Monday, September 24, 2007

Worst. Weekend. Ever.

Have you ever thought, "Why in the f*%# am I a sports fan? Why do I invest so much time and money and heart into just being ripped endlessly and mercilessly to bloody fucking shreds? Why am I seriously contemplating seeing how far I can stick this bread knife into my throat?"

Because I did. This weekend was the worst.

It started off good, though. I hooked up with a wood-bat baseball league here, and after 5+ years on the shelf, I got back on the bump and did pretty well. I had one bad inning where I walked about four guys, but they only got a few solid hits off me in 5 2/3 innings. We won in the bottom of the seventh on a bases loaded, two out, two-strike double. Things were looking good.

And then the calendar hit "Saturday."

The Padres wasted a solid effort by Jake Peavy and lost to the streaking - screw that, the goddamn fucking SPEEDING - Rockies 2-1 in fourteen innings. Colorado State, after two tough losses, lays a damn ostrich-on-growth-hormones-sized egg in the second half and falls to Houston 38-27 to drop to 0-3. Plus, they also haven't won since October. Of 1985. The Padres? Yeah, that's what that sound was - like an aborted fetus squishing down the drain. The Rockies pummel them 6-2.

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, we haven't even gotten to Sunday yet.

I begin the day stretching under a cloudless, sea-blue sky. The field smells faintly of sewage, but hey - I'm playing baseball!

Not really.

We blow a chance to win the first game and fall 6-5. Then, in the second game, I leave a small African village on the bases and, going into the final inning tied 4-4, we give up about as many runs as the Orioles have given up to the Rangers on the year and don't even get to bat in the bottom of the seventh. That's right - they mercy killed our ass.


On to the bar. Drink the pain away. Wait for the train. Call dad. Padres down a lot. Early. Fuck. Wait helplessly on the train. Fuck. Get to the bar. Jaguars up 7-0. Fuck. Drink. Broncos tie it - fuck? Broncos fumble. Fuck. Broncos fumble kickoff to open second half. Fuck fuckaboo fuckjam fuckfart!!! Broncos go for it on fourth down - fail. Fuck. Broncos get miraculous fumble. Piss it away. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. (Did I mention I was sitting next to the only Jaguars fan in all of New York City? No, I didn't. Nice guy though, but still - fuck.)

Well that's one long, relentless smorgasbord of suckitude. I'm full. I can't take anymore. I don't want dessert; dessert being, in this case, facing a dude in fantasy with Tom Brady, Randy Moss, and Ronnie Brown's quazillion points.

What's that, you say?

Milton Bradley did what?!?!?!?

Fuck me.

I hate sports.


Brock Sampson said...

So, let me get this straight: you got to play the sport you love twice in a weekend, you didn't get hurt, and you live in one of the world's great cities, and the title of your post is "Worst. Weekend. Ever?"


Business or Leisure? said...

Oh, Brock. What is a blog for if not to complain about one's life?