy isn't
his long blasts, but his short comprehension of humanity. Once, when he
was with the A's,
Kingman sent a female writer a small box, neatly adorned with a pink
ribbon. When she opened
it, the scribe found a rat.

Kingman was once a Giant, which makes sense. Outside of Jeff Kent, Shawn
Estes, Ellis
Burks and a few rookie scrubs and bullpen stragglers, these Jints do Dave
proud. Kirk
Rueter, a man whose ERA reads like a Saks Fifth Avenue pricetag, told me
he's be happy to
chat -- later.

When?

"I need to loosen up first."

OK.

I waited. And waited. And waited. No Kirk.

Of course, there's the incomparable Barry Bonds, a man whose idea of good
media is dead
media. Bonds is the one man reporters dislike more than Albert Belle.
Belle, to his credit, has
made it clear that any encroaching pen handlers will be Louisvilled upside
the cranium. Bonds
offers 8,000 reasons why he's Barry and you're not ... then swings away."

**

Uh, a point or two:

- If I were a reporter, and my opening line were as asinine as "Hey, can I
talk to you about the Giants?", what kind of reaction should I really
expect from a player?

- Mr. Pearlman can't find anything bad to say about the Giants' on-field
performance, and therefore feels compelled to compensate by ripping their
collective attitude towards semi-anonymous beat reporters?

- Oh, c'mon: Dave Kingman barely even qualifies as a "once a Giant."

- That token mention of Donovan Osbourne fools nobody: he explicitly wrote
this column to slam the Giants.

- He must really, *really* be bitter from watching "Meet Joe Black" so
many times. Then again, it's his own fault for renting the airline
headphones and tuning in again, when he could just as easily doze off...
or think of something more worthwhile to write about in his column.

Oh, and: no offense meant, Gregg. I really do believe in my heart of
hearts that you're not related to this doofus.