Imagine Vernon Wells stepping to the plate to Love, Love, Love Drags Me Down off the Barbarella Soundtrack with the Bob Crewe Generation reminding every fan not to get their hopes up...

INDEED... Vernon, you drag us down and the sound of the feigned excitement as you pop one up a mile high but right into the catcher's glove. Every awesome facet of the 1960s music scene is either missing or pandered to in this terrible imitation of superstar. Come to think of it, what an exact parallel to your career and the desperate circumstances of a trigger happy general manager who buried whatever meager legacy he may have had when he traded for you.

In the end the whole recorded performance is weirdly pleasant enough, much like the observation that you, Vern Dog, are quite the inoffensively magnanimous twittering teammate, but can you rock harder than this brassy paean to impressing one's self at the expense of turning everyone off? If not, I say curate this as the Vernon Wells Walkup music for each and every 2012 At Bat.