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post #112
bio: chris

first post
that week

Previous Posts
On Sting (and other crap)
Things I Say to My Dad, Because (like myself) He Thinks, Irrationally, He's Going to Die Soon
Why Hipstamatic Was Invented
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all
Black Pear Tree (Guest Post from John Darnielle)

The Passion of the Chris
I've been fairly gosh-durn ill the past couple of days. Didn't leave my room for two days straight essentially. Throwing up. Body aches. Headaches. Sore throat. Blah blah blah. No matter what I did, I couldn't seem to shake it.

Until I heard those seven little words for the first time in a long time.


I tell ya, that shot a tingle right up my spine, relaxed those sore tense muscles, and even made me jump a few feet in the air.

That's right. It's baseball season, baby. And it is on.

I am looking forward to the start of this baseball season more than any other I can remember. Now, I love baseball. And usually when Spring Training rolls out, I say to myself "Oh, cool. It's baseball season again."

Not this year.

This year I'm shouting, fist-pumping, breaking shit, and screaming "BRING ON THE MUTHAFUCKIN' YANKEES, BITCH!"

This is the sort of enthusiasm I normally reserve for College Basketball. But this year, for whatever reason, I just wasn't into the College B-Ball. Maybe it's because my beloved UConn Huskies have underachieved miserably, and I actually DISLIKE players on my favorite team. (Ben Gordon, I'm looking at you.)

Or maybe it's because nothing irritates me more than the New York Yankees, and the fact that our idiot imbecile manager handed them the ALCS on a silver freaking platter last October. I've been waiting to get my hands on them all freaking winter. And now… now… it's our time.

Last year we had serious question marks in our starting rotation and in our bullpen. Now, thanks to the addition of Curt Motherfucking Schilling, we have one of the best – if not the best – rotations in baseball. And with the addition of ace reliever Keith "I Can Get Multiple Inning Saves Every Day of the Week and I am a One Man Bullpen Wrecking Crew" Foulke… we've addressed our only needs.

The Yankees added a washed up, ‘roided out starting pitcher (Kevin Brown), a washing-up ‘roided out right fielder (Gary Sheffield), and a young pitcher with arm problems (Javier Vasquez.) while trading away two of the best young players in the game (Alfonso Soriano and Nick Johnson.)

Oh yeah, they picked up some guy named A-Rod or something along the way…

Big effing deal.

I love baseball. Love love LOVE baseball.

At work, I work from the stretch.

I sneer at my co-workers. When someone tells me to do something, I shake it off. When they tell me to do something else, I shake them off again. The next time they tell me to do something, I nod in agreement.
Then I check the runner.

I love shagging fly balls almost as much as I love shagging.

I wanna take the mound against A-Rod and Tony Conigliaro the motherfucker.
(Okay… maybe that's a little harsh. But c'mon, Red Sox Nation, can't you hear me at least a little bit on that one? Okay...maybe I'll just break his wrist so that he's never the same player again… No harm, no foul. He's still gonna get his money. The Yanks just won't get his services.)

I want to stalk in from the bullpen to the sounds of AC/DC's "Hells Bells".

I want to lead off the game by getting on base. Cuz once I'm on, I'm stealing second. And if I'm on second base, then you know I'm taking third. And when I get to third base, you damn well better know that I'm scoring. I guaran-damn-tee it.

I want people to call me "The Big Unit". I've got the hard fastball. My junk is live -- it has great movement. Just give me the name.

I want to strike out the side and slap my crotch a la Derek Lowe.

I want a video of me singing karaoke to play on the Jumbotron every time I come up to the plate.

I wanna jack a Mariano Rivera cutter over the Green Monster and into the Citgo sign.

I want to have Curt Schilling's babies.

But most of all, I want the motherfucking Yankees.


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