You Can’t Get Into The Hall of Fame Unless You Limp—Casey Stengel

22 Jan

Thank you much for the condolences regarding my being excluded, yet again, from the inductees to the New Jersey Hall of Fame.  Much like the dedicated fan who left roses and cognac at Poe’s grave, a dear man nominates me every year (I do not know his name as he signs the form only with his prison number), but I have yet to get in. Please do not concern yourselves too much on my account. I am well aware of how these things work and as lovely as the honour would be, I simply refuse to play their games. I have done nothing but praise the Garden State, but it looks like my refusal to sleep with a certain prominent New Jersey politician continues to haunt me.

To those being inducted into the Hall of Fame this year—Martha Stewart and John Travolta among them—I offer my hearty congratulations. It looks like they “did what it takes” to get the coveted prize, but I’m afraid I just couldn’t stomach those stumpy hands anywhere near my person.

You win some and you lose some, I suppose.

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