The New York Post has given Lenny Dykstra a platform, and I suppose if I were in a different mood I could have a good deal of fun with it. But honestly — and like a lot of the content in the Post, I suppose — it reads a bit like something off a crazy person’s hand-scrawled placard. It’s easy to make Dykstra into a punchline because we once knew him as the hard-partying dirty-uniform ballplayer, and I’m sure if anyone asked him he’d curse me and say he didn’t want my sympathy, but man… what a sad, sad dude.