Nails Over Trump

The Kenilworth library presented a choice of Labor day weekend reading between learning about the life of a dissolute egomaniac responsible for a string of bankruptcies or Lenny Dykstra.

I went with the one likely to provide more useful and/or believable information:

I realized at a young age that if I didn’t have money, I didn’t have options.  (page 16)

When the majority of people hear the word bankruptcy, the first thing they think is “This guy is a loser.” They usually follow that up by saying, “How could he lose all that money?” That’s not the full picture. The reality is that filing a Chapter 11 bankruptcy is an option for many to put the brakes on, so that they can reorganize and put together a viable plan to pay off their debts. (page 247)

It is well that the people of the nation do not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning….Henry Ford (page 262)

I waited with bated breath for Fred Lynn to issue a pearl of wisdom that would help decide my future. Instead he turne out to be not only arrogant but a complete a asshole as well. He looked me up and down link I was wasting his time and sneered, “This is a strong man’s game, son.” And he just walked away. (page 24)

As I would learn soon enough, for many people stuck in the system, the minor leagues is all about misery and drinking. Lots of drinking! (page 35)

I didn’t know any of the Mets players or coaching staff. Davey Johnson was my manager, but he didn’t say anything more to me than “Good luck.” I didn’t take it personally. Davey didn’t have more than two words to say to most people – until he started drinking, which was a nightly event. (page 48)

I had been called up to be the Mets’ center fielder because Mookie Wilson was injured. Mookie is one of the greatest names ever. He was a great guy, by the way, though he had terrible breath. I’m talking death fumes. (page 48)

Talking to George Foster was like attempting to hold a conversation with a piece of furniture. (page 58)

And if you look back now, ask anyone to dispute the fact that not too many players have played at the level that I rose to, or accomplished the things I did in the postseason over my career.
Davey should have been able to realize it in the moment – that was his fucking job. But as I mentioned before, he was a lucky manager. He was drunk every night and frequently hungover just enough the next day to not always know what was going on. That, and he was probably the worst communicator I’ve ever been associated with in baseball, and that includes a lot of fucking people! Other than all that Davey was great.Ha! (pages 75-6)

Oil Can (Boyd) disappeared into the clubhouse, where he medicated his bruised psyche with alcohol. Pitching coach Bill Fischer eventually found Oil Can in a highly intoxicated state, rendering him unavailable to pitch in relief that night (1986 World Series game 7). (page 77)

Unfortunately for the great fans of New York, and for the Mets organization, Davey continued to make one bad decision after another. It was almost like he was trying to sabotage the team. For some odd reason, at that time Davey Johnson was enamored with Gregg Jefferies, a rookie who had come up late in 1988. It didn’t take the players long to figure out Gregg Jefferies was a losing player, not to mention a whiny little bitch. (pages 89-90)

The fact of the matter is that I wasn’t physically constructed to withstand an entire 162-game season, particularly with the way I play the game. I did it for my livelihood. It was the only way I could physically survive and perform through an entire season. The doctor wrote me a prescription for Deca Durabolin, one of the cleanest steroids there is. (page 99)

The doc also gave me the lowdown on timing to get the most results out of the steroids: every day for six weeks, and then be off it for two weeks. (page 100)

In March 2005, the federal government got involved. Exactly why it felt the need to do so, I haven’t figured out to this day. They said they were doing it because of the children. What a crock. The House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, which was supposed to clean up the mess in government, decided it could get some free publicity by going after the steroid users in baseball rather than fuck with more important, lower-profile issues in Washington. (page 109)

In 2005, a dozen players were caught taking steroids and suspended. After the 2005 season, the punishment was upped to fifty games for a first offense and a hundred games for a second. Amphetamines were added to the list of banned substances. Very few people outside of baseball realized it, but that would hurt the players most of all, even more than banning steroids. (pages 109-110)

I hired a private detective agency that cost me $500,000 – one paycheck from the Phillies – to have their PIs follow umpires around so could uncover dirt that I could use against them. They shit like the rest of us. Some of them like to gamble. Some of them like to do blow. some of them like road pussy. Some of them like dudes. I’m telling you, everyone’s got something they don’t want the world to know, and umpires are certainly no exception. (page 125)

If someone would have said to me that I would end up partying with the sixty-year-old owner of a major retailer in Amsterdam, and that we would be swimming in pussy, with enough powder to make Keith Richards proud, I would have said no fucking way. (page 170)

Gambling is all about ego and the three p’s: power, partying, and pussy. But not necessarily in that order. (page 187)

I paid my guys to make things easier so I wouldn’t waste any time. Their job was to line up the talent, so that when I woujld arrive in twon, everythign would be in place. What would follow was an immediate beeline over to the other hotel, where the talent was waiting. What you might find mind-boggling was that during the last five years of my career I never once stayed at the team hotel. Basically, I had my people on payroll bring the bar to my presidential suite, taking room service to a whole different level. (page 202)

the word was out that [Robert] De Niro was there, and one afternoon when I came back from the restaurant, I was on my porch, drinking a banana daiquari, and was the Raging Bull himself, sitting at the next table….One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew we were in the bathroom of his suite and it was powder fucking city. This guy was a pro, dipping his finger in the coke and numbing his gums. I don’t think he even knew who the hell I was. I could tell he wasn’t a sports guy, but he sure liked hitting the slopes with me. (page 230)

As for the charge of grand theft auto that landed me in prison, the basis of rthe charge was that I formed a shell company that was not properly registered. (page 288)




6 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by boscoe on September 6, 2016 at 10:38 am

    I guess Nails isn’t waiting by his phone for a Hall of Fame call. I’d love to hear his induction speech.


  2. Posted by Anonymous on September 6, 2016 at 3:03 pm

    Hopefully this “top notch” coach isn’t entitled to a pension? John might you know the answer. This isn’t pension spiking, it’s pension stupidity!


    • Posted by boscoe on September 6, 2016 at 5:45 pm

      I’m pretty certain the Rutgers football coach is not in the state pension system; if anything, he would be in the defined contribution Alternate Benefits Program for college/university personnel. More to the point, given Rutgers’ perennial football woes, the likelihood that he will remain as coach for the 10 years it takes to vest in PERS/TPAF is somewhere between zero and one percent.


  3. Posted by Anonymous on September 7, 2016 at 3:36 pm

    There’s that conduit debt at work again circumventing voter approval – ie Pension Obligation Bond. Wonder if the construction will be handled the same way?


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