Body Parts 2: Eclectic Boogaloo

Hello, friends. Today, I’m supposed to sit down with the ego of St. Louis Cardinal’s Manager Tony La Russa. Knowing full well the ego’s busy schedule, I am not surprised at it’s lateness, but I am worried whether it will arrive at all the demands were sort of bizarre: I am not allowed to look Mr. La Russa’s ego in the eye, there should be two full glasses of Dry Sherry at the disposal of the ego at all times, and, for some reason, I have to play Queen’s Greatest Hits (Vol. 1) throughout the interview. I think it’s arrived.

Business or Leisure: Um, hello. Are you, the—that is—you’re the ego, I presume?
Tony’s Ego: Ahem. Ahem.
BoL: What? Oh. (I hit play and Tony’s ego immediately requests Track 4. “Fat Bottom Girls” begins playing.)
TE: Love that cut, man.
BoL: Oh. Um, yes. I thought you would look, uh, different. I mean—
TE: What, you mean like a distended eye, or some sort of hulking beast? Maybe on some ballplayer or something, but Mr. La Russa has an ego made of pure light and energy. That is why you are not allowed to look directly at my energy source. I am not unlike an eclipse, Mr., uh…
BoL: You can call me—
TE: No matter. (It sips the sherry.)
BoL: Right. So, to begin, I want to ask you about the modern athlete as compared with the athletes of past decades. Is their a large differential in their egos or beha—
TE: I know Terrell Owens’ ego quite well. We’re intimates. I’m supposed to meet him in an hour. He wants to feel a real life championship trophy.
BoL: OK. Interesting. What’s Mr. Owens’—?
TE: He’s sort of a bore. He’s in the shape of a bicep and mostly flexes himself when talking, but he’s quite fun once you get to know him. I do enjoy his company.
BoL: Right. Now getting back to the matter at hand.
TE: You know, winning two World Series makes me a mortal lock for the Hall of Fame. To think! Me next to some of the great egos of all time!
BoL: Do you think that is a great honor?
TE: Honor?! (It laughs loudly for what seems like a full minute. Then it tapers off and sips more sherry.) Heavens, no. This is the opportunity for other ego to pale in comparison to my vigor and unadulterated power. Ruth, Williams, Bonds… they all pale in comparison to the greatest managerial ego of all time.
BoL: Is that so?
TE: Indeed. Who keeps Tony’s hair so pristine, his demeanor so incredulous, his laundry so permanently in place, and his eyes turned away while his players drive needles into their asses? I do. I am the controlling force behind the greatest baseball mind ever.
BoL: Well, I happen to think—
TE: Can you skip to “We Are the Champions?” It would be rather befitting, no?
BoL: No. No, I won’t switch. Now, let’s go back to the original questions.
TE: Is it hot in here to you?
BoL: Hot? No. It’s a decent temperature.
TE: Must be my natural aversion to lesser beings. Were you asking something?
BoL: Now wait just a goddamn minute you—
TE: One second, Chet.
BoL: My name is—
TE: (answers cell phone) TegO. What’s the deal mate? No. No. Really? Right then, I’m off. I’ll see you there. Cheers, mate.
TE: TO’s ego. Says Faith Hill’s ego is ready to hang out. She’s a handful, but… well, never mind. Are we done then?
BoL: I suppose so.
TE: Thanks ever so much for the, um, sherry. If you can call it that, I suppose (tips back both glasses).
BoL: Yeah. Sure. See you later.
TE: (stifles laughter) Right right.

Author's Note: In any event, I think it went relatively well. Another quick note, I’ve since been told that La Russa’s ego put Faith Hill’s ego up to her whole gag. Maybe it convinced Donald Rumsfeld’s ego that he was comparable to Winston Churchill? Perhaps. La Russa’s ego denies both claims, and has not returned any of our phone calls here at the Pretzel Factory. All the same, it’s probably for the best. The Cards were, at best, the eighth best team in the MLB this year anyway.