Julian Tavarez: Late Night Playboy Signs with Washington Nationals

After six months on the shelf, veteran pitcher Julian Tavarez signed a minor-league contract with the Washington Nationals last week. 

When asked about his decision, he gave this completely awesome rundown:

“Why did I sign with the Nationals? When you go to a club at four in the morning, and you’re just waiting, waiting, a 600-pounder looks like J. Lo. And to me, this is Jennifer Lopez right here. It’s four in the morning. Too much to drink. So, Nationals: Jennifer Lopez to me.”

Um, right.  Let’s break this down.  Using my razor-sharp analytic skills, I’ve determined that you’re saying:

• The Nationals are to baseball as the whale-crane obese are to sexy.
• You’ll, uh, play ball just about anywhere.
• You probably have STDs.

Got it.

Now Julian, I’m trying to think of a way to put this delicately, and there’s not one.  So let me get straight to the heart of it:  Have you seen your face?  You’re not attractive.  Maybe not on Ezekial Astacio’s level, but you’re major-league ugly.  You’re not taking home a J. Lo unless it’s four in the morning, and she’s just there waiting, waiting, and she’s had too much to drink.  Are you picking up what I’m putting down here, chief?

As for your pitching career, in the past fifteen-plus years, baseball has passed you around like a cheap whore.  You had a hot start, but today you’re a jobber at best; there are scores of other players who could take your place on the mound.  You’re 35 years old, and while I suspect you’ll get more years out of your arm, the glory days have passed. 

At this point, you’re lucky to find a fatty to take you home.

And Julian, this is neither here nor there, but you have a bit of a rage problem.  You’ve wracked up more than your share of suspensions for brawling.  There are some interesting rumors about you running around knifing folks left and right while growing up in the Dominican Republic.  (I don’t care to verify these because (a) facts are for real journalists and (b) it’s more fun to think it’s true.) 

Oh, and remember when you broke your hand during post-season play because you punched a bullpen phone after your manager pulled you from the game?  Yeah, me too.  Idiot.

So here’s what we’ve discovered:  You’re ugly, angry, marginally talented, and perfectly willing to insult the team that pulled you from the rubbish pile.  It’s not a resume that gets you into the Hall of Fame, Julian, but you’re a solid candidate for the JSF Tool Shed.