"Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned but heaven hath no sweetness like a sports fan vindicated." - Samcat

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Let's play the quiet game.

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Fine, Manny. You want it that way? Fine. Because this? Is exhausting. WE DO THIS EVERY YEAR. So go to Green Bay and buy a cheesehead and have a hell of a time. And we'll discuss pressure when you have 400-lb linebackers jumping on you at the line of scrimmage. For the time being, let's stop talking. Let's play the quiet game where whoever stays quiet the longest wins. Doesn't that sound like fun? Okay, you go first.

You know what this is like? This is like that relationship you have that goes on for way too long and you almost break up a hundred times but something keeps you in it. Whether it's the fact that he always saves you the last Tater Tot and knows how you like your coffee or the 100+ RBIs and 40ish home runs. But eventually, that stuff no longer outweighs the fact that he doesn't really like your friends and never remembers to buy toilet paper. So eventually, it ends. And when it does, the only thing you feel is relief. Because you can finally stop babysitting. Look, I don't know if Manny Ramirez will still be a member of the Red Sox by this time tomorrow but at this point, I'm so exhausted with the yearly circus that I really don't think I care. I just want a nap.

I swear, all anyone wants to talk about is Manny. Everyone. The guy at work who delivers our mail. The businessmen talking really loudly on the T yesterday. The not entirely in his right mind dreadlocked cab driver who drove Greta and I home from JP last night and might actually have BEEN Manny for all we know. It's like we're all goldfish and have no memory of the last time this happened.

Seriously. Every. Single. Year. The joke, she is old. Over it. So very, very over it. What makes sense for the team might be something else entirely but if last night's game was any indication, they're apparently done with the winning anyway so it might not matter. They got that out of their system early so I hope you all bottled up the good feelings and happy times and can take them out and look at how shiny and pretty they are in a month when we're in a fistfight with the Orioles for last place.

I'm sorry. I'm tired. I don't sleep much anymore and Red Bull is disgusting.

Also, of course the Yankees need a catcher to replace the injured Posada and of course they trade for, you know, the BEST CATCHER IN BASEBALL. Of course they do. They're the Yankees. That's what they do. Sam is probably devastated considering how much she loves (loved?) Pudge but at least she gets the eminently entertaining Farnsworth back in all his glory.

The whole matter is frustrating. All of it. There appears to be no easy answer and I sense that I'm about one more series sweep away from getting an MLBTV subscription just so I can ignore the Red Sox and make fun of Bronson Arroyo's hair, stare at Matt Holliday's pointy head, salivate over Nick Markakis, wonder how Prince Fielder's vegetarian diet is going and decide, per Amy, that Hunter Pence lives in the leafy part of the tree and feeds on small woodland creatures. Point being, I'm going to have to start making my own fun where baseball is concerned. They are not doing it for me.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'll turn my attentions down the road a bit to Patriots training camp which has just begun in earnest. Because Tom Brady is going to be all over my television soon. And that is NEVER a bad thing. Also, apparently Rodney Harrison is back and ready to kick ass and take names. Because you know who still can't sleep at night due to the Super Bowl hangover? Rodney Harrison. I'm just saying, I'd be concerned if I were the Chiefs. Week one might be difficult for them. Luckily for Manny and Green Bay, the Pats don't play the Packers this season.