i gots lots to say but i aint saying it, just call my dusty. went to the grocery store with a hot chick yesterday. if you ever want me to start liking you, drive me to the grocery store in the hood and be cool. which she was.
her cell phone was blowing up cuz shes hot and popular and all her little girlfriends wanted to coordinate watching the OC and when i was younger i woulda lifted my shirt in aisle seven and said this is better than any damn oc baby but nowadays i just let people live their own lives.
except for dusty baker who benched sammy for the second game of the st. louis double dip last night even after it was obvious that the cubs bats had cooled off significantly since this weekend. in game one yesterday the cubs didnt score a run from the 5th inning till the 15th when sammy sent one into the bleachers.
his reward? he was allowed to rest for the nightcap. or was it a reward to the cardinals who shut the cubbies out for 7 more innings when the north siders loaded the bases for moises alou who nailed a shot down the left field line that kicked up chalk but still the umpire called it a foul ball, enraging not only alou, but cub reliever antonio alfonseca who ran out into the field after alou was retired and bumped the ump in a fit of rage. alou was also kicked out of the game in a move that looked like he air-headbutted the man in blue and spit on him.
sosa replaced alou in a bonehead move that echoed the old time phrase of too little too late.
although i have to give dusty his props for bringing the cubs this far with very little hitting and a miserable bullpen, when you bench your all-star hall of famer who is red hot, and you put all the pressure on a guy like moises alou, the guy who gets thrown out of the game for going apeshit on a badbadbad call shouldnt be your big fat washed up former closer, it should be your toothpick chewing ass.
you should be pointing at the chalk you should be pointing at the chalk you should be pointing at the chalk.
you should call the umpire every name in the book. you should question not only his sexuality but the sexuality of his mother and the sexuality of the man who sold him his glasses. whats that you dont wear glasses, well, maybe you should because even big fat antonio alfonseca here in the cubs bullpen saw that chalk kick up which would have been a double that would have scored at least two maybe three.
you should suggest that the umpire go back to st. louis or thank his bookie for allowing him to make the bet. you should tell the umpire that this is the mlb which means your mother loves the booty. i dont know what that means either but that was a fair ball and how come you didnt ask the three other blind mice if they saw the chalk, just ask them, what do you have to lose, why wont you ask them, are they in on the fix too. no i didnt say a dirty word i said FIX TOO FIX TOO what you cant hear AND see? ask your buddies if i swore! i said fix you dirty little liar, you crappy little man, you fake little shoe shine boy lucky to have a large variety of kneepads that got you to this position. 1908 and youre going to rob these fans of a double down the left field line because you want to make a few hundred bucks, here i will give you your damn money back, is that what this is about, money? here heres all the damn money i have, this isnt about money, son, this is about dreams coming true and yes im pointing at the bleachers youre just in the way, those fans, thats what this is about, those shirtless hopeless dirty fans who sit out there in their stink and bring their kids here and bring their friends here and have to watch idiots like you see the chalk fly up and still call it a foul ball. FIX YOU mother trucker FIX YOU!
and then dusty needs to say the real f word like 100 times and point at the chalk and accuse the umps of being terrorists and demanding that they show him the contents of their shoes because he’s suddenly quite curious as to why they would want to destroy the very center of america itself: baseball, and the cubs chances of winning a world series in our lifetime.