“can the red sox and cubs play for third place?”
thats something that if i was president of the united states, i would immediately mandate.
nobody wants to see this miserable world series.
everyone wants to see the cubs vs the red sox.
give the money to charity or some shit. i dont know. i dont care.
all i know is it would triple the ratings of the fish and the fuckees.
i am so sleepy, america. it’s finally catching up to me.
if i could i would sleep all weekend, but i have to be a preacher on sunday, my first time ever.
differnce between the losers world series is that i would make it all day games when they played at wrigley.
the way it ought to be.
the way God intended.
and buck beers for the kids.
maybe afterwards for the fenway games aerosmith, the cars, and the pixies could play
and at wrigley cheap trick, smashing pumpkins and ministry could rock.
i dont know.
better than thinking about different ways to jump off bridges.
in 1984 i was brand new to california. i moved here to get away from the problems of my youth. little did i know that such idealism is childish and after leon bull durham let a simple grounder scoot through his legs, allowing steve garvey to have the chance to hit the homerun that knocked the 84 cubs out of the playoffs, setting the stage for the first time that i cried over my baseball team.
after i was finished sobbing i decided that the only way that i could fix these pressing issues was to either making my lifes goal to be the manager of the chicago cubs and leading them to victory, or buying the cubs and running them with some sort of passion and interest.
this morning i realized that i might just have to start raising the money to buy the cubs or forever learn to live with this sick rotting nauseous feeling that is fermenting in the pit of my gut.
what do you do when your dreams will never become realized?
where do you go when all the beer at wrigley wont satisfy?
the beer vendors at the friendly confines come right to your seat and pour two cupfulls at a time to numb the oncoming pain. and if you dont think its pain, youre high.
or a yankee fan.
the meek will inherit the earth but i dont want the damn earth, i want a ring.
i want to wear a hoodie that says cubs world champs on the front and fuckers on the back.
it seems like i want so little and i cant even have that. i dont care any more if i never get a car, or a house, or kids, or even a hot wife who wouldnt mind being nice once in a while.
ive completely given up on having a career of any substance.
is it really asking so much to hope that the Tribune Corp will make a few more moves this winter, sign a free agent closer or three, spend a little money, and take this horrible monkey off our backs?
sadly, i think its far too much to ask.
which is why you will always find good drinkers in red sox and cub fans.
which is why karisa and i will be friends forever.