Wednesday, June 9, 2010

June 8 2010 PHI v FLA Game 1. Coming Down the Mountain, Francisco Is King

I will admit, dear salivating Followers, I couldn't watch this game I am typing about. Last night for you or today for me was filled with a magical journey to the City of Bega on the south coast of New South Wales. The captain of this journey was my 74 year old father-in-law, Molham and his first mate? My father, John Jr. The reason for this little excursion and me fucking missing the only thing I enjoy in life was because this was a preliminary visit with a doctor who specializes in cutting open people's ass-cracks and sucking out the shitty bad thing that is sometimes festering there. He is a Pilonidal Disease specialist which is a stigamta I suffer from and I have already discussed this in great detail. This doctors is located 3 hours away from my home in Canberra and the appointment was at 1 pm. This means I miss pretty much the entire game and have to spend that time trapped in a car piloted by a man who's, to say the least, lost a step or two. He's a magnificent human and can charm the pants off of any acne-scarred waitress within earshot of him but he has developed some minor disabilities that by usual legal standards would prohibit him from certain activities, one of them being driving a motor vehicle.

I left the house at 9:45 am here just as fucking Kendrick gave up another fucking faggot home run to Hanley Ramirez giving the Marlins a 4-0 lead. God is unkind to me sometimes.

I climb into the death trap with a 4 run deficit but I have my trusty little crippled friend, Sean, texting me updates during the drive. The scores ping-pongs back and forth a bit. We come back from the hole with 3 runs but they tack on a few more. Big Piece hits a 2-run and Victorino hits a solo shot, it sounds like a great fucking game. All the while I'm driving along with thumb up my ass looking out the window at shrubs and sheep.

So we're about 2 hours into my stupid journey when My Little Cripple texts me that the score of this fucking game is 8-7 in favor of the Marlins in the 7th. Dickheaded Wes Helms hits a double that gave the fish a one run lead that Ben Francisco made a leaping stab at it but came up empty. I was about to flood the boring valley below me with the contents of my open veins but just as I moved to take action the real fun started. We began ascending The Mountain

                                         Me and the greatest man in Canberra

Now good ol' Molham has a little trouble hearing. Who the fuck am I kidding, he's deaf as dogshit. He has a hearing aid but rarely wears it so you end up in funny predicaments with him most of the time. He has 2 standard replies to everything you say to him. 1. Yes, I know, I know.... or 2. Not too bad, not too bad... Neither of these thing ever fucking correlates with the statement or inquiry you've made and you are left at the behest of his automated responses. "Molham, my man, could you slow down? These roads are pretty windy."  "Yes, I know, I know....." Somehow this exchange makes sense but I know from experience that he hasn't heard a fucking word I've just said. He continues driving through this fucking steep jungle of poorly paved roads at a bout 120 kilometers per (about 75-80 miles an hour form normal people.) Even my dad who is a stoic bird in situations like these looks like my mother, grabbing onto the door handle for dear life.

 "Yo! Molham, it's pretty treacherous up here, maybe slow it down?" 

"Not too bad, I know"

Then he hits the plastic road guard that the lazy construction company has left n the side of the road  that signifies "Hey,you're getting too fucking close to the edge of this enormous mountain. you should probably slow the fuck down, driver!"  We are fucked. I am going to die on the way to a shitty doctors appointment for an operation that won't fucking work and I'm stuck in this fucking moving death trap driven by the deaf Mr. Magoo but the only thing I'm really honestly concerned with is that THE FUCKING PHILLIES ARE LOSING!!!!

My Phone hasn't had signal since we started up The Mountain so there was still HOPE. We make it to the crest of the big thing we're driving on and started heading down a 18% grade. At 130 kilometers an hour. This is just fucking ridiculous. He's deaf not dead!

"Molham, brother man, could you please slow down, we're gonna die....."

"I know, I know.. Do you have signal on your phone?"

I couldn't fucking believe it. Did he read my fucking mind? How did this great man with exceptionally poor driving skills figure out that even while we were plummeting down a mountain highway to our imminent deaths all i could give a fuck about was the Phils game? He must be psychic. He is an Arab. How does he know that even though I have a wife and kid that love me very much that it doesn't mean shit unless the second before we fucking careen off the road into the ravine below like those lesbians from that movie fat women like that my phone regains reception long enough for the text with a winning result in the Phillies favor appear on my phone screen?

Just as all this dumb shit crossed my mind the road smoothed out and my phone got 3 bars of signal. I get a message. It's The Cripple. "10-8 phils, francisco rbi's 2 in the 8th and lidge shuts em down" I sigh in relief and go on living my life. Ahh the joys of Baseball and shit.

So, Strasburg struck out 14 in his fucking major league debut. that unreal but it was against the Pirates. Over-hyped my ass. Still this outta pull the ESPN dick out of Jason Heyward's ass and firmly plant that root into this talented young fellow's rectum til at least the All Star break.

Also, new comer Mike Stanton did pretty good against us Phils today from what I've read. Do it again and you're gonna get stabbed.

Tonight Halladay takes mound. It's on tv here, Fox. Maybe Molham will sit with us and watch. Fuck new york and fuck atlanta everyday in the ass.


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