Rollins_Torborg

The 2011 Hall of Hate: Rollins vs. Torborg

Well, it’s been chalk so far (except for Brett Myers winning as a nine seed, of course). And while I don’t expect it to change, they don’t have votes on paper.

Or, something like that. Next two combatants, please:

 

(2) Jimmy Rollins vs. (15) Jeff Torborg

Why you should hate Jimmy Rollins:

Oh, but so many reasons. Author of the infamous “team to beat” comment. Also the author of countless snotty remarks about Mets celebrations, Jose Reyes, and Jose Reyes celebrating. Blame the various reporters for casting bait if you wish, but Rollins seems all too eager to take the bait and run with it. (Except of course when the Phillies get upset in the playoffs, in which case he doesn’t even show up to your piddly little media session.) Yet with all of his yapping, the biggest reason to hate him might be yet to come. His recent proclamation that he wants a five year deal to stay in Philadelphia without a hometown discount may push Philadelphia toward signing Jose Reyes. If anything else he’s said or done didn’t make you want to set fire to him, that’ll do it.

Why you should hate Jeff Torborg:

Wins 94 games as manager of the 1990 Chicago White Sox with Greg Hibbard as his ace, a 42-year-old as his best hitter, and Dan Pasqua. Then comes to the Mets with Sid, Doc, Cone, and Bret Saberhagen, and wins 85 games in two seasons before getting canned in favor of Dallas Green. Isn’t an alleged “manager of the year” supposed to be able to manage difficult personalities like Saberhagen, Eddie Murray, and Bobby Bonilla (pictured above, in happier times)? Nooooooo, of course not. Instead, he manages the team into the ground from which it wouldn’t emerge for another five years.


2011 Hall of Hate: 2 vs. 15
(2) Jimmy Rollins
(15) Jeff Torborg
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Richie Hebner never stood a chance, losing to Tony Bernazard in yesterday’s voting 52-11. Bernazard will now challenge Yadier Molina in the second round. Shirtless, I assume.

Metstradamus

About Metstradamus

I've been a Mets fan since 1976. The 1988 NLCS still bothers me infinitely more than it should. Keep reaching for the stars, and then get checked for a torn ligament.

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