When I hear the word “interview,” my brain immediately goes to job interviews, where we’re forced to endure the typical litany of unbelievably stupid questions:
- What’s your worst quality?
- Where do you see yourself in five years?
- Why do you want to be a part of our company?
- Would you be willing to blow me for the position?
You know, the usual bullshit. It’s absolutely gut-wrenching to endure. You get all dolled up and sweat your balls off for a complete stranger you’ll never likely see again, and if you do it’s only because that asshole hired you, in which case you’ll see him on a daily basis and end up wishing death upon him and his family. So, yeah, job interviews pretty much suck.
But, see, here’s the thing: there are other types of interviews. And you know what? They’re equally bad if not worse. Take, for instance, this fuckery:
“Every day is a new day. We just come out to the park and play hard.”
I love baseball. I’m a fantasy baseball junkie. And you know what? None of these fucks ever has a single goddamn thing of interest to say. (Well, except for this guy and this guy. And by the way, am I crazy or is Josh Beckett the spitting image of my pal, Chuck?) Every post-game interview goes exactly like this:
Interviewer: “Congratulations on tonight’s win.”
MLB Player: “Thanks. It was a good win for the club.”
Interviewer: “You guys are on a nice streak. How do you explain it?”
MLB Player: “Well, we’ve got a lot of guys in this clubhouse who play hard and believe we can win. Every day at the ballpark is a new day and we just come out and play hard. Also, we just believe in ourselves and play hard.”
Interviewer: “[Insert pitcher’s name] has been outstanding recently. How do you explain his turnaround from last season?”
MLB Player: “Well, [Insert same pitcher’s last name with a “y” tacked onto the end of it, thus indicating it’s a nickname] has been hitting all his spots. He’s been filthy. He’s put a lot of work in and really believes he can win. He’s out there playing hard every fifth day. We just gotta’ come through with some hits and we know we can win with him on the mound.”
Interviewer: “What’s the mindset of the club from here on out?”
MLB Player: “Just to come out every day and play hard. We play in the toughest division in baseball. We just gotta’ hang in there and play hard every day, because every day is a new day.”
Interviewer: “Alright, thanks for your time, [Insert player’s name].”
MLB Player: “You got it, [Insert interviewer’s last name, with a “y” tacked onto the end].”
And scene. So, what have we learned from this? Two things: 1) People conducting interviews with athletes ask the worst, most vanilla and benign questions imaginable; and 2) Baseball players are fucking morons. Sorry, but the majority of them having nothing of interest or value to say, and when they do say anything beyond the stock response, they’re either villified or come off like an arrogant prick, a la this guy.
And by the way, let’s not forget about yet another type of interview:
“So, uh, tell us about your corn.”
Look, anytime there’s a local news team involved, and the background revolves around someone’s crops, run for cover because you’re about to be boredom-fucked! Do I have mad respect for farmers? Of course I do. And you know what else? I don’t ever need to see yet another news team put together a profile on some old coot who grew the county’s biggest watermelon in 72 years. Seriously, this is the news, yes? Let’s not confuse the term “news” with “human interest fluff bullshit.” And perhaps even worse are those goddamn man-on-the-street interviews, that typically end up like this. I don’t give a good godddamn about you or your weird-hatted friend, Ed Ort!
I could prattle on for hours on end, complaining about the inane interviews that clog up our television screens from dawn till dusk, but why bother. You really want to know my thoughts on interviews? Put a dipshit with a microphone in front of me so I can tell him to fuck off. I’m Cousin Brandon, and that’s news to me.
Well, there you have it. Letter “I” has gone and made a mess of things. So until “J” drops bombs on your moms, have at it, you vultures!
* Special thanks to Mrs. Grumpy for the kick-ass suggestion.