Clearwater, Fla – Since being named GM in 2009, Ruben Amaro Jr. has attempted to host an NCAA March Madness pool with members of the Phillies and for six years in a row no athlete or employee has signed up to participate.
“I don’t understand it. Every year I send out an email to everyone and nobody ever gets back to me in time. Nobody sends me brackets. It’s only $10 to join,” Amaro said, as he glumly looked at his computer yesterday afternoon before the start of the first games.
Amaro, who for the record predicted SMU would win the championship and most likely would have lost in the first round, dejectedly had to throw his bracket away for another year.
“I got all this pizza and some sandwiches, I thought everyone could watch the first round together,” he said, as he sat alone in his office, nobody even in the Clearwater complex despite there being no practice or game scheduled for the day. “I really thought some of the new guys would sign up, you know, just to keep on my good side. Grady Sizemore seemed interested, but it just never happened.”
CT reporters caught up with Ryan Howard, who was at a local Buffalo Wild Wings with about 35 of his teammates, and asked the slugger why nobody decided to participate with Ruben.
“He’s an ok guy I guess, but he’s so god damn boring. The last thing anyone wants is to cultivate any personal relationship with him outside of the office….he gets a bit, well, clingy. Everyone remembers the Aaron Rowand incident.”
Howard of course was citing the famed 2006 incident where former center fielder Rowand spent a lengthy amount of time on the DL for breaking his face in a collision with an outfield wall. He made the mistake of going to a bar with Amaro one day after a victory, and the GM called and texted him with abandon for the rest of the season.
“Besides, Larry Andersen holds one every year and it’s great. Everyone wants to do his,” Howard said.
Andersen, who was watching the games with two high priced escorts on his lap, pounded his Miller Lite and agreed with Howard.
“Ruben is a square. Nobody wants to hang out with him when they could hang out with good ol’ LA. Isn’t that right ladies?” He said, doing a bump of cocaine off of a Bowie knife that he sheathed back into a leather holster. “Winner of my tourney gets a huge pot and a hooker on LA’s tab. Not a bad haul if you ask me.”
As of press time, Amaro was pouring several liters of Shasta down a drain in the men’s room.