Wednesday, October 28, 2009

The Inner Circle of Baseball Hell



That is where Mets fans are currently residing, myself among them. Clearly God hates the Mets and their fans and has shown this to them by injuring everybody on their roster, presenting them with a succession of Steve Phillips, Jim Duquette, and Omar Minaya, by giving us a Braves-Yankees WS in 1999, and lastly by allowing the abortion that is this year's World Series. This isn't a "Oh, woe is us!" bullshit-Red Sox thing: that happened because of their city's and organization's racism. The Mets are cursed for no good goddamn reason and it has all led to us having to make a choice about rooting for the Yankees or Phillies in the classic matchup of mystique vs. grit.



Now there are those who say we should root for the Yankees. After all, we all know Yankees fans and many of us have friends who root for the Yankees. However, I must explain to you that any Yankee fan friends that you know are decent people are the exception to the rule. Yankees fans are obnoxious loudmouths with a ridiculous sense of entitlement and such a dearth of knowledge about baseball that they immortalize people like Scott Brosius while vilifying Alex Rodriguez. We Mets fans, despite the best attempts of the Wilpons to eradicate it, must not forget our heritage. And that heritage means hating and rooting against the Yankees with every fiber of our being. Paul O'Neill, Chuck Knoblauch, Roger Clemens, Derek Jeter, Andy Pettitte, A-Rod etc.--don't you just fucking hate these guys. I know I do and deep down you do too. We must not root for the Yankees. The Yankees are not our crosstown brethren, they are our crosstown fucking rivals, and if I didn't root for the Yankees after 9/11 when New York "needed " and "deserved" a World Series, then I'm sure as shit not rooting for them now. The Yankees deserve nothing.



"Well, then dtro," you might say, "I guess that means we have to root for the Phillies." To which I say FUCK NO! While it is important not to lose sight of our hate past in the presence of the nouveau-douchiness of the Phillies, let's not pretend that this team and fanbase are not ridiculously detestable. Phillies fans are drunken mongoloids with no loyalty to anyone but the Eagles. They are violent and despicable people who seek out confrontation with other fanbases and others within their own fanbase, because frankly there's nothing better to do in a shithole like Philadelphia but get drunk and fight and then go complain about the best QB in your franchise's history. Philadelphians harbor a pitiful yet grating inferiority complex regarding the city of New York (and well they should) and lack the class, sense of history, integrity, or creativity to come up with their own rallying cries. The Phillies themselves have a roster of fuckfaced fucks. Jimmy Rollins is a douche, who likes to make big claims and shush Mets fans in the CitiField crowd while putting up a .296 OBP. He is probably the second most overrated player in the NL, trailing only Ryan Howard. Cole Hamels likes to call our boys choke artists? Choke on my dick. Chase Utley looks like he should start up a barbershop quartet with Wes Welker where they can sing about their hair parted perfectly down the middle (not to mention he leans into about 15 pitches a year). And Shane Victorino is a special kind of douche, my hatred of whom cannot be expressed in words. We may be in the inner circle of baseball hell right now, but rest assured there is a special place reserved in baseball hell for Shane Dicktorino after his fatal stabbing a couple of months from now. Just kidding...but I seriously wouldn't mind if he got stabbed and slowly bled to death.

That's right Mets fans, our best bet is to ignore this whole fucking thing. This is an opportunity to spend time with family and friends and not think about baseball until we're welcoming Matt Holliday with open arms and preparing for a 2010 Mets team that will exorcise all of our demons. And if you still feel bad about baseball right now, there's always this to cheer you up:

Saturday, October 24, 2009

The New Manifesto*

*By which I won't swear at all.

Based on some texts exchanged with Boyce on this fine drunken friday night, yours truly will try to post some more shit on this blog. Shit about how Steve Phillips' banging a busted-ass psychopath showed poorer judgment about fat people than the Mo Vaughn signing.

Shit about how Mother Teresa was a dirty fucking sham artist, who was more interested in death bed conversions than actually helping the poor, sick and needy (this according to G Wilko--although I tend to believe him,cynical as I am).

Boyce says hes in it for the lulz, but not me. I'm in it for the loot. Every time you log in to this page I make the potential for future income in the tens of dollars a year based on google ad revenue. I mean if a woman walks up to you who might be homeless, but a high-class respectable homeless, and offers to buy a cigarette off you for some nickels and pennies proffered in her outstretched AIDS-poisoned (assumption on my part) hand explaining that you "might could buy a soda" with it--and you seriously consider her offer: well then for fucking fuck's sake you need some loot.

And so I beg of all of you who read this: do not judge me (us) harshly for my (our) absence. Consider instead giving me some money so that I can get drunk and write some similar shit again. Clearly, the next time it might be about the clear lack of judgment on the part of a family that entrusts the majority of its money to Bernie Madoff and Omar Minaya, but I digress.

A man once said to me, "There are lots of people moving everywhere in this hustle and bustle we call life. But you," (and by this he meant ME), " you can see everything clearly, because you take the time to stop and look and consider everyone. You look at everything all around you, and for that you are blessed. Can I get a couple bucks for the train so I can get to..." blah, blah, blah: the fucking homeless bum. Dude smelled of piss-soaked potatoes and guilt-forced me into a MetroCard swipe at High St. (because when your in the Heights you feel like you can afford an extra fare or two, what with the deliciously wealthy smell of wood-burning fireplaces).

Fuck it I'm DAAAAAAARUNK!