Brook Jacoby Needs to Mow His Lawn
Brook Jacoby used to live down the street from us. I never really saw him, but everyone knew which house was his. It was white and it was on a busy street. I used to walk by it as a kid with a certain amount of anticipation. It looks abandoned now. I honestly can't remember seeing anyone come in or out of the place. Maybe somebody lives there. I doubt it's Brook Jacoby. If it is, he should take better care of his lawn. People should, in general, take better care of their lawns. My dad knew how to mow a lawn. He still does. We have people mow our lawn for us. They are nice people. We didn't ask them to be our gardeners. The lady who owned the house before us died, but they just kept coming. At some point we started paying them. The economy wasn't doing so well, so I scared to fire them. They're also good at what they do. They're good at cutting kikuyu grass and trimming birds of paradise.
Brook Jacoby could probably afford a gardener. I think he works for the Rangers now. I find myself Googling him from time to time, just to see what he's up to. He was a name in a town that didn't have too many names. He was a mythical figure. His existence draws me back to a time when a baseball player's presence could change the course, the mood of the day. He wasn't the only one. There was also Jerry Willard and Terry Pendleton. Terry Pendleton won an MVP one year. I remember thinking it was cool. I didn't think it was much of an outrage, even though Barry Bonds and his 8.3 WAR came in second that year (Pendleton was at 6.1). For a game that has been so arbitrary and unfair over the years, people really like to spread the wealth when it comes to awards.
Brook Jacoby never reached such lofty statistical heights. He served a purpose and he made some money. He was a baseball player, which is payment enough. There is still the problem of the lawn, though. The yellowed tufts of kikuyu grass sprouting up the brick and breaking through the cracks in the walk are really unsightly. Kikuyu grass is a tough weed. It needs little attention and thrives on neglect. It permeates Southern California and has seemingly begun to take over the world. It is everywhere, but if it were removed, eradicated (which would be pointless and impossible) another memory would be lost. There isn't a statistical measure that can account for the way kikuyu and the rubber from a Crocodile Mile smell in the summer when it's wet and hot... when the sun cooks your skin, and when the only person you can think of for the front yard game of home run derby is Brook Jacoby: Brook Jacob and his measly career 14 WAR.
