Everett's big mouth not what Sox need
June 16, 2005
BY JAY MARIOTTI SUN-TIMES COLUMNIST
Knowing Carl Everett to be intellectually loopy and quite irrelevant in the big world, I am not interested in any of his social opinions. What does concern me, though, are the damaging effects he could have on the special chemistry of the White Sox if he reverts to his Mount Everett self and keeps spewing needless lava.
So much for the new Carl, the measured Carl, the professional Carl. His penchant for controversy has spilled over at an odd time in a strange forum, Maxim magazine, a post-frat skin rag that published Everett's rants about homosexuals in baseball, the ignorance of sports fans, the congressional steroid hearings and even his disdain for Wrigley Field. It makes no sense why an inconsistent, aging slugger who has bought into a cohesive, selfless, problem-free success story would go Rodman on us, right there alongside the "Hometown Hotties.''
You just hope this isn't the re-emergence of Bad Carl. Because as folks know in other towns -- especially Boston, which saw him attack an ump, serve a 10-game suspension and launch expletive-filled tirades at his manager, a teammate and a sportswriter in the same half-season -- the eruption of Mount Everett can ruin a ballclub.
I don't know if the Sox have any gay players. Nor do I care, as long as they're earning their paychecks and signing autographs for kids. But Everett cares. Perpetuating the belief that baseball is filled with 12th-grade-educated cavemen, he issues an out-of-nowhere warning to any homosexual teammate who would dare mention his gay lifestyle. Interestingly, Everett says he has been on teams with gay players, though he doesn't name names and doesn't say where. He also says he is willing to accept those players, bless his heart. But just make sure you keep it to yourself, OK, dude?
If not, beware of his wrath.
"Gays being gay is wrong,'' Everett says. "Two women can't produce a baby, two men can't produce a baby, so it's not how it's supposed to be. There's no connection there. It's totally wrong. I don't care what anybody says.
"He can be gay, but he ain't gonna impose it on me. I don't worry about what he's going to do off the field, but if he asks me, I'll tell him it's wrong.''
On gay issue, Everett's a dinosaur
Sometime in the 21st century, I'd like to think a baseball team would accept a gay teammate without getting in his face about it. The guy would be lonely, ostracized and ridiculed behind his back, but I'd like to think they'd respect him when he hit a game-winning homer or made a diving catch. College lacrosse doesn't compare to the spit-and-scratch world of big-league baseball, of course, but progress was made recently at Dartmouth College, where a talented goalie named Andrew Goldstein was a popular team member regardless of his sexual preference. A baseball clubhouse is probably a generation or two away from a similar story, as Everett's words confirm.
Not that the man doesn't like sex. In the same question-and-answer session, folks will be pleased to know King Carl likes sex better than hitting a baseball. When your batting average is down around .265, that's understandable. "What feels better? Any man will tell you sex,'' he says. "Nothing feels better than sex, unless you are talking about going to heaven.''
Um, why is he even talking about these matters? Who cares what he thinks about gays, sex or the price of bubble gum? He is Carl Everett, B-list ballplayer. When Ozzie Guillen took a slur-filled blowtorch to Magglio Ordonez earlier this season, at least he did so as the manager and aimed his disgust at an opposing player. Everett's comments serve no one, least of all himself.
How would you like to be a fan today, having been insulted by King Carl? After years of management blunders, fan-unfriendly episodes and late-season letdowns, Soxdom finally has found bliss in a first-place club -- only to have Everett put down spectators.
"I don't care what the fans think about me because I don't go home with fans,'' he says. "My job is to help my teammates win. I don't sleep with the fans. ... Fan is short for fanatic -- he's crazy about something he really doesn't know about. And it's proven that 99 percent of baseball fans have no idea what they're watching.''
'The hearings were stupid'
He must be referring to the government-commissioned study on baseball fans and attention spans. I'm glad he approved of those findings. Unfortunately, Everett sounds a little bothered by the Capitol Hill steroid hearings that brought baseball to its knees and made buffoons of Bud "Hear no evil'' Selig, Mark "Speak no evil'' McGwire and Sammy "Speak no English'' Sosa -- nicknames courtesy of "Saturday Night Live.'' I sympathize with Everett when he says he has a family member fighting in the Middle East. But as a baseball player, he must separate warfare from an urgent health and competition issue that affects America's youth.
"The hearings were stupid. Congressmen are being idiots,'' he says. "We've got a war going on -- I've got a family in that war -- yet we're talking about steroids. More people are going to die in that war than from any steroids. If everybody in the world got steroids, we'll lose more kids to a war than we will from steroids. So that's not an issue Congress should be involved in.''
Congress can't be involved in both issues?
Naturally, Everett thinks using steroids isn't a form of cheating. "There are guys in the Hall of Fame who used spitballs,'' he says. "They cheated; it actually helped what they did. But as far as a physical stat, I don't think steroids help much. You've got to hit a ball that's going 95 [mph]-plus. You've still got to hit a ball that's changing directions. Maybe it helps you strength-wise, but as far as hitting the ball, it does not help.
"It's illegal to spit on the ball and throw it, too, so there's a lot of things that are considered cheating. It's not cheating until you get caught.''
Shut up, already
Anything else? Well, Carl thinks Chris Rock should be the baseball commissioner and says poor people rarely kill themselves "because they can't get any lower than they are.'' Oh, and he can't stand a certain North Side shrine.
"They need to implode Wrig-ley,'' he says. "It's a deathtrap for the players. The grass is so thick. You still have metal gutters. You have a concrete wall where the player can't play the way he wants to play because he's got to worry about killing himself. The only reason it's still in existence is because of all the bars around there, and it would take revenue from the city. It's a terrible field.''
Finished? All done? Talked out? Brain entirely drained?
Let's hope so. Molten lava doesn't mix well with a pennant race.