Douche Bag Report: Ricky Horton Edition

Ricky, let's talk.

You're a grown man, but people call you Ricky. This would be OK if you were a Mexican gang leader running an international heroin ring from the clink while serving two consecutive life terms.  But you're a middle-aged ex-pitcher from Poughkeepsie, so maybe it's time to encourage people to call you Rick.  Or Richard.  Or Dick, which is classless but accurate.
And Ricky, here's a news flash regarding your career:  You were a mediocre pitcher.  Yes, you played on a few World Series teams, but you're a little more Villone than Perez if you know what I mean.  You're not much of a broadcaster either.  To hear you talk, you never left a pitch up in the zone or mistook a strike for a ball at the plate, and you always wore your uniform pants in the most acceptable fashions.  But it turns out that you're not wiser than all the current players, managers, coaches, umpires (obvious exception: Phil Cuzzi), and official scorers.  If you were, you wouldn't be sitting next to Pat Parris six nights a week answering text messages about the state of Pineiro's groin.
So Ricky, what I'm saying is that it's time you face the facts:  You're a total bag o' douche.

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