The War Chant Goes The Way Of Wounded Knee!

It's now official - Bobby Cox is retired. I trust we he won't do the Favre thing and un-retire. I could'nt stand another farewell tour for one of the most overated managers I have ever seen. That's right - I don't care how many divisional titles his teams won, they could only manage one world series win - just one.

Cox was at the right place at the right time. He managed a team owned by Ted Turner, guy who wanted to win and was willing to spend the money to do so. Just ask Charlie how good it is to manage a team that spends for talent. Just ask Joe Madden how much harder it is to win when your team payroll is a full third of your competition. I digress.

Being the Braves manager during their run was like watching the perfect storm; an owner with deep pockets, a quality front office, and the best fucking pitching coach on the planet at that time. It was Leo Mazzone who made the Braves pitchers what they were. Sure, they had talent, but Mazzone taught them how to pitch - how to win. Without Mazzone, Cox would not have kept his job as long as he did. We here in Philly have come to appreciate the power of pitching.

If you remember Mazzone, he never sat still. He gently rocked back and forth for the entire game. He either had a very weak bladder or was in serious need of a tranquilizer - something a wee bit stronger than valium. Valium would be like chewing M&M's to this guy. If he had been born 40 years after he was, they would have pumped him full of ritalin.

So don't let the door hit you on the way out Bobby. Don't go away mad that the Giants beat your Braves, just go away. Get the bungalo in Florida for you and the little lady and sit in a rocking chair where you can think of the bitch slapping the Phillies gave you from the all-star break to the end of the season, and maybe about the bitch slapping you gave your wife in 1995, tough guy.

I have been sick of watching beered -up crackers delievering the Braves war chant at their home games. Come on people, do you think the real braves who fucked up Custer at the Little Big Horn were chanting the Atlanta war song. And, trust me they were not waving cardboard or rubber tomahawks at the asshole with the long blond hair. The chant was certainly not heard by the folks watching General Sherman stroll through their town. Sherman was no joke!

The last time I had any affection for the Braves, they played in Milwaukee and had guys on the team named Adcock, Spahn, Burdette, and of course a guy named Henry - and Henry could hit the baseball!