During yesterday’s Blue Jays-Angels game in Toronto, Blue Jays third baseman Josh Donaldson and Angels pitching coach John Butcher got into a cross-field shouting match, one that TV cameras and subsequent social-media outlets succeeded in capturing. What Butcher said remains unclear, but what Donaldson said – as you can see (way) below – remains a lot less unclear. Indeed, we can read the man’s lips pretty easily. Or can we?
I mean, what are we? Professional lip readers? (Answer: No. No, we are not professional lip readers.) And so, via a highly scientific analysis, linguistics-wise, I hereby seek to solve the mystery of Josh Donaldson’s angry utterance. What follows is a list of possibilities.
1) “Stop my clock.”
Argument for: Some clocks simply need stopping. Case in point: As everyone knows, the temporal exchange rate for Canadian clocks vis-à-vis American clocks is 1.8 to 1, meaning that for every ’Murican minute, you get 1.8 Canuck minutes in return. And at the end of the day – hey, look, a non-clichéd usage of the phrase “at the end of the day,” and at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all want? – that adds up to (OK, let me see here – carry the one, subtract the two, drink a six-pack) that adds up to a lot of extra time with which to do Canadian things such as go snowshoeing to the ice-fishing pond and then, you know, go ice-fishing while talking about The Great One’s hot daughter. Now, as everyone also knows, Josh Donaldson is a red-blooded – what’s the word? – person from the US of A, and, as such, he don’t need no stinking extra Canuck minutes with which to do Canadian things such as discuss the Canadian health-care system vis-à-vis the American health-care system while whipping up Geddy Lee’s delicious poutine recipe.
Yep, as a red-blooded person of American provenance, all he needs is the usual allotment of good old-fashioned U.S. minutes with which to play nine innings, take a nice hot shower, knock back a couple of Bud Lights and get home in time to watch American Idol.
Conclusion: Donaldson is simply issuing a formal request that his Canadian clock be stopped, not only so he can avoid snowshoeing to the nearest Tim Hortons for a steaming cup of Canadian joe but also so he won’t have to lie awake in the extra hours of morning while mulling the absurdity of human life vis-à-vis the timelessness of Niagara Falls.
Argument against: That’s pretty stupid. Donaldson could just stop the clock himself.
2) “Sack my crock.”
Argument for: Some crock-pots simply need sacking. Example: I once had a crock-pot that simply needed sacking. And so I sacked it. And it would appear that Donaldson, too, is in possession of a crock-pot that requires a similar act of sacking, in the same way that 5th-century Rome needed sacking – did it not? – at the hands of the tribal Visigoths.
How many tragic crock-pot scenarios might we imagine? Answer: this many. Perhaps Donaldson’s crock-pot is burdened by an ill-fitting lid, the result of which is an unfortunate escape of steam and a very dry pork shoulder. Perhaps the plug is all messed up – maybe there’s an electrical short or something – the result of which is an unfortunate four-alarm fire in a fancy condominium complex in the city’s Fancy Condominium District.
Conclusion: Donaldson is simply issuing a formal request that his crock-pot be sacked, not only so he can avoid snowshoeing to the nearest – wait, wrong example – not only so he can avoid the tragedy of a fancy four-alarm fire but also so he can go snowshoeing to the Canadian Costco to buy a new crock-pot and, more importantly, eat poutine samples.
Argument against: That’s pretty stupid. Donaldson could just sack the crock himself.
3) “Sic my cwock.”
Argument for: Some cwocks simply need siccing. Or do they? As everyone knows, provided that everyone has consulted Urban Dictionary, the term “cwock” – derived from the Olde Easte Coaste phrase “cwock’n’bwalls” – is a heavily accented reference to that part of the male anatomy known otherwise and more genteelly as the “tallywacker.” As everyone also knows, the term “sic” is defined this way: “to set a dog or other animal on someone or something.” Which means, “Hey, Bowser, go attack that there mail truck!”
Conclusion: What we have here – perhaps – is Donaldson’s formal request that Angels pitching coach John Butcher set his – Donaldson’s, not Butcher’s – cwock (and by extension, bwalls) on a vehicle operated by an employee of the United States Postal Service, though it remains conceivable if not logical that a FedEx truck would also do.
Argument against: That’s pretty stupid. The act of slamming one’s genitals into a large delivery truck – whether moving or parked – would generate a great deal of pain and make one wish that he had simply gone snowshoeing into a glazed donut at Tim Hortons.
Counterargument for: As everyone knows, the word “sic” is also used to show that a word is quoted exactly as it stands in the original. What does this mean? It means that Josh Donaldson really did say, “Sic my cwock,” or at least something very, very similar.