I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, and not just because I failed to read the disclaimer on my internship paperwork that read “you will only eat fast food this summer” in fine print.
You are experiencing this post through literary DVR which means two things:
- I am writing this on Thursday.
- The Boston Red Sox finished their humiliating sweep of my Tampa Bay Rays last night.
Yes, I know that complaining about this is comparable to me complaining about not eating in four hours when there are kids in some country/village in Africa that I can’t pronounce that are literally starving. Fans of less fortunate teams will likely see a fan of the best team in baseball complaining and turn away.I don’t care.
Standings are numbers. Boston is personal.
I’m not sure if I have made this clear enough during my time writing for Sports Casualties, but I freaking hate Boston. And no, I don’t just mean the Red Sox.
I hate Dustin Pedroia, who if it wasn’t for baseball, would have absolutely nothing going for him.
I hate The Standells. Who in the hell loves dirty water?
I hate “Red Sox Nation” and “how well they travel.” They don’t travel. They just have legions. of bandwagon fans that decided the Red Sox were cool in the early 2000s and started showing up at their hometown baseball parks dressed in red. In fact, I hate any fan base that labels itself a “nation,” and that includes my beloved Florida Gators (Go write the great American novel…Go jump off a skyscraper. Those commercials suck.). Nation is a synonym for new fans that will stop caring when the team stops winning.
I hate Paul Revere. A man famous for yelling too much, a foreshadowing of millions of Boston residents to come.
I hate David Ortiz and his 12-pack of lard per day habit. Josh Beckett and the excessive ropes around his neck. Kevin Youkillis and his ludicrous batting stance and all-around pissy nature. J.D. Drew and the fact that he is J.D. Drew.
I hate Pedro Martinez, Coco Crisp and Johnny Damon. And I don’t care that none of them play there anymore.
My hatred is seeded from many a day spent during my impressionable pre-teen years at Tropicana Field watching the [Devil] Rays lose to the Red Sox. We were almost always the only Rays fans in our section, and Boston fans were the most obnoxious and unfriendly people known to man.
The day that Crisp was mugged by a pile of Rays is one of my favorite baseball days ever, almost surpassing us beating the Sox in the ALCS. It was no coincidence that the two guys taking the biggest shots at Crisp were the Rays who had been in St. Pete the longest. It was built-up for many years.
So enjoy your sweep and your current hot streak, Boston fans. I hope the Magic break your pathetic green hearts, Philly style.
Sticking with baseball, umpire Joe West made the news again last night for drawing the disapproval of Ozzie Guillen. For those wondering why West makes the news so much, it could be helpful to know that West has a publicist. Yes, a publicist for a guy that is supposed to avoid publicity.
But this publicist isn’t just promoting West’s career behind the plate. No, apparently Mr. West has a “budding” country music career that he is trying to expand upon. This is serious. To hear his twangy stylings on the game of baseball, click here. Scott Stapp may have competition in the race for worst baseball song ever.
ESPN introduced the “Tebow Tracker” on its Web site this week. The tracker is a specific site that keeps up with nothing but all things Tebow at all times. That sound you hear is Shelly Meyer trying to drag Urban away from the computer.
In other Tebow news, the oil spill continues to be a major problem in the Gulf of Mexico. This is Tebow news because it is keeping him from performing his regular morning “swim to the Mexico and back” training regimen.
The official World Cup roster for the USA was announced on Wednesday. Apparently we’re still working on this whole Wayne Rooney U.S. citizenship thing as he was left off of the roster.
Evan Longoria made news of his own this weekend when he established his very own national Longoriaism. There’s been enough Oden talk around here, so I’ll let you check out this piece of athlete photography for yourself. Now keep in mind, this was initially posted on a Red Sox blog where some dude previously wrote in blasting Longoria for hitting on his girlfriend.
We’re eight minutes away from game time. Go Magic.
AND NOW…(drum roll)
WHY I HAVE WRITER’S BLOCK: The Never-Ending Saga
In no specific order, and with no real explanation, this is my weekly look at some of the things that kept me distracted while I was trying to write.
Lost in the shuffle of Robbie’s CNBC obsessions, Ainsley Earhardt.
This isn’t funny…at all…[laughs hysterically].
Song of the Week
In honor of this weekend’s installment of the Tampa Bay Rays’ summer concert series, I present to you…the first [and possibly last ever] edition of Song of the Week.
Try and not let this get stuck in your head…HA!