Friday, April 4, 2008

Christmas Day!

An ill reindeer!Home fucking opener. If Robbie Alomar doesn't mention that "while I may have caught the taste, Toronto caught my heart" in his speech, I'm going home. It's almost 3 o'clock and I haven't started "preparing" for the game. Something must be done.

The Ghostrunner curse seems to be working wonders. No sooner do I belittle Weeman's failings as a player, he goes and gets 2 hits and an RBI. Fuck him. NOW BATTING FOR YOUR TORONTO BLUE JAYS: DAVID ECKSTEIN. deep inhalation, ready to unleash maelstrom of hate...

With the Ghostrunner curse in mind, allow me to take this opportunity to say that the Jays are going to get run over by a slow moving bus tonight, in the form of Tim Wakefield's knuckleballs. The closed roof will trap in the heat of 48000 sweaty, drunken buffoons in a windless vacuum: the bloody thing will be dancing all over the place. Our only hope is lil Davey Eckstein. His short, compact stabbing motion swing should allow him to stay back and really see the gimmicky pitch that athleticism forgot.

All members of the Ghostrunner team will be on site tonight, The Reverend and El Leal in the quality digs. Mr. Barfield and I will be in a land far far away, where Jacboy Ellsbury will be deaf to my mockery. Guess that means you are shit outta luck Seany and Murph. You're going to hear it from me.

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