Roger Clemenspalooza '07: Pud Galvin

Due to the magnanimity of the Roger Clemens signing, the BBBC task force is asking a sports celebrity to give their thoughts on Clemens coming back to the Yankees. Today's Roger Clemenspalooza '07 guest is 19th century pitching legend Pud Galvin.

Well salutations there, young fellers. I was listening to the radio in heaven when I found out that this apple-cheeked wonder named Clemens signed with the Highlanders. Oh sorry, my editor informs me that they call them the "Yankees" now. That baloon-headed crank should know that I haven't followed base ball much since I died of lumbago in 1902. I don't care much for the League of Americans that challenged our prestigious National League. However, I like to keep a special eye on the hurlers of the horsehide since I was one myself.

After this Roger Clemens signed a contractual obligation document with the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players, my comrades asked me how I felt about this momentous event. I turned to my comrade Phineus T. Wilstonmur (who died of a salmon bite in 1896) and told him "I swear on the body of president McKinley that the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players made a tremendous misjudgment!" Why did I utter such a sentence? I will divulge my reasons in the following writings of the third paragraph below.

The first reason is the absurd amount of gold the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players were willing to transact to the bank account of this Clemens. How is it that the American economy can support such a transaction? The depression of 1892 was not long ago. 28 pieces of gold was enough to buy the Landersville locomotive corporation in my day! One could have a top-rate phonograph for a three-pence of silver. Certainly this knocker-lipped Clemens with his rousing trousers is not worth this much in gold.

I also hear from my comrade Thorton J. Delphinley (who died of land sickness in 1888) that this feller Clemens has won the prestigious amount of games, three-hundred, that is needed for entrance into the hall of exceptionally talented base ball particpants. I was made aware recently that I was elected into the hall of exceptionally talented baseball participants because I acquired 364 victories in my career. I did this over the course of 15 seasonal segmentations, as oppossed to this veal-chested Clemens who is now pitching in his 24th seasonal segmentation. How can this hurler be considered so successful when he has never won 40 games in a seasonal segmentation? I recorded 46 wins in 1882 and 1883 pitching for the greatest team of all-time, the Buffalo Bisons, who captured the hearts of America and her colonies and was never forgotten. For my great number of wins I was only paid 14 greenbacks per game. I had to accept the dastardly paper greenbacks over a piece of gold, the monetary standard of our country. A pitcher like this kettle-throated Clemens who has never even won 30 games in a seasonal segmentation cannot impact a team to a great degree and is therefore not worth all of the fuss that has built-up around the signing of his contractual obligation document.

Finally, the conditions that this spinning jenny-armed Clemens is pitching under are far too easy in my opinion. In my day I had to hurl the pellet against the sharp-witted Protestant boys of the northeast. They all had attended grammar school and were educated in basic plow techniques. Today I see brown-skinned heathens who swear their allegiance to the Papal authority playing the game of base ball. Their minute brains and incorrigible tempers make them ill-suited for the sport of base ball. Clemens can easily toss the leather pill three times past the Pope-lusters and record a triple strike, or "strike out". Any pitcher who only faces such ignorant competition should not be playing for the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players.

There you have my thesis on the Clemens question. Not since the presidential election of 1876 has such a folly been committed! This sawmill-stomached Clemens, with his lightbulb-equipped dwelling, is too unqualified to pitch in a Union city. I will contact the lord controller of the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players through the heaven telegraph and tell him of some other rawhide-horse-pellet-tossers to stradle the mound for the remainder of the seasonal segmentation. My comrade Ellsworth O. Mortimer IV (who died of a biscuit explosion in 1895) informs me of a good Lutheran prospect hurling for the Boston syndicate with the apellation Denton "Cy" Young. Perhaps this Young is what the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players really needs.

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