Another clump of hair fell off the cat last night and Alopecia ain't to blame. It's our old familiar foe, The We Can't Hit For Shit With RSP Monster dropping by to say hi and stuff shit in our shoes. His friend The Abominable Shitty Defense Snowman dragged his shitty white furry ass long for shits and giggles, as well, thus making the 3-7 series losing game to those trailer dwelling cunts all the merrier. With house guests like these who needs toilets? Or veins that hold your blood?
Things just got off to a wonderful start as Colio gave up a 3 run dinger to Troy Glaus as soon as he possibly could. His sadness, much Rosario Dawson's character in MIB2, brought the rains so Colie had the rest of the night off bringing in the pen cavalry to suffice. I'd hate to think what the scoreline would look like had Cole had to stay in. A bruise like that from the get-go doesn't heel so quick with Cole as nearly any other adult, we could be looking at a double digit deficit. 3-0 these days just looks insurmountable. It just seems miles away.
Not that I'm too negative about last night's performance, though. We did finally have one over the wall from Big Piece breaking 293994 innings of homerless play. The offense was showing signs of a pulse as the game came to a close. Shit even Rooster, who's been severely struggling at the plate, hit the ball once and got to the second base. This also was negated by the sheer lack of hustle he displayed in the bottom of the 8th allowing a ball to roll passed his glove into center field as he watched Hinske's flubber-buns trot all the way to third. That's just the kind of dogdick carelessness that just stings. I know its annoying to be in the shits but fuck, you're getting paid, give it your all.
Taking beatings from teams clearly below our waist is getting to be saddening but the thing that makes me frown the most has to be the apparent apathy in the dugout. It would comfort me slightly to know that the men I put so much stock in were feeling lower than a snakes belly as I do when I watch them be gunned down by cheap assassins. I know the poker face is the desired demeanor in times of such despair but would it hurt Jayson Werth to take off the bat boys head or maybe give the finger to a slobbering crown of tomahawk chopping subnormals? I want to see some true hatred surging but all I see is limp indifference. Throw a fucking helmet, chuck a bat at someone, get tossed, called the ump a cocksucking faggot, GET MAD!!! I want to so some wrath in the face of this horseshit! Milt Thompson can't be the only one who's pissed off. If it doesn't manifest itself tonight it's looking like a nice welcome to sound of thunderous boos for all in the red stripes when the boys return home Friday. Lose with some dignity, be the men we all love. I stand here win or lose but fucking work. It hurts right now but I still do this for free.
A couple nice filthy pleasure were taken in the loss. Victorino tossed his bat hard as a motherfucker into the stands behind the away dugout and knocked some dumb braves fan cunt in the head. Chooch, the fucking MVP of the year for all I'm concerned, also knocked Brian McCann on his sibling-fucking ass. He was out but he got a good dig in. Gotta find that silver lining.
That's all, Followers. I'm sick of tying these eulogies. With all my shitty words I do think today might just be the day we get off to a hot start and fuck these twerps up. We got towards the end of it last night, maybe it'll carry. I fucking hope so. Fuck new york and fuck everyone on earth.