I didn't see much of the All-Star Game last night, but apparently it was a big ol' San Francisco gay-ass lovefest for Barry Bonds.
To be clear, I'm not one of these Barry Bonds haters. Personally, I like the guy. He's a giant dickhead who double-talks his way around steroid questions, relaxes in a barcalounger in his own private section of the clubhouse, and randomly accuses sports reporters (the real scum of the earth) of racism. For me, Barry is doing his best to give me the most for my entertainment dollar. Well, that and all the homeruns.
Still, I had an idea to add a little bit of razzle and maybe even a touch of dazzle to this year's All-Star festivities:
Intentionally walk Bonds.
No matter what the situation, just refuse to pitch to him. At the All-Star Game. In San Francisco. The year he's going to break the homerun record. Just don't pitch to him no matter what. It's brilliant.
Can you imagine how ugly the San Francisco crowd would get if Barry got up to bat and American League manager Jim Leyland decided to put him on intentionally? It would be hilarious. If I were Leyland, I would wait for the boos to start raining down. Then, I'd step out of the dugout and do a slow 360 degree circle with my arms out, yelling "What? What?" It would go down in history as a great moment in sports villiany.
At the very least, he could have pretended to intentionally walk Bonds. Have the catcher step out for one or two pitches. Then say "Just kidding" to Barry and give him a meatball over the middle of the plate to crush into the bay. It's called creating a moment, people.
But would that ever happen in stodgy old baseball? Of course not. "Respect for the integrity of the game" and blah blah blah.
I wish I were in charge of everything.
To be clear, I'm not one of these Barry Bonds haters. Personally, I like the guy. He's a giant dickhead who double-talks his way around steroid questions, relaxes in a barcalounger in his own private section of the clubhouse, and randomly accuses sports reporters (the real scum of the earth) of racism. For me, Barry is doing his best to give me the most for my entertainment dollar. Well, that and all the homeruns.
Still, I had an idea to add a little bit of razzle and maybe even a touch of dazzle to this year's All-Star festivities:
Intentionally walk Bonds.
No matter what the situation, just refuse to pitch to him. At the All-Star Game. In San Francisco. The year he's going to break the homerun record. Just don't pitch to him no matter what. It's brilliant.
Can you imagine how ugly the San Francisco crowd would get if Barry got up to bat and American League manager Jim Leyland decided to put him on intentionally? It would be hilarious. If I were Leyland, I would wait for the boos to start raining down. Then, I'd step out of the dugout and do a slow 360 degree circle with my arms out, yelling "What? What?" It would go down in history as a great moment in sports villiany.
At the very least, he could have pretended to intentionally walk Bonds. Have the catcher step out for one or two pitches. Then say "Just kidding" to Barry and give him a meatball over the middle of the plate to crush into the bay. It's called creating a moment, people.
But would that ever happen in stodgy old baseball? Of course not. "Respect for the integrity of the game" and blah blah blah.
I wish I were in charge of everything.
7 Comments:
You are in charge of being a big jerk!
I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean that. It was said in the heat of the moment. Can you ever forgive me?
Boogie, I think your self-imposed moratorium on pro wrestling is clouding (or is it clearing) your judgment.
I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean that. It was said in the heat of the moment. Can you ever forgive me?
Not this time, Ike. It's over!
Not this time, Ike. It's over!
Oh come on baby, I'm sending you some flowers and I'll take you out to dinner. And all those times I pushed you down the stairs was out of love.
i'm just wondering what in the world paula cole was doing there and whether or not her keyboardist ever got her act together.
jeesh
Boogie, I think your self-imposed moratorium on pro wrestling is clouding (or is it clearing) your judgment.
That only lasted about a week or so. Who am I to let a little double murder suicide ruin my homoerotic good time?
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