Guys, we dodged a bullet.
Football’s coming back. We’ll all have something to do in the Fall. Be it cookouts with friends, ordering pizza and parking yourself in front of the TV, or driving around in stolen car so it can’t be traced back to you and running over every mother fucker in a Patriots’ or Chargers’ jersey, one of the best parts of autumn is returned to us. Read the rest of this entry
I know for a lot of you, a summer of exciting sports has just begun. The NBA and NHL playoffs have finally kicked off. And the decades long baseball season is in full swing. Personally, I have little investment in any of these this year. The Pacers are in the playoffs, but unless there is a miracle our lack of a D-Rose-like super star is going to doom us to a first round knock out. And I never grew up near an NHL hockey team, so despite my enjoyment of the sport I have been a man without a home team (even thought I live by two now). As for baseball, God damn it is boring. If I’m shit-faced, eating my way around a stadium that’s one thing. But most sports are watched in the privacy of one’s home or with a group in a bar. Professional sports are supposed to be an electrifying affair, but there is NOTHING that makes me want to pass out in my fishbowl full of blue booze more than baseball on television. So if you can sustain your sport lust with it, more power to you.
From the Author: I learned a long time ago that when it comes to sports, people’s senses of humor go wildly askew, and they can’t identify things like sarcasm and irony. These are just jokes, folks.
We’re into the first part of Football Winter. It’s the time of the year when the most beloved of all sports goes into hibernation and we’re forced to make do with “games.”
I’ve been filling my Sundays with friends, family, and the litany of projects I’ve had on the back burner, just waiting to be done.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it one damn bit.
This is bullshit. That’s not what my Sunday afternoons are for. That time is to be spent getting drunk, yelling at the TV, and nourishing a burning, unwarranted hatred for cities I’ve never been to and people I’ve never met. Sundays are for trying to swallow the white hot rage that’s compelling you to tackle the stranger in the Chargers’ jersey, or talking shit to your friends that are Bears’ or Cowboys’ fans.
Sundays were meant for blood and mud, and the NBA, MLB, PGA, and whatever the hell else is going on either need to step up or their game or fuck right off.
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