What can I say ? It's been a week of demoralizing loses at the hands of teams beneath our playing ability. It's fucking infuriating. The lesser man in me wants to call all knuckle-ball pitchers fucking cheating faggots and hope someone with greater means than I shoves R.A. Dickey's right hand into a wood-chipper in a sort of morbid re-imagining of that scene in Kingpin. You fucking know the one. Yes, I know this kind of attitude is counter-productive in every way but the fantasy kept me from beating my wife all day. You can't take that away from me. I kid, I kid but I'm sure there were a few domestic calls to certain precincts south of Washington Avenue last night. That you can blame on no-one but the Phils. It's their fault, really.......
Last night's game was typified in every aspect by the top second inning. Howard singles on a line drive off of Dickey's elbow, which was awesome, and then Rooster and Raul followed suit. Bases loaded. The Landscaper of Sanity has all the power in his little, powerful Panamanian hands with no fucking outs. What happens? A fucking ground out to Dickey and 1-2-3 double play. Moyer fucking strikes out 2 batters later. Result of this inning: zero runs, much like the rest of the fucking game. No runs, not one. 0- 8 loss. To the mets. Just typing this makes me want to commit genocide. I've been avoiding the computer and ESPN all day, instead being a normal person who doesn't let strangers dictate his mental state of being. I actually got a furious dizzy spell that induced mild vomiting as a result of this game. I'm serious, it makes me physically ill when the Fightin's play like this. It's not their fault, they are men who do their job very well for the most part. I've just become unhealthily desperate for the win. This is fucked. The game has become a detriment to my health. I know this sounds silly that a man of my proclivities and physical prowess would let a simple test of bats and balls dictate my happiness but it has become a sobering truth. I really wake up everyday throbbing for the game. It's the first thing I do everyday, sometimes I wake up at 3am to watch day-games and I often have dreams of the game to be, something like 3-4 nights a week. I feel like I'm in the beginning stages of entitlement that comes with the winning team, Yankee's Fan Syndrome (This is not a good feeling but I feel it's nothing like the smug cock-sucker blues those Jay-Z fans up the turnpike really feel when their show-ponies lose it so I write off these self-accusations). On off-days I feel listless and have a air of worthlessness wash over me. Off days after a loss are even worse. I'm a terribly unhappy shithead until they pull it together again and sometimes that doesn't happen. It's awful. I wouldn't have it any other fucking way. Someday my son will feel this way.Go get 'em tonight, Phils. WIN! I might murder my family if not. Definitely my in-laws.
So, Followers, to conclude today's semi-psychotic rant I will liken last nights play to the auspicious performance of one Godfrey Zaburoni, a 31 year old Zimbabwean ex-pat acrobat who's been pasted on every news outlet in Australia for the last 2 days with the charge of knowingly cramming HIV into12 women's vaginas. This clown was a contestant on the utter waste of a network slot Australia's Got Talent program and and is a complete ass-hat. Imagine catching AIDS from this dickhead. I think I'd rather scrape the lining of Joan Rivers' uterus on live television than have to come forth as one of the "hundreds of women" that have let this turd hit it raw.
Of course they revel in the fact that this guy is AFRICAN. I guess when you're an ex-pat and you start giving people HIV your Australian citizenship is automatically revoked. Good thing I'm going for that as we speak.....
Until tomorrow, my dear fucking Followers, fuck new york and please fucking beat the shit out of these cunts tonights.
P.S. Happy Birthday Al Jolson
P.S. Happy Birthday Al Jolson