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Another day, another snow storm, but when you root for the World Champs, nothing can bring you down …
Mike:
Did you read that Stark article on ESPN?
Doug:
Fuck yeah. 13 of 14 experts say the Red Sox have the best lineup in the A.L.
Mike:
"The best, hands-down. They can all crush you, one through nine." …
Doug:
A mofo "relentless" offense. Relentless.
Mike:
And whitha our dear slappahs to the South?
Doug:
Lots of "age and health concerns" doncha know. Getting oldah by the moment.
Mike:
And Giambi is their fucking "X-factor"? Holy fuck that's sweet.
Doug:
Yeah, why do I get the feeling Giambi isn't going to be like that dude from Wilco … you know gets off the dope but is still good? Poor New Yankahs.
Doug:
22 million people living in five boroughs of which, alas, none are the home of the defending World Champion baseball club.
Bill:
Didya heah the latest? "Fans from all ovah express their dislike for how the Sox go about their business. The swing from lovable loser to arrogant 1st-time-in-86-year winners has been quite dramatic," one Seymour Ruskin purports.
Doug:
Ah, yes, the same old worn out memes. If the Sox were coached by Belichick blabbidy fucking blah and the Yankees, especially A-Fraud, are classy.
Bill:
I'm still not exactly sure why having one guy, Juicy Giambi confess, well sort of, to steroid use and anotha, Pay-Rod, ostensibly say that he'd do his cheat slap play again if given the chance, defines "classy," but that's just me.
Doug:
And for what it's worth, I'd like to let Seymour know that Trot's deadbeat dad comment did give me a "rush in the loins" but I'll have you know I was not drunk when I heard it, you fucking bastid. I was high on marijuana brownies. Jeez.
Bill:
What I think's funny is how all of a sudden people have discovahd an arrogant streak in the Red Sox. Nevah heard of Ted Williams, I guess, and his self-proclamation as the Greatest Hittah That Evah Lived?
Doug:
And as for us fans, fuck, we were arrogant even when we were losing 86 yeahs in a row. We had the best Curse. Our losses were the most haht wrenching. Our ball pahk is the best by fah. And we all know we are the smahtest fans in all of baseball. Winning the World Series just ratchets that shit way the fuck up.
Bill:
I'm so fucking arrogant I can barely stand myself.
Doug:
The enormity of our arrogance, is it something one not of us can evah really understand?
Bill:
Indeed. Our striving toward arrogance isn't at all practical. If anything, we are arrogant precisely because it isn't practical.
Doug:
We choose to go to the motherfucking moon not because it is easy, but because it is hahd!
Bill:
To these charges of arrogance from the Seymour Ruskins of the world I say, "Wait 'Til Last Year" Bitches.
Bill:
No new crazy photos. No new flogging the dead Nomah horse. No new 30 point headlines saying something like "Pedro Working with Al Qaeda on Dirty Bomb!!!!"
Rider on Green Line:
Meanwhile, our two local mainstream papahs' baseball reports continue to raise the bah with their Spring Training reporting, eh?
Bill:
Yeah, there's what, 40 something guys on the Spring Training roster and so many different stories to tell, yet this morning, both the Globe and the Herald featcha a lead story on Mark Belhorn?
Rider on Green Line:
No shit. And nothing against Mark Belhorn, but c'mon. And this isn't some anomaly. Yestahday it was all Manny. The day before that they both featured Ortiz.
Bill:
You think the reporters call each other after suppah each night like a bunch of 14 year old girls to coordinate their outfits for the next day, too? [In falsetto] "I'm going to wear my Ugg boots with my Hollister skort tomorrow." … "Oh, me too! Me, too!"
Rider on Green Line:
So much for the myth of competition between the Globe and Herald leading to a higher quality of output for the readah.
Bill:
At least the Globe seems to have done something right by adding Chris Snow to the beat. So fah, I like his stuff, even if he did pen one of the dopplegangah Belhorn pieces from this morning.
Mike:
My ass is dragging big time today … All night I kept dreaming I was really exhausted and every time the alarm clock would go off I'd say, "No, I can't do it. I'm too tieahd." Then the alarm clock went off for real.
Mike:
No kidding. I need some performance enhancing drugs or something.
Susan/Circle:
Isn't that cheating?
Susan/Circle:
Oh, great defense. I'm going to use that on Mrs. Johnny Damon when I get caught in flagrante delicato with her man meat.
Susan/Circle:
He will be revealed himself, but his image is hidden by his highlights.
Mike:
Wretched is the body that is dependent on a body.
Susan/Circle:
I witness to that, my young Goodman Brown, do I evah.
It may be snowing (again!), but Soxaholix everywhere are basking in the glow out of Fort Myers where Spring Training is in full session …
Bill:
Jeez, I'm so fucking glad that Murray Chass let us in on the secret that newspaper reporters go out of their way to create controversy and that they, ohmigod, manipulate quotes to distort the original context and meaning!!
Doug:
Yeah, ol' Murray writes that all this "he said, Slappy said" stuff has become one of the most distasteful instances he has witnessed in 45 years of covering baseball. The horrah. The horrah.
Doug:
Plagiarism, forgeries, half truths and the like are all well in good. Just don't be writing half ass shit about Alex Rodriguez. He's a five tool playah fercrissakes.
Doug:
Hell, yeah! Check out El Tiante with some serious el jonque in the tronque leaning on that bat all Rico Suave and shit.
Bill:
El Tiante is and forevah will be the coolest cat to evah don the Las Medias Rojas.
Bill:
Yeah, and can the corny hat while you're at it, Panama John.
The Red Sox are "leaning" toward changing the date of the Ring Ceremony? …
Bill:
You know I used to think the Red Sox brass was pahtly responsible for finally bringing a World Series to town, now I more and more feel that was just a fortunate coincidence for this bunch.
Bill:
Steinberg. And who the fuck is Steinberg anyway? Keeps talking about "decorum." Well decorum means doing things according to convention and tradition. Throughout history the Ring and Raising the Pennant Ceremony has occurred at the Home Openah.
Rider on Green Line:
Abso-effin-lutely. To altah the traditions and rituals of baseball is the ultimate impropriety.
Bill:
You know, if I was Steinbrennah, I'd seize the uppah hand heah and demand that the Ceremony occur as scheduled. He'd come out looking classy and brass ballsy and would make the Sox look like assclowns and totally make the ceremony all about the Yankees' respect for tradition and willingness to hold their heads high even in defeat.
Rider on Green Line:
Jeebus. That's totally evil. I'm surprised he hasn't thought of it.
Bill:
And the otha thing is this is real backhanded slap at the Yankees and their fans. Basically saying we have to protect their self-esteem and shit. If the situation were reversed, I'd be way insulted.
Rider on Green Line:
When exactly did New Yorkers go from the "What the Fuck Are You Lookin' At?" tough bastids attitude and into the smoke free, saffron wrapped, welcome to "The World's Second Home." pansy shit?
Bill:
Yeah, how much fun is this rivalry going to be if New Yorkers identify more with Carrie Bradshaw than Thurmon Munson.
Mike:
Yeah, and he thinks it odd that the Red Sox don't like playahs to criticize the team publicly? Is he totally out of fucking touch with reality or what?
Mike:
Big time. And then, just to dot the i and cross the t in stupid, Lowe comes out with, "The funny thing is, I'm the one getting attention for working out, but there are probably guys from three or four organizations working out here." And tell me again which of those guys accused the Red Sox of perfidy and maliciousness?
Doug:
Meanwhile, I don't think the Sox brass could give a fuck about Lowe's after hours escapades. It's the who's gonna show up, "the Good Derek or the Bad Derek?" question that led to his not being resigned or even given an offah.
Bill:
Hell yeah he did. Out of nowhere, too. Just for the effin' sake of it.
Tara:
Absolutely. Trot's gotta keep his uppity Spankee bitches in line.
Bill:
And Nixon went right for Slappy's weak spot, too, saying La Fraud doesn't "stand up" with Yankees like Jetah. You know that friggin' drives the Slapstress nuts.
Bill:
Why do I get the feeling that Trot Nixon is waiting for the slightest excuse to go totally kung fu on the Lil' Nubbah with the blue lips?
Tara:
Wing Chun Nixon's gonna F yo shit up, A-Chump.
Bill:
Iron fist clocking jaws and shattering blades. Fooshhh Wooshhh.
Bill:
It's Juiced Day! You gonna read it?
Doug:
Fuck yeah I am. It's winging its way from Amazon as we speak.
Bill:
Yeah, I know. I remembah when you were saving up the 25 hundred to go dinnah with him. Whatevah happened with that?
Doug:
The more I thought about it the more I was like, shit, the dude's under house arrest. How much fucking fun can we have? I want wild times and rampant roids and shit.
Bill:
You coulda ordered up some hookers.
Doug:
Ho to go? The thought crossed my mind. But remembah, Jose's a pinche broke ass mofo. It's one thing to pay 25 hundred to hang out with him. It's anothah thing entirely to pay to get him laid too.
Bill:
Ah, grasshoppa, you are the sagacious one.
Doug:
Fuck I am. My resplendence has no bitch.
Susan/Circle:
Start spreading the news, New York City has officially jumped the fucking shark.
Susan/Circle:
They even have 25 dollah commemorative t-shirts fercrissakes! And New Yorkers are buying that swag?!
Mike:
Yeah, when Sinatra sings about his vagabond shoes, longing to stray, I just don't pitcha him in a Christo t-shirt.
Susan/Circle:
The old school New Yorkers would wipe their asses with Christo's's sheets.
Mike:
If Jetah wondahs what happened to all "the ghosts" that used to insure that things went right for the Spankees, all he has do is look at Central Pahk. The ghosts split out of total embarrassment.
Susan/Circle:
Jetah should send A-Rod a Christo t-shirt for Valentine's Day, since, you know, A-Rod is the Christo of baseball. All show and no fucking go.
Mike:
[Sings] If you can fake it there, you'll fake it anywhere. It's up to you, New York, New York.
Ah, those always entertaining Yankees, so much Shock and Aura, so little time …
Doug:
Ah, Bill, I just want to, er, you know, um … you know … say I'm s-s-sorry and shit.
Bill:
Where's the Yankees "Mystique"? Where's the Yankees "Aura"?
Bill:
Memo to George: If you're going to be the dictatah of an evil empire, don't be a fucking pussy. Getting outclassed by a guy who's known for stahving his people to death is pretty fucking sad.
Bill:
Beautiful! I love that guy who just goes "........"
Doug:
Yeah, kinda reminds me of a Giambi press conference.
Another day, another snow storm forecast, as the Soxaholix grow restless …
Susan/Circle:
I'm so fucking bored dot com.
Mike:
This period between the Super Bowl ending and the staht of Spring Training is the worst.
Susan/Circle:
How darkness moves in now. Grisaille. Close by and uncertain. Stillness. Birdless. The quiet river. The dirty snow. It's become insufferable.
Mike:
You know what we need doncha?
Susan/Circle:
[Said in unison] Truck day!
Mike:
Fo sho status. Truck day is the true sign of Spring.
Susan/Circle:
Fuck that wintah bringing bitch Persephone and her narcissus, give me 18 wheels packed with equipment headed due South on 95.
Mike:
That's what I'm talking about. Yeah, That's what I'm talking about.
Mike:
That's the fucking beauty of Truck Day, nobody knows when it'll occur, like the suddenness of the first robin sighting or the song of peep frogs.
Susan/Circle:
We wait and watch. Pregnant with expectation.
Doug:
Would love to, Dude, but I'll be changing my garments for ashes and sackcloths at the noon Mass.
Bill:
Oh, right. Ash Wednesday. I'm so lapsed I forgot. So what are you giving up for Lent, Dougie.
Doug:
Ah, you know, the usual sacrifices like a daily cleansing ritual of getting fucked up and watching reality TV. Special acts of piety like that and shit.
Bill:
Nothing like a thorough purging of oneself with a can of sacrificial whoop ass.
Doug:
The way I see it, everyone says TV is a vast wasteland, right? So a wasteland is like a desert and who spent all that time in the desert? There you go, W-W-J-D?
Bill:
Jeez, how long are we going to have to enduah, these fucking lame brained comparisons between the Red Sox and the Patriots? Like anyone gets up and thinks, "You know that Tom Brady is really buttoned down and self-effacing, so I'm going to root for him and the Patriots at the total exclusion of the Red Sox"?
Doug:
I know. It's not "eitha oah" but moah and moah … World Championships that is.
Doug:
Man, I'm so disappointed in Jose Canseco.
Mike:
Because he's ratting everybody out in his new tell all book Juiced?
Mike:
Get the fuck out! That's a major paht of his hero branding fercrissakes.
Doug:
Yeah, muscle head says they made out in her Manhattan apartment one night, he claims, but that's as far as it went. Fucking sad.
Mike:
Hey, now, don't be stahting any juice rumors about the Sacred Holy Motha of Pop Music.
Doug:
Fuck no! She nevah has looked like an East German Olympic swimmah. Hell, and I don't care which version she packages herself in, from Lucky Star vagabond to Cowboy Hat girl, or how she got there … the truth is Madonna has fahts that are a biggah deal than Britney Speahs and Xtina combined.
Mike:
Abso-fucking-lutely dot com. Even morphing into her matronly "Esther" period of the present, she is the quintessential MILF.
Mike:
Unbelievable. Back to back Super Bowl victories and three of the last fowah … Of course, the hatahs will be quick to tell us the Pats only won each by a field goal.
Mike:
No doubt. But what was up with Eagles fans outnumbering Pats fans by like 100 to 1? Have Patsaholix become, as was alleged, blase with victory?
Bill:
Nope. I'd be willing to bet the diehahds from both camps were even. It was the casual fan in attendance wearing green and rooting for the underdog that tipped the scales.
Mike:
Are the Patriots the Yankees of football then?
Bill:
Don't make me come down theah and beat your ass! What kind of sick talk is that?
Mike:
Ah, don't mind me. I'm just going through racy commercial withdrawal. Talk about blase. This year's commercials were a serious yawn fest.
Mike:
Yeah, I was laughing until I remembered Go Daddy is my effin' domain registrar. How the fuck can they afford a Super Bowl commercial? Hello, Go Daddy! Er, maybe spend a little cash coming up with a more usable customer interface? I'm just sayin' …
The so-called "Last Out" Ball arrives at Fenway …
Doug:
Jesus Christ I'm glad no gang of wayward thugs tried to pull a heist on the Last Out Ball, because those two Brinks guys were scary fucking tough. Pure fists of fury cage fighters those two.
Bill:
Absolutely. From now fucking on, regahdless of sexual orientation, everyone should lug all their precious valuables around in a Bean tote bag. Who knew they were so impregnable and secure?
Bill:
Too funny. The irony of course is that we've always been in all four corners, just cocksuckers like Sheffield were too blinded by narcissism to realize it.
Bill:
We've proven time and again our resolve. Bucky Dent? Aaron Boone? That shit just makes us stronger. It's Yankees fans who've yet to prove that even though they walk through the valley of the shadow of death, they'll still be wearing their team's cap and holding their heads high. Instead, we are witnessing just the opposite.
Rider on Green Line:
So we now have both A-Fraud and Sheffield on record basically admitting the Red Sox are in their heads 24/7. Beautiful.
Susan/Circle:
And then when the great one does finally, finally, become a mere mortal to take nourishment, his morning repast consists of eggs from his own cage free hens and toast made from a 7-grain loaf he baked with his own, superbly gifted hands.
Mike:
Abso-effin-lutely. And then, after reading seven newspapers in four different languages, the great one takes his daily conference call with Kofi Annan and the ICC to discuss the troubling situation in Darfur.
Susan/Circle:
Hey, it's not easy being the greatest ballplayer in the world. He has "responsibilities" for fuck's sake. He's not like the others. He's the "final piece of the puzzle" and the single reason the Yankees were supposed to win.
Mike:
And Yankees fans think Schilling has an ego problem? Jeez. A-fraud can't even admit that his pussy ball slap, one of the saddest and most feeble moments in all of sport, was a mistake?
Susan/Circle:
Yeah, Slappy says it was a smart play that he'd do all ovah again. But this time, oh this time, he's gonna hurt someone with his weight and velocity and his supah killah dropping the shoulder down move.
Mike:
Oooh. Not the dropping the shoulder down move! Scary. Scary.
Mike:
Yeah and he'll get Steinbrenner on the phone, "Look, Daddy, I did it! I kicked Varitek's ass. Can you see it, Daddy? It's him. Do you love me now, Daddy? It's my dropping the shoulder move, Daddy! You told me I could do it, Daddy, and I did!"
Mike:
Are we for certain that the Apocalypse will be signalled by the appearance of the Four Horsemen? Because this sure sounds like some nasty motherfucking end of the world harbingering to me.
Doug:
Nah, rumor has it she's got a major league crush on Mike Timlin.
Mike:
Timlin?!?!?! Gun totin' camo wearing tobacco tastin' Timlin?
Doug:
Hey, at least she's keeping it in the family and doesn't have some groupie love for fucking Jetah or something.
