This is Eric Chavez. Eric Chavez is a bad dude (just look at that evil twirly mustache that I totally didn’t draw myself). Eric Chavez is a murderer. He’s not a murderer of people. No, Eric Chavez is guilty of murdering something far more defenseless and expensive. Eric Chavez killed my laptop.
Last Friday, I was minding my own business, covering my first game as a credentialed member of the sports media (how hard could it be if they let Carson do it?) from the Salt River Fields press box. Eric Chavez came to the dish against Bartolo Colon in the top of the first and lined a pitch back at me. Fortunately for my beautiful face, but less fortunately for my beloved laptop, Eric Chavez’s line drive ricocheted off the back of my laptop screen and rolled to a stop at the feet of the MLB stringer working the game.
The baseball, which was so negligently launched backwards by Eric Chavez, had cracked the bevel of my laptop and filled a third of my screen with spider-webs of shattered dreams. What looked like black electronic oil leaked from around the spreading cracks and white vertical stripes obscured much of what had once been a glorious view of my desktop.
After the game, I used my newfound media power to bully my way into the clubhouse to confront Eric Chavez, Destroyer of Computer and Scourge of Electronics. Not intimidated by the fact that he is considerably bigger and stronger than me, I asked him how he could live with himself for assaulting my property like that. He was, I am disappointed to report, remarkably unrepentant:
“If I had any type of control over where the ball went, I definitely would not be hitting it into the press box…. You know, I hit a kid about two years ago when I was in Boston and I broke his eye socket, and he had to have surgery. Now that I feel sorry about. Laptops can be replaced, but eyes can’t.”
You see? Not even a little bit of remorse for the pain my laptop was going through. He even refused to inspect the damage. And on top of it, trying to make me feel like a jerk for caring about my poor possession when it could have been much, much worse. Eric Chavez was shamelessly trying to manipulate my conflicted, swirling emotions in the wake of my tragedy. And worse, it was working!
Indeed, I was beginning to feel guilty for even bringing this problem to his attention. I was beginning to have “perspective” and “empathy” for those less fortunate than me. I wondered if, perhaps, I shouldn’t have ducked my hand out of the way like a coward. I wondered if I shouldn’t even write this column, when there are so many of you out there who are feeling sad and alone. Who suffer each day with mental and physical illness. Who have lost loved ones. Was I wrong to complain?
The next morning, the cracks had grown still further, and the laptop refused to boot up, and I realized, if I wanted to buy a new laptop, I had better get writing. God knows Eric Chavez wasn’t going to foot the bill. That perspective-having, thinking-of-others-and-their-misfortune jerk. I know who the real victim is here (aside from myself):
RIP Lappie (2011-2013)