Do you think those balls are juiced like the Yankees?
I…have nothing to say. I sincerely hope the Sox plan on winning their remaining 11 games. And then I hope they’re getting everyone who’s been paying attention to them this season a big fucking “I’m Sorry” card from Hallmark. The good shit with the watermark on the back and everything.
Because I don’t want to hear any slogans. I don’t want to know about any t-shirts. I want to win some goddamn baseball games.
And the Yankees? Fuck ’em. They got where they are largely by cheating (don’t EVEN consider arguing with me about this), and it’s not over yet. I hope the Yankees and their fans aren’t using their souls. They’re going to miss them.
I hate that sports do this to me. I hate that I can’t properly illustrate my rage with words and am reduced to throwing bottle caps at the television and damn near putting my foot through the screen before Amy stopped me to remind me that “Mike Timlin is not going to buy you a new TV.” But if anything good can come of this, it’s the hope that the team is just as pissed off as I am. And well they should be. They blew this and they have to work that much harder to fix it. And they better fucking try.
Apologies for my lack of synonyms for the word “fuck” but the game ended ten minutes ago and to keep myself from destroying my dishes on the hardwood floor or devouring an entire half-gallon of ice cream, I’m ranting here.
I’m not giving up. Because I can’t. I don’t have it in me. It’s not part of my nature. So I will continue to watch. And I will continue to hope. And make no mistake about it, I will continue to throw things and most likely will need to purchase a new television before the season is over. But I can’t give up. I couldn’t find my way off this bandwagon with a map.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tape a picture of Mike Timlin to my pillow and work out my, er, frustrations.