1. Robinson Cayes? Robinson Cano.
Robinson Cano, whose contract expired at the end of the 2013 season, is demanding a one-year $305 million contract. This would make him the annually highest-paid athlete of all time.
With this in mind – and without the much needed help of the prophetic Steven A. Smith – your On Fire correspondent has a message for Robinson Cano, who we know is reading.
Now Robinson, you are 31 years old. Did you drink from the same fountain of youth as Julio Franco? Let me give you a spoiler alert: YOU DIDN’T. Do you really want to surpass former Met and currently unemployed Johan Santana as the biggest waste of money in baseball?
We get it, you’re a second baseman and have power. But do you really deserve extra money because you’re a six-foot-tall grown man playing a position generally reserved for gnomes like Dustin Pedroia?
It’s not our fault you weren’t quite good enough in the field to play shortstop. Are you still upset about that failure? Is that why you want more money that the CEO of General Motors?
And while we’re talking about that cute little elf Pedroia, are you really worth two and a half times more than him? Is your thinking that you’re two and a half times the size of him? Because we at Emory do not condone job discrimination based on height. Don’t be so intolerant, Robinson Jose Cano.
I have to assume – as we can with all controversies involving pinstripes, juice, blonde hair and any general debauchery – that the infamous A-Rod is playing some role in your recent miserly demands. Don’t get me wrong, I see your thinking.
A-Rod is a professional tightrope walker on the Mendoza line, and he’s the current highest annually-paid athlete of all time. Yeah, he barely even played last season.
But trust me, Robbie, you can’t handle the pressure that comes with that kind of dough. You will collapse faster than the U.S. economy and before you know it you’ll be player-coaching on the Fort Worth Cats with Jose Canseco.
Robinson, you’re a great player. But are you really worth $185,185 each game? $20,576 an inning? Maybe if you’d hit one single home run in 2012.
You embarrassed the Yankees, the American League, Major League baseball, the United States of American and humanity. Hear me out, had you hit one home run, I might say you were worth this much money.
But you know what, Bob? You didn’t hit one home run. You hit none. Zero.
Rob, bud, maybe I’ve been a little hard on you and for that I am sorry. You probably aren’t as greedy as you seem.
You probably have some deeply-seeded insecurities, and you think this p–sing contest against yourself will make them go away.
Because let’s be honest: making an extra $10 million per year isn’t going to change your lifestyle. If you really want to compare sizes, you better be ready to show your chips.
How about you win a MVP next year (sorry, Silver Slugger won’t do it, Bobby C)?
Better yet, lead the Yankees into another dynasty (because you’ll be there for 10 years if you get what you want)? Step up Cano.