Monday, September 13, 2010

September 12 2010 PHI v NYM Game 3. Lay 'Em Down, Smack 'Em Yack 'Em

Fucking what's up, Philadelphia?! How's it feel to be back in sole possession of the big dildo after the Phils take this fucker and the knaves, with mighty Tim Hudson on the hill, get fucking roped? That's what I thought....

Yesterday, Daddy was fortunate enough to have witnessed Roy Oswalt stun and finger every motherfucking dingus in blue and orange in front of a lively crowd of maybe 6500 people. The citifield dream cemetery for a 3rd September in a row was a barren sea of empty seats and true diehards whom I admired in there commitment but loathe in their allegiance. It was truly a chagrined but loyal lot not too excited yet not very bothered by our Philadelphia presence. Maybe the infant had some effect.

This was my son, JSIV's first Phillies game. How hard is he already? Going into the belly of the  beast for his first outing of 9 innings. I'm so proud of him. He's 4 months old and already hates the mets. Just look at the hatred seething off of him. A true family outing, Aunty Berdan and Aunty Amy even attended!

The runs came early off muts starter Jonathan Niese with Chutley banging home Victorino in the 1st and Big fucking Piece smacking home Polly in the 3rd. Mrs. Niese proved to be little match for the anaconda crotch we had on the mound in retaliation.

Even my best friend Michael (pictured above) who really finds no time for sports (the hat is mine, I just couldn't have him go into the mouth of the beast unrepresented) was impressed by the fucking fire Roy Fucking Oswalt was tossing. Do you know what kind of inner peace and joy I felt watching David Wright strike out 400 times yesterday?

Not a single fucking muts batter even reached 2nd base all fucking day. It would be almost boring it it wasn't wizardry.

A 4 hit, complete game shutout. In flushing. These eyes....Fuck me. 

Would you look at that puss, ain't it beautiful? I took this photo just before fucking Raul Fucking Ibanez smoked the dick off the ball into deep center, a rarely touched upon area of glory. Throughout the dozens of groans emanating from the seats around me I managed to make out a hand full of RAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLs  rattling the bare cupboards of the flushing stands. Yeah, you fucking smell it.....


I'll tell ya, F's.... I'm getting pretty fucking tired of watching Jayson Werth step up to the plate, swat around like an aloof cheerleader dreaming of bubblegum and penis, and then walk back to the dugout like that's what he's paid to do. Dickhead, it's September. If you don't want to be here, fuck off. Play your part, pick up your sack and give it your nuts. That's my only gripe for today.

Nevertheless, after 9 innings, dozens of dirty looks, a few humans cooing at the little man and one hell of a show from Os we left citifield and Little Bogotá triumphant. Another mets series in our pockets and my little man gets a W on his maiden voyage.

Fuck new york and thanks for coming.


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