Deep couch, cold drink, Fall Classic
This is what I say into the mirror on those days when the snooze on my alarm clock finally gives up, and the sun is setting by the time I rise:
퀌�Hey man, hey! (A little bit of slapping here) Wake up! You퀌_ve got to move on and accept things for the way they are. It퀌_s not your fault the Mariners lost so many times. Live in the now! You퀌_ve got to get over this!퀌�
And I call work and apologize for not coming in and I try to focus on today, Tuesday, Sept. 30, as the day it all turns back around for me. The day the Cubs and the Red Sox are in the playoffs together.
It퀌_s exciting, and it퀌_s really different, and more on that later. First, another Mariners rant.
What the hell is going on up there? No James Baldwin, no Jeff Cirillo, no huge injuries, and the same crash as last year. Same time, same place, same nasty-ass ending. I was one to doubt the importance of a trading deadline deal, but this team showed it needed more than Ray Sanchez to fill a gap at shortstop.
Rondell White went to Kansas City, easily, and showed off his timber for a month. The Mariners could have surely used White퀌_s power as a way to rest 40-year-old Edgar Martinez, right? Or to give Ichiro a few days rest in the stretch-run, where he petered out like a wet firecracker?
Such a bummer, they all played hard. But they lost, so screw �em!
I퀌_m a Cubs fan, too. And now, I퀌_m a Red Sox fan (as long as they kick the snot out of the A퀌_s and the Yankees).
Really, though, any person who likes baseball 퀌_ hell, any red-blooded American who believes in tradition and has pride in the red, white and blue, should be stoked that the Cubbies and the Red Sox have a chance, even a pinner one, at meeting in the World Series. Anarchists, for that matter, have to love the possibilities, too. The Red Sox and Cubs together 퀌_ can you smell that? Huge changes blowing in on the wind, man. It퀌_s like Al Roker meets Boss Hogg in a death match for control of the world.
Hey, to appease you Twins, Braves, A퀌_s, Giants and Marlins fans, everything퀌_s cool. Your dudes are still money. I wish you all the best. But if the Horsemen ride, the Devil gets frostbite and Babe퀌_s pulling loop-the-loops over the house, I bid you adieu.
Yankees, though, I have no love for. Time to hang it up for a while, guys. Spend more time helping Darryl recover, giving Jose Canseco a shoulder to cry on, instead of just buying and selling flavors-of-the-week just to stay hip. The Yankees are like that hot girl who tells you that she loves you, and then *bam* you퀌_re dumped and she퀌_s dating someone who plays the drums better than you do. No heart, and a soiled tradition. OK, a little deep, but, you know, it퀌_s true.
ESPN and Fox are handling the Division Series. I퀌_m bummed, because �Temptation Island퀌� and 퀌�Bass Masters퀌� will probably be pre-empted for weeks, but hey, I퀌_ll have the happy faces of Kerry Wood and David Ortiz to keep my attention. And this time of year, when I am a powerful man, full of life, full of harmony, that퀌_s enough.
And if it starts raining and doesn퀌_t stop, your hairy neighbor starts building a big boat, and your cat disappears, I퀌_ll take the Cubs in six. Because it might be ���� it could be.
