Dec. 13, 2007
MILWAUKEE (AP) - Three days after signing a $10 million contract on closer Eric Gagne, the Milwaukee Brewers found out Thursday he was named in a report on performance – enhancing drugs. The long-awaited Mitchell Report accused Gagne of having purchased human growth hormone in 2004 while with the Los Angeles Dodgers.
The Brewers released a statement, saying they were reviewing the report.
Gagne finished last season with the World Series champion Boston Red Sox. He struggled in a setup role with the Red Sox , going 2-2 with a 6.75 ERA, and was rarely used in tight situations down the stretch.
According to the report, Federal agents seized a copy of an Express Mail receipt … showing a shipment to Dodger’s Stadium in care of Gagne … for a kit of human growth hormone.
Red Sox general manager Theo Epstein asked about Gagne’s possible use of steroids when the team was considering acquiring him. Red Sox scout Mark Delpiano responded: “Some digging on Gagne and steroids IS the issue. Has had a checkered medical past throughout career … .”
The report said Gagne declined Mitchell’s request for a meeting.
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A couple of years ago, I wrote a short spoof expressing my indignation at the affected manner in which a certain “Eric Gagne,” at the time a member of the L.A. Dodgers, insisted upon pronouncing his last name. I was willing to concede that he might be a passably good pitcher, despite the fact that he is . . . well (there’s really no nice way to say this, I fear), French — or, more precisely, French-Canadian . . . a distinction “sans” difference, mais oui?
I pointed to another pretty fair ballplayer with the same last name who had some years earlier played for the Minnesota Twins: viz. Greg, a REAL ballplayer, by the way — that is to say, the type who plays every day and gets his uniform dirty, in contrast to … well, a relief pitcher. THAT Mr. Gagne had the common decency to pronounce every letter in his surname, the way God intended Real Americans to do (i.e. GAG-nee).
The temerity of this popinjay in affecting some preposterous Eurotrash pronunciation (i.e. GONE-yay), I pointed out, was enough to make me reach for my glycerine pills. Can you say “outré,” boys and girls?
I went on to descry the sorry pass to which America’s game had come, what with that Caribbe rum-runner Andruw Jones playing centerfield for the Atlanta Braves — only one of several ballplayers who can’t seem to manage to spell their first name properly. For instance, I continued, we have some bumptious fellow with the Los Angeles (formerly Anaheim) Angels going by the (ahem) singular first name of “Chone,” and I’m assured that it’s pronounced just like “Shawn”! This, just when I thought we’d heard the last of “Shawon” Dunston. In the interest of my own health and well-being, I refrained from contemplating the spate of fellows who insist upon using their initials (e.g. J.D. Drew, J.T. Snow, C.C. Sabathia, et al) and, in response to one reader’s comments, frankly admitted that I might well be incapable of even discussing the Cleveland Indians’ “Coco” Crisp without damaging myself.
But I digress. With regard to Monsieur Gone-Yeah, I must insist — again — that American English is about pronouncing the letters that are there, and not gratuitously adding any that are unpronounced. Noah Webster, who first led us from bondage under the imperial dictates of “Merrie Oulde Englande,” must be spinning in his grave. We remember him for freeing our language from the vestigial “colours” and “flavours” of corrupt empire, And now, as then, I am not willing to stand silently by and suffer this abuse — dare I say, this egregious violation of the Natural Order? — to stand unchallenged.
As a history buff, I pointed out that even the Brits — with Divine assistance, some say — managed to throw William the Conqueror’s effete hordes back across the Channel during the Hundred Years War, and now, more than ever, the Gauls must be kept on the Continent where they (presumably) belong. Surely it’s enough, I asked, that 17% of the English language already is a direct result of the Francophile Invasion of 1066? One might usefully bear in mind the Plague: it, too, is ever-prone to disturbing reemergences in the gutters of Paris.
But time moves on. After remarkably unproductive stints with the Texas Ranger and the Boston Red Sox, Monsieur Gone-Yeah has been suitably rewarded for cheating and mediocrity with a $10 million contract — for seven months of throwing 15-20 pitches every few days. He leaves behind Messrs. Drew and Crisp in Boston, and Jones will be playing for his old team, the Dodgers, come 2008. In the meantime, the Indians, in addition to the aforementioned Mr. Sabathia, now harbor in their midst yet another self-styled exotic who can’t spell his first name properly, viz. one Mr. Peralta. “Jhonny“? Waht the fukc is that?!
