The Tool Shed: Wardrobe Malfunction

Hey there, Mike Wallace. 

That’s a pretty fancy gig you’ve got, working as clubhouse manager for the Washington Nationals, rubbing elbows with the likes of Blastings Thrilledge and Adam Dunn, stealing the occasional pair of big-league tighty whiteys and selling them on eBay. 

I hear the cheddar’s pretty good, plus you get to catch a few innings each night.  I bet throwing around your title helps you get laid, and no worries about any negative media attention like your terrible team, right?  Right?

Oh, wait, not right…‘cause you sent two members of your team out on the field wearing “Natinals” jerseys this week, and now everyone knows you’re a complete idiot.

Cripes.

Perhaps I don’t comprehend the complexities of your job, Mike.  As I understand it, you’re the house mother for roughly 40 sweaty men.  Forty sweaty, well-paid men who tip you generously for ordering their meat-lovers’ pizzas, arranging transportation for their road beef, and scrubbing grass stains out of their pants. 

It doesn’t take much to avoid embarrassment here, Mike.

I mean, I’m not asking for a spelling-bee champion.  Just keep plenty of stirrups on hand for players who want to rock the socks, and, you know, make sure the team’s name is spelled correctly on the gear.  It’s not rocket surgery.  Hell, it’s not even narrating the Jungle Cruise.###MORE###

To be fair, there are plenty of other dopes involved in this debacle.  Some dummy sewed and shipped those uniforms.  Two dummies suited up in them and frolicked about the field, and dozens of others saw them pregame. 

And at no point did anyone stop and say, "Hey, broseph, did we change the team name again or some shit?"

Of course, you didn’t stop and say that either.  Apparently, you didn’t notice the missing “O.”  Fail, Mike.  Fail.

But I’m kind of a Pollyanna, so let’s focus on the positive:  You now join the ranks of America’s famous spelling failures, like Dan Quayle, Paris Hilton, and the idiot who named QuikTrip.  And nothing—I mean nothing—you do will ever be more embarrassing than the Nationals’ on-field performance each night.

Until the sting wears off, I invite you to console yourself with this honor: You’re the newest inductee into the JSF Tool Shed.  Congratulations, dumbass.