Letting The Angel Dust Settle

I waited a few days. I didn’t play over there anyway (yes, the answer is yes), so it didn’t really affect me. I’ve been shuttered here for awhile, too, so I wouldn’t think it would affect me.

Or, at least I didn’t think it did. I can’t tell you how many people emailed or texted to ask if I had come out of hibernation without telling them. People actually thought that was me, which I took as unfortunate because that pained and forced and garbled and, frankly, uneducated voice was the primary reason I didn’t play over there to begin with (total lurker, I admit). And, of course, I’m compelled to note the irony of an admitted alcoholic attacking another over the fallout of addiction.

Insofar as I can, however, I agree with the funny little red-haired alcoholic, accidentally ironic, now highly toxic, Ronald McDonald-inspired, aged, piss-poor excuse for a punk rocker.

I said all along, from his signing to his flame-out, when asked (and sometimes when not asked) about Josh Hamilton, “never fucking trust a junkie.” That doesn’t mean that you can’t know one or love one or value one or wish one wasn’t the way they are. You just can’t trust them. And anyone trying to tell you differently has never been around one. I learned the hard way.

I’ve lost friends, good, long time good friends, to heroin addiction. I’m not insensitive. I don’t wish any ill upon Josh Hamilton. In fact, I hope he recovers and I hope he returns to being one of the best fucking baseball players on the planet. I truly hope that, even if it ends up being for the Texas Rangers.

Unfortunately, that is not going to happen because currently his wealth serves as the ultimate enabler for his addictive personality…and that’s only while he’s not hitting. Because when he’s hitting, there is not a single MLB franchise that would not put him in their lineup, drugs or no.

What am I saying? I’m saying that Josh Hamilton’s successes in baseball came not from being sober as the sappy narrative incessantly implied, Josh Hamilton’s success came because the Texas Rangers stumbled onto the best possible formula for Josh Hamilton’s success:

THEY JUST DIDN’T CARE THAT HE WAS ALWAYS HIGH.

You see, cocaine is really only a problem for the people that can’t afford it. If you can afford cocaine, and stay just on this side of the fence that is choking to death on your own vomit or sudden cardiac arrest, you can do cocaine every fucking day, all fucking day until you have to catch up with sleep and sanity before starting the whole cycle anew. And, again, if you can afford the financial aspect, and are willing to tolerate the come down (the “caine-over”) when it’s necessary (and only when it’s fucking necessary), cocaine can be your absolute best friend. And cocaine is Josh Hamilton’s best friend!

Oh…but all of the tests. Right, the tests. Yeah, those tests.  Not only is MLB’s testing ineffective, Josh Hamilton’s high-quality cocaine is through his system fast and I assure you he is really, really expert at cheating tests. That’s a great combination. And on the rare occasion that there is a chance of overlap and a positive test? Just know the rules of the JDA and be sure to admit your use prior to the test. He’s a fucking cocaine junkie and has been for years. It was part of the Texas Rangers clubhouse culture (looking at you Ron Washington), at least to some degree, and who among us is willing to ignore the (sorry in advance) “sniff test” and surmise that Josh Hamilton and Ron Washington never stumbled onto their shared proclivities for hookers and coke?

Okay, basically, Josh Hamilton was and is a junkie, and can’t be trusted. He probably is headed down a road, especially now that he’s further enabled, that will lead nowhere good. Mark my words, he will not be playing baseball for the Texas Rangers by August. Whether it’s a full-blown drug meltdown or a positive test or just a feigned injury necessitating geographically and emotionally distant rehab, he’s done, regardless of whether the Rangers continue to look the other way. His window of performing at that level of both world-class hitter and world-class junkie has closed. He is faced with a very difficult decision right now and from all appearances is choosing world-class junkie.

So, yes, the funny little circus-freak who couldn’t throw a baseball across the diamond to save his life and takes everything written more personally than it was ever intended, was sort of right this time. It’s just that he wrote from a personally dickish, totally butt-hurt, fan-boy fucking shriek that made it seem as though he felt that he and his wife were personally slighted and owed the actual U.S. dollars to Josh Hamilton. And, of course, it might have helped his cause had he shared with, or possibly reminded, his audience that it takes a junkie to know a junkie. But he didn’t do any of that because he was never really that good at what was basically a second or third job…or more aptly a hobby.

Truth be told, I was always a bit creeped out by that type of fellow Angel fan. I always excused my Angel passions as an extension of my baseball passion. The fact that I could play the game a little, and had been obsessed all along on that basis, made it seem more real. I know…that totally makes me an asshole. Whatever. When you bang the drum that loudly, dye your hair bright red, shriek at anyone who disagrees with you, look down your nose at fellow addicts, essentially embrace the role of creepy internet freak while not even bothering to really note how bizarre and worrisome the whole schtick is, well, the superiority complex begins to suggest an instability not far off of the brazen headlines. Sorry. That type of persona requires that you recognize the inherent irony in it all, have some fun with it, and maybe make it just a bit lighter…or else you look like a flaming red-haired douchey asshole with too loud a voice and too many unfortunate readers.

Ok…last thing in this post from, ah, yes, left field, where the Angel dust apparently gathers…

If you have any doubts whatsoever that Josh is using, have another look at that video above. I mean, he looks awfully “comfortable,” doesn’t he? He looks like a guy very happy to be back where everyone knows he’s high and nobody cares. See, accountability? That’s what this whole thing was about, it just wasn’t written very well. But watch that video and tell me more about “fan fiction.”

Enjoy that one, Mr. Daniels.

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