Tribute to No. 3
I have an Edgar Renteria jersey. It's red, and has "Renteria" on the back. For the next four seasons (barring injury or trade), Edgar will still be wearing a red uniform with that name printed on the back. The problem is that he's playing for the Boston Red Sox. The Boston Red Sox swept the Cardinals in the 2004 World Series in what was probably the stupidest World Series ever. Fittingly enough, it was Edgar who grounded out to end it. At least he went out on top. Oh, wait.
As the Cardinals jersey I have with Renteria's alphabetical likeness on the back proves, I was once an Edgar Renteria fan. Even when he committed nearly three dozen errors in each of his first two seasons with St. Louis, an even two dozen in his third (for a grand total of 77 in a three year span from 1999-2001), and managed a Mike Matheny-like .260 batting average in 2001, I always enjoyed watching him play. This is no longer true. What would be an accurate name for someone who makes the last out in the low point of an otherwise perfect Cardinals season and then promptly signs with that team for a few extra cents per season? Sometimes visual aids help.
Okay, so maybe this comparison isn't fair. Benedict Arnold wasn't quite in the same league as Edgar Renteria as far as shortstops are concerned. But they have certain similarities. Edgar betrayed America's pastime. Benedict betrayed America as a whole. Which is worse? I don't think it matters. The fact is, I suddenly became a Nomar Garciaparra advocate, even if he is a Cub. The fact is, I'm getting my case ready right now for immediately putting Orlando Cabrera in the Hall of Fame. I'm going to do whatever I can to make the transition from an Edgar Renteria supporter to his leading heckler. I'm sure you needed that extra two million a season, Edgar, you treacherous ex-Gold Glover (all hail Cesar Izturis). I would exert all my mental energy willing you to "mash" your way to a .230 batting average, but I've got something much worse in mind for you: David Ortiz playing first base. I think eighty-six errors is a fair estimate. One for each blessed year of the Curse of the Bambino, who hit 714 career home runs and was most certainly not on steroids.
