Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Ass-Grabbing Is Not For Kids


I readily admit most of my enjoyment in following the Phillies and baseball in general is the way it reflects the existential absurdity of the human condition.

Here are a bunch of grown men running around in throwback threads barely evolved from the 19th Century, most with a chaw of tobackey or bubble gum in their cheeks, as they engage in a game today’s kids aren’t too interested in playing. Admit it – they’d rather play video games and you know it. But that’s cool. There’s more room in the ballpark for us graying grownups, and we’d rather not pay $7 for a happy meal, especially if that money could be better spent on warm beer.

Naw, fuck the kids. Watching grown men slap each other’s ass isn’t for them. Truth be told, I wonder what the players’ wives make of that demonstration when they know their husbands wouldn’t be caught dead in a gay bar. But I can ignore that kind of shit, because it isn’t the only deliciously ironic thing that happens in baseball, metaphorically speaking.

For instance, I watch baseball for the schadenfreude of savoring a king jackass like Ryan Franklin getting instrumentally raped in his first “relief” appearance for the Phils’ wild card rival, the equally mediocre Cincinnati Reds – and that was just a “highlight” clip. Short on relievers, the Reds made the mistake of trading for him today after Team Schizo wised up and designated him for assignment a week ago. This was after he openly admitted he would continue to serve up gopher balls at the team’s expense as he perfected his repertoire as a starting pitcher for an unknown new team next season. What a whore! Amazingly, the Phils used him one more time after he pissed all over GM Pat Gillick’s good will and trust in bringing in a known steroid freak as a free agent.

Franklin’s not-so-subtle intimation wasn’t so much absurd as it was arrogant, and if Gillick’s sanity was doubted after the Bobby Abreu trade, he made a pre-emptive strike to assuage those fears the same day by giving Franklin his walking papers before announcing The Big One with the Yankees.

And now, he serves up dingers for the Reds, and I am gleeful. Hey Franklin: Here’s to your continued collapse, cunthead.

And speaking of large things, two more items come to mind. For one, the Braves hold on division titles. How sweet it is to see Team Shook Up shake all the young unripened fruit from Atlanta’s tree tonight, notching a 9-6 win as it took advantage of incompetence, Braves style. Talk about gloating over another’s misfortune – Bobby Coxsucker sure has had it coming. For as much as it’s sheer misery watching the Mets dominate all comers, it’s concurrently joyous seeing the Tomahawkers' thin pitching get assaulted by every team in the second division.

Assault is an apt description of what Ryan “Howitzer” Howard is performing on Phillies power records this season. Like I said, baseball is mostly for adults nowadays, and let’s face it, adults love to watch violence – and watching Howitzer launch bombs into a stadium’s nether reaches is a gratifying part of our (former) national pastime.

The Old Lady genuinely looks forward to the brother’s at-bats, and not because of any kind of youthful good looks. (Shane Victorino is her favorite “cutie.”) Howard has elicited her interest as – get this – a baseball fan! What a chick! After Howard’s 39th homer tonight, a two-run shot that gave him 101 RBIs with 51 games to go, my darling wife chippered up for the inevitable adult and erotic display of affection players in every sport lavish upon successful teammates.

“Are they gonna pat each other’s asses?” she asked, leaning closer to the television. “They love to feel each other up after he does that, don’t they?”

Like I’ve been telling her, this is no game for kids.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I love his hand up that player's ass. I would slap his ass just like this. Their uniforms looks so arousing and they look good in it. I bet Thomas was pre-cumming in his baseball pants.

6/11/16 3:44 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home