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The All Star Game’s in Two Weeks, You Say?

Begorrah! Then I guess now’s the time to unload on the ‘Feckless Fenway Fuckwits™’ before it all ends up in tears!

5:47AM: So far, I’ve shown remarkable restraint. Maybe it’s the holiday weekend showdown with the team from Queens that has popped the valve off my mental governor; maybe it’s that I awakened this morning and had a raging headache from last night’s debauched annual inauguration of my backyard bar, which consisted of cheap rum, Wild Turkey, and two Family Style servings of Chris’s amazing ‘Chicken Sidestreet,’ capped with a mini-keg of Heineken and half of a once-hefty watermelon.

Wait, that reminds me; are any of those bastards still sleeping it off out there?

summertime carnage site

Nope, though it seems someone absconded with the keggette; last I remember it was tucked between the bar and the basement doors. And hey, wharz mah bukket?

You fuckers still steal anything not nailed down, don’t ‘cha?

Anyhoo, as I was saying, I put up with this winter’s annual bullshit delivered by pink-hatted bandwagoneers claiming membership in Red Sox Nation, and even assholes who call Toilet Bowl 2.0 home were giving me grief. Then three things happened that kicked the anti-Yankee crap into overdrive:

  • Sox signed Carl Crawford;
  • Sox signed Adrian Gonzalez;
  • Yanks didn’t sign Cliff Lee.

Suddenly my world went all to shit; everyone decided the Bombers were completely, utterly hosed. I came thisclose to canceling my subscriptions to Sporting News and MLB Insiders Club (“Life Member” y’all!); jackwagons who didn’t give a damn about baseball, but hated the Yankees because of some perverted version of General Principle, started razzing me like I was some red-headed step kid [ed note: Dude? mirror; look into it].

I heard, “They’ll be lucky if they even get the Wild Card” so many times I was ready to start hitting people with pianos.

But I didn’t do anything; didn’t say anything, didn’t respond to any of it, didn’t even so much as indiscriminately throw a chair….

Because I kinda thought they, maybe, were right this time [ed note: BURN THE BLASPHEMER!].

By the time Spring was sprung I had decided to keep my mouth shut, only offering up only this, this, then this, and, of course, the obligatory Opening Day broadside (which was just a repeat of 2010’s tossed gauntlet).

And wouldn’t you know? The Red Sox left the starting gate by being more pathetic than the ’62 Mutts and still, with every fiber that makes up my being screaming “MOCK THEM; MOCK THEM NOW!” I stood aside.

Because on May da 1st, the Yankees were a joke, and thinking the Red Sox were going to fuck up my ‘Daylight Savings’ philosophy (They Spring forward, then They fall back) was a safety bet.

11:47AM: Ooh, look; those Delaware assholes didn’t rathole my draft this time. Yea Me!

Back to the story:

A funny thing happened: they started playing games that went on the books:

  • APRIL ENDS: Yanks in 1st Place
  • MAY ENDS: Yanks in 1st Place
  • JUNE ENDS: Yanks in 1st Place

And the Yankees hold an Old Timers that turns into “we treat our trainer better than you two-bit bastards treat your kings.”

It’s gonna be a fun weekend.

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