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I’m not a huge fan of self-important and recent casualty of the PC brigade Colin Cowherd, but in spite of himself, he had a pretty entertaining segment when he interviewed professional lunatic Lenny Dykstra on Tuesday.
For those unfamiliar with the semi-great Dykstra, a.k.a. “Nails” or “Dude,” he’s a former MLB player for the Mets (1985-89) and Phillies (1989-96), convicted felon, and distinguished Alumnus of the Federal Penitentiary in Victorville, CA. Adding to his greatness, before there was Mike Honcho, Dykstra also posed shirtless for a beefcake poster under his infamous “Nails” call sign. Deal with that, guy who wears a shirt when he goes swimming. This guy is basically The Boz with a respectable professional career.
Back in Lenny’s day, huge sports contracts weren’t as exorbitant or common as they are now, so all the great ones needed an edge. Most of the great ones, and most of the shitty ones, from this era found their edge in the form of a hypodermic needle injecting steroids directly into their asses. Based on his appearance, demeanor, criminal record, gradually increasing performance stats, reputation, and his own admission, it’s safe to say Lenny took the needle, too. But steroids were common back then, and he needed a new idea to tip the scales in his favor. He really had to think outside the box that contained his steroids.
We’ve all been there, wondering how to find our competitive advantage among peers. Like many people, you may think the solution is something stupid like “hard work” or “dedication.” Well, to each his own, but Lenny Dykstra would call you a fat fucking pussy while he spat part of his brick-sized Red Man chew all over your face for such a lame suggestion. For Lenny, the answer was clear: pay a few sleazy, shitbag private investigators to stalk MLB umpires, observe their deviant vices, catalogue them, and then exploit them for favorable calls during the game.
As Lenny so eloquently notes of these unsuspecting yet surprisingly shitty umpires, “their blood is just as red as ours,” so they’re just as likely to hole out a streetwalker or get their nipples burned off by a pissed-off bookie as anyone else. Once his blackmail plan went into effect for the 1993 season, Dykstra posted career-bests in nearly every offensive category and finished second behind Bonds in MVP voting. Hilariously, the largest increase came in his walk total, which is coincidentally the most subjective aspect of the game for umpires. Having the ump by the balls before there was even a pitch tracker to call their fear-induced bullshit? Brilliant. Sadly, whether it was due to karma, drugs, injuries, alcohol, or some combination of those, he never regained his 1993 form and retired in 1996.
Dykstra lived the simple retired life as only he could. Here’s a list of post-baseball highlights from his Wikipedia page:
Sexually harassing a minor; verbally assaulting women, gays, and minorities; getting banned from his own foreclosed homes on charges of vandalism; bouncing a check to a prostitute; forcing his maid to give him oral on Saturdays; bankruptcy fraud; multiple grand-theft auto charges; and possession of cocaine, ecstasy and HGH. Last but not least, Dykstra was charged with indecent exposure for posting ads for an assistant on Craigslist, telling candidates upon arrival that the job required massages, and then dropping trou and whipping it out.
We can all learn a lesson from the great Lenny Dykstra. If some asshole at work is threatening to jump you on the corporate ladder, don’t think you can get ahead just by working harder, staying later, and performing better than him. You need the Lenny Dykstra edge. You likely don’t have $500k to hire a shitbag PI of your own like Lenny did, but it’s not that hard to get dirt on people.
Lenny didn’t sandbag his peers; that’s unbecoming (looking at you, Tonya Harding). No, he went straight to the source and sandbagged the hell out of the umpires, the decision makers, and that’s what you have to do. Your boss drives a Saab, so you know he’s definitely into some weird shit. Next time he leaves early on a Friday under suspicious circumstances, duck out behind him and tail him to whatever sinful location he frequents. Game over.
Your boss may hate you for discovering that he’s a loyal customer of several happy-ending massage parlors, HJ-friendly bathhouses, and seedy movie theaters, but he won’t fire you. He can’t. He might call that second strike on you to keep up appearances, but just like LD, it’s not worth ruining his life to ring you up on a fastball right down the middle instead of just letting you walk to first. That’s the Lenny Dykstra edge..
Image via YouTube
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When you have bosses that would tell you which rub and tug place is the best (and worse) at happy hour, I’m not sure what level of dirt would strike a chord.