We watch baseball. And have feelings. Baseball feelings. Here are some of them. Go to hell.
Friday, September 21, 2012
mathematically eliminated #21 the New York Mets
Not only did the Mets get eliminated tonight, but they got spanked terribly hard by the Phillies, 16 to 1, at home in whatever it is that is not Shea Stadium. So it looked as though the Phillies were done for, and yet they make this late season run towards an extra watered-down wild card. Meanwhile, the Mets continue to be the Mets. And on the day somebody reminded me this baseball card existed...
Yes, I know that has nothing to do with the Mets, but what the fuck do I care? They are the Mets. No one cares, except for those weird dudes you hear on talk radio in the middle of the night when you are on a long drive and you are like, "Hey, I'll listen to AM radio," and all you pick up is 660 the Fan, and every guy that calls you imagine to look like that James Coco dude who used to act in the TVs - all short and balding and weird looking, like a puffalump but 1/4 Italian, and they live in an apartment smaller than most American people's kitchen, and they are sitting at a small table with the refrigerator like literally right over their shoulder, and there is an old TV on the opposite wall, and that is where they watch the Mets, drinking Diet Cokes like mad, and calling AM radio to further discuss the wild tangents that bounce around their little caged minds.