The tale of Bad Santa

Some years ago a pitcher by the name John Rocker made an ass of himself by saying some terrible things about New Yorkers in an interview. Basically he said something like, why would anyone in their right mind take the seven train to Shea Stadium because you'll share the car with a single mom with her six kids, a punk rocker, and a bunch of immigrants who speak no English.

So a couple days later I see this filthy, dirty old man on the N Train mumbling to himself. The only way to describe the way this old bastard looked is like a tall skinny Santa Claus. Long greasy white hair. Dirty white beard. Glasses. What you can see of the skin of his face was bright red and pock-marked. Grimy long coat and a baseball cap all covered with various enamelled pics.

So he's standing here mumbling over and over, "That ball player was right. Why are people angry? He's telling the truth." Then he started getting agitated. A scowl takes over his face as he starts in. "He was right! Immigrants everywhere! No one speaks English!...."

I thought this rude old bastard was kinda funny, but over the years whence he has only seemed to get worse. He once went toe-to-toe with a much smaller man an screamed in his face that he was an asshole for standing by the doors. He yells at people that HE is an American and they aren't. "Go away immigrants." "Go home immigrants and count your money."

Someone must've put this old coot in his place because the last couiple times I've seem him he stands by the door, looking out the window softly muttering to himself.