A Note to Readers
Faithful frequenters of this website will remember the golden olden days of yore, when each eye-rolling visitor could be expected to do a fair amount of baseball-related skimming on a semi-weekly basis. Lately, however, that hasn’t been the case, as a) the team to which my primary allegiance unfortunately belongs suffered a freefall of Sisyphusian proportions and alienated their fan base with moves both on and off the field—in July; and b) I’ve been gradually re-orienting the M.O. of WULAD toward the less frequent, shorter and funnier, rather than the longer, more frequent, and rambling.
Unsurprisingly, the decrease in baseball-, politics-, and navel-gazing-related entries have corresponded with an increase in readership (details here.) Common sense would dictate that I stick to this road more traveled, onward and upward, toward the rarified air of the Blog Elite.
But since this is my stupid site and barely anyone reads it anyway, I’m going to talk about what I want to talk about, and today I want to talk about baseball!* To the 89% of you who don’t want to read about this, see you tomorrow!
*And not even in an ironic way.
Take Me Out to the WULAD
To recap, for anyone who hasn’t seen a newspaper or television for the past week (you know who you are, Mr. President), perennial also-rans the Boston Red Sox staged an epic comeback to beat the New York Paychecks in the American League Championship Series, sending millions of heartbroken Yankee fans and Billy Crystal home with tears streaming down their tear-soaked, teary faces.
(Also, they were crying, sobbing—bawling, really—in a really, really weak, pathetic, way. And believe me, my heart bleeds for them. Let me add: Aw, Did Poow Baby’s wittle team woose? Let me also add: Awwwwwww.)
But that brings us to the last two nights, which provided some pretty good drama themselves. For commentary on the actual baseball, you can find a good writeup in today’s Hardball Times. I will merely point out a few thoughts that occurred to me over the course of these first two games of the Series That Could Rain Toads on Boston.
- Jeanne Zelasko would make a pretty good Antichrist.
- I used to like Joe Buck a little; after he said Curt Schilling’s blood stain looked like the state of Oklahoma, I like him a lot.
- I really enjoyed James Taylor’s national anthem, and I thought its subtlety made the hooting “USA!”-chanters look like a bunch of idiots, which is what they are. Thank God they didn’t have the jets fly over.
- Did Schilling say “I’ll never use the phrase ‘unbelieve in the Lord’ again”? Who the hell says ‘Unbelieve in the Lord’? What does that mean?
- If one more motherfucker says that it’s “ironic” that so-and-so and so-and-so used to be on the same team but now they aren’t, I’m going to open a can o’ nukeass on him.
- The article above debates this point, but it seems to me that the Red Sox fans don’t really know what to do with themselves now that their team isn’t on the verge of elimination. Maybe 1986 (Boston won Games 1 and 2) is still fresh in their minds.
- Since it keeps coming up, I will never stop reminding people: the game was tied when the ball went through Buckner’s legs. You lost the win on a wild pitch, not Mookie’s grounder. To use the past-present combined tense favored by the sportscasters: even if Buckner makes that play, we still have to play extra innings.
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