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Mike:
Well, today is the last day with a Pope and tomorrow it's SEQUESTAHGEDDON
Doug:
OMG SEQUESTAH!!!
Planes will fall from the sky, our drinking watah will be poison, and the national pahks will close... I mean holy fucking shit, people, THE NATIONAL PAHKS!!!!
Al:
I'm just glad that before the world as we know ends (again) I can scratch "get quoted by ESPN" off my bucket list.
Mike:
But's it's unattributed.
Doug:
But Al's like pornography, you know it when you see it.
Mike:
True. And since Al happens to be a BMI-challenged Pisan with a priapismic bonah for mozzarel, the "takes one to know one" veracity has been fully vetted.
Al:
Speaking of... anyone up for an early lunch?
Bill:
Well, well, well... God is is in his heaven and all is Wright with the Knuckleball.
Bill:
Ah, yes, the Fathahland.
Doug:
Red Sox über alles!
Susan/Circle:
OK, so not only is Pedro back in the fold along with Varitek in mentoring roles, but now Wake is back too?
Susan/Circle:
Talk about dreaming of Nantucket wine in a gray wood.
Mike:
I know. Fantastic isn't, it?
Susan/Circle:
And to think that just a year ago we were a heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
and the crappy managah gives no shelter.
Susan/Circle:
Hello, yeah, is this the Instant Karma Hotline? Great, yeah, I just wanted to say thank you!
Al:
So the weathah this February has three options...
Al:
1) Snow 2) Snow hahd 3) Snow wicked hahd
Mike:
Speaking of fluffy predictions, it looks like they may have found out why Lestah went from Cy Young contendah in 2010 to meatball vendah thereaftah...
Doug:
Wait a second, you mean it wasn't because of beer and chicken? There goes the friggin narrative.
Mike:
Seriously. If Lestah can return to his formah self, well, all of sudden we could find ourselves waxing gourds for a cornucopia.
Doug:
Yeah, but somebody needs to crop out Ben Cherington.
Mike:
No love for, Ben, eh?
Doug:
I hate to agree with the CHB, but I think Cherington has to take some blame for shitopocalypse we found ourselves in.
Mike:
New day, new day...
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
It's the seemingly trivial things that obsess me.
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
I just can't get it out of my head, you know, the "Why?" of it all.
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
I mean why?
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
It makes no sense.
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
Wrestling is a quintessential Olympic sport.
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
If not *THE* quintessential Olypmpic sport
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
From the beginning... like the very very beginning.
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
Nobody puts John Keats in the corner!
Two guys walking, no words exchanged:
Mike:
I've got nothing this morning.
Doug:
Are you kidding me? I totally woke up on the Doubrant side of the bed.
Mike:
I need to set my iPhone wake up alarm to the voice of Pedro saying "¡Levantarse, coño!"
Mike:
So I open my Red Sox news alert email from Google this morning and I read that Aceves has "issues" and "clashes" with coaches by "testing the limits" and I'm like holy shit!
Bill:
Yeah, but I guess "The Manager Manages" doesn't make for great copy.
Mike:
Meanwhile, anybody else notice what got Aceves pissed in the first place?
Bill:
John Lackey taking Aceves' scheduled 10:45am live BP slot.
Mike:
Yep, John Fucking Lackey. Sigh.
Bill:
Hey, now, when The Ace wants your spot, you give your spot to The Ace. Heh.
Mike:
Can't say that I blame them...
Mike:
Howevah, with that said, I'm also looking optimistically forward to staht of this season in way I nevah evah did last year.
Susan/Circle:
Yeah, everyone but John Henry knew last year was ovah befoah it stahted once they inexplicably hired Bobby Valentine.
Mike:
First of all, yeah, WTF? Second of all, what's he gonna do for revenge, walk 7 battahs in the first 2 innings while putting everyone else into a zombie stupor from the boredom of watching his tortuously lame ass excuse for pitching?
Susan/Circle:
It'd be funny if he was waiting all this time for the perfect opportunity to unleash the fury of the Gyroball.
Mike:
Now that would be fucking Ninja.
Bill:
The team isn't for sale.
Bill:
In fact, rumahs of such are laughable, laughable I tell you.
Bill:
Liverpool isn't a distraction.
Bill:
Ownahship isn't in it for the money
Bill:
So there. Move along people. Buy tickets. Stop your friggin bitchin.
Doug:
So when there is breaking news concerning the Papacy and/or the Catholic Church, who can you turn to for an informed, impartial, sagacious soundbite?
Al:
Hello, College Board? Yeah, hey, I've got a new analogy for the SAT:
"Sinead O'Connah is to the Catholic Church, as Dan Shaughnessy is to the Boston Red Sox."
You're welcome.
Doug:
Best Spring Training photo evah.
Doug:
Christ, I'm my back is killing me from shoveling.
Bill:
Seriously, I'm getting too old for this. I feel like Pope Benedict aftah a long day to Tweeting, transubstantiating, and blessing...
Doug:
You know what we all need right about now?
Mike:
Prepare for Snowmageddon!
Bill:
Historic! Extreme! Crippling!
Mike:
I love the "crippling."
Bill:
Yeah, but it begs the question, if this storm is Crippling than why is it named "Nemo" and not "Lackey"?
Bill:
Here's the way I see it...
Bill:
Whenevah a pro athlete is caught in some off the field unscrupulous behavior—sex addiction, wild partying, family issues, whatevah— we get the old fingah wag telling us fans about lack of privacy and how playahs should only be judged by their merits on the playing field and not the stuff off the playing field.
Bill:
So, OK, then. If we're not going to judge you on the bad off the field stuff, then I'm also not going to judge you on the good off the field stuff.
Bill:
And Lackey on the field?
Bill:
That's right. Terrible pitching compounded by the peevishness of waving arm tantrums, yelling at the umps, and glaring at teammates.
Lisa the Temp:
I've been told to read this brief statement...
Lisa the Temp:
"There will be no strip today but instead there will be a strip tomorrow, Friday.
"We apologize for this last minute outage which, I might add, is in no way the result of the Super Bowl halftime performance of Ms. Beyonce Knowles.
"Sincerely,
"The Management"
Lisa the Temp:
Did you get that, Peeps, or should I read it again in my Downton Abbey accent?
Al:
Causal? Well it does rhyme with arousal.
Mike:
I don't disagree, but I do wondah if "sweetheart" shouldn't join icebox, phone booth, carburetor et cetera in the linguistic dustbin.
Mike:
I mean can the notion of a "sweetheart" exist in the same culture with "Bang Your Friends"?
Al:
Heh, is that a pickle in your pocket or are you just glad I'm on Facebook?
Bill:
Then all of sudden it's a sea of pink hats, truck days galore, and you hear your fave teenage years obscure punk song pumped in as background Muzak while you're standing in the marble foyer of a 4 star hotel. Sigh.
Mike:
It's like Nietzsche asked in The Parable of the Madman when he contemplated a world where nothing is sacred, "What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent?"
Bill:
Emerson says, "Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind."
Mike:
Well, then, we *are* totally fucked.
Doug:
It hangs in the air like the incense on a day of holy obligation...
Doug:
This feeling that one must discuss the Super Bowl on the day aftah the Super Bowl.
Mike:
But there's not much to say, really, is there?
Mike:
I mean, let's see...
Mike:
There were the ads, which in the end were, er, ads, despite giddy palpitions that somehow these 30 second enticements to buy something are actually some gestalt, some pinnacle of all mankind's artistic bloom...
Mike:
Then there was a boring first half...
Mike:
Then Beyonce came out, popped her ass and gave menacing "if you think I'm lip syncing, I'll cut you" looks to the camera...
Mike:
Then the powah went out...
Mike:
Then San Fran staged a comeback...
Mike:
Then, ultimately, Ray Lewis killed his girlfriend.
Mike:
There. We've met our obligation to discuss it.
Doug:
Just for the record, did anyone ask Humpty Dumpty to weigh-in on that?
