Moose, Kings, Cruise, and My Burning Hatred of the Week

Thoughts to ponder while listening to the new Coldplay album:

Finally, the Lady Friend and I were watching last nights bean-ball fest between the Cardinals and Red Sox (whats the plural for Red Sox, anyway? Red Soxes? Red Soxen?) when it donned on me that I have never seen a bench clearing brawl in person. Immediatly, I hopped online and got us a pair of seats for tonight's game. Considering the fact that there is some unfinished business from last night, and that David Wells is throwing for the Sox, I'll set the over-under on the innings the benches clear at the 4th inning.

I sincerely hope that there is a fight and I really hope John Mabry knees Trot Nixon in the head and that So Taguchi breaks out some wicked awesome karate moves on Jason Varitek. I hope that the Birds literally beat up the Sox tonight for two reasons: One, I really hate the fucking Sox right now (I'll get to this in a minute.) Two, is there anything more embarrassing than having your team lose a brawl? (Also, could I ask any more rhetorical questions today?) Imagine being a huge Robin Ventura fan (sounds horrible already) and watching while a 40-something year old Nolan Ryan bloodied him with nuggies. Now that's embarrassing.

Now, back to my new found hatred of the Red Sox. For over half of a score (yes, I still keep time in scores), the Red Sox were my American League team. I wasn't happy that they beat the Cards last fall in The Series, but hey, that's life. Then the off-season started. Out of nowhere, poets arose throughout the North-East to rasp whimsically about the values of Red Sox baseball. Perhaps 3,792 TV specials were produced to celebrate their title. Millions of books were published. Johnny Damon and company do a Queer Eye special. Fever Pitch is released. The late Tupac Shakur drops a track celebrating the wonders of David Ortiz. It was getting out of control. The Red Sox, quite literally, were everywhere. I needed to take a break from this team, fast.

So for this season, I have decided to pledge allegiance to the California Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, Exit on Katella Ave On the Five in Eastern Orange County for my American League team du jour. I'll watch a Boston game or two, but they were just a little too damn popular for me.

Then strange things started to happen. I saw how Sox fans were treating Edgar Renteria and it made me sad. How can you boo ER? That sweet little Columbian. He means you no harm. I was starting to get a little agitated towards the Sox fans.

Bill Simmons throw's a Matt Morris quote in on his website, not only taking it out of context, but adding his own sore-winner type vibe to it. I'm getting a little pissed now.

Then this yahoo at Boston.com not only insults Cardinal fans and the Midwest in general, but he calls out our beer. Now, know this...I'll defend drinking a bottle of Ice Cold Budweiser until I am dead and buried. And I am seriously ticked off towards New England.

Last night Matt Mantei comes in and drills Mark Grudzielanek, obviously a payback bean, so that's fine. He then strikes out Albert Pujols and Jim Edmonds (looking, both) consecutively. He walks Reggie Sanders to make it look like he doesn't have too good of command before hitting Larry Walker in the leg. Do you really need to up the ante? Really?

And now I hope we pure and simply kill the mother fucking Boston Red Sox.

So, we go into tonight, with hot-head extrodinare D. Wells tossing on a ESPN televised game. You think nobody's getting knocked down tonight? Not a chance in hell.

Should be fun.

I like Edgar.
Fucking Colombians. God damned Colombians.
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"I'll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognize the state of Missouri."