Style Points

Occasionally we send out feelers to celebrities and athletes.  We often ask them what a day in their life is like.  Of course, we rarely hear back from them.  Or, if we do, they’re like the one we received from John Daly that was smeared with Frank’s Hot Sauce and simply had the word ‘BOOZE’ scrawled across it.  Once in a blue moon though, we get a bonafide winner of a reply that peels back the facade and shows us the inner workings of their world.  Today’s account?  Super agent, Scott Boras.

12:00AM – After making a few menacing phone calls to the Washington Nationals, I kiss my wife on the forehead and lay down for a rewarding night of rest and recuperation.

12:19AM – Rise and shine!  I stretch, take my morning BM and then head down to the super computer in my basement where I track my surveillance of all MLB GM’s and owners.  Billy Beane’s snoring sounds like a chainsaw up a beagle’s ass.

1:00AM-3:00AM – I soak in my sensory-deprivation chamber.  Every great idea I’ve ever had was generated during these sessions.  The whole Manny fiasco was born out of a vision I had where me and Manny were at a black tie event and we took turns pissing in the punch and slapping the host’s wife.

4:00AM – Power shake.  Three bananas, cup of strawberries, protein powder, a dash of Splenda and a splash of kitten blood.

5:00AM – 7:00AM – Hit the treadmill.  Watch the 12 flatscreens in my personal gym.  ESPN, CNN, Bloomberg, and the other 9 are tuned to A&E Biographies of serial killers.

8:00AM – Make another threatening call to Nationals Team President Stan Kasten.  Recite his children’s social security numbers from memory.  Ask Stan how much he wants for that Bowflex in his basement.  He asks how I knew he had a Bowflex.  I chuckle and hang up.

9:00AM – 12:00PM – Personally call all of my clients and subtley hint about the unfairness of his deal, even A-Rod’s.  Head down to the dungeon basement and strap my assistant, Alan, into the stocks and pummel him with a broken pool cue.  Fax Washington Strasburg’s contract demands.  Fax machine overheats.

12:00PM – Lunch.  20oz ribeye sprinkled with gold dust.  Washed down with the tears of orphans.

1:00PM – 4:00PM – Go back to the dungeon basement and open the portal to hell underneath the furnace.  Bring Satan his lunch (Del Taco) and finalize payment on Barry Bonds’ soul.

4:00PM – 7:00PM – Cruise the local Little League fields for petulant 12 year olds who can hit the ball 400 feet.

7:00PM – 10:00PM – Dinner with family.  12 boiled eggs and kerosene for me.  Check surveillance again.  Watch Theo Epstein play World of Warcraft for a few minutes.  Make another threatening call to Kasten.  Ask him why his wife is wearing that ugly pink gown.  I hang up before asks how I knew that.

10:00PM – 11:59PM – Watch Rock of Love Bus on Tivo.  Unwind with milk and cookies.  Take my vitamins.  Vitamin E, Folic Acid, St. John’s Wart, and Liquid Ecstasy.  Check bank balance.  Stifle erection.

12:00AM – Do it all over again.