Ugh. It's ugly out there. I don't know whether to root against the Eagles because who wants that shit hole to get more glory, or to root for them as any Super Bowl related events would detract from the city of brotherly smug's baseball team. It's gotten so bad the Br*ves are competing with the Mets again, and we could end up with Ollie. How Lowe can we go?
Then the other night (last night?) I innocently switched on the new MLB channel only to find that instead of their usual info-commercial-length ads for the MLB channel, they were actually running content. That content was game 7 against the Cardinals, 9th inning. I watched, just in case it turned out differently. It didn't, and I almost wretched, but I have to say, Endy and the bottom of the order did their job that night. And if Jose had lashed the ball just a bit more to the right-center gap well...blarg. Watching Uncle Cliffy return to have a word with Willie Wanker (now that we know Floyd said himself he shouldn't have been batting there) before marching up to the plate, down 3-1 with two men on and NO ONE OUT was even worse this time around. No one still bunted. Having two men on and no one out with the top of the lineup due up--just like the old miracle Mets for an instant--and then it all came crashing down and it has yet to get better. Although I saw one redeeming thing I forgot...Beltran did swing at one of the pitches. In my memory, the bat never leaves his shoulder. Anyhow, it was like watching a family member die. Thanks, MLB. After this week, I needed a pick me up.
I got this from occasional reader and most likely devastated Giants fan Steven O. He pulled it off the Mets website, of all places. I have to assume they just reinforced the Hall of Fame's stage and want to test it with a max load. Or it's the...
...best prank ever? Other than this of course...
hardee har har.
Labels: dog days, i've always suspected peanut butter