frozen in time
By John Breneman
John Henry Williams, who FedExed
his deceased dad to a deep-freeze facility in Arizona,
today produced a document he claims reflects the last
wishes of the legendary slugger Ted Williams.
Experts say the document may be legally
binding because it carries a realistic looking "Ted Williams"
signature in cursive handwriting, just above the words "genuine
authentic Ted Williams-style autograph."
Williams' daughter and many of his closest friends insist
that John Henry is violating both his father's dignity and
his wish to be cremated, the son says the newly discovered
document spells out the Hall of Fame hitter's desire to be
"exploited in the most bizarre fashion possible."
John Henry Williams said his father often
spoke of wanting to be frozen up like "a goddamn bonefish"
and have his DNA used to clone a genetically superior batsman
capable of hitting .604 with 85 home runs and 270 runs batted
And in his more whimsical moments, according
to his son, Williams often mused that it would be great fun
to have his fingernails and thatches of his hair auctioned
off on eBay.
Surrounded by TV cameras at a press conference
announcing the will, John Henry Williams said he had also
just discovered a box containing 800 bats that his father
had used during his final game at Fenway Park in 1960.
The bats, now selling for $199.95 each
on John Henry's new Web site frozenmealticket.com, are the
centerpiece of his a new line of Ted Williams memorabilia.
-- "Splendid Splinter" toothpicks (carved from bats
purchased using Ted Williams' credit card) -- $19.95 each
-- Official Ted Williams Kleenex tissues
(soiled with the slugger's nasal DNA) -- $29.95 each
-- Leftover worms from a Maine fishing
trip -- $39.95 each or 3 for $100
-- Tape recording of Ted Williams yelling
"shut off that goddamn tape recorder, you money-grubbing
son of a bitch" -- $49.95
-- Pens used by Ted Williams to unwittingly
sign checks paying for his son's failed business enterprises
Red Sox to build
By John Breneman
They say Fenway Park has got to
go. Too old and quaint. Rustic but just plain rusted.
Better get to Fenway while you can
because I hear that pretty soon the Red Sox will be
playing their home games in a state-of-the-art Mongoplex.
These new old-fashioned ballparks in San
Francisco, Baltimore and Pittsburgh are all very charming. But
the new owners of the Red Sox know the revenue you can suck
in with a gargantuan custom-designed Mongoplex is astronomical.
And it offers a virtually unparalleled cyberbaseball experience.
I've put Red Sox management in touch with
a crack team of investors eager to replace decrepit little Fenway
with a gleaming new 10-story Mongoplex right on the same site.
The Sox would play on real grass 150 feet
above sea level on the 10th floor of a spacious multipurpose
tower featuring a retractable roof, a replica Green Monster
and luxury-box seating with a view of Nantucket. The domed roof
will be gold-plated to add that elegant touch of class that
tourists find irresistible.
But wait, there's more. This
massive revenue machine would have far-reaching benefits to
Boston and the entire Northeast corridor, creating jobs and
cash, drawing major conventions, and hosting a smorgasbord of
big-time cultural and sporting events.
Picture, if you will, a colossal Mongoplex
— looking something like the Washington Monument on steroids
— a convention center on the ground floor with underground parking
for 10,000 cars.
The Mongoplex would cost at least $14 billion
and would be paid for, in part, by placing slot machines in
every town and city hall in Massachusetts. Additional
funds would be raised by shaking down rich people and holding
a statewide bake sale.
Sports, science and the arts would converge
at the 10-story Mongoplex. Here is a sample of the offerings
on a hypothetical Saturday night in October 2005 if we get this
thing on the fast track:
First floor: The World Wrestling
Federation's "Nuclear Texas Chainsaw Anthrax Hand Grenade
Death Match," featuring a cage full of cartoonish, chemically
enhanced megamen performing a brilliantly choreographed blend
of dance, ultraviolence and sexual perversity.
Second floor: The annual convention of the 50,000-member
National Pistol-Whipping Association, an underground militia
of men and women who not only like to shoot guns, they like
to hit people in the head with them.
See FENWAY, next page
Cartoon by Michael Scholz