The co-commissioners’ office is not, I say is not, in an official state of turmoil. Oh sure, there have been rumor and innuendo flying around that all is not well in Co- Commissioner-land – but any contention that Rob Devine and I are suffering marital discord is simply untrue. He did not throw my clothes out the bedroom window.
As you can tell, Dan Bean picked the column topic. He wanted to write about himself. As to its content, just look at his column. Need I say more as to who is telling the truth? Dan Bean is giving you spin just like he has been bogarting on my column and telling you it is his work. Our columns don’t read like “Dick and Jane” books, so you know it’s not him.
Just read his column and repeat the objection after me: Dan Bean assumes facts not in evidence. There IS a rift in the commissioner’s office. It’s a dispute that stems from a baseball analogy. Having Dan Bean as co-commissioner is like being a starting pitcher who tosses eight and two-thirds innings of sterling ball. You then hand the ball over to Dan Bean, who throws five pitches and he gets credit for the win.
I tell Bean that something needs to get done and he makes up some excuse like it’s his night to push the Happy Hour liquor cart down at Holland & Knight, or he needs to trim George Gabel’s toenails. So I end up doing the work and, when it’s done, Bean pulls an Alexander Haig and tells everyone that he is “in control.”
So it was not surprising that Bean did more shirking of duties at the Pajcic-State Attorneys game. We were supposed to referee the game. Dan shows up in his Deion Sanders jersey and then grabs Gary Pajcic’s leg and begs him to play so he can “feel the glory” one last time. Gary looks at Dan and his big-bacon-classic-and-extra biggie-fries gut and his “cankles” (for those of you who don’t know, cankles are when you can’t tell where the calf ends and the ankles begin) and looks at me and says, “Devine, can you play?” I maintain my impartiality and say that I came here to be a referee. Gary is facing using Dan Bean or taking a forfeit. If post-game hindsight is 20-20, Gary Pajcic would have taken the forfeit.
Now, we’ve all seen those sad moments in sports when a former great hangs on for too long. And, admittedly, I gave Dan Bean the Jim Thorpe Best Athlete Award three years ago. But watching Dan Bean play football at 37 years old was like watching Muhammad Ali make a comeback at 55 years old, Parkinson’s and all. Foster Brooks showed more dexterity stumbling to the podium.
Bean can spin it any way he wants, but facts are facts. Here are the stats:
• One reception for one yard, before Gary Pajcic started throwing to people who could actually get open.
• Two passes, no completions and one interception for a quarterback efficiency rating of minus-36.
• On defense, he redefined the term “weak safety,” getting burned like the hamburger that your Uncle Fester left on the grill before falling asleep drunk, for two touchdowns. Instead of playing “cover two,” Bean thought he was playing “cover none.” And keep in mind that State Attorneys receiver Sean Arnold runs about a 10-minute forty.
• One shanked punt that went about as far as a cat spits out a hairball.
• One field goal attempt that resembled a worm-burner in golf or one of those grounders Bean hits in softball.
All in all, it was the most pathetic display of athletic talent since the invention of the fat-man belly flop contest. By the way, judging by Bean’s new diet of eating like “The Klumps,” I think Bean is in training to do one of those contests.
And when it was all over, Bean had this pathetic look of satisfaction, like he accomplished something other than making an idiot out of himself. Then he looks at me and says, “that was fun.” Fun? Ask the Pajcic’s, who now think the commissioner’s office is in cahoots with the State Attorneys office to ensure them a playoff spot by having Bean play for other teams and look like he is doing a public service video to show the effects of operating your body while impaired.
So now it’s time to call out the Jacksonville Bar. Is there someone, anyone, out there who can take over as co-commissioner for Dan Bean? The office is sure to run more efficiently and Holland & Knight will be happy to know that they can finally have a full-time runner back.
Obviously during every relationship there are peaks and valleys. As long as Roberto keeps doing all the grunt work and I receive half the credit – the Irish eyes will be smiling. After all, that’s what the partner-associate relationship is all about.
The rumors and innuendo, from what I hear, commenced the night of the Pajcic v. State Attorneys’ football tilt. I innocently strolled up five minutes tardy to referee the contest, while Roberto arrived fastidiously fifteen minutes earlier to spruce up the field and do his own set of calisthenics to properly hone his new body by Jake.
Moments before Roberto screwed up the ceremonial coin flip, Gary Pajcic informed Roberto and me that the Pajcics needed a warm body and looked directly at Roberto and asked if I could play with the Pajcics. Roberto turned four shades of red on the spot.
Being coaxed out of retirement is never pretty, just ask MJ and Mario, but since I am the ex-law league MVP, I relented and trotted on to the frozen tundra of Episcopal Field. I proceeded to have the game of my life leading my team from the land of adversity to a come-from-behind tie. I was everywhere. Offense, defense and special teams.
Certainly Roberto may have jealously viewed my spine-tingling performance a bit differently.
Sure, there were two State Attorney touchdown passes from Brian Wright to Jeff Moody and Sean Arnold that appeared to fly directly over my head. Now to the untrained eye that might look like I was beaten like a floor mat; however, for us football pundits that get to the play behind the play, I note that moments before both ill-fated plays, both Ian Pajcic and Dexter Davis told me to “take the play off.”
Given, there was a 35-yard field goal attempt that I kicked that was blocked by someone’s, er, midsection. I could have unprofessionally blamed the snapper Curt Pajcic or even the holder, Gary Pajcic, but I am above that. Of course, had veteran snapper Curry Pajcic not been gallivanting off somewhere buying a house from The Honorable Sharon Tanner and her husband Michael Tanner, perhaps things may have gone differently. (I am still waiting for the house warming party invite.)
Then there was the interception I threw. This, of course, sent the quarterback efficiency rating through the basement. Again, further analysis reveals that two plays immediately before the interception my confidence in my receivers had been shaken when Chris Karpinski prematurely cut off a fly pattern and Pajcic’s paralegal, April Stringfellow, did her own imitation of Stonehenge. Thus the interception was completely understandable.
Yes, I admit I kicked a 17-yard punt out of bounds. Again, to the naked eye this could very well appear like a pathetic shank; however, I am always thinking. You should know that about me by now. In reality, and on the advice of Ray Reid, I decided to punt away from the Olympic-type sprinters the State Attorneys possess.
Whatever Devine tells you is just sour grapes because his Mommy won’t let him play.