Chat With Dodgers’ Kent Is Not a Laughing Matter

I was excited. I couldn’t wait to get here and show Jeff Kent my new perspective necklace; you know, the one like Phil Weirdo wears, in the hopes that maybe Kent and I might finally find ourselves on the same wavelength.

I was clutching my beads and telling him all about the Chinese coin and Phil Weirdo when he interrupted and asked whether I had resorted to childish name-calling in the newspaper.

“That’s what a friend told me,” Kent said.

Now I would’ve never guessed that Kent has a friend, but I have a new perspective on life, so instead of asking him to prove it, I explained that I began calling him “Mr. Chuckles” weeks ago.

Funny, but Mr. Chuckles didn’t even crack a smile.

“I have a very serious job playing baseball and trying to win,” he said seriously, and I chuckled.

“You play baseball for a living,” I said. “Tell me you’re a brain surgeon and ... “

“It’s serious work playing baseball, the dedication, the sacrifice and suffering,” he said. “It’s serious business making a lot of money, playing hurt and doing your best for the family of four that comes to the ballpark and spends $150 expecting you to play well. That’s supposed to be fun?”

No -- we’d probably all agree it’s no fun spending $150 to go to a ballpark.

I waved my necklace at him and thought about chanting.

“I don’t want any of your sensitivity,” Kent said. “Your sensitivity is not worth the socks I am wearing.”

I would imagine the Boston Parking Lot Attendant, money-minded as he is, asks the guys to wear the socks over and over, so I could see where Kent might’ve had a point.

“I laugh at your patheticness,” Kent continued, while wondering out loud whether that is a word. “A better way to say it would be, I laugh at the world you live in.”

A better way for Kent to say it, of course, would’ve been: I chuckle at the world you live in.

*

OSCAR DE LA HOYA invited me to join him at Trump’s golf course for a charity tournament Monday, but I declined, knowing De La Hoya would understand when he heard I had the opportunity to beat up on the Dodgers, baseball’s version of tomato cans.

Someone e-mailed earlier in the day and noted the Dodgers had finished over one-third of the season, and since starting 12-2, only four other teams in baseball have compiled a worse record than the tomato cans: Tampa Bay, Cincinnati, Kansas City and Colorado.

To boil that down: The Dodgers stink. I mentioned that to Mr. Chuckles to get his perspective.

“You depress me,” he said. “Go find another job.”

Talk about depressing, the Dodger locker room was dead before Monday’s game. Just what you’d expect, I guess, with a room full of stiffs.

I thought I could help by firing up Kent, maybe even lending him my necklace, but I got a look that suggested I forget it.

“I have my own necklace; my mother gave it to me,” he said. “I wear the mustache for my dad.”

A joke comes to mind, but I think I better keep this one to myself.

“I don’t know of any players in here who like you,” Kent said, and sometimes I wonder whether life is worth living. “I’ve heard some of the guys say they’d like to find a dark alley and beat your [butt].”

Frankly, I’d like my chances with these guys trying to take a poke at me in a dark alley. I’ve seen them try to hit something with the lights on.

“You don’t have any friends in here,” Chuckles continued, and I wonder whether this is what happened to Phil Weirdo when he began wearing pretty jewelry.

“You think you got along with some of the players who were here before, but that’s because none of them had [what it takes] to stand up to you, like me. They were all afraid of you.”

I can’t wait to tell Kevin Brown that Kent considers him a chicken.

I mentioned that I had a nice chat this season with Shawn Green, who complied with my request to hit a home run over Kent’s head, and Saturday I shared some laughs with Paul Lo Duca. We were talking about the Dodgers.

“Those guys are nice to you now because they’re so happy they got the chance to divorce you and leave,” Kent said. “I feel sorry for you.”

Kent plays for the tomato cans, and he’s feeling sorry for me.

I chuckled. At least I can put on my L.A. Angels cap and look forward to the playoffs.

*

THE OTHER night in Chicago, Kent tore into his teammates after a loss. Obviously, I’m not surprised -- a number of them wear necklaces too.

Had it been up to me, I would’ve had J.D. Drew address the team, taking the opportunity to introduce himself as well.

In fact, I mentioned Drew’s name to Mr. Chuckles, and he said, “Who?”

He claimed he didn’t hear what I said, but I wonder.

I told Kent I found it odd that the two guys who figure to be team leaders are probably the team’s two most aloof players.

“Wrong,” Kent said. “That’s what is sad, making theories and accusations that aren’t realistic. Just because people aren’t vocal, or show no fire, doesn’t mean they aren’t leaders. I’ve been on teams where the leader didn’t say a word, but when you came up to him, you felt the heat.”

I told him I had approached every player in the Dodger clubhouse at one time or another, and never felt any heat. (That might even explain why the team is ice cold right now.)

Kent just shook his head, and chuckled. Then he and his dead teammates went out and failed to score a run on three hits, while losing their seventh in a row.

I know this is serious business, but I had to laugh.

*

TODAY’S LAST word comes from the lineup card posted in the Dodger clubhouse:

The Dodgers listed the No. 2 hitter in the Padre lineup as “Fink” instead of “Fick.”

Makes you wonder about the Dodgers’ advance scouting.

P.S. Fink, or Fick, singled and scored the only run.