Saturday, October 31, 2009

Old Man's Winter

Cito Gaston is from the future. He was created by the Bell Telephone company and sent back in time to put a financial strain on Rogers Blue Jays baseball operations. Under the guise of putting nostalgists in the seats, the main purpose of the Gas-one cyborg unit is to slowly but surely alienate every player on the team and reduce them to a bunch of infighting diaper soilers. Really, who goes to a game to watch someone manage it? Even if they exhumed Sparky Anderson from the old folks home, that's not gonna put me in a seat.

So, Cito's staying on for another year. We can thank the newly anointed emperor Beeston for this one. What was it that Caesar said about refusing the crown until they have you begging to take it? Well, fuck what Caesar said, but he made good salads.

I'm not really sure how a sober mind could put Cito back in the driver's seat after this season. When the turds hit the ceiling fan at the end of the year and players were openly pointing to Cito and saying "this is the problem, this guy right here", you'd have to be somewhat retardo montelban not to do something about it.

From shitting on Barajas, feuding with Accardo when he was one of the few half-bright spots in the bullpen, the rumours that he was a big part of why Rolen split town, to his inexplicable enthusiasm for Kevin Millar's brand of washed up baseball, Cito's track record this season does not warrant an encore. Even Brad Arnsberg has flown the coop to Houston, which might indicate that the rumblings that even the coaches had a problem with him were true.

It's gonna be a hard battle for the Jays to get their shit together before the world ends in 2012.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Ultra Juicy Couture

European Series Game 2

I know who my daddy is, do you Derek-san?

Nice shorts bro. Behold the majesty of A.J. Burnett's cavernously flared nostrils. Revel in their glory. The permanent sneer resembles a puckered asshole.

No way bud, those tattoos are stylin.

To the play by play.

Second inning. Matthew Staircase coming up with a prime cut to shoe in a ribeye. One-nothing Philadelphians.

Juice Ape's curve swerve gets him out looking, 5th K in the series. Let's see how long we can ride this out, eh? As much hubbub as there's been about A-Rod's supposed post-season renaissance, how tantalizing would a full world series thorough bed shitting be?

Raul Ibanez old man hero catch.

Bottom of the fourth. Teixeira gets the solo paint scraper. One to one. Heart to heart. You see how when he pops one it's a paint scraper and when Utley gets one in the same spot it's legit? You see how these things work? It's called bias. Turd bias. Weed out the turds and use em as compost, man.

Juice Ape third encounter. Now we're at 0-7, lookin good, feeling fine. Hideki Matsui, jewel of the orient, plops one over the fence. Two to One Yankees.

Runners on the corners in the bottom of the seventh with no one in the outhouse. Pedro needs a re-up of the Jheri Curl, but he gets yanked instead and smiles like a big goofball on his way out.

They're playing this at the Yankee crap shack to get the meatheads pumped:

Posada chinless wonder reels in a ribeye, outhouse is still unoccupied, 3-1. Lucky Philadelphian call on the double play, I'm not complaining.

Eigth inning. Rivera enters night and walks Rollins. The Hawaiian follows with a Clyde Singleton. All for naught.

Juice Ape with his fourth attempt at the razzle dazzle. 0-8 with another K. To quote a dude named Ronald, I'm lovin it. But, that's about all I'm lovin this evening. Yankers take it 3-1 and send it to Philadelphia with one a piece.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Yeehaw, Frosty Mug

"I have rediscovered the joy of baseball."
-Alex Rodriguez

World Series Game 1

Juice Ape, first at bat. Cliff Lee whiffs him like a cur. The atmosphere is lookin pretty dismal at the ol' new Yankee Stadium. A wet den of sinful iniquity. The house that Hideki Matsui built.

Speakin of the house, old news, but I always think of how this could've been a sweet jinx. A little curse like the goatman at Wrigley Field.

Back to the play by play.

Redemption for Utley's Boner in the top of the 3rd. Pip pip, one to nothing Philadelphians old boy. Trip out brodeo drive...

Derek Jeter, or Jerek Leter as the commentator refers to him, gets on with an erect doubleday, but it goes flaccid.

Juice Ape/Cliff Lee round 2. Whiffed with gusto and sends him through the rotash. Cliff Lee spittin that hot fiyah.

Mischievous Matsui manages mischief, man.

This fucker again:

Utley drops another solo sling dropper in the 6th to push it to a deuce-zilch.

Phil Hughes bringing the bad news with back to back strolls in the 8th. Now, full loadage. Robertson the Rawbertson drops one to Ibanez and two squeak through, 4-0 in the zoo.

Cliff Lee is coming up like some kind of loose goose catching everything in his beak with the greatest of ease. He has been suave and sultry with a little swagger.

Carlos Ruiz gets the doubleday and Jimmy Rollins follows it up with a single in the 9th. Maholo Victorino gets one more through, 5-0. Rollins comes home to make it a six pack and Victorino goes Flyin Hawaiian right into where Posada's chin would be if he had one.

Bottom of the ninth, Jeter and Damon both get on. Potential double play, Rollins puts the ball in the dugout, 6-1. Juice Ape final showdown... triple k. That's kkk to you, Juice Ape. A-Rod neutered like a homeless cat. Cliff Lee takes the chinless wonder down for good measure. Two earned runs in 33 innings. Yipes.

Through the magic of the internet a lurker dude who is both grimy and retarded just sent me a pic he flicked of the Juice Ape hitting the showers after his devastating triple strikeout performance tonight.

So, Yankers in the hole by one game. Mighty fine. See you tomorrow.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

The interstellar universal series of the world beckons to turds everywhere. Get off thy couch and go to thy fridge for some snackables. Then return to thy couch and sit for eons as you get a fervent rump groove worked into your seating apparatus.

As much as this series is a let down to me in terms of who's playing, at least it presents the hope of being competitive. Aside from the fact that Jeter's merry minions could get another ring out of the deal (with A-Rod, Melky, Cano, Mark Tx, and Nick Swisher's grandparents all getting their first), what bums me out is that the outcome of the season was so probable. No big upsets or dark horses with skeleton knights riding on them (maybe the Twins), just two titans slowly walking towards their inevitable collision.

Reminds me of a monster truck rally I went to as a kid. In between Grave Digger blowin your mind and the demolition derby, they had this interlude with real live Transformers. Two cars about 100 feet apart took ten minutes to unfold and then one of em shot some sparks and a hole blew out of the other and the battle was over. Mondo lameness. Then the voice of the Transformer came over the intercom and told the children in attendance not to use drugs.

So yes, this world series is a lot like that, a conclusion to a season that seems like it wouldn't have ended any other way. That doesn't mean your biscuit can't have a little sizzle, we're talking about the potential to see Steinbrenner's stoolies crumble like some kind of ancient cheese.

The pitching matchup for game one is gonna look like this:

Cliff Lee is coming in at a sterling ferocious clip. Post-season ERA of 0.74 in 24 innings pitched, 0.69 WHIP. Sure, three games isn't a huge sample size for career post-season stats, but clearly this maricone's bowels do not turn to ice when October rolls around.

I wonder if him and Jimmy Rollins ever chat about this little nugget:

Anyhow, Lee vs:

Cliff Lee's former teammate and known diddler of underage girls, CreamedCorn Sabathia. 1.2 ERA this post-season, 0.9 WHIP. Marginally less marinated in sweet basting juices than Lee, but stellar. Big guns all around.

I predict the sensitization of erogenous zones, a reduction in life productivity, and sitting through hours of painfully crapulent commercials. The Diamond Conspiracies: We Deal Excitement. Is that slogan taken?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Vicious and Pernicious

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Darren Oliver's Earplugs

You vs. Me
ALCS Game 6

I can't hear you. I don't wanna hear you. I wanna shut out Rudy Giuliani's boyish glee and picture him crying instead. But, alas...

I don't know that the Angels could've come back after the 9th, even if they hadn't put on such a horrid display of infield ineptitude in the previous inning. Kazmir's feeble crippled lob to first was pure little league.

The kid on the far right? The one sitting down? Yeah, that's Scott Kazmir. I half imagined that the illusion would melt away and Kazmir and Kendrick would be left in the middle of a howling stadium, children in oversized uniforms. I know these things happen, especially when you've got legions of criddled guidos breathing down your neck, but that was one of those "what the fudge" moments (using curse words is for bad people).

A Phillies/Yankees series doesn't give me much of anything to root for, except possibly the Philly Phanatic.

Get that nut you twisted mutant.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Kershaw's Last Stand

Crips vs. Bloods
NLCS Game 5

Clayton Kershaw is perhaps the most farm boy lookin dude around. Kinda like a mix between:


Anyhow, right now this ain't lookin too promising. Need some...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Cthulu Stickin it to You

New Jersey Yankees vs. Orange County Angels
ALCS Game 4

Last night during the Dodgers game, I started to piece together what is really transpiring behind the closed doors of the Dodgers' clubhouse. It came to me as a revelation. An image of staggering spectacle, I saw it all. After every game, Manny Ramirez (aka Predator) runs to the clubhouse, sits back in a chair, and spreads his mighty dreadlocks out across a table.

What happens next is truly disturbing. As the other players filter in from the field after a hard day's competition, they gather sitting around the table entrenched with Predator dreads. Like moths to a flame they come, they come to feast on the succulent juices of the Predator's gnarled locks. They suck away like fiends for a fix, it was a sight to behold.

All the pharmaceuticals that Manny has taken over the years have left substantial traces of performance enhancing properties in the ancient strands of energy that hang from his head. Scientists and MLB officials might wanna look into this, because evidently the Predator's unique genetic makeup has transformed all the steroids he took into a new type of undetectable gun pumping juice that can be sucked from his hair.

Dick the Bruiser

When I was 9 I didn't think there was anything wrong with this guy. I even put a 33 on the end of my bat in his honor. Maybe I just had my head in the clouds, but children don't usually have the same kind of turd radar that you develop later in life. So, let's take a brief look back at some of the many faces of Jose Canseco.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Bingenheimer's Bulbous Boner

Yonkers at Hollywood
ALCS Game 3

Izturis pops his sack out to pop the halos ahead by one in the bottom of the 7th. Craving a Gatorade bucket over A-Rod the nu-amerikan playoff hero. I'll bet he'd melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. Aybar gleaning some wizdom with a line sizzle to the righteous field.

Ah, fuckin Posada chinless wonder. Jeter brings the top of the 8th to a close with a ground out. Jeter, I use your gillette products to shave my ass.

OH!! Abreu you fuckin retard. Is your brain clogged with cholesterol? Torii Spelling be whiffing. Commentator reminds of the Punto's gaffe, truly a horrid reoccurence. We gonna see a sweep here too?

By jiminy, extra biscuit again. If I'm in for another marathon burger juicer that leaves me flat, someone's gonna have to pay. That someone is chinless Posada. Fuck that dude. Don't grab your twig berries at the pitcher, you just struck thrice.

Mathis let your buck swing wild. Thas what I like to see, Abner Doubleday with noone in the outhouse. Rivera power move to try and hold on. Mathis gets some luck of the oyrish at 3rd. All for nothin.

Howie Kendrick getting that straight horizontal one base carpet bagger.

FUCKING MATHIS!!!! Kendrick's home and that is fresh biscuit with gravy right there. 5-4 Angels in the 11th.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Balloon Boy's Father Is George McFly

The 7th is getting a little cozy here. 2-2, Aybar and Figgins on, 1 in the outhouse. Phil Coke's vials are getting some condensation on em. Abreu at the throne. Slider vacated from the pot, scandal bags.

Here comes Joba:

"Furry children es me mucho!"

Torii Spelling got Jeter starcrossed when he got to da choppa.

Holy shit, Vladimir got impaled. Double impaled in both tits. 6 runners stranded, full loadage of the bases twice, and he has soiled the poop deck thoroughly.

Rivera spittin that hot fiyah.

Chone Figgins triple aggro fist pump on the big bopper ribeye double.

Mr. Kate Hudson with the new Yankee paint scratcher... madre dios. Tied again.

Awww mannnnnn, what a shitty way for that to end. Awful.

Silver Surface Surfer

While I'm waiting for Alex "The Greek" Anthopoulos to make some off-season power moves (by late winter I'm gonna be yelling shit or get off the pot), let's discover our inner fashion diva and take a look back at the evolution of the once beloved Blue Jay uniform.

Here we have the OG. Basic, straight forward, good colors, groovin fonts, pretty decent in my books.

This sucker is my pick of the litter. Button up instead of pullover, subtle modifications, choice cuts brogan.

Addition of an alternate, allright, you've still got me. Looks good mister.

Here's where it starts to get wonky and not just cause the models got preety creepster here all of a sudden. Putting that maple leaf behind the ol birdbrain in the logo was some pretty tasteless shit. That's getting a little too Molson Canadian two four give away for my liking.

At this point, your bed has been thoroughly shat in. You can salvage no redemption.

Yeah. So, maybe while they are going out and dropping some payroll on a shitload of free agents and building a new stadium they can either do full time throwbacks or come up with something new that sizzles? A degenerate can dream can't he?

New Age Windows Phone

Angelica Huston vs. Fran Drescher
ALCS Game 2

I missed most of the first nugget in this happy meal, but my rapture is yours, dear reader, as I dwell delusionally while sick in bed on a Saturday night. S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night.

I got a hot date with Johnny Fever.

Anyways bro, I'm cloud nined. Chone Figgins is as rough as a crocodile's asshole right now, pussy ass earflaps are for Texeira type turds, and stank call on AJ's dirtball third strike here in the 4th. Fuck your fake ass Charlie Hustle aspirations Jeter-san. You'll never have the real hustle, son.

Dude had maybe too much hustle. But as the old saying goes, it doesn't really count unless you bet against your own team.

Figgins has not been living up to his reputation of legendary fig consumption. He clearly does not have a case of the trots.

Fuckin Jeter, shut your mouth when you're on the field you cock rustler. That fuck will do anything for an edge. He'd slit a teammates tendon in the shower with a straight razor. These are some allegations right here.

Abreu takin it to the outer realm in the top of the 5th here. Hella foul balls, fowl balls, Ethan Fowler's balls:

Johnny Damon actually caught something other than a case of gonorrhea. Nah, I don't mind Damon that much. For a Yankee, I find him tolerable, don't ask me why... Maybe he just looks allright compared to the vomitous sludge sitting on the bench on either side of him.

Burnett you shit baller. You're blowing it. I'm loving it. I want a cheeseburger.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Tonight is a night for Chicken

Whirlwind trip around the world in 90 seconds... Go!

San Fernando Valley:

Grimy old London town:

The Dutch Oven:

But Don't Fear the Reaper

Utley's Udders have been milked in the bottom of the 8th. He's blowing the proverbial goat with the Codgers this series.

Old Man Thome lurking in the shadows, springs one into the corner with some sizzle to bring el dude to 3rd with one in the outhouse. Lookin hot, loadage of bases.

Andre Ethier of the Deadly Snakes works the fully and coaxes a surely satisfying trot to 1st. 2-1 LA Codgers. Predator shits the bed and we're on to the 9th.

Chase chasing redemption off big bottom Broxton... NO DICE.

He's gonna have to eat a couple of these puppies to toughen up.

I guess scoring on an error and a bases loaded walk might be a bit of a pyrrhic victory, but I'm sure the Dodgers could give half a shit how they win as long as they win.

It's a little weird that they play "I Love LA" at the stadium when the Dodgers win.
Just take a gander at some of Randy Newman's harsh satirical bite:

"Look at that mountain
Look at those trees
Look at that bum over there, man
He's down on his knees"

Envy the Dead

Codgers vs. Philadelphia starring Tom Hanks
NLCS Game 2

Here I lie, sick at home on a Friday. But, a little sesh alleviates the horror and you're smack dab in the middle of some kind of microcosm of Ferris Buehler's Day Off.

Pedro's jerri curl is greasing up the rubber, I can see it dripping onto the mound. I think it might be throwing Padilla off a bit.

He knows how to take a pop on the chin.

But don't think he doesn't know how to dish it out too.

At least he shits on the Yankees and looks out for the little guy. Go Expos!

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Balloon Boy is A-OK

Trolley Dodgers vs. Phineas Philadelphia
NLCS Game 1

Predator's back son, peep the healthy glow. Complexion like roast beef, focus like a mongoloid. Pops a trifecta in the 5th to pump the biscuit to 5-4 Philadelphians. Pumping guns and juicin runs.

Old King Cole was good till then despite some early hiccups. But yes it's true, Cole Hamels' wife was a cast member on Survivor.

Not enough juice to keep the thang pumpin, Dodger fall off, Philapelphian ferocity.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The Great Outdoors

So, there's a couple of dudes who are interested in building a baseball-only outdoor stadium in Toronto. I'm certainly not holding my breath by any means, I mean it says right in there they haven't even spoken to the Blue Jays about this stuff, but my member gets some tingles just thinking about it.

Really, the "Rogers Centre" has such an oppressive atmosphere, if the field wasn't green, it wouldn't feel like baseball had anything to do with that place. It is a harsh vision of the future, where you must seek shelter from the acid rain and the toxic atmosphere that came from the fallout after the great fresh water wars with the EU sometime in the 22nd century.

To me, it seems like one of the biggest cockblocks for some new digs would be what the fuck you'd do with the Skydome without the Jays. Sure, the CFL will fill your coffers (not), but it'd be a perfect setting for the Toronto contingent of the new cyborg/robot baseball league that Rupert Murdoch is set to fire up by 2015.

The future is now, repent sinners for your soul has become obtuse.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Exasperatingly Sorry

I'll bet you're sorry. What this video could've been. Maybe not an omega biscuit for the ages, but at least a flavour of the season. Makes me feel like an Eastern European immigrant seeing the crapulence of North America for the first time.

In this case, we've got a Western European immigrant (Geoff Rowley) makin it big stateside. All those wild ass ads over the last few years revealed in full glory. Right away, this vid blows it like a cherry bomb. All this Shane Cross footy that people have been clamoring for like wild women of borneo, and whadda they do? Throw in a bunch of animation that is so distracting you can't even think about how bad the music is.

Rowley's part skimps on the music rights coming up shy of what could've been a doozy. Had they shelled out a bit for the original Stand by Me, that would've been taster's choice. From there the music all goes downhill into some kind of black nailpolish choker necklace lurker composing gothic anthems on a computer in his parent's basement. Yes, I hear you saying, just lay down your own tunes overtop of this, but c'mon, do you really think I have my shit that together? I'm just not that motivated, man. But yeah, this music fuckin sucks.

Damn shame too, cause Rodrigo's part is fuckin legit. I imagine this shit is what Fabian Alomar would wanna skate like in his weed dreamz. Lack of trendy tricks, ender is bonkers, and don't tell me that switch varial flip manny didn't have some Gino flavour.

Suprising amount of Boulala footage, alternate angles from the 90's and some Somalian piratism. Really, a pretty traditional Boulala part. That's that, I'm not gonna speculate on any kind of comeback or anything.

Vov Vurnquist really blew doors with this one though, lemme tell you. He was straight toilet wig splittin with this bionic criddler shit. I loled, I said omg, I might have even squeaked out a zomg, that's how modern this biscuit is. Imagine if you went back in time and showed this part to like a young Bill Dorr or something, their minds would vaporize like a dried turd in a death ray.

Switch back tail the omega rail, and not only that, but they somehow managed to hold on to the make of his grand canyon paradrop and keep it under wraps? Unless I missed it somewhere before... pretty buckland wilder.

I could do without masturbating claymation, but I'm sure there's 13 year olds out there who will be positively thrizzled at the idea.

The british am chap was pretty decent and that Willow dude has the most switch looking regular stuff I've ever seen.

What can you say about this cave troll? It looks like he's making the transition to a grubby park dwelling 60-something homeless dude pretty well. But for reals, I still like Penny footage. Even though he's not at the same level as in his TSA heyday, seein his shit is kinda like seeing an old broseph skating when you haven't skated with em in years.

The only part of the clayfighter business that really jazzed me good was how lunatic fringe they made Lance Mountain look. Like a vampire ape loose in the streets. They make it look like he filmed his whole part in one day, which is a bit of that old George Powell video magic, but I don't think they were honestly trying to fool anybody, just for that old-timey vibe, man.

I guess Appleyard really does have that fly boy element goin on and the Mexican dwarf in tight pants with a ribbon wrapped around his head as last part was a real bad choice.

So, yeppers. I'd like to see some diligent freak re-edit this thing in its entirety with a couple juicy tracks overtop. As it is, it's kinda unwatchable as a whole video. Bumrush the show. Endgame

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Harshing my Mellow

Twins vs. Skins
ALDS Game 3

Why is it that when Delmon Young takes a stray to the nuts, that they feel obligated to say he got it in the protective cup? Tell it like it is motherfuckers.

Punto blows his 2009 post season legacy in a pretty big way.

And another thing. I understand they don't wanna give screen time to loonies who run on the field cause it'll just encourage them, but don't you think it'd be tasty and entertaining to catch a glimpse of that action?

That's all. Yankees/Angels... meh.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Gimme a Chimmie

Artful Dodgers vs. Dying Cardinals
NLDS Game 3

Going to the taco stand. Gonna get a fish taco, holmes. Best in the barrio, ese.

Don't miss the season premiere of "Men of a Certain Age". Looks positively thrizzling.

Again, I catch this biscuit in the final stages, in this case what looks to be the death throes of old Saint Lou. C'mon Fat Albert, the people want a hero. Someone to pull them from burning buildings and someone to catch their babies when they crawl off the balcony. They want a cape. RBI.

Here comes Mr. Holliday. He would kill an innocent child for some kind of redemption here. Natch. Looks like this is what you get to take home with you this year St. Louis:

I'm counting on you, Predator and co., to get shit done if it comes down to a series with Steinbrenner's evil minions.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Burning Ghosts

Twins vs. Brown Bombers
ALDS Game 2

Right now I'd like to think that the Twins can come off whatever happens here with a wet biscuit of a victory back at the white domed roof with some measure of glee. The glee I would get from this would be a purely vengeful glee. I could care how well Minnesota does, may as well be the Washington Nationals for all I care, hell I'd like to see the Nationals in their place. That's how much I truly care about the Twins.

But the Yankees, for thee my scourge knows no bounds. What a whole rotten franchise. Even worse, they built on top of one hell of a rich heritage, and covered it with shit. Like those Euros that built on top of Incan ruins in Peru.

But back to the Twins, Joe Mauer is a fine specimen of olympian DNA. He's like the Reese Forbes of baseball.

Alas, Joe Nathan taken deep by A-Rod fills my trousers shamefully. Hearts sink all across the midwestern plains.

Fuck Kate Hudson
Fuck Louise Ciccone
Fuck Jose Canseco's wife


Also, fuck referring to yourself in the 3rd person too.

Yet, all is not lost. We go to the 10th.

Piss Break

Denard Spic and Spannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, to no avail. Baby's bottom of the dime piece.

Posada, chinless wonder in full effect. Broken bat bumbaclaat. Pinch runner what a bummer. Brett Gardner Pherris Lardo.

C'mon Michael Phelps, do your thing with king tut's bling. Are you fucking serious TBS? Throwing computer graphics in the dirt when a dude leads off the bag? Quit trying to spice this shit to Volcano Taco status.

Brett "Grey Gardens" Gardner popping the wheelie. To third with Nathaniel's boner, he blew the big one right out of the bucket.

YEW!!!! 11th

What the fuck! That pigeon fucking ump was staring that fair ball right in the face. Yes, fuck you, Mauer gets on anyways. That should've been a double.

Kubel Khan getting tings done. I like where this is going with an empty outhouse. Y'harrr, bases be full, I can taste the salt between yer legs.

Well, slit me open and feast upon my liver. Full bags, empty outhouse, full strandage....
Yankers pop the stink factor, Texeira style, how depressing.

I'm gonna go ahead and assume fat Minnesotans are frothing right now and puking up their burgers with rage.

Realtyme interturd.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Jesus Christ Shitting Profusely on Matt Holliday

I thought this had the potential to be a sizzler in the bottom of the ninth:

Goatee vs. Dreadlocks

I guess sorta like Alien vs. Predator if Alien had a goatee.

Nothing came of that, but...

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS SACRED, that was a hell of a finish. Matt Holliday will NEVER EVER 4EVAH live that one down.

That's up there with Merkle's Boner and Bill Buckner's feeble knees. That'll be on highlight reels for ages AGES I tell you.

St. Louis fans are gonna remember that bobble for a long long time.

Snakes of the Deadly Kind

He fought his first battle on the Scottish Highlands in 1536. He will fight his greatest battle on the streets of New York City in 1986. His name is Connor MacLeod. He is immortal.

There can only be one.

Andre Ethier

Right fielder, RBIman, general do-gooder and upstanding member of society.

Andre Ethier

Lush, degenerate, general doer and an even more upstanding member of society.

When the two finally met on June 9, 2007, a showdown of sorts ensues. Here's what happened:

Dingleberry Stew

So we got the old Saint Lou out in sunny LA...

The specimen pictured here in the foreground of this picture is the public face of one "Fat" Albert Pujols. However, examine the picture more closely. Lurking in the shadows behind his persona of charity work lies his hidden self. The dark presence that haunts his split personality.

The kind of personality that makes questionable decisions and talks to the wrong people hovering around the clubhouse. Not the one to turn down an edge, they delve deep into the satchels of chemical carrying trainer men. Beware the outcome that unfolds... do not say it was not foretold!

Shit Factory

I'd like to think that the Twins just crashed out cause they didn't get a greenie re-up and they're gonna come back fierce to blow the Yankers away by harnessing the tropical current that blows balls to paint scraper status at Babe Ruth's new luxury condo stadium, but.... I think it's more likely that they take one in the Metrodome before crumbling like the crackers I put in my soup.

^This^ colossal turd broke his post season drought while Kate Hudson's panties got soiled in the stands.

Minnesota vs. A.J. Burnett's tattoo's on Friday.