Eight years ago, the Houston Astros were swept by the Chicago White Sox in the World Series.
The once-mighty teams are currently two of the worst teams in baseball, and I am watching them stink up the field with their cheap rookie rosters, with the occasional discount washed-up veteran.
Even the on-air announcers are worse. They’re so bored with the game, they’re watching other games and doing play-by-play on them.
They’re doing a great job with that other game, too.
Maybe they’re doing it to get out of this market and call real games.
I don’t blame them one bit.
Tag: sports
Sports
Back in high school, if you weren’t lettering in a sport, you had to take gym. Although, gym classes weren’t called gym.
Instead, it was called Life Sports. Activities you’d likely take up when you got older.
Except that I fucking hate golf. And tennis. And softball. And basketball. And lifting weights. And running.
Pretty much every activity I hate. Except horse riding. But they didn’t have horses. Thank God.
What do I like to do? I like to walk and throw darts in the pub.
That’s it.
Now get your fucking horse out of here. It’s blocking the dartboard.
Madness
I don’t give a crap about March Madness.
Professional sports are a waste of time, but college sports are a waste of academic institutions.
Instead of focusing on educating students and researching the frontiers of knowledge, these colleges and universities train and babysit these gargantuan kids to perform for the crowds.
Where there should be a series of lecture halls and labs, producing results around the clock and year, massive stadiums and arenas sit idle, waiting for a few home games a year.
Forget that slam dunk… give us a cure for cancer! A pollution-free engine!
The ignorant crowd cheers.
Juicer
Rumors spread across the sporting world that the greatest athlete in the sport was using performance-enhancing drugs.
But then, everybody was doing it back then. The sport was rotten with cheaters and juicers. Everybody doped and juiced to keep up with him.
He just did it more effectively.
Finally, on his last race on the last tour in his career, he performed clean.
No drugs.
No blood doping.
No enhancements at all.
And he came in last place.
Until, of course, he ratted on everybody.
He was the only one to pass the tests, and was declared winner by default.
Vanish
Do weightlifters vanish when they try to lift weights in weightless environments?
I don’t know. But I’m sure that they could figure it out on the space station.
Okay, so there’s many other high-priority experiments that take priority over a weightlifter in space lifting weights. Like superconductors and crystals, and superconducting crystals.
And when it costs so much to boost cargo into orbit, weights won’t exactly going to top the manifest.
Still, it doesn’t take much to fashion some makeshift weights, wear a strongman suit, and test the theory.
Until then, the greatest mystery of the universe remains a mystery.
Pro Bowl
Unlike the All-Star Game in baseball, the Pro Bowl in Football is a joke.
The players don’t want to play hard, because they might get injured or injure someone.
Some don’t even show up, or they fly out to Hawaii for the vacation, but they sick out for the game.
The commissioner got pissed off and demanded they put on a show worth watching.
So, the players clown it up and have some fun.
Defensive players try an offensive play here and there.
Players switch sides to play with old college buddies or former teammates.
But it’s still fucking boring.
Ball Game
I used to really enjoy watching basketball.
Michael Jordan was amazing, and the NBA’s marketing hype was in full swing.
When he took two years off, the Rockets picked up a pair of trophies. But if Jordan hadn’t have walked away, there’s no way he’d have let the Bulls lose to Hakeem and Clyde.
These days, I have no idea who the players are. But then, does it really matter?
Not giving a damn about the players or the teams means that I can just enjoy the game for the game and the spectacle.
And not buy any overpriced crap.
Pieces Of Eight Medal – Talk Like A Pirate Day
Most pirates spend their downtime at their favorite watering-hole, dockside brothel, or the local jail awaiting trial.
On the other hand (assuming you have another hand, and not a hook), Walter the Pirate had always dreamed of winning an Olympic gold medal.
He was a pretty good windsurfer, and none of his shipmates could beat him at Ping Pong, but he was best at freestyle swimming.
But what national team would sponsor him?
France?
England?
They had bounties on his head.
Eventually, Somalia sponsored him. (Somalia loves pirates), but he was disqualified for having a dagger clenched between his teeth.
Basher
Blood River High School’s football team is a championship factory, led by Coach Bart Basher for forty years.
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts Coach Basher.
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts the kid on the ground, and he struggles up to his feet to rejoin the huddle.
It’s Thursday’s workout drill, and a kid takes a savage hit and goes down.
What was the kid’s name?
Who knows?
Every kid wears jerseys without numbers.
Nobody’s limping or lollygagging, despite the blood and gore and…
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts Basher.
Every kid shouts it back.
Except the kid without a head.
Pool Shark
My grandfather was a pool shark, and he tried to teach me and my brother how to play pool.
My brother listened, but he didn’t have the talent.
I had the talent, but I was too young to listen.
Only after he died did I listen, his voice in my ear, telling me to think through each shot and breathe.
I got good. Really good.
Tournament-winning good.
Then, I broke my elbow.
It just doesn’t extend correctly anymore.
My wrist and fingers won’t bridge properly either
I’ll send my cue to my niece. Hopefully, she’ll hear his voice whispering “Breathe.”