This is the statue coronation speech I wanted to use, wrote and considered giving, but decided against in the end. There’s a good chance they’d have taken it the wrong way. It’s lovely that they do these things for me, and if I’d given this speech, well, they might not have appreciated the humor and I might’ve come across as ungrateful.
That’s why they love me. I wasn’t a great player and that’s my shtick, lovable loser, the self-deprecating quips, and I’ve been doing the radio play-by-play for thirty-plus years. That’s why they’ve made this hideous bronze statue that looks nothing like me. The other statues in front of the stadium are of great players, home run hitters, ace pitchers, heroes for what they did on the field, and so I’m different that way. I made my bones off the field, that’s why my statue will be the only one in front of the stadium not wearing a baseball uniform but a crewneck sweater and knit slacks depicted in bronze.
My name appears on the base of the statue and that’s the only way you’d know it was me because it’s a shitty likeness, a big, shitty-likeness statue of the team’s self-deprecating radio announcer who played briefly in this city, and not even for this team but for another franchise that used to play here until it relocated to a larger metropolitan area. And because I was on the Tonight Show and had a recurring role on a short-lived prime-time sitcom with a laugh track:
“Thank you, thanks (here I turn to my right and ponder the statue for a few seconds). First and foremost, I’d like to say that if you think I posed for this statue, you’d be mistaken. Does anyone know who did? Whoever he is, he needs to lay off the estrogen pills. Kidding, seriously, if I’m not mistaken this likeness was created from a surprise picture taken of me fresh from the men’s room. I’d just taken care of my business and my hands were still wet so I had ‘em in my pockets in case someone insisted on shaking hands with me, which happens often. People see me, they want to meet me and shake my hand, so this explains the pocket billiards.
“Yeah, so I’m just out of the men’s room and someone insists on taking my picture. I have to say it’s always a little intrusive, but especially fresh from the men’s room. This also explains the shit-eating, please-get-away-from-me grin, which in bronze makes me look like I don’t take very good care of my teeth. In fact, looking at this statue, I look like I might have lived in medieval times and some think I’m old enough. I’d suggest for future bronze statues with closed mouths only, otherwise shit-eating grin lends itself to a literal interpretation.
(Again I turn to the statue and ponder it)
“I’m glad I didn’t forget to zip up.
(More pondering)
“What struck me when I first saw this statue are the man tits.
(Here I’d expect mostly a silent, taken-aback reaction where a few people would laugh insanely, possibly some current players they’ve ‘invited’ to the ceremony. There’s a chance their laughter would be infectious, though I couldn’t be sure, and it’s largely because of this uncertainty that I scrapped this speech.)
“I can see it now. People approaching the stadium from the outer edge of the parking lot and they see me from afar, there by the stadium they’ll see my statue and they’ll know it’s me because of the man tits, which are prominent enough to see from that far away, and possibly from space. On a statue that size, those are some ample man tits. I’m really stacked. Fortunately for me, I’m a happily married man. Maybe some little boy a generation or two removed from now will look up at this father and ask, ‘daddy, who’s the guy with no hands and man tits?’
“‘Son, I do believe that was the first handicapped hermaphrodite to play in the major leagues.’
“At my age, man tits are inevitable. How many men over seventy have tight pecs? In fairness to the artist, the man tits are at least pushed up like I’m wearing a sports bra. So I appreciate that, firm man tits are preferable to unrestrained, droopy ones. I can’t help but think, generations from now, as being referred to as the man tits guy, ‘daddy, who’s the man tits guy again? What did he do?’
“And honestly, folks, I didn’t do very much. I have the best job in the world, the best seats in the house. Thank you for the tribute.”
