The Bullshit Disaster continues.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Do all the drugs you can

Fuck sailing. This ship is sinking.

And sinking.

And sinking.

Rock bottom could be losing to the worst fucking team of the last decade and a half, while at home...nothing more needs to be said. It's not a "skid" as they lightly put it. It's a horrid shit stain. Tomorrow they will lose to a pitcher with an earned run average that's a disgusting pubic hair over sixteen. Sixteen! And they will lose. They really keep outdoing themselves. At this point I can only be entertained by how much worse it can get. I'm saying fuck it. And fuck them. If anyone reads this, expect weather reports and shitty poetry. This baseball thing is a metastasizing tumor on my goddamn soul.

Sinking.

And sinking.

And sinking.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

NIGHT TERROR

had this dream last night where I traveled around some small town that had one of those dead relics called main street, void of a jamba juice or a taco bell, it was a vague and murky setting but i was wandering around with some faceless friend of mine and who do I see but right-handed Dodger pitcher hiroki kuroda, this year's ace on the eve of a pitching duel with johan santana and hiroki, he's being lead around by this well-to-do white woman and i walk up to him and say what's up, my dumbfounded excitement under a thin veil and my bro's goin' off about how he's the man, etc. and kuroda smiles and says hello and whispers to the white woman, something i assumed was for her to translate to us since kuroda looked happy to see us and speaks japanese but the woman kind of whispers back to him in muffled japanese and looks at us menacingly and says, we have to go and she grabs his arm and they recede into the end of the night and the dream and the world and me and my friend, we wander into this antique shop where they have an array of antique revolvers and we're insulted by the elderly proprietor but i'm not sure why or i don't remember what the fuck he said and that was it.

in an ignorant analysis, i say that hiroki kuroda is going to pitch a no-hitter in new york but some rich white lady will lead him astray and turn it all to shit. maybe she's the bullpen or maybe she's david wright. i don't know. all i can say concerning my relationship with baseball these days is, "stay the fuck out of my dreams!" At least allow my mind some hours to recover from the shit you've stained it with. please and thank you, amen.

Monday, April 26, 2010

spring training

so now the offense sucks too. what a bunch of goddamn losers. not worth another word today. good luck in new york and with the rest of your season. by summer, i might start hitting crack pipes to ease the pain and frustration. fun times for all.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Somebody give these motherfuckers some steroids

It feels like October. The weather is cooling down, a chance of rain, a pleasant caress of the wind enveloped in the glorious changing of the seasons and also, I want to cut my wrists with an broken beer bottle. But it's not October. It's April. Real nice. I keep exaggerating about how much this season sucks so far and before any loved one or stranger on the street can tell me to shut the fuck up, the game rolls along and I'm excruciatingly correct in my disgust. I don't want to be right. I want these losers to stop melting down against a shitty team. These assholes can make a Big Red Machine out of anybody so far...the Pirates, Reds and soon...the Washington Nationals. Can't wait to see more players I've never heard of score go-ahead runs in the 8th inning. So far, besides that bullshit loss to the Giants, every loss has been a bullpen blunderfuck while wasting a shitload of runs. Pretty soon, these dudes and their bats are going to say fuck it. This is beyond problematic at this point. It's just annoying and somehow worse than a regular loss. Everyday is the same. Usually, the great thing about baseball is its unpredictability. Even if your team sucks, you never really know how it'll go down, day to day. Well, so far this year I know how it's gonna go. Unless we score 14 runs, we're fucked. Can't wait to lose to the Nationals. Think of all the people coming home from ten hours of doing shit for some rich asshole and turning on the game to escape the madness for a moment or two and...well, nevermind. Go ahead and kill yourself, workingman. I want to feel like an asshole and be proven wrong but every day feels a little more fixed and a little more ridiculous.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Holy shit, we fucking suck at pitching right now: A play in two acts

Act One: Int. Visitor clubhouse. Great American Ballpark. Cincinnati, Ohio



Joe Torre, Manager: Hey kid, we're gonna need you to go pretty deep today. We're really counting on you to step up and pitch well, give our shitty bullpen a rest, and you know, make a statement, emotionally and otherwise.

Chad Billingsley, Starting Pitcher: No problem skip. No need to doubt me. I've owned these mediocre fucks in the past.

Torre: Well, you had a tough time last time on the mound and before that, we all had a tough time on the road, so...knowing what we know...you think you could...I don't know...go three innings without giving up seven goddamn runs?

Billingsley: You got it. I can't wait to dickslap these losers. Would it be possible to get some run support?

Torre: Sure thing, Bills. We'll give you a three run lead first thing. Try not to fuck it up. Also, if you do we'll give you more, so don't fuck that up either.

Billingsley: Thanks, coach. One more thing...will I be facing a...you know...(gulp)...ace? Like a Cy Young kind of guy.

Torre: Fuck no. Homer Bailey? Even Homer Bailey doesn't know who the fuck he is. His name is Homer though. But don't worry about it. He sucks. Just don't give up seven runs. That's quite a hole to crawl out of.

Billingsley: No worries, Torr-bro. I won't let an incredible offense go to waste.

Torre: All right kid, see you out there. Just pitch long enough so our bullpen can come in and do their thing. I know I can count on them too.



Act Two. Same place. Three hours later

Matt Kemp: Hey pitching staff...

Chorus of Billingsley, Ortiz and Troncoso: 'Sup Matt Kemp?

Matt Kemp: Fuck you.

Me: Yeah, I should have stayed in New Orleans, right Matt?

Matt Kemp: Get the fuck away from me.

Me: Way to go, assholes.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

An Incision in Time/Los Doyers Rule All

Due to this break in the chain, this lost time, a blank drawn in-between the week and half since my last post, I could write a hundred thousand words about where I’ve been and the shit I’ve seen along with all the verbal vomit concerning the Dodgers but I’ll try and be into the whole brevity thing as much as I can.

I've been in New Orleans visiting some tight bros but I did go to Opening Day at Dodger Stadium.


Preceding the glorious home opener, The Dodgers were in Florida and all I can say about that series is that it was about as much fun as watching them play Pittsburgh. If I hadn’t of sold a kidney to buy Opening Day tickets, I would have stabbed myself in the chest with a Phillips-head screw driver, dull and rusty and a meaningless death. Another stellar performance from their bullpen. Whatever, man. I had to let it slide or else.


The last two Opening Days, I was on a forklift listening to the radio, headphones in, pretending to work. Dodgers first, safety second. So it was an especially golden time to be alive in the sun in Chavez Ravine. I was happy to attend my first Opening Day in three years. Beers flowing and pre-game weedsmoke to old school jams. A few hours without the invasive realities that strangle us most of the time. Dodger Stadium was Dodger Stadium. A work of art without apology or explanation. I asked this big dude named Hector with a Fernando Valenzuela jersey why Dodger Stadium is the place to be and he smiled and articulated its beauty just fine. He said, “It just is, bro.” The Dodgers won and me and Garcia got wasted, sobered up somewhat then listened to The Chronic all the way back to the I.E, not even minding the traffic.


After a meltdown the following game to the D-bags, I felt fortunate to get the fuck out of town. I needed a break from their bullshit and I was ready for some good times. And those good times were had. New Orleans is the finest town this decomposing nation has. It’s perpetually fucked by nature and man and the people just keep on singing. I went here and there, saw most of the city, drank around the clock, took hikes through swamps, saw snakes and alligators, listened to Eyehategod, Clifton Chenier and The Meters, ate oysters and crawfish and hung with good-ass people. It was a necessary trek into unknown regions, of this land and of my dome. A vision quest through swamps one day and narrow, nearly forgotten backstreets another. Nowhere is everywhere. "We're gonna make it, carnal."


Mixed emotions in hindsight about the Giants series. I could have done without seeing most of it. I’m glad Padilla finally went deeper than 4 innings and hit that asshole Aaron Rowand in the head. I can dig Padilla being a badass and also pitching well. The bullpen was on fire and by that I mean burning alive, turning to ash, being shitty. Saturday’s game can go straight to hell but I’ll take a series victory, especially that rubber match on Sunday. The corrosion of my insides are worth a game like that. I’m back in town now, reflecting on that pinch hit homer by Manny. It was a National League ballgame. While I’m concerned as fuck about the state of the Dodgers pitching, I’m not gonna make a fuss like the broken-record hacks at ESPN or MLB.com.


We’re still in the murky exposition of this mess. As long as we don’t get too far behind. So before my hair turns white over this next road trip I’m going to revel in the victory Sunday, in that sweet swing, the Manny pinch-hit, the sullen look on the faces in the Giants dug-out, in the unyielding roar of the crowd…getting high while playing a Delfonics record, loud and proud, watching that bomb go off and into the left field pavilion…over and over again.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Hell Awaits

Before a few hundred people, in afternoon drizzle, The Dodgers finally beat the Pirates today, scoring more runs than in their first two games combined. Now, it's time to get the fuck out of Pittsburgh. On to South Florida to play the Marlins in their shitty stadium, in their weird city and with a possible mountain of cocaine awaiting. Although, at this point, I'm sure these party animals just want to the fuck out of the humidity and on home to Chavez Ravine. Win some fucking games and come home so we can party.

Gangbanging. The un-fun kind.

Well, game two and they're already gangbanging my soul. Not in the suicidal tradition of October in Philadelphia. Just the anticlimax of this baseball season thus far. The absence of Vin Scully's voice making their lackluster dickmoves out there seem even more annoying.

The blind allegiance to a team and therefore a town is a beautifully inexplicable thing. A natural pillar of life to spite its rigged deck.
It's an unhealthy and abusive relationship, I say it all the time and certain people agree or at least humor me and hold me while I vomit and weep. It is much like being with someone who fucks around on you all the time and then you keep coming back. It's not easy to explain or understand, it just is. But the game yesterday against future Cy Young award winner Russ fucking Ohlendorf and the mighty Pittsburgh Pirates was like trying to explain why you paid to watch your girlfriend/boyfriend fuck someone else in a motel parking lot. And the all the vicious anger is usurped by a feeling of sheer boredom. But you stay and watch until it's murder suicide time.

Seriously, it was a waste of time. It seemed like it was on for seven hours. Both teams looked bored and horrible. In the ninth when they stranded Carroll at third after having no outs, I thought they deserved to lose. I came to terms, got real drunk off innumerable beers.

Sometime around one in the a.m. I was getting another can of beer out of the refrigerator and it slipped out of my hands. I tried to bobble it and then one last save before it hopelessly fell the the floor and fizzed and made a mess. I called it a Blake Dewitt. And I didn't clean it up. I laughed to bury the anguish and grabbed another. This one was fielded perfectly. And victory was mine.

P.S.

Two people at the Pirates game who should be drowned in the Allegheny River:

-Fat white woman with the Phillies jersey. Are you fucking kidding me?

-Asshole with the camouflaged Yankees hat. These people need to be stopped.

Can't wait to see what today will bring. Billingsley and a line-up of mostly bench players. Since we don't really need to win anyways. Fuck it.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

nice fucking game

I'll give it to Pittsburgh on their opening day since the rest of the season will sadly be as predictable as the last 18 years. It's a fine baseball town with a great tradition and a storied past that much like everything else has crumbled and died. Sure, sometimes it ends with a whimper but sometimes it's a horrible goddamn explosion. Opening Day victory for them. Ok.

But, if the Dodgers don't win tomorrow it's truly no excuse. Win a fucking game so I don't feel like I've waited several months to masochistically piss away my time once again from now on through summer. It was fun to anxiously turn on the game in the middle of the morning only to be kind of bored and angry the rest of the day. The runners left on, the shitty team we were playing, etc. Any excitement about the season was usurped and soon replaced by the familiar feeling of dread. One game in. No big deal. Tomorrow's another deal, right?

Because if Clayton Kershaw, our pocket ace, can't beat Ross fucking Ohlendorf (?!?) then I'm jumping out the goddamn window. And I'm only on the second floor so I'll probably just break an ankle and have an amazing hospital bill. Hey Clayton, don't fuck this up. Ok?

Saturday, April 3, 2010

one toke over the line.

(...sweet, sweet mary...)

This is my last weekend of mild sanity before the season begins. Last time to watch an exhibition and marvel at Kershaw's mad curve and Reed Johnson's shiny dome with little emotion beyond drunken awe. In the coming months, the same drunken awe will be balanced with the occasional dreadful horror coinciding with whatever bullshit this world hands out. With the state of this failing nation, the racist and sexist assault that will arrive all summer, much more predictable than any one team winning the fucking pennant. It's these perpetual bullshit things I will evade every time the Dodgers don't lose. Or else, it's a hundred knives to the chest. Been there before and I'll be there again. But the drunken awe will be there too. Only it will have more purpose, philosophically and otherwise. Those are the fine times I can't live without. Reason why I'm still in this abusive relationship. This is the last Saturday I can drink coffee without the possibility of wanting to throw my Dodger at the fucking wall. Or else fill it with whiskey and drink, drink, drink until the world turns black and I'm blind forever. Play ball.

La Raza rant

If I have to read another bullshit columnist go on and on once again about how "they" need to purge Dodger Stadium of its "thug element," I'm gonna fucking snap. And what do they mean by that? Sorry if white people can't come to see their Phillies or their Giants without getting shit talked to them. It's ok in Boston. In fact isn't that what makes the old, conservative Baseball Writer of America asshole cream in his dockers? How Red Sox or Phillies fans are the greatest? The truth is there is nothing like seeing a game at Dodger Stadium. It's one of those stadiums, like Fenway or Wrigley, that should be left alone until they sell it to some fascists and tear it down. Until then, back the fuck off.
And if you're down to rid this cathedral of all its beauty and singularity, than you probably complain when you can't find a Jamba Juice. The Dodgers aren't going to apologize for their Chicano fanbase. Fuck that. Go to Anaheim if you want family fun. Disneyland or Angel Stadium. Have a good time. "But be careful, Ethan and Tyler. Orange County has Mexicans now."