yet another narcissistic running diary
a number of you have emailed or called me, wondering about my thoughts concerning this god-awful world series. well, tonight i hope to provide some answers along with a side dish of sarcasm and other unconstructive thoughts.
before i start, please note that i fully realize that: (a) running diaries are even more narcissistic than blogs (if you think the latter aren't an example of narcissism, at least to some degree, you're kidding yourself and (b) that this format is a complete rip-off of the sports guy's work (i, along with Jesus, consider imitation to be the supreme form of flattery).
8:08 p.m.: i realize that equality requires that we have women sportscasters. i even appreciate the work of, um...thinking, at least one such
sportswriter (jackie macmullen of the boston globe) i can't think of one female sportscaster who's even remotely watchable. in short, i think hannah storm is awful. not only does she spout out meaningless drivel, she isn't even that hot. note to the networks: if you're going to sell us on the idea of female sportscasters, select ones that look like reese witherspoon, keira knightley, or, if they're a little older, frances mcdormand.
8:14 p.m.: for everyone who's tried to encourage me by speaking of this situation as a "win/win" for me. let me provide one point of clarification: you're off your freaking rocker. i was literally raised at busch stadium. at different points in my life i have had extended conversations with enos slaughter (whose 1946 mojo we could use a lot of tonight) and lou brock and have met almost every living cardinal great you can think of. i will never, ever root against the cardinals nor will i delight in their demise. whether by curse, scratch hits or, god-forbid, adequate pitching performances, i hope that the cardinals crush the collective heart of red sox nation.
8:22 p.m.: hearing the anheiser-busch anthem played at a world series game reminds me of the pre-game in the 1987 series when one of the budweiser clydesdale's took a giant dump on the artificial turf. instead of dispatching one of the groundskeepers to go clean it up with a shovel and a bucket, they sent out the artificial turf vacuum cleaner to clean it up. bad decision. as a result there was a 15 foot shit stain in right field for the rest of the evening.
8:32 p.m.--it's funny. due to their cardinal credentials, mccarver was a member of the 1967 cardinals who bested the red sox in 7 games, and buck is the son of the cardinals legend, you would think that i would love this broadcasting team. but nothing could be further from the truth. when mccarver isn't kissing yankee ass, he's making some kind of insightful comment that i made 30 seconds earlier and buck has been completely co-opted by the fox mission of providing less substance and more style. announcers i would rather hear this evening: jon miller, uecker, vin scully, al leiter, mike shannon, hell, i'd even take the understandably biased rem-dawg over these guys.
8:43 p.m.: i think i just threw up. somebody woke up manny ramirez.
8:46 p.m.: while i'm nervously trying avoid the t.v. let me offer one thought. as a former pitcher and a fan of pitching duels i think the armadillo size elbow pads that hitters (i.e. bonds, ortiz, varitek and pujols) are wearing need to be illegal. these pads are basically another offensive weapon that encourages hitters to dive out over the plate and drive the ball. it also makes them less vulnerable to the inside pitch. so, that's commissioner gentry's decision. elbow pads are verboten! either that or we raise the pitcher's mound back to its pre-gibson height of 16 inches. hitters, you decide!
8:55 p.m.: there is one out, walker is on first, pujols is down 0-2 and i am rocking back and forth like an autistic child.
whew, runners on first and second. one out. please, please, please stay out of the double play!
9:00 p.m.: pedro walked the bases loaded. now, edmonds, our one lefty who loves high fastballs is coming to the plate. please, please, please make a mistake. unfortunately, or fortunately considering your perspective, the world series came smack dab in the middle of one of my holidays from alcohol. on the dark side, it's also leading me to pick up smoking again. of course, i could buy a pack of chewlie's gum.
9:02 p.m.: when did jose oquendo turn into dale sveum? i cannot believe we ran ourselves out of that f*cking inning.
what are the odds of us winning if we go down 3-0? how about 1-237.
9:16 p.m.: you know you are idolatrizing baseball when:
1. you snap at your coworkers. i left an anonymous note on a double pahhked ford expedition today in the cbd lot today. the note read: "learn to park your suburban assault vehicle." i also almost killed an employee earlier in the week when he called me a "traitor" for supporting the cardinals. i have had to avoid other co-workers all week in order to stave off an outburst.
2. you begin to think your team is cursed. i can empathize with the pain of elderly or middle aged red sox fans, i really can. but when i hear red sox fans my age, especially those who are non-natives, talk with pathos about red sox woes it makes me want to wretch. yeah, they had '86. but i've dealt with a blown call in '85 that ruined a series, two game seven blow-outs and three flame outs in the NLCS. you want to see my scars? i'll show 'em to ya! on the bright side, i've been thinking about spinning the tarp incident into the genesis of a "cardinal curse." i could write a book about it, build a career as a post-dispatch sportswriter and send my kids to college on the royalties.
3. your wife threatens to leave you. fortunately that hasn't happened, yet.
9:36: at least suppan didn't spike himself. 2 outs between third and home before the fourth inning. we're going to give this game away. this is the worst fundamental baseball the cardinals have played all year.
9:59 p.m.: wow, where did the last inning and a half go? answer: a smashed fist against our faux wood paneling followed by a trip to the Hess for cigarettes and a trip to the bathroom that saved my pants.
10:03 p.m.: first and third and no outs. can we say 4-0? this has all the makings of a blow-out. time for another cigarette.
