Thursday, May 17

Suck a cock, Chicago Cubs

I'm taking a week off from the Cubs. I cannot believe the flaming bag of hepatitis and horse cock that I just witnessed on TV. With a 4-run lead against the flaccid Mets lineup going into the final frame, what could go wrong? Only a handful of pathetic walks, several basehits and enough stinging heartbreak to fill a thousand Dawson's Creek episodes.

Aramis finds his bat and contributes 3 RBIs, Guzman pitches tidily for 5 innings, Ohman K's 4 in 1 2/3 innings, and then Dempster couldn't find the strikezone if it was a piece of pornstar pussy.

The measure of a good team is winning games out, closing out and finishing yr business when you've put in a hard day's work. But not us. For the Cubs, we constantly strive to find new and exciting ways to lose, causing me so much grief I bet I could stick my hand in a blender and I would feel no pain. Why? Because loving the Cubs has caused me to lose all ability to feel pain. I'm immune now to sadness, because watching this bunch of sadsacks traipse around a field for 3 hours has left me emotionally sterile.

We stagger into Shea for a difficult 4-game series, and acquit ourselves quite well. We commit Hari-Kiri on monday night, thanks to Wuertz's "Walk This Way" heroics, we bounce back well on Tuesday thanks to El Toro regaining some balls, Wednesday was a wash as we were unable to solve Jorge fucking Sosa, and then today, we collect timely hits against a weakened lineup, only to piss it away at the death.

Give me sweet release from this horseshit. Please.

Send bullets with my name on them to: JT, Port Chester, NY. They'll know what to do from there.