BFF's for life

Hey everyone. How are you all doing? Good, good. How am I? Fantastic! That's because I'm Jeff Kent, 2nd baseman for the Los Angeles Dodgers and a future Hall of Famer. Life's been pretty damn good for me. Making millions of dollars playing a game you love will do that to you. But there's just one thing that's been bugging me my entire career. My Kryptonite, if you will: black people.

And I just don't get it because I love black people! It's the truth, but nobody will ever take me seriously. Throughout my career, every time I walk into a new clubhouse, the black players give me a certain look. It's not something I can fully explain, but it's similar to the look I give my caddy whenever he hands me a 3-iron when I need my 4-iron at a celebrity golf tournament. You know what I'm talking about.

It's been very hard for me to start friendships with black people. And believe me, I've tried! You have no idea how many hours I've spent watching Ice Cube movies and looking up famous black people on Wikipedia. Did you know a black man invented peanut butter? That's fucking awesome! I enjoy peanut butter very much! I tried telling Milton Bradley that I enjoyed his people's contribution to my sandwiches, but he just complained to the L.A. Times that I don't know how to deal with black people. That's not entirely true. One of my best friends, Dusty Baker, is black and we get along just fine. He's a Negro we can all agree with.

Speaking of Dusty Baker, my time with the Giants was pretty rough. Sure, winning the MVP award in 2000 was great, but being on the same team as Barry Bonds was a real "burden" to this "white man". That's a pretty funny joke, right? Not to Barry. One time it got so heated that I complained to him that his grasp on the team was like a noose around my neck. I guess I should've stopped there, but my big mouth mentioned something about the noose originating from him raping a young white girl whose father was an old, senile farmer from Alabama. That really ticked him off because two seconds later, I literally had something around my neck: his gigantic fucking hands. I guess you could say Barry and I never "Bonded."

Can't take a joke?

"Bonded." Haha! See, not only do I think black people are fabulous, but I also have a wonderful sense of humor. People just don't seem to notice that about me. Last year when Milton was walking by my locker, I made a joke about Stephane Roncada being a better freestyle rider than Travis Pastrana during the 2003 Motocross season. He just stared at me with a confused look on his face as he nodded and slowly backed away. Later that afternoon, I found out that a black person nodding at you was a sign of respect. A "That's cool" of some sort. I was so excited to show Milton what I had just learned that I rushed to his locker. When I got there, I bumped my chest with my hand and threw up a sideways peace sign to show that our respect was mutual. He then gave me a dirty look and went to the shower room. Apparently, I pissed him off. I still don't have the slightest clue what I did wrong.

Maybe I'll ask Kenny for some tips. Ya'll know him. Kenny Lofton, our new center fielder. I became friends with him back when we were both playing for the Indians. We're such good buddies that he offered to take me to the Compton swap meet next week followed by the 5:30
showing of ATL at the Magic Johnson Theatre. That sure sounds like fun. Hopefully, I'll begin to grasp the culture of African-Americans sometime soon.

¡Sí se puede!

I'd also like to begin reaching out to the other ethnicities on this team. Have you taken a look at our bullpen? When a reliever is told to start warming up, it looks like a protest against HR 4437.

But seriously, folks. Making sure Latinos know I respect them is right up there with the whole "Get black people not to hate me" thing. And I'm not just talking about players, but the fans as well. The Dodgers have the biggest Latino fan base in baseball and I'm not one to let an opportunity like this pass me by. That's why this Cinco de Mayo, I'll be personally handing out ponchos, sombreros, and 6-packs of Coronas to every fan in the left field pavilion. To some people, they may think I'm making fun of a stereotype. But to me, I'm embracing their
culture. And if you can't see that, maybe you're the bad-tempered white man who is out of touch with every minority on the face of the Earth, not me.

If you'll please excuse me, I have to go speak with Nomar Garciaparra. I've been dying to hear his tale of the long and arduous journey he took to arrive in this country from his native Mexico.