Bimbos and Rain Keep Giants At Bay

"The Ice Man's mule is parked
Outside the bar
Where a man with missing fingers
Plays a strange guitar
And the German dwarf
Dances with the butcher's son
And a little rain never hurt no one
And a little rain never hurt no one"

-- Tom Waits, A Little Rain

With the Mets-Giants opener rained out last night, we had a little time to catch up on some reading, and must-read reading it was for although I'd seen the fleshy shots of the partially clad Anna Benson and read of her threats on the Howard Stern show to sleep with all of hubby Kris' teammates if he was ever unfaithful to her, never before had I been allowed such insight into the bimbonic machinery of the Anna Benson brain at work until I came across this piece in the New Yorker for a little rainy day reading.

I try to imagine what goes on in the mind of a pitcher who comes home from a night at the park to listen to this sort of intellectual wind-breaking from his "better half":

"This is Petunia, only twelve weeks old," Anna introduced, scooping up scooped up a tiny, pinkish French bulldog wearing a black Mets sweater. "I saw her last week in a pet shop. I couldn’t resist. I have four other French bulldogs at home in Georgia. Kris loves Petunia. He wants Petunia to come with me to the game, along with the kids here—Paul James, we call him P.J., he’s eight and a half, and Haylee Love, she’s four and a half. Kris and I’ll have another one or two or three. I’ll just whip them out.

Because it was already on my mind, her french bulldog confession (have two or three more what, children? french bulldogs? lobotomies?...) reminded me of the line in Frank's Wild Years:

"his wife was a spent piece of used jet trash
made good bloody marys
kept her mouth shut most of the time
had a little Chihuahua named Carlos
that had some kind of skin disease
and was totally blind."

*****

The article became more revealing of the apparent ongoing insanity in the Benson household when she revealed, in comparision to hubby Kris' stint on the DL that:

"I have toe trouble from my strip-dancing days. But I don’t want any more bungled surgery. I don’t want them to touch me. I did only one cosmetic-surgery thing: I had breast implants. After having three kids, I felt I deserved it. Kris doesn’t want me to have plastic surgery on my face. He says, ‘Don’t let them do any of that crap to you; you’re too pretty."

Toe trouble from my strip-dancing days. Don't let them do any of that crap to you, as if there are hit squads of plastic surgeons all around the city just waiting to kidnap her, tie her down and disfigure her. She really should be writing sitcom dialogues for some television reality show rather than wasting all this good material on the stiff production like the New Yorker.

It was an odd contrast this week with Doug Mientkiewicz's confession that his wife Jodi, sans cosmetic surgery, said to him "You are a good player. Hopefully someday you'll show these people you can play. You're a much better player than this. I'm tired of watching this."

Yeah, not enough headaches hitting less than your weight and getting benched in favour of a utilityman infielder but Mientkiewicz also gets to have his missus kick him whilst he's down, toss a little dirt on him, point out the obvious, screw his head on a little tighter...

But getting back to the number one act in the Mets Crazy Wives Club, Anna relates the tale of how she and Kris first hooked up:

"We had that immediate physical attraction for each other. But I wouldn’t sleep with him. I wouldn’t introduce him to my family or to my child. I made him work hard. I made him suffer. You have to make them suffer.

You have to make them suffer, she says. Like listening to her droning on about herself isn't punishment enough already. Thus we gain a little insight into Kris Benson as well. Either he's incredibly stupid or something like the ultimate masochist.

"I was terrible until I got with Kris." Anna confesses as though this miraculous transformation would be apparent to anyone who met her today, the post-Kris Anna rather than the pre-Kris Anna. "He put the glow on me. He’s the most real person I know. Kris can do self-hypnosis, he’s so in tune with his body. When I came to him, I had nothing—two pairs of panties and one bra. Suddenly, I found I was married to a millionaire."

Imagine what a pair of fake tits can do for you these days.

Finally, as we near exhaustion with the topic of herself she reveals the more compassionate side of herself, the non-Anna-obsessed-Anna:

"Before we were with the Mets, when players tried to boss me around I told them, ‘You’re not my daddy!’ I don’t give a shit. I don’t care that much about baseball. I want to do many other things. I’m a humanitarian and a philanthropist. When I’m in New York, I go out by myself and talk to the homeless on the street. I listen to them. I want to hear their stories. I want to talk about today’s issues."

Can you just see Anna Benson talking to homeless people on the streets about "today's issues"?

Incredible.

You've really got to look at Kris Benson in a whole new light after reading this interview. How he can ever focus on pitching with a bimbo nutjob like her carping on in his ear every day is quite simply some sort of miracle of concentration worthy of scientific study.

*****

Happy to see that because of the rainout, we'll get a rare, old-fashioned doubleheader treat on Sunday - the first game I'll have to listen to on the radio but the second game will be the Sunday night game which is broadcast here live on an ESPN feed every week, so I'll get the rare treat of watching the Mets on the telly albeit starting at around 1 in the morning...