(Ed. Note: This post was all set to go up on Wednesday. And then Milton, in one of the most appropriately-timed tantrums of all time, decided to throw the good people of Chicago under the bus AGAIN. Thanks, Milton, for being the rule that proves that there is absolutely nothing exceptional about you.)

The three-year anniversary of HJE on Tuesday got me to reminiscing about the reason that I went from a WordPress blog to an actual, by-God, blog with my own address. That reason was the B126. It’s been a while since I wrapped up the B126 with the introduction of Todd Hundley as the Bottom Cub of My Time. I never thought another Cub could possibly come close to the loathsome, worthless piece of crap that was Hundley. I certainly didn’t think a Cub could do it in a single season. Especially not when he posted a .378 on-base percentage in that one season. But Milton Bradley made the most of his 124 games as a Cub, skyrocketing himself to the very top of the list of the Bottom 126 Cubs of My Time. Bradley is exactly the type of player I envisioned when I first began the B126. A despicable, hateful, terrible human being with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Say goodbye to the Top Ten, Juan Pierre. If I decide to stick with 126, then congratulations, Sandy Martinez. You’re off the hook. Milton Bradley has passed all 126 of you clowns, circled the track again to lap you all, blown out his ACL, spat in a spectator’s face, and captured THE top spot on the B126.

What’s one of your least-favorite days of the year? I’ll give you a hint. It’s coming up soon, it often costs you money, and it’s fucking Tax Day, okay? On one of the most stressful, miserable days for every American not named Dusty Baker, Milton Bradley was born to the world with a chip on his shoulder, malice in his heart, and little to no cartilage in his knees, apparently. Why did his mother choose such a stupid name? Because Milton’s lowlife father had that same stupid name, and he decided that he would pass it on to his son without the permission of Bradley’s mother. He also passed along, apparently, his hateful opinion of the world, people, kindergarten teachers, and–oh, yeah–white people. Instead of changing his name to something more practical like Jenga or Battleship, Bradley kept the name as either a “badge of honor” or an “excuse to act like a total asshole for the rest of his life,” depending on whom you ask.

Bradley was drafted by the Montreal Expos in the second round of the 1996 amateur draft. The Expos were looking for someone who would get along with a bunch of French-Canadians, and Bradley clearly fit the bill. He made his Major League debut on July 19, 2000, at Olympic Stadium against the Mets. Bradley had an impressive debut, going 3-5 with an RBI out of the leadoff spot. And he only made three kids cry! So, they were orphans. Big whoop. What were their parents going to do about it?

Bradley spent about a season with the Expos before he was traded to the Cleveland Indians at the 2001 trade deadline for Zach Day. Eric Wedge realized how much he hated Bradley after a mere two and a half seasons. During one particular Spring Training game, Wedge and Bradley got into it because Wedge had the audacity to expect Milton to jog 90 feet. So, the Indians traded Bradley to the Dodgers for Franklin Gutierrez. It took only two seasons in Los Angeles and one tantrum which involved Bradley flinging a bag of baseballs onto the playing field for the Dodgers to realize that Bradley was the biggest sociopath in the city since Gary Busey.





Did I say one tantrum? My fault. Bradley actually threw two Dodger tantrums. During the second one, he threw a bottle into the stands, earning himself a five-game suspension right in the midst of a pennant race.

The Dodgers sent Bradley to the Oakland A’s, after which Billy Bean promptly fired himself. If you haven’t seen a trend emerging yet, you’re rather stupid. Bradley lasted only a season and a half with the A’s. I suspect that Bradley killed a couple of teammates, burned down several churches, and declared Moneyball “overrated,” but no one heard about any of that because he was in Oakland.

For whatever reason, the A’s shipped Milton to the Padres. Bradley spent fourteen seasons with the Padres, becoming the face of the franchise and one of the most beloved players in Padres hist- Nah, I’m just messing with you. The Padres couldn’t stand him after only 42 games, so they let him go at the end of the season. Perhaps they were upset that Bradley tore his ACL while arguing with an ump about an incident that had occurred IN A PREVIOUS AT-BAT. When Bud Black wakes up for long enough to hit you with a flying tackle, it’s time to reassess some of your life choices. Oh, by the way, after Bradley went down, the Padres went on to lose their lead (and the division) in that one-game playoff against the eventual NL Champion Colorado Rockies.

Bradley signed with the Rangers during the offseason and put together arguably his most complete year in Texas in 2008 when he hit .321/.436/.563 with 22 home runs and 77 RBIs in only 126 games. The Texas Rangers are, to this date, the only team that has ever said anything good about Bradley. Perhaps because they fear him. Perhaps because they wanted to keep his value high in case he was tradeable. At any rate, even they had issues with Bradley. Bradley apparently got pissed and sad that Ryan Lefebvre, THE KANSAS CITY ROYALS’ TELEVISION BROADCASTER, compared him unfavorably to teammate Josh Hamilton. Never mind that Lefebvre’s words couldn’t have reached more than the eighteen Royals fans who were watching the game. HOW DARE HE COMPARE A CLEARLY BLACK MAN TO A CLEARLY WHITE MAN!?

After Bradley’s solid 2008 Jim Hendry naturally extrapolated his numbers to determine that in 2009, Bradley would hit eleventy hundred home runs and drive in a quintillion RBIs. Though no other GM in Major League Baseball really wanted to make a serious offer to Bradley, Jim Hendry leaped to his feet (very slowly) and offered him an absurd three-year, $30M-dollar contract.

I’d write a few sentences about each atrocity Bradley committed against the Cubs and their fans, but that would take too long, and no one reads the articles here, anyhow. To sum up, the crap that Bradley did in his brief stay in Chicago is as follows:

• Refused to take part in Ryan Dempster’s Spring Training picnic, or whatever the hell it was. To be fair, I can hardly blame Milton for not wanting to have his tuna fish sandwich sprayed with seltzer water.
• Injured his knee in his very first at-bat of the 2009 season.
• Only played 124 games.
• Slugged .397, his worst percentage in a “full” season ever.
• Ruined my mom’s day as we sat in the stands on the Friday afternoon when Milton caught a fly ball for the SECOND out of the inning, posed, and tossed the ball into the stands. As I was watching Milton set up to make the catch, I turned to my mom and said, “He has no idea how many outs there are.” “You’re adopted,” she replied. It was a weird day.
• Accused a bunch of PRE-SCHOOL CHILDREN (and their parents and teacher) of hurling racial slurs at his three-year old son.
• Was such an asshole in the clubhouse that Lou Piniella called him a “piece of shit.” He then REFUSED TO ADMIT that Lou apologized to him for the incident.
• Accused Cubs fans of being racist to the point where he said he was receiving racially-charged hate mail. Worse, he suggested one of the letters might have come from within the organization. And they’re all addressed to Kris Kringle! Did anyone in Chicago give enough of a fuck about Bradley to take the time to write him a note, find an envelope and a stamp, figure out his home address, and MAIL HIM A LETTER? When is the last time you mailed ANYONE a letter?
• Accused all of the waiters in Chicago of rubbing his food on their taints before they served it to him. Well done, by the way, fellas.
• Was such a disruptive presence, that Jim Hendry finally suspended him for the end of the 2009 season.
• Got traded for Carlos Fucking Silva.
• Sent Jim Hendry on a “chemistry” kick that culminated in him signing Kevin Fucking Millar.

To put some perspective on this, all top B126er Todd Hundley did while he was in Chicago was sweat pure gin, strike out a shitload, and flip off the fans. Sure, when he left, he got hammered and endangered the lives of his daughters by driving them around, but Bradley has the whole rest of his life to do something like that. Moreover, Hundley had an additional season to truly earn your hatred and to learn to hate you back, but even he thinks Milton should probably buy a stress ball.

Now, it’s Milton Bradley translation time!

If you don’t know me and I don’t know you, don’t approach me, and I won’t approach you.

TRANSLATION: I only know one person. And that person is RAGE. (closes eyes; reopens them, and they’re fucking GREEN)

Don’t insult me, and I won’t insult you, because you don’t know what I will or won’t do.

TRANSLATION: Don’t look at me, or I will fucking kill you. (sharpens bat; don’t ask how)

I don’t play this game to make friends.

TRANSLATION: I have no friends, and I’m actually lonely on the inside. (gives stink eye to a happy-looking couple)

I didn’t always follow the rules. I didn’t always do it the way it’s supposed to be done. But I did it.

TRANSLATION: Wait, you’re NOT allowed to slap umps in the face and spit gum at them? Huh. I did not know that. THEN WHY DO THEY GIVE US GUM??? (flips over table full of Big League Chew)

Ed. Note: When searching for the story of how Milton spat gum on an ump, I Googled “milton bradley sp” when, lo and behold, Google auto-completed it to read, “milton bradley spite and malice.” Outstanding.

I’m a different type of person, which makes me interesting.

TRANSLATION: Assholes are different and interesting. That’s how Tom Green got popular for that one week. (humps dead moose)

I’m not like everybody else. That’s boring. That’s just me. It’s not right, but that’s me.

TRANSLATION: Who would you rather hang out with? Some boring-ass accountant or A MURDEROUS SOCIOPATH WITH NO REGARD FOR HUMAN LIFE!? (swings infant around over his head)

Of course, you know Milton just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even after leaving the Cubs. His hate mail comments on Wednesday included, it’s actually been twice in the past week that he’s come out and blasted Chicago.

Two years ago, I played, and I was good. I go to Chicago, not good.

TRANSLATION: I know in Chicago they love to cheer for terrible players who make a shitload of money, so they were clearly booing me because of the color of my skin. (looks longingly at picture of Shawn Estes)

I’ve been good my whole career.

TRANSLATION: My career started and ended in 2008. (catches fly ball for second out; crosses arms defiantly; three runs score)

So, obviously, it was something with Chicago, not me.

TRANSLATION: My three-year-old son will be an absolute monster. (steps on toy truck; burns house to the ground)

Just no communication.

TRANSLATION: Why won’t anyone come talk to me? I’m sitting right here at my locker, carving “HATE” and “HATE” into my knuckles with a Bic pen. (spells “HATE” wrong)

I never hit more than 22 homers in my career, and all of a sudden I get to Chicago and they expect me to hit 30.

TRANSLATION: It’s easy to hit home runs in Texas. (drives away in pickup truck with Confederate flag in the rear window)

I’m going on record as stating that there is no worse human being than Milton Bradley. If the B126 ever needs to elect a president, the vote should be unanimously for Milton Bradley. Anyone who ever defended this lowlife (myself included) should be ashamed. If you’re like me, you go to a job every day which you might not particularly care for. You have to tolerate people who might not be QUITE as annoying as Ryan Dempster, but they’re not your favorite people. You make a living, but you’re almost definitely not making $10M a year to go to work 124 times. Yet you manage to find happiness. You find it in an unseasonably warm day during a long Chicago winter. You find it in the smile of a beautiful girl (or boy; no judgments). You find it in the drumming of the rain, the irresistible wagging of your dog’s tail, the beauty of a new snow, a baby’s laugh, or the smell of cut grass. You find happiness in your friends, your family, your God. Now, imagine if every time you thought of those things, Milton Bradley was fucking them in the ass. That’s how he chooses to feel EVERY DAY. And he plays baseball for a living. Fuck him.

Low Point: There are so many to choose from. The baseball-related one is clearly the aforementioned game on June 12, 2009, at Wrigley Field against the Twins. With the Twins leading 5-3 with runners at the corners and one- that’s right- ONE out in the inning, Aaron Heilman got Joe Mauer to fly out to Bradley. Bradley caught the ball nonchalantly, posed as Nick Punto scored from third and Brendan Harris raced toward second base, looked around at all the fans booing him, and thought, “Oh, they must just want the ball.” He tossed it into the stands, allowing Harris to make it all the way from first to third on a fly-out to right field.

But a far greater low point was Bradley’s accusation that the faculty of his child’s preschool were calling him racial slurs. People know where Bradley’s kid went to school. People know that teacher. As a former teacher myself, I know educators have to be ever-vigilant of protecting their reputations. The slightest sniff of controversy can ruin a teacher’s career for life. Milton Bradley is a despicable person for accusing that poor teacher of racism. It’s unacceptable, it’s inexcusable, and it makes me wish that DCFS would come and save his poor child from what figures to be a horrible upbringing.

Did You Know? Bradley went to the same high school as Hall of Famer Tony Gwynn? I’m not certain, but I doubt Gwynn got kicked off the baseball team his sophomore year, jumped by gang members for playing on the “predominantly white” baseball team, and ended up shunned by everyone at Polytechnic High. That stuff ONLY HAPPENS TO MILTON. Maybe it’s because Tony sounds like a white guy.

Congratulations, Jim Edmonds! You haven’t played a single game as a Chicago Cub. You haven’t pissed and moaned about a single called third strike in blue pinstripes. You haven’t taken a circuitous route and a completely unnecessary dive to catch a single fly ball as a home player in front of the Wrigley ivy. You haven’t molested a single Chicago-born dog. Yet you have accomplished the unthinkable. You have forced a two-way tie at the top of my list of the Bottom 126 Cubs of My Time.

I honestly didn’t think it possible for the Cubs to ever have a guy on their roster who is more loathsome than Todd Hundley. It’s not like the Cubs were ever going to sign that guy who beat the shit out of me in fourth grade, and then wouldn’t fight me when I got big enough to kick his ass. They certainly wouldn’t sign that bitch who cheated on me while I was out of town for a measly half day. Age itself would have made it impossible for them to sign my third-grade teacher, whose love of sentence diagramming made my life a living hell.

No, none of those people were available. But one colossal jagoff was. JIM FUCKING EDMONDS.

I don’t care if Jim Edmonds lets my mom borrow his mascara before she walks into work. I don’t care if he puts on the best damn burlesque show in Chicago. I don’t care if this shithead hits a walkoff home run for the Cubs in Game Seven of the World Series. I don’t care if, late one night, I stagger out of a Wrigleyville bar into traffic, and Jim Edmonds pushes me out of the way, saving my life.

I am going to HATE this bastard.

“Hollywood” Jim Edmonds is everything that’s wrong with baseball. He’s a showboating shithead who would rather be on SportsCenter than win a game. He’s a flaming homometrosexual who spends weekends frosting tips and polishing knobs. He has a selfish, uppercut swing designed for hitting a majestic home run once every thirty at-bats and striking out the other twenty-nine.

This is a guy who wasn’t good enough to play for the hapless San Diego Padres, making him more worthless than Shawn Estes, Michael Barrett, and Glendon Rusch. This is a guy who was replaced in center field by Jody Gerut, who hadn’t previously seen Major League action since 2005. This is a guy who was traded for David Freese, for God’s sake. This is a guy who even Wikipedia mocks, saying, “…he is known to have a propensity to slow down his route to the ball in order to make a diving play.”

This is a guy- I do not like this guy.

Well, it took nearly five months, but it’s all over. Now that The Bottom 126 is finished, I figured I’d give you folks a chance to leave the “You missed this guy!” and “Why is this guy ranked so high?” and “But he had 200 hits!” comments in one thread. I think I will leisurely go through the list, update some of the older posts (which have less content, since I didn’t realize anyone was actually reading the list), possibly move a couple of guys around, and update the B126 sidebar to provide direct links to every one of the guys. I guess a good strategy would be to only provide a direct link to the guy once I’ve updated his post, so that’s what I’ll do. I also might move the B126 sidebar so that it has its own page at the top of the screen once I start the new series.

I’ll probably take about a week or so off to recover before I start the new list. Details on the new series will be revealed in just a few moments.

It’s been fun debating with you, hearing your stories, and watching you guys flex your outstanding memories for some of these guys. Thanks for keeping me on my toes and keeping me motivated to go through 126 of these entries. So, go ahead. Fire away in the comments.

If you’re ever standing next to both Todd Hundley and an abandoned well, and you don’t accidentally pat him on the back hard enough to send him hurtling into the inky dark abyss, well I guess you don’t have a murderous heart. And that’s okay. I guess if you compared him to, say, a group of guys who dress up as clowns and drive across the country getting into circuses for free and then slaughtering all of the caged animals and making kids cry, he’s not that bad a human being. But when it comes to guys who have donned the blue pinstripes in my lifetime, he’s the worst of the worst. So if you can’t find it in the darkest part of your heart to send the man to his doom, at least turn to him and say, “You know what, Todd? You were the Number One Bottom Cub of Bad Kermit’s lifetime. Man, did he ever hate you. You’re lucky I’m not him right now, because he’d probably want to throw you into that abandoned well right there.” And when Hundley says, “Who the f@#$ is Bad Kermit?” that’s when you shove him. F@#$ that guy.

For those of you old enough to remember the play of Randy Hundley, you probably remember him as a pretty solid catcher for the Cubs in the late 60s and early 70s. Even if you never had a chance to watch him play, you have probably heard his Virginian draaaaaawl in the booth with either Harry and Steve, Chip and Steve/Joe, Len and Bob, or Pat and Ron.

Did you ever notice that, since 2001, all of the broadcasters have been sort of tiptoeing around something when Randy is in the booth?

Like, for example, the fact that Randy’s f@#$stick of a son spent two seasons with the Cubs taking a massive steamer on his father’s memory. That, since 2001, every time a Cubs fan hears the name “Hundley,” they roll their eyes and say, “F@#$ that mother f@#$er” instead of saying, “Oh, yeah! Good old Randy! I met that guy! Hell of a nice guy. The accent’s a bit much, but he seems like good folk.” Did you ever notice during the 2001 and 2002 seasons how, when Randy was in the booth, Ron Santo had to bite his lip bloody to keep from screaming down from the booth, “F@#$ you, Todd! You’ll never be your father! Shit, you’ll never even be Scott Servais!”

You should have noticed. The Cubs signed Todd Hundley as a free agent on December 19, 2000, to a FOUR-YEAR, $23.5M DEAL. Hundley had put together a couple of decent years with the New York Mets (including a 41-home run season in 1996 which broke the single season Met record and single-season catcher record at the time) and the Los Angeles Dodgers. I guess at the time that was the going rate for catchers who switch hit. Also for ones that batted from both sides of the plate.

I remember being pretty pissed that the Cubs were spending that much money on a catcher who was thirty-two years old at the start of the 2001 season, and who had missed an awful lot of time with “injuries.” And when I say “injuries,” I am of course referring to the rumors which swirled around Hundley during his Met years that he spent a lot of time on the disabled list with Betty Ford.

I don’t recall if it was Hundley’s first start as a Cub on April 4, 2001, at Wrigley Field against the Expos or if it was soon thereafter, but I do remember one blustery day in Chicago as I was watching the team and their fans bundled against the frigid Chicago April. Everyone’s teeth were chattering, everyone was forgoing beer for hot chocolate and huddling together against the cold. Everyone, that is, except for Hundley. Hundley was sweating like a whore in church. I imagine anyone actually at the game could have gotten a contact drunk off the guy if they were within six rows of the Cubs dugout. I’ve seen guys sweat out hangovers, but until that day I had never noticed it happening in the middle of a Major League Baseball game.

If I owned a bar in Wrigleyville, without a doubt I would invent a signature shot called “Todd Hundley Sweat.” It would have absinthe, tequila, a Cubs fan’s tears, and a few drops of failure. It would taste like ass. You could order it by saying, “Gimme a Hundley,” or you could just say, “F@#$ this f@#$ing team,” and I’d know what you’d want. And I’d charge you $23.5M for it.

Hundley’s alleged drunkenness fit in with the entitled asshole attitude he carried around his entire life. After his dad caught on with the Cubs, he was able to provide Hundley with a nice upbringing in Palatine, Illinois. There are people out there who have had a comfortable upbringing who didn’t turn into complete f@#$wads. Hundley was not one of those people. He was just like that kid at the end of your block who had the G.I. Joe U.S.S. Flagg aircraft carrier, and he never let you play with it, and when he got sick of it, instead of giving it to some kid who would play with it, he f@#$ing blew it up with an M-80. While his pet frog was on the deck of it.

Hundley didn’t help his image at all with his on-field performance. He hit below the Mendoza line in his first year with the Cubs, putting up a .187/.268/.374 line. I think he also struck out looking six hundred times that season. No? Well, it sure seemed like it. He didn’t do much better his second year with the Cubs, as his .211/.301/.421 line shows. Hundley also spent a lot of time on the disabled list in his two years with dragon-breath, a headache, cotton mouth, and a fat chick in his bed a “bad back.” Hundley appeared in 171 games during his two years with the Cubs, yet managed to compile 169 memorable strikeouts in 512 at-bats in that time. I know the Kerry Wood 20-strikeout game gets a lot of play, but I would love to watch a replay of the third strike of all 169 Todd Hundley strikeouts with “Tubthumping” playing in the background. If someone makes it happen, I will pay you with a post-dated bad check good money for it.

Hundley continued acting like a spoiled f@#$ing asshole his entire life. In August of 2005, Hundley was arrested under suspicion of driving under the influence. In his Hummer H2. With his 15-year-old daughter in the back. And his 8-year-old daughter. First, let’s get past our initial anger that Todd F@#$ing Hundley made enough money in his Major League career to be able to pay the gas prices on a Hummer H2. Never mind the fact that Hundley has spawn roaming the earth. This f@#$ing asshole had the nerve to endanger everyone on the road and his two young daughters. If you’re going to drive drunk (NOTE: Don’t drive drunk), at least do the responsible thing and take a Hancock into a tree by yourself. Don’t endanger everyone else around you.

Hundley proceeded to fail a field sobriety test, and blamed his failure on the Vicodin he took for his ailing back. I’ll let 98 Years and Counting handle that bullshit claim.

You mean to tell me that he expects us to believe that this strapping ex-jock couldn’t pass a field test because he took one Vike on an empty stomach? It’s not like he’s a 60 year old ex-NFL’er like Jim Otto who takes an hour to get out of bed. He’s 36 and he’s got a bad back. If he can’t even stand on one leg, what on earth is he doing driving? This guy obviously thinks we’re dumber than he is.

Hundley also claimed that he didn’t ask for “special treatment” when he failed the sobriety test. Yeah, right. Does anyone believe that Hundley didn’t immediately play the spoiled rich kid “Do you know who I am?” card? And when the cops said, “Who? Phil Nevin?” I imagine Hundley said, “Well, do you know who my dad is?”

Hundley went on to say, “I wasn’t driving 100 m.p.h. through the neighborhood, I was going 2 m.p.h. and just got discombobulated. People that know me personally know I don’t go out getting drunk around town and killing people, that I’m not like that.” How good of him. When Todd Hundley gets shit-faced and starts bombing around town in his tank car, at least he doesn’t intend to kill anyone. And someone might want to check on Todd’s 2 m.p.h. story. I used to work at the Brookfield Zoo, and the speed limit of the street which connected the parking lots was 3 m.p.h. My car’s speedometer at the time started at 5 m.p.h., and I had to brake the entire time to go the speed limit. The only things Hundley has ever done at 2 m.p.h. are lift a beer to his mouth and run full speed to first base.

I wonder if his upbringing had anything to do with the fact that the guy steadfastly refused to button his f@#$ing jersey. The guy wore his jersey like he had just been broken out of Fox River State Penitentiary by his smart younger brother. Christ, man. Nobody wants to see your chest hair all slimy and matted down by the grain alcohol gushing out of your pores.

As far as I can tell, Todd Hundley is the only member of The Bottom 126 who has his own anti-fan page. The page was briefly revived in April of this year, but has not been updated recently.

Hundley was finally traded on December 4, 2002, with Chad Hermansen to the Los Angeles Dodgers for Mark Grudzielanek and Eric Karros. It was a bittersweet day for me. I knew that one day the end of the Todd Hundley Era would spell the end of The Bottom 126. It has been a damn fun, occasionally-exhausting, incredibly frustrating ride. Thanks for reading and keeping me motivated to count these guys down. Stay tuned this weekend, as I plan on not only giving you guys a chance to give your input as to the list as a whole, but I also plan on unveiling the details of HJE‘s next recurring series.

As one reader wrote to me (I would credit him, but don’t know if he wants me using his name; please claim your story in the credits, if you want to, and I will give you your “propers”):

Labor Day 2002 – Second Game of a DoubleHeader with the Brewers, Kerry Wood vs a tall rookie named Diggens who gets KO’d early, forcing Andrew Lorraine into the fray…not surprisingly Lorraine gives up 5 home runs, including one to Wood and one to Hundley…why is this a candidate for the low point?

In the fourth inning, Wood gets the first out on a routine grounder to first. Second batter K’s, ball dropped by Hundley, throw wide of the bag and batter is safe. Next batter K’s, second out. Next batter K’s, ball gets by Hundley back to the screen, two men on. Next batter K’s Hundley holds on and records his second putout of the inning on Wood’s fourth strikeout.

When Wood hits his home run, everyone in the remaining overserved crowd is half-cheering and half-laughing at Andrew Lorraine. When Hundley hits his mercy-fuck net job off Lorraine, the crowd rises as one and BOOS. It’s all Todd can do to keep from flipping everyone off.

When you underperform, flip off your fans, claim that the booing is “comical” to you, and tell your critics that they can kiss your butt, you truly earn your distinction as the worst Cub of my lifetime. Screw you, Hundley.

For your bonus trivia, Hundley attended William Fremd High School in Palatine, which sports other upstanding alums in Jim Degorski and Juan Luna, currently awaiting trial for the infamous Palatine Brown’s Chicken massacre. Hey, at least in his lifetime, Hundley has only massacred hopes, dreams, and handles of Jack Daniels.

When I am visiting my psychiatrist after the next ten World Championshipless years, and we get to the root of all of my problems with relationships and love, I’m sending the bill to the second-worst Cub of my lifetime, Neifi Perez. This is why.

BAD KERMIT walks into the office of his psychiatrist, DR. BROWN, and reclines on a leather couch.

DOC BROWN: Welcome, Kermit.

KERMIT: Thanks, Doc.

DOC BROWN: How are we feeling today?

KERMIT: Uneasy, man. Really uneasy.

DOC BROWN: How so?

KERMIT: The dream. I had it again.

DOC BROWN: The one when you’re in Amsterdam and-

KERMIT: No, the other one.

DOC BROWN: The one with the little Mexican?

KERMIT: Dominican.

DOC BROWN: Oh, yeah. What was his name? Noof? Knife?

KERMIT: Neifi. Neifi Mother F@#$ing Perez.

DOC BROWN: Ah, yes. What did you call him, again?

KERMIT: The worst f@#$ing hitter in the history of Major League Baseball.

DOC BROWN: Oh, yes. Let’s explore why you called him that.

KERMIT: Because he’s the worst f@#$ing hitter in the history of Major League Baseball.

DOC BROWN: Oh, come on. Major League Baseball has been around for nearly 140 years. Surely he can’t be the worst?

KERMIT: He is.

DOC BROWN: Why would you say that?

KERMIT: What were you ranked in your class?

DOC BROWN: What?

KERMIT: Your psychiatry class. What were you ranked?

DOC BROWN: Top 5%.

KERMIT: What about the guy who was dead last?

DOC BROWN: That guy? He was retarded. One time I was at a party and everyone spit in a glass and that guy drank it.

KERMIT: Well, that guy was Neifi. You see, there are 750 players in the Major Leagues at any one point during the season. You add in all the guys that come up and go down, and there are probably over 1000 individual players that play in the MLB each year.

DOC BROWN: Go on…

KERMIT: For the sake of argument, let’s say there have been 140,000 guys who have ever played in the MLB. If you were to rank those players, there would have to be, necessarily, a worst player in MLB history. And that player is Neifi Perez.

DOC BROWN: Wow.

KERMIT: Yeah. If Neifi was a doctor, and he operated on you, I’d be sending your widow flowers.

DOC BROWN: I’m not married.

KERMIT: Your mother, then.

DOC BROWN: She’s dead.

KERMIT: Did Neifi operate on her?

DOC BROWN: Let’s get back to your rage with this Neifi character. I understand that you once compiled a list of the most loathsome Cubs of your time. Why was Neifi not number one?

KERMIT: Oh, for the love of God. The Bottom 126 was not solely statistics-based. It was a subjective list. Jesus, I’ve been explaining that for ten f@#$ing years! Why doesn’t anyone get it?

DOC BROWN: Sorry.

KERMIT: It’s okay. Just don’t let it happen again. You have a Ph.D., for God’s sake.

DOC BROWN: Let’s talk about some other reasons you’re so upset about this Neifi character.

KERMIT: Oh, God damnit. Remember when we had that session about Dusty Baker?

DOC BROWN: It was twelve sessions, and I think you have some unresolved issues remaining.

KERMIT: F@#$ him. Anyhow, Dusty had some kind of boner for Neifi. He played him every chance he got, especially when I went to games.

DOC BROWN: Why do you suppose that is?

KERMIT: My theory? Because Neifi had naked pictures of Dusty having sex with Jose Macias.

DOC BROWN: Interesting.

KERMIT: I can’t imagine the pictures would be interesting at all, actually.

DOC BROWN: I see.

KERMIT: Anyhow, the Cubs signed Neifi on August 19, 2004.

DOC BROWN: The numbers?

KERMIT: Exactly. 08. 19. 20. 04. The numbers are cursed.

DOC BROWN: Numbers can’t be cursed.

KERMIT: Oh yeah? My dog got hit by a 2004 Jetta on August 19.

DOC BROWN: That’s coincidence.

KERMIT: I fell down 51 stairs the other day.

DOC BROWN: What does that have to do with anything?

KERMIT: Add the numbers up.

DOC BROWN: Oh.

KERMIT: So, yeah, Doc. I hate Neifi Perez.

DOC BROWN: I’m starting too, as well.

KERMIT: Yeah, he’ll do that. So, anyhow, Dusty f@#$ing Baker played this mother f@#$er every chance he got.

DOC BROWN: Why would he do that?

KERMIT: Nobody knows. Dusty had such a hard-on for the guy, that he said that in 2005, Neifi “saved the season.”

DOC BROWN: Wait. Didn’t the Cubs only win 79 games in 2005?

KERMIT: Yeah. What the f@#$? He thinks the 2005 Cubs would have won only 77 games without the worst hitter in MLB history on the roster?

DOC BROWN: I guess.

KERMIT: Neifi “saved the 2005 season” like Kevin Federline “saved hip-hop.”

DOC BROWN: That’s a stupid comparison.

KERMIT: I know. I need help. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

DOC BROWN: What else do you hate about this guy?

KERMIT: Well, he has an equally-obnoxious brother.

DOC BROWN: Really?

KERMIT: Yeah. Rubby. He thinks he’s Morpheus, but he’s not. I had to listen to that asshole’s music during my entire honeymoon in the Dominican Republic. I’d like to Rubby one off on his face.

DOC BROWN: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

KERMIT: He has a song in which he says, “Give me poison; I want to die.” Why couldn’t his brother ever say that?

DOC BROWN: That’s just mean.

KERMIT: I have no regrets.

DOC BROWN: So, maybe he wasn’t good at baseball, and maybe Dusty was in love with him, and maybe his brother is a turd. That’s no real reason to hate the guy.

KERMIT: Okay, well what about this? Every time that bald idiot Jon Miller pronounces his name, he says, “NAY-Fee PAIR-Ez.” It drives me f@#$ing bonkers.

DOC BROWN: Who is Jon Miller?

KERMIT: Imagine if your namesake, Dr. Emmett Brown, f@#$ed Rush Limbaugh, and they somehow had a kid who announces games for ESPN, and loves to overpronounce everything.

DOC BROWN: He sounds like a pencil-dick.

KERMIT: He is. Anyhow, he somehow makes Neifi more annoying by calling him “NAY-fee.” Does that make me crazy?

DOC BROWN: No. In fact, I sort of want to punch you just for repeating what Miller says.

KERMIT: This is what I’m saying.

DOC BROWN: I understand, but I think you need to let go of some of your angst.

KERMIT: Why? Everybody else f@#$ing hates him, too.

DOC BROWN: Not everyone hated him.

KERMIT: Are you talking about BCB? Jeez, Doc. Even BCB could only talk about how nice Neifi was to play cards with Derrek Lee. And even that guy says that Neifi sucks as a hitter. Those guys could find something good about a carload of puppies at the bottom of a lake, and not even they can defend his .274/.298/.383 in 2005 or his .254/.266/.343 for the beginning of 2006. In 2006, the guy took FIVE f@#$ing walks in 236 at-bats! How in the f@#$ does your OBP and your batting average differ by only .012? That is ridiculously bad.

DOC BROWN: Wow. That is bad. Why did this asshole play so much?

KERMIT: Because Jim Hendry thought, for some inexplicable reason, that Nomar Garciaparra’s penis was bigger than his wife’s and that he could play through injury.

DOC BROWN: That sucks. Anything else you want to get off your chest?

KERMIT: I hit him.

DOC BROWN: You hit Neifi Perez?

KERMIT: Yes.

DOC BROWN: How?

KERMIT: Whenever I play a baseball video game, I try to bean Neifi Perez in the cock.

DOC BROWN: Really?

KERMIT: Yes. If he’s on my team in the game, I won’t play until I trade him. And I try to trade him to a team within the division so I can hit him-

DOC BROWN: Really.

KERMIT: -in the dick as much as possible.

DOC BROWN: That’s, uh-

KERMIT: Scary?

DOC BROWN: Yes.

KERMIT: I know. So help me.

DOC BROWN: All right. Let’s try to imagine the lowest point you can ever possibly imagine for Neifi Perez.

KERMIT: Okay. Okay. I think I’d have to say the lowest point was on May 18, 2006.

DOC BROWN: What happened?

KERMIT: Well, the Cubs were playing the Washington Nationals at Wrigley Field. The Cubs were down 5-3 in the bottom of the 9th inning against the Nationals’ closer Chad Cordero. The Cubs got the tying and the winning runs on first and third base with two outs, and who comes up?

DOC BROWN: Neifi f@#$ing Perez?

KERMIT: Yes. Neifi f@#$ing Perez. On the second pitch of the at-bat, Neifi tries to f@#$ing bunt his way on base.

DOC BROWN: Bunt!? Get out! Why!?

KERMIT: Neifi said he wanted to “surprise” the Nationals and load the bases. He claimed he was not a power hitter, even though he swings from his ass every chance he gets, so he figured he’d try to bunt his way so the “surprise” was his only chance. Everyone in the stadium was surprised, all right, but only because this f@#$stick was actually batting in that situation. Not because he laid down a bunt. The worst part is that his enabler Dusty said it was a good f@#$ing idea. When the hell do you see a game end on a f@#$ing bunt put-out with the tying runs on base?

DOC BROWN: I can see why that might make you mad.

KERMIT: The only thing that made me mad was that Cordero didn’t bean him in the cock. That’s what I would have done.

DOC BROWN: Okay. I think I can help you get past this. I want you to think about something nice about Neifi. Something people might not realize.

KERMIT: Okay. Well, in 1998, the Cubs lost their final game of the season to the Houston Astros, and the San Francisco Giants could have won the NL Wild Card if they had finished off Colorado Rockies. Moments after the Cubs thought that their postseason dreams were crushed, Neifi hit a walk-off homer off Giants’ closer Robb Nen to win the game 9-8 and put the Cubs and Giants in a Wild Card tie. The Rockies win forced a one-game playoff at Wrigley Field which the Cubs won, sending them to the playoffs.

DOC BROWN: See? There’s something positive about Neifi. Does that make you feel better?

KERMIT: No.

DOC BROWN: Really?

KERMIT: No. I still f@#$ing hate the guy more than almost every Cub who has ever played the game in my lifetime.

DOC BROWN: Yeah, I can sort of see why.

KERMIT: Really?

DOC BROWN: Yeah. I think you’re cured.

KERMIT: That’s great! Can you send my bill to Neifi Perez c/o Detroit Tigers?

DOC BROWN: Ah, no. But I can give you this complimentary copy of Rubby Perez’s first album.

As Doc Brown holds up the CD, Bad Kermit looks at him in horror. Doc Brown suddenly pulls at his skin, which comes off in one piece, revealing NEIFI PEREZ underneath.

KERMIT: N-NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Bad Kermit sits bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring down his face. He looks around and gets his bearings before calming himself down. Bad Kermit looks at his bedside clock, which reads 3:51 a.m.

KERMIT: It- It was just a dream.

Bad Kermit looks at his nightstand, grabbing the sports section sitting there. The section is open to the Cubs’ box score. Bad Kermit’s eyes focus on the Cubs’ hitters. His eyes widen in horror as he reads, “SS N. PEREZ 0-4, 4 K, 0 RBI, 0 BB, .091 BA, .087 OBP, .143 SLG.

KERMIT: N-NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Bad Kermit sits bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring down his face. He looks around and gets his bearings before calming himself down. Bad Kermit looks at his bedside clock, which reads 3:51 a.m.

KERMIT: It- It was just a dream.

Bad Kermit looks at his nightstand, grabbing the sports section sitting there. The section is open to the Cubs’ box score. Bad Kermit’s eyes focus on the Cubs’ hitters. His breathes a sigh of relief as he reads, “SS R. THERIOT 2-4, 0 K, 1 RBI, 0 BB, .291 BA, .354 OBP, .401 SLG. Bad Kermit smiles and looks over at MRS. KERMIT. At that moment, Mrs. Kermit rolls over. As she does, her sleep mask slips off revealing the face of Neifi Perez.

KERMIT: N-NOOOOOOOOOOO!

FIN

You’re a lucky man, Alex Gonzalez. Your ridiculous flair for dramatic walk-off home runs and your shockingly timely home runs in the 2003 NLCS spared you from a much more degrading fate on The Bottom 126.

As it stands, you gave me just barely enough fist-pumping moments to squeeze in at third on the list. It helped your case that the trade for you sent Felix Heredia out of the country. You also didn’t seem to be the face of pure evil, though I suppose the face of pure evil would actually disguise itself with the face of an angel. Either that or a mask of human skin. In any event, congratulations on not being ranked higher.

Gonzalez came to the Cubs from Toronto on December 10, 2001, as one of those alleged “great glove, power-hitting shortstops.” Unfortunately for the Cubs, when you convert Canadian “great glove, power-hitting shortstops” into U.S. currency, they end up being “21-error, mediocre-power turds.” Thanks a f@#$ing lot, Canada. And, by the way, what the f@#$ am I supposed to do with this penny? Get your wanna-be U.S. coins out of our circulation! Your money is about as good here as Gonzalez’s plate discipline.

There are two groups of people who think that Alex Gonzalez is a good baseball player. One thing they have in common is that they both refer to Gonzalez as “Gonzo” or “A-Gonz.” The other thing they have in common is that they are idiots.

The first group are those people who like to use the phrase “some pop.” They say things like, “Gonzo wasn’t that bad. He was a great fielder, and he had some pop in his bat.” Bullshit on both counts. Gonzalez was an average fielder with good range and a good arm. He gets credit for being involved in a lot of double plays. Whoop-dee-f@#$ing do. All that statistic tells you is that the Cubs pitchers couldn’t keep anyone off first base when Gonzalez was with the team. As to the “pop in his bat” foolishness, Gonzalez has a career .391 slugging percentage. Neifi Perez has a .375 career slugging percentage. That is not pop. You want a player with “some pop in his bat”? Shitty players like Jose Valentin have some pop. Even in Valentin’s worst full year, he had a higher SLG (.393) than Gonzalez’s career average. The only thing Gonzalez makes “pop” is the vein on my forehead.

The second group of people who support Gonzalez do so solely because they want to have sex with him. That’s right, heterosexual male Gonzalez supporters. Frantically go back and check whether you fall into the first group. This group is for those attracted to dudes and consists of mostly women and Derek Jeter. Nothing drove me more crazy than when I would be at Wrigley Field during the 2003 season, discussing (loudly) how badly Gonzalez sucked only to have a woman in a pink Cubs jersey and hat turn and say to me, “But A-Gonz is so cute! Don’t make fun of him! Here are my terms. Lead yourself out of Wrigley Field and I will buy you alcohol, including a pitcher of Goose Island, from which you will give me-, from which you will give me a glass of-” And then I would say, “I have an offer for you. Here are my terms. Lower your beer, and march straight back to your boyfriend with the soul patch, the wife beater, the tattoos, and the giant holes in his earlobes, stopping at every home in Wrigleyville to beg forgiveness for 95 years of losing, mismanagement, and failure. Do that and you shall live. Do it not, and every one of your pink-shirted Trixies will die today.” And she’d say, “You are outmatched. You have no clutch hitting. In two centuries no team has won without-” And I’d say, “I’m not finished! Before we let you leave, you must cross that field, present yourself before this team, put your head between your legs, and kiss your own arse.”

Like I said, both groups of Gonzalez defenders were either dopes, or they were watching the wrong Alex Gonzalez. Watching the Cub version of Gonzalez was maddening. It didn’t take a hitting coach to figure out what he was doing wrong. Gonzalez was the right-handed Jacque Jones, trying to pull every goddamn pitch he saw into the left-field bleachers. Gonzalez would try to pull a pitchout if he swung at it. Whether he was told to make an adjustment, or whether he made one on his own, Gonzalez would have a stretch of about a week at a time when he would drive outside pitches to right-center field for doubles. Gonzalez would then get all excited that he was a “power hitter,” and he’d start trying to pull the shit out of the ball, only to find that he would revert to his same awful numbers when he did so. Perhaps pretty boy had seen this commercial too many times?

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Gonzalez’s love of chicks the long ball is a big part of the reason two of Gonzalez’s “Similar Batters,” according to Baseball-Reference are Jeff Blauser and Jose Hernandez. If he would have just hit pitches where they were pitched, he might have had a chance to be a halfway decent hitter. Instead, he had all the power of a Blauser plus all the strikeouts of a Hernandez. If only Gonzalez had gotten the looks of a Don Mossi, not even the women of the world could have defended him.

Just how averse to getting on base was Gonzalez? Well, in 2004, Gonzalez was actually hit by a pitch, and wasn’t awarded first base. The pitch actually broke Gonzalez’s hand, snapping one of his f@#$ing HAND BONES into two pieces, yet he was unable to sell the fact that he was hit by a pitch to the umpire. Did he really hate getting on base that much? Take off your batting glove and show the umpire the BONE protruding from your skin as your swollen hand fills with blood. I bet he’ll give you first base. And then get that hand taken care of.

At the 2004 trade deadline, Gonzalez was traded after his hand healed in the four-team deal which brought Nomar Garciaparra’s gimpy groin and Matt Murton’s shockingly red hair to the Cubs. Gonzalez ended up on the Expos. I should have asked him to take this goddamn penny off my hands.

F@#$ you, Kermit. F@#$ you and your stupid list. You put me at number four on your list? That’s bullshit. Maybe I didn’t have the best years of my career with the Cubs, but you can’t do what I do. I can do what you do, but you can’t do what I do.

That’s why I’m making my own list, bitch. It’s going to be called “The Bottom 126 Bloggers of My Time.” Guess who’s going to be number one, mother f@#$er? You. And this dude is going to be number two. I’m supposed to believe I’m so bad that I actually inspired someone in Colorado to give a shit about baseball enough to write about me? That’s bullshit, dude.

You know who you remind me of, Kermit? That f@#$ing bastard Tim Tschida. Do you know that asshole actually had the nerve to ask me to move my chair in the bullpen!? Me! I was the best mother f@#$ing set up man in baseball at the time. I’ll put my chair up Tschida’s f@#$ing ass if I want to. Just because I was stealing signs doesn’t mean you have to eject me, bitch.

F@#$ing Tschida had it in for me. His strike zone was bullshit. Every f@#$ing time I threw the ball near the plate, it got hit out of the park, so why the hell would I keep doing that? You call a strike when I tell you to call a strike, dickrag! If you don’t, I’m going to go completely f@#$ing mental and charge toward you like I’m going to eat your young! It’s going to take three coaches to stop me from ripping your goddamn heart out! You’re not going to be safe anywhere, Tschida!

You know, you f@#$ing Cubs fans are all alike. You boo me when I’m with the team after Hendry signed me to “fix” the bullpen, so I get traded for Jerome Williams and David Aardsma. Then, you boo me when I come back (even when I try to help you out) and chant “Hawkins sucks!” Words hurt, assholes. Words. Hurt.

My mom once told me, “LaTroy, you’re going to be the best thing that ever comes out of Gary, Indiana.” Well, f@#$ you guys, because Mom was right. I am the best thing to ever come out of Gary, damnit.

I don’t know what you guys expected. Everyone knew that I couldn’t close games. One of my buddies told me that the Cubs should build me a hyperbaric chamber, cover up the scoreboards, and not tell me the situation when I need to come into the game. Or maybe Dusty f@#$ing Baker shouldn’t have used me as a closer. That way, I wouldn’t have blown 13 saves in only 42 chances (only converting 69% of my saves) with the Cubs and lost 8 games for the team.

I better not be the number one pitcher on this f@#$ing list. Why am I so high? Just because my blown saves came in really important games for a 2004 Cubs team which might have higher expectations than any Cubs team in recent memory? This is exactly why I was relieved when I was traded out of town. You guys are dicks.

Or maybe you guys are ranking me up here because of that one stretch in early May of 2005 when, in four straight games, I had three losses and two blown saves? I know it seemed like I had a lot of stretches like that, but it just seemed that way because you Chicagoans are crybaby assholes. “Waa! Waa! I get mad when my closer gives up two home runs and 3 runs in the 9th inning of a tie game against the Cardinals!” Or “Boo hoo! LaTroy should have gotten more than one out against the Astros in the 9th inning with a 3-2 Cubs lead before blowing the game!” Or “Remember that game when we almost got no-hit by Eric Milton until he melted down in the 9th inning, and Corey Patterson, of all people tied the game, 2-2? And remember how we thought the Cubs might win that game, except LaTroy immediately gave the lead back in the bottom of the 9th, and the Phillies won?” Eat my ass, imaginary Cubs fans that I just made up. You hear that? I just made them up. Because I have an imagination, and I can do that. You can’t do that. You know what else you probably can’t do? You probably can’t see the middle finger I’m giving you through my monitor.

I tried to make up for it in my very next outing on September 29, 2004, when I came in against the Reds with a 2-1 lead in the top of the 9th at Wrigley. We were tied with the Giants for the Wild Card before the game. I got the first two outs, and everyone thought we might jump into the lead. And then I gave up a triple and a double to tie the game. That set up a two-run, 12th-inning home run by Austin Kearns. We lost 4-3, lost the Wild Card lead, and never recovered.

NEW FOR 2007!

Coming in August, 2007! The tenth installment in the world-famous line of Tom Emanski Instructional Videos, written, produced, and directed by Major League Super Star Fred McGriff!

The DVD, entitled “How to Get Really Close to the Hall of Fame, But Not Make It,” features the following chapters:

1. Your Hat and You: Why Not Wear It Like a Tee-Ball Coach?

• In Chapter One, Fred teaches you to wear your hat like the pros do! Fred’s “drop it on top” technique will have you “rockin’” your “lid” like you’re “all that!”

2. Swing Away, FLY Away!

• In Chapter Two, learn Fred’s unique “helicopter” swing! After you swing and miss strike three with two on, two outs, and your team down a run, you’ll need to get out of the ballpark in a hurry! The helicopter swing will let you do just that! Before the fans can even start to boo you, you’ll be flying away like Mary Poppins!

3. Defense is for Pussies!

• Some people like to say that hitting is only half the game. Yeah, the important half! In Chapter Three, Fred explains why running defensive drills isn’t cool, because it involves the word “defense” and “running,” two of Fred’s least-favorite things! When your coach says things like, “If you would have just gotten in front of that grounder, we would have won the state championship,” he’s just being an asshole! You can use the time you save not practicing your defense to comb your mustache!

4. Hollow Man: Having the Most Forgettable 30-HR, 100-RBI Season Ever!

• You probably think that a 30-home run, 103-RBI season is pretty good, right? Wrong! Chapter Four teaches you how to put up good power numbers without anyone noticing or caring! Why call attention to yourself if you don’t have to? Let someone else drive in all the important runs in those “pressure” situations while you rack up your power numbers in meaningless situations! After this chapter, you’ll be putting up completely hollow power numbers with the best of them!

5. Meaningless Achievements: Bruce Kimm and Me

• In Chapter Five, Fred gives you some personal insight into his baseball career! Listen to Fred’s heartwarming story of how he and Bruce Kimm became best buddies during the 2002 season! Hear an interview with Bruce, when he tearfully tells the camera, “We owed it to Fred to make sure he hit thirty home runs a season for five different teams. That’s the sort of record that people just don’t forget.” Relive that magical season as Fred assaults the record book and lights the town of Chicago on fire with excitement!

6. Blocking Youth: Using Your Huge Ass as Much as Possible

• In Chapter Six, Fred teaches you how to hang around just long enough during a 95-loss season so that your team doesn’t get a chance to take a long look at a younger, cheaper, possibly more talented player! Who wants to see a likable young kid diving after ground balls on the field when you can watch Fred stand out there like a “cigar store Indian,” as Mike Kiley once called him? After Chapter Six, you’ll be hindering player development and crippling franchises like a true veteran!

7. Retiring Seven Years Before You Quit Working

• In Chapter Seven, Fred explains how he was able to end his career seven years before he actually stopped working! Fred was able to retire to Florida way back in 1998, even though he didn’t stop working until 2004! How did he do it? You’ll have to watch Chapter Seven to find out!

8. Hostage Crisis! Keeping a Team in Limbo for Two Weeks

• In Chapter Eight, Fred shows you how to spend two weeks deciding whether you want to play out the remainder of your games with a terrible team in a terrible stadium with terrible fans in Florida, or be traded to a division leader playing in a beautiful ballpark in front of consistently sold-out crowds! Competition and expectations are hard! Why not agonize over an easy decision for weeks while the team that needs you loses ground in the division? Fred gives you the “do’s” and “don’t's” of being a disinterested slug with a complete lack of any semblance of competitive drive!

BONUS CHAPTER: Fred’s Low Point

• Relive Fred’s game on October 2, 2001! While the Cubs were desperately trying to stave off being mathematically eliminated from the NL Central race, Fred was desperately trying to get the season over with! Despite his teammates’ best efforts, Fred got the job done! In this early-October game, watch as the Cincinnati Reds defeat the Cubs 5-4 at Wrigley Field thanks, in part, to Fred’s 0-4 day, which included such gems as an unassisted groundout to the catcher and a swinging strikeout in a tie game in the bottom of the seventh inning!

ADDED BONUS: McGrivia!

• In this additional bonus chapter, learn all about the man behind the Major League Super Star! For example, did you know that Fred hosts a radio show in Tampa and is an assistant baseball coach at Jesuit High School of Tampa? It sure sounds like he is as interesting off the field as he was on the field!

Call to order:

1-800-EATS-ASS

Operators are standing by, completely motionless! Pre-order your copy TODAY! Or don’t! Either way, it won’t bother Fred!

You know, it’s too bad that Corey Patterson doesn’t give a shit about the game of baseball, because as anyone at the four-letter site would tell you, Patterson is the greatest five-tool player in the history of the Cubs organization. Everyone who wasn’t eating the bullshit being spoon fed to them by the Cubs organization saw only one tool who was last seen wearing a #20 jersey and repeatedly trying to pull outside pitches into right field.

Congratulations, Jacque Jones. You’re no longer the biggest dumb-ass on The Bottom 126. Make way for Corey Patterson.

On June 2, 1998, Patterson was selected by the Cubs as the third overall pick of the draft. He was immediately touted as being the best position player prospect in the Cubs organization. That’s some high praise for an organization which hasn’t produced a Major League-caliber position player since Mark Grace. Patterson was also named the smartest man in Georgia, the best center fielder since Damon Buford, and the straightest man in Wrigleyville named Corey. Patterson put together only two full good months in his entire Cubs career in April and May of 2003, when Patterson batter over .300 and slugged over .550. Even in that stretch, though, Patterson’s ridiculous lack of plate discipline was evident, as he struck out 48 times during that time and walked only eight times (one of those intentional).

Patterson was either completely uncoachable, he was the stupidest player I’ve ever seen wear a Cubs uniform, or he was some “perfect storm” combination of the two. Patterson had one approach to hitting, and he went up there with that approach no matter what the situation was. He closed his eyes and swung as hard as he could at everything from his eyes to his toes. Sometimes, it worked and Patterson would get a hold of a long ball. Most of the time, it didn’t, as Patterson would try to pull a pitch on the outside corner, resulting in a weak ground out. Through it all, it was nearly impossible to walk Patterson. In his six seasons with the Cubs (including partial seasons), he only walked 111 times. To compare, the alleged “free-swinger” Sammy Sosa walked 116 times in the 2001 season alone.

Patterson was about as likable off the field as he was on it. I believe it was the 2003 NLCS that I was watching when they showed a shot of Patterson sitting in a f@#$ing box in the stands. What’s worse is that the douchebag wasn’t wearing a Cubs hat, a Cubs jersey, or anything showing his allegiance to the team. The guy wasn’t even wearing blue. The Cubs had won their first playoff series in ninety-five years, and the asshole couldn’t be bothered to put on his f@#$ing uniform and sit in the dugout with his teammates. Kiss my ass.

I’ll never forget an interview of Patterson I heard conducted by one of the dweebs on the Score in the summer of 2002, when I was still young and foolish and thought that eventually someone on Chicago sports radio had to eventually say something intelligent. The interviewer was talking with Patterson about where he preferred to bat in the lineup and whether he was comfortable with Don Baylor batting him in the leadoff position. I shit you not, Patterson said that he didn’t really know what a leadoff hitter was supposed to do. The interviewer actually laughed, thinking Patterson was joking, and asked what Patterson meant by his comment. Patterson calmly repeated that he didn’t know what a leadoff hitter was supposed to do. The kid was 22 years old, had presumably been playing baseball his entire life, and he didn’t understand the role of a leadoff hitter. Rather than attempting to teach him what the hell he was supposed to be doing, they just threw him out at leadoff or the second spot for the majority of the 2002 season. He stunk.

Patterson’s 2002 interview wasn’t the only infuriating one he gave. He couldn’t have acted like a more disinterested shithead during interviews if he tried. Patterson was the Russell Crowe of postgame interviews. I guess it’s possible that Patterson actually was too cool for school, which would explain his complete idiocy. He certainly could have mustered up slightly more enthusiasm for the game and for an interview than the “Gee, shucks, I sucked again today,” which he generally fed to reporters.

Toward the end of the 2005 season, a season during which Patterson was sent down to AAA Iowa for a month because he sucked so badly, Patterson was hitting a robust .222 with 12 home runs and 28 RBIs, as well as only hitting .174 after his return from the minor leagues. Enabler Dusty Baker asked Patterson to play winter ball, and Patterson was “undecided” as to whether he wanted to play. “The bottom line is I have to do what’s best for myself,” Patterson said. Yeah, f@#$ the other 24 guys on the team, you self-centered f@#$ing asshole. What’s best for your career, you short-sighted dipshit, is to learn how to lay off an 0-2 fastball thrown so far above the strike zone that you need a step ladder to even see it. Patterson ended the 2005 season with a .215 batting average. .215 isn’t so bad if you’re the cause of many a nocturnal emission on the four-letter site and you manage to put up a .354 OBP during that season. But when you hit .215 and only get on base at a .254 clip, it’s time to rethink your hitting approach. What a shame that it hurts Corey’s brain just to read the word “rethink.”

What’s more, during Patterson’s time in 2005 down in AAA, center fielder Jerry Hairston, Jr. was injured, yet the Cubs chose to leave Patterson in AAA and start Jose Macias in center field, which allegedly upset Patterson, even though he was playing like garbage for the Iowa Cubs. Upon his return, Patterson sucked it up during a game against the Colorado Rockies. After the game, Patterson said, “It’s just a game,” though Patterson insists that he said “It’s just the game.” Bullshit. You care about baseball slightly less than Jim Hendry cares about his cholesterol level.

Patterson was such a disinterested slug, that even the comatose Don Baylor questioned his desire. Patterson even managed to piss off Dusty Baker, who once redassed the sleepy center fielder on the field immediately following a game. You have to be some kind of nonchalant to piss off a guy whose ideal day is an afternoon of fishing on the lake with Neifi Perez and a toothpick in his mouth followed by a blowjob from Hank Aaron. Jesus, snort a line or something before the game, Corey, if that’s what it takes to get yourself motivated. Maybe the Cubs should have tried to trade Patterson to the 1986 Mets to get the guy hopped up on mountains of blow properly “motivated.”

Instead, the Cubs traded Patterson to 2006 Baltimore for table scraps Carlos Perez and Nate Spears after they brought Juan Pierre over from the Marlins.

For all of you people clamoring that the Cubs didn’t give Patterson enough time and that he “tore it up” last year in Baltimore, just stop. Patterson was up to his old tricks in Baltimore, swinging like a damn fool, refusing to take walks, and striking out a ton. The only aspect of Patterson’s game that has shown any signs of improvement in his Major League career has been his base stealing, which has improved (slightly) since reaching the big leagues.

You can blame the organization, blame Don Baylor, and blame Dusty Baker all you want for Corey Patterson’s complete failure to develop as a ballplayer, you four-letter goofballs. Sooner or later, though, you’re going to have to face the fact that Patterson is a stubborn, shitty player. And when that time comes, let’s hope you’re not still living in your mother’s basement.

It takes a special kind of player to work one’s way into the Bottom 7 Cubs of my time after only 59 innings in a Cubs uniform. Melquiades Rojas Medrano was just that kind of player. I guess part of it is that Rojas managed to give up 54 hits, 30 walks, 29 earned runs, and 11 home runs in those 59 innings. He also managed to blow six games and go 0-4 in that time.

Doesn’t it seem like this tubby piece of crap was with the Cubs for years? Nope. Only about four months. Had Rojas spent a more significant amount of time in blue pinstripes (and had the Cubs even been remotely good in the time he was with the team), it would have been tough to keep him out of the coveted Bottom One slot.

On December 10, 1996, the Cubs signed Rojas to a COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS three-year, $13.75M contract. By 1996 standards, that was an astonishing amount of money for a closer, particularly one who had never saved more than 36 games in a season. To put some perspective on the $4.6M Rojas stole from the Cubs in 1997, Mariano Rivera only made $4.25M in 1999. Not only was that contract signed two years later, but it was also signed by Mariano Rivera, who was the balls, not Mel f@#$ing Rojas, who just sucked them.

If there was one good thing which came of the Cubs’ horrendous 0-14 start to the 1997 season, it was that Cubs fans at least didn’t have to see Rojas lumber out of the bullpen in a futile effort to convert a save for the first two weeks of the season. He didn’t make up much ground after the terrible start, as he converted only 13 saves for the Cubs in 1997. Perhaps the worst part about Rojas, though, was that he had a knack for getting one or two outs in the inning before you noticed the brown stain on the back of his pants begin to spread and he blew the game wide open. Oh, and did he ever retire the first batter he faced in an inning? Ever?

The Cubs finally decided that Rojas was a mistake and that Terry Adams was a better option for closer. They traded Rojas along with Brian McRae and Turk Wendell to the New York Mets for Mark Clark, Manny Alexander, and Lance Johnson.

Since Rojas wasn’t a Cub for long, since he had more hilariously bad low points than I could possibly hope to rank, and since, as I mentioned above, Rojas is a “special kind of player” this entry’s Low Point will be forgone for…

9. May 17, 1997. The Giants are at Wrigley clinging to a one-run lead in the top of the 9th inning. Rojas gets Glenallen Hill swinging before giving up a single to Barry Bonds. Jeff Kent then slams a two-run homer to deep right centerfield, turning a one-run Cub deficit into a three-run Cub deficit. The Cubs lost 4-1.

8. April 3, 1997. Rojas’ first outing as a Cub was outstanding. He entered the bottom of the 8th inning of a ballgame in Florida against the Marlins. The Marlins already had a 5-1 lead, but why not let them pad it? Rojas walked Charles Johnson, beaned Alex Arias, and gave up a bunt single to Luis Castillo to load the bases. Edgar Renteria grounded into a 3-2 fielder’s choice. Rojas beaned Gary Sheffield to drive in a run, walked Bobby Bonilla to drive in another run, and then gave up another run on a Moises Alou fielder’s choice. Three runs came across in the inning, yet the Marlins only collected one hit. The Cubs lost 8-2.

7. May 24, 1997. The Cubs have a 1-0 lead over the Reds in the bottom of the 9th inning at Cincinnati. After getting Mike Kelly to strike out looking, Rojas gives up a game-tying solo moon shot to Eddie Taubensee, who only hit 10 homers all that season. The Cubs lose 4-1 in 12 innings on a walkoff three-run homer off the bat of Curtis Goodwin.

6. It’s the bottom of the 9th inning in Atlanta, and the Cubs have a 5-4 lead on the Braves. You wouldn’t think a one-run lead would be the ideal situation for Rojas, but he comes in, anyhow. Before you can say, “F@#$ you, Mel Rojas,” he gives up a leadoff triple to Danny Bautista. Rojas then induces a pop out from Jeff Blauser. Refusing to bail himself out, Rojas gives up a game-tying double to Chipper Jones followed by a game-winning single by Fred McGriff. Cubs lose 6-5.

5. April 24, 1997. The Pirates are in Wrigley Field. They have the Cubs just where they want them, as the Pirates are down 3-2 in the top of the 9th inning with Rojas coming in. Rojas gives up a leadoff single to Al Martin and then wild pitches him to second base. Rojas comes back, strikes out Mark Johnson looking, and then gets Kevin Elster to fly out with Martin moving over to third. Two outs, runner on third, the lead still intact. It didn’t last. Rojas gave up an RBI double to Jason Kendall to lose the lead, and then gave up a single to Jose Guillen to put the Cubs down a run. The score stood, as the Cubs lost 4-3.

4. May 14, 1997. The Dodgers and Cubs are tied 4-4 in the top of the 9th inning at Wrigley Field when Rojas comes in out of the bullpen. He starts the inning off with a bang, surrendering a leadoff double to Eric Anthony. Juan Castro bunts Anthony to third. “Oh, bummer,” Cubs fans thought. “All they need is a sacrifice fly to take the lead.” Never fear. Rojas didn’t give up the sacrifice fly. Instead, he gave up a two-run homer to Nelson Liriano, who only hit 25 such homers in 11 seasons as a Major Leaguer. Cubs lose 6-4.

3. July 15, 1997. The Cubs are clinging to a 3-2 lead over the Houston Astros at Wrigley Field. Rojas starts the 9th by giving up a single to Sean Barry followed by an infield pop out to Tony Eusebio. Chip Caray’s lover Craig “The Beej” Biggio draws a walk as Cubs fans start to groan. On cue, Rojas serves up a three-run home to Bill Spiers. The Cubs lose 5-3.

2. May 2, 1997. Rojas is called on again in the bottom of the 9th inning to hold on to a 7-6 Cubs lead over the Dodgers in L.A. Rojas walks the first two batters he faces, Mike Piazza and Eric Karros. He then gets Raul Mondesi and Todd Hollandsworth to pop out on the infield. Maybe Rojas is going to back his way into a save? Nah. He proceeds to give up another set of back-to-back walks to Todd Zeile and Wayne Kirby, walking in the tying run. The Cubs lose 8-7 on a Tom Prince sacrifice fly in the bottom of the 10th.

1. June 5, 1997. The Cubs are facing off with the Phillies in Philadelphia. Even though Kevin Foster started, the Cubs have an 8-5 lead in the bottom of the 9th inning. Rojas comes in to close out the game. Rojas walks Darren Daulton, gets Scott Rolen to ground into a fielder’s choice, drills Rex Hudler, and gets another fielder’s choice out of Kevin Foster. With runners on first and third and two outs, Rojas gives up a three-run bomb (and the lead) to Mike Lieberthal. The Cubs go on to lose the game in the 10th inning when an RBI single by Rolen gives the Phillies a walkoff, 9-8 win.

Did You Know? As recently as 2003, Rojas was attempting to make a comeback with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. Maybe he was still riding the high of being only the 19th pitcher in the National League and the 28th pitcher in Major League Baseball history to record a nine-pitch, three-strikeout inning. The second batter Rojas got was eventual Cub Todd Hundley. Oh, and the most recent Cub to do it? LaTroy Hawkins on September 11, 2004. It’s like playing six degrees of Kevin Bacon, only I want to punch all of the degrees!