Of Mice And Men

New York Daily News - Sports - Mussina must give it a rest

OAKLAND - "As recently as a week ago, Mike Mussina was the rock of the Yankees' starting rotation. Now, his season might be over.

The Yanks and Mussina downplayed that scenario yesterday while discussing the right-hander's ailing elbow, but no one could rule it out. Mussina traveled to Los Angeles early yesterday to have the elbow examined by specialist Lewis Yocum, and after conducting an MRI and X-rays, the doctor confirmed that Mussina has inflammation that is likely due to tendinitis."
"I'm not discouraged," he said. "You have to deal with things sometimes. This is one of those situations. . . . I'm not having surgery and I'm not getting a (cortisone) shot."

The dreaded cortisone...gasp...SHOT. For you or I, or any adult on the face of mother earth, were someone to offer $8 million dollars a year to take on a summer job...no heavy lifting and it's a once-every-5-days gig...it'd be like, where do I sign. Oh, and an injection once every 6 to 8 weeks is something that might be necessary.

Not today's ballplayer, not by a long shot. In all probability, Mike Mussina, AKA Moose, would begin feeling relief as soon as the cortisone...a steroid by the way...was injected, and might not even miss a pitching turn. But the Moose is just a Mouse so that's that.

When did athletes become so pampered that a tiny needle drove them to distraction? Is it the big bucks, the media attention, the adoration from the public that so lowers a mans testosterone level he begins to feel pain long before your average run of the mill street sweeper? A healthy human male manufacturers nearly 3 times the pain killing hormones of a healthy human female...was a necessary thing for survival don't'cha know. Those who sobbed from a lil cut from a rebounding spear, or were driven to distraction because the boar's tusk nicked a knee, well those fella's were just left where they fell, or became the village idiot, ostracized from the cave crowd and certainly not permitted to pass such genes down to create another generation of weeping willies. The gents with the most big-boy-juices felt less pain, learned to live with what injury they did feel and were highly prized.

Quite the opposite now, isn't it. Squeaky wheels don't just get the grease, they get the babes, the bucks and the glory because it's look-at-ME time on 3rd rock, the age of the phony gangsta, the exhibitionist, and the mommy come help me.

So what do we do with the ones who still suck it up and go about their business? Why, we march 'em off to war so the chances of them passing along the big-boy-juice is greatly reduced, and if an enemy doesn't kill them our kiss-the-boo-boo million mommie mentality kills their spirit.

And since this rant is all about the human spirit I won't mention how virtually EVERY Yankee starting pitcher, along with MOST of the relief corps, has come down with similar ailments. Way to keep the fell'as healthy, Joe.