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Marlins Season Gets Uggla as Clubhouse Fight Breaks Out

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You have to give the Fish some serious credit this year.

For the 87th consecutive season, they rank last in the bigs in team salary. But somehow they've stayed in the Wild Card hunt.


(Quick fun comparison sure to add to the New York Mets fan base's collective PTSD: If the Mets finished the season without winning another game, they would have paid about $2.5 million per lousy victory. The Marlins, with ten more wins and $113 million less on the books, would have forked over a Big Lots-esque $533,000 per winning chicken dinner.)

But for all the bargain-basement magic Freddi Gonzalez has conjured this year, Riptide is getting close to filing this season in the "OVER" bin. Yeah, the Marlins pulled out a sweet walk-off win over the Braves last night thanks to noted slugger Wes Helms.

However, much as the Herald wants to spin the win as an example of "good vibes," we've got a news flash for you: It's not a great sign for your prospects when your franchise player and All-Star second-basemen begin screaming at each other in the clubhouse in front of reporters.

In case you missed the gory details, apparently Dan Uggla was not thrilled that Hanley Ramirez left Tuesday's game with a hamstring injury.

After Ramirez rescinded on a promise to return to the lineup Wednesday, he had this to say to a crowd of reporters around his locker before the game:

"You don't get the same respect from teammates when you're not playing," he said. "I got people upset when I got out of the game last night. I try to do the best I can. Whatever."

That gem of wisdom pissed off Uggla at his locker a few feet away. He yelled, "Yeah, I was one of them." That's when the real donnybrook began.

Uggla got all kinds of jealous on Hanley's big contract, hollering "Yeah, you've got your $70 million, you [expletive removed by major publications, which Riptide absolutely would have run if we'd been there]."

Sure, the Marlins went out and won after Freddi closed the clubhouse and made his stars kiss and make up.

But do you want to bet on an underdog down the stretch whose best hitter admits he's at "10 percent, at best," and whose clubhouse is slowing turning into the Balkans circa 1915?

Rub it in the Mets' faces, enjoy the last couple of weeks, but don't buy those Wild Card tickets just yet.

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