The Age of Bush, Part V: Walker, Texas Rangers

[JeffR]

Part V of a continuing series chronicling the life and times of President George Walker Bush.

Click here for Part I.
Click here for Part II.
Click here for Part III.
Click here for Part IV.



Part V: Walker, Texas Rangers

In 1986, George W. Bush made the momentous decision to pretend he'd given up drinking. "I have to give Laura the credit for that," he says humbly. "It just hadn't occurred to me that the world would accept me as a teetotaler and I could still booze it up as much as I wanted. Since I'd never admitted the coke, I didn't even have to bother pretending to give that up. It changed my life. Well, that and pretending to accept Jesus as my personal Savior for the third or fourth time. Heh."

His father's decision to run for the presidency in 1988 surprised only one person, his son George. "I had no idea he wanted the job," recalls Bush. "Looking back, maybe his two terms as Vice President should have tipped me off, but I just didn't see it coming. Always figured Reagan would just change the Constitution and run for a third term."

Once over the shock, Bush quickly accepted a job offer from his father to help out with the campaign, and George, Laura and the twins moved to Washington.

He was an indispensable part of the campaign, egging Dukakis supporters' cars, drunkenly disrupting Dukakis campaign events, urinating on Dukakis lawn signs. He was named campaign media liaison, a title that still makes him wince. "It was too hard to spell and it sounded so French," he says.

Still, he won over the notoriously jaded press corps with subtle humor, lavish toga parties and generous gifts of nose candy. Yet his finest hour was persuading his father to name J. Danforth Quayle as VP nominee. Bush recalls, "I saw something of myself in him: the intellectual curiosity, the deep humanity, the movie star charisma, the spelling skills. I knew with the Quaylester on board the ticket, ol' Doodookakis and his running mate Willie Horton didn't stand a chance."

His hunch was correct. Bush and Quayle won 40 states, and the other 10 were quickly overpowered and forced to rejoin the Union.

With his father safely ensconced in the Oval Office, it was time to take the family back to Texas. He had wealth amassed through a string of failed business ventures and insider trading of his Harken shares, and he was ready to take the next step, somewhere.

Listening to the radio one morning, he heard a news item about oil services tycoon and Bush family friend Eddie Chiles putting the Texas Rangers up for sale. "I thought to myself: how fucking cool is that?" he remembers. "I was used to bribing one cop at a time. This was a chance to buy a whole bunch of them."

He contacted Chiles immediately, but was disappointed to learn that the Texas Rangers in question were actually a baseball team. Chiles patiently explained that the police Rangers were part of the Texas Department of Public Safety, and thus unavailable for purchase.

Chiles managed to convince Bush that his Rangers would still be a great investment. "Borrow 500 grand, get some other investors onside, and it's all yours, son," Chiles advised.

Bush quickly cobbled together a consortium, which bought the team and installed Bush as managing general partner. He immediately set to work on remaking the franchise.

"I called Bobby Valentine into my office," he remembers. "Told him he'd be staying on as manager as long as he did what I told him to. First order of business was he had to get rid of that banjo hitter Sosa."

He also took a hands-on approach to other aspects of the operation. On game day, he'd arrive at the ballpark early to sample the draft beer for consistency, sometimes hitting as many as 20 concession stands in his quest for absolute quality control. Afterward, he would personally test some urinals.

Finally, he would throw up, grab a hot dog and head for his office to work on quirky promotional ideas, with generally unfortunate results. "Gopher Giveaway Day" necessitated expensive repairs to the stadium's natural turf. "Tix for Tits" sparked mass protests from Christian Conservative groups and feminist organizations alike, though Bush still maintains that the extensive news coverage of the controversy was a net plus for the franchise.

From personally injecting ballplayers with steroids to spearheading the building of a new stadium, he was a tireless baseball man with a deep reverence for the great traditions of the game: the spitting, the crotch-scratching, the cussing, the beer.

One obscure incident that season was the unexpected appearance of Karl Rove at Arlington Stadium one night. Though well into his sixteenth beer of the game, Bush remembered Rove as part of the campaign team from his failed 1978 Congressional run. "Kevin, good to see you again," slurred Bush as he hugged the sweaty, moonfaced pillar of pink flesh.

"Uh, it's Karl, sir. Karl Rove," Rove replied.

"Yeah, Kelsey Rove. Sure, I remember you, Ken."

"Karl, sir."

"No need to be formal, now, Kirk. I'm just gonna call you Turdblossom, since you look like crap," said Bush.

"That's fine, sir. Now, I was wondering if I could convince you to –"

"Season tickets, right?"

"No, sir. Would you consider running for Governor of Texas?"

"Oh, hell, sure. I thought you wanted free season tickets and I was gonna have to call security on your fat ass."

Rove hired consultants the next day to teach Bush the fine points of failed policy, and arranged to introduce the candidate to reporters he'd paid off in advance. But Bush decided to withdraw, an act that puzzled political observers at the time. The explanation was simple, however. "I still just had baseball on the brain," notes Bush, "And some booze and coke, of course."

Rove was disappointed, but took his leave knowing that one day, Bush's quirky and charming mediocrity as a human being would compel him to return to politics.

The Rangers finished the 1989 season with an 83-79 record, good for only fourth place in their division. Bush changed gears, sending large checks to Commissioner Fay Vincent's office and the World Umpires Association with memos that read simply, "For your consideration." He toyed with the idea of mandating that the Rangers receive four strikes per batter and four outs per inning, but was advised by his partners that the idea would never fly in the arcane, rules-obsessed culture of Major League Baseball. "Baseball was hard work," he remembers with a wince.

The Rangers finally finished atop their division in 1994, only to have their postseason stolen from them by the Socialist-inspired players' strike. By then, however, Rove had already returned to convince Bush that being Governor of Texas would give him a chance to run the real Texas Rangers, the ones with guns.

Next Thursday, Part VI: Austin's Powers.

[TomInTib]

1. That's some kinda Eminent Domination there, Jeff.

[Coexist]

2. 'for your consideration'

lol!

[spag68]

3. You left out the part about

Stealing a farm to build a new stadium.

[NanceGreggs]

4. "He was named campaign media liaison ...

... a title that still makes him wince. 'It was too hard to spell and it sounded so French,' he says."

:rofl:

[NanceGreggs]

5. Late night kick for the a.m. crowd ...

If only you'd titled this thread "Big Dawg to Announce Edwards' Love Child as Obama's VP Pick at Convention" ...

[Ghost in the Machine]

6. !!!!

"From personally injecting ballplayers with steroids to spearheading the building of a new stadium, he was a tireless baseball man with a deep reverence for the great traditions of the game: the spitting, the crotch-scratching, the cussing, the beer."

:rofl: :rofl: :rofl:


Well done, sir.... well done!

[LuckyLib]

7. LOL! "the sweaty, moonfaced pillar of pink flesh." That's Rove all right!