First of all, this is an EXCLUSIVE. This blog was able to get it's hands on a copy of Reds OF Josh Hamilton's autobiography entitled Quit Calling Me Steve Howe. It is quite graphic. Hamilton describes his life as a baseball player/junkie as well as anyone I have ever read. Here are some of my favorite excerpts/stories from the book.
Chapter 1: Why Me?
"It's July 10th, 2002, and it's official. I'm going to need some major surgery on my shoulder and elbow. I just can't deal with the pain anymore. I can't throw at all, it hurts to move it. I can't believe this is happening to me. Out of all the men who have played this great game, not one of them have been hurt as bad as me. Doctors say that I should be fine with some rehab, but why bother. No one knows what I'm going through right now. No one has been injured playing baseball before so they don't know what it's like."
Chapter 4: Killing Time
"Rehabbing sucked. Nothing can compare to the pain I was feeling. Vicodin wasn't working anymore. I started snorting Percoset's...that didn't work either. So I began to drink. The alcohol and pain pills meshed perfectly in my blood stream and left me in a constant euphoric state. After awhile, I started moving around more. It was hard being so doped up, but I did it. There was one day in particular that I will never forget...and neither will Girl Scout Troop 325. In my foggy haze, I drove right through the building in which they were convening, got out of my car, and screamed at a little girl, 'Give me some fucking Thin Mints, you dumb bitch.' The girls were in too much of a shock to react, so I whipped out my dinger and started urinating all over the troop leader and making siren noises."
Chapter 7: Down To One Nostril
"I've pretty much given up on the baseball career. I'm just too depressed to recover from that injury that many people have recovered from in the past. The doctor can tell that I'm totally abusing the painkillers, the court order from the Girl Scouts incident didn't help, so he won't write me anymore prescriptions. I am a desperate man though so I'm willing to go to the streets to get my fix. Through the grapevine I hear of a druglord named Diablo who is Tampa's big cocaine dealer. Diablo hooked it up for me and in no time, I'm snorting my weight in cocaine. All day long I'm sitting around the apartment watching Police Academy movies in sweatpants eating a strange combination of pickled figs and ramen noodles. I can't get off the couch. Ny skin hurts. I'm trying not to blink more than twice a minute because the government is trying to harvest my sperm. I spent weeks in my living room sitting in my own fecal matter. The one time I did leave the house, I bought an ostrich that currently is sleeping my bedroom because I'm too out of it to move. And I'll bet my life on it that while I was laughing at a hilarious Steve Gutenberg punchline, that damn ostrich, which I had named Penisface McGee, came over and snorted a line."
Chapter 11: Dumpsters, Alleys, and Gutters
"Almost all of my money is gone. I've lost my home. I haven't been able to afford cocaine in a while so I've moved on to crack. I need to find some rock. I was stumbling barefoot down the alleys of Tampa, dying for another fix. Earlier that day I used my shoes as firewood in one of those big barrels underneath a bridge. I was approached by a known pimp and dealer in the area, Big Tyrone. I begged and pleaded with him to give me one rock for free. He declined saying that 'bitches gotta earn their rocks!' I knew what I had to do and he knew what I was willing to do. I was desperate. While Big Tyrone was unzipping his parachute pants and uncoiling himself, I had a vision. Out of nowhere, a memory that had escaped me for the longest time had crept back into my consciousness. The thought of playing in a World Series one day had seeped into my mind for a split second but was soon pushed way back into the depths of my mind when Big Tyrone's 14 inch cock slammed into my tonsils. Would I grow to regret this? Maybe. But I knew what I had to do to survive."
Let me just tell you all that this is a riveting book. A How-To for anyone who wants to not piss away their life.
And as far as my attitude toward Josh Hamilton, I am happy that he has turned his life around, but I will not celebrate his achievements. He did that to himself.
***For the totally naive, this is complete satire. And don't forget to vote in the tournament, Frank Thomas is holding court but a HUUUUUGE upset is brewing with Da Meat Hook up big on one seed, Carlos Delgado.