The Bullshit Disaster continues.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Wrigley Fuck

With the turnaround we've had this glorious month of may, it's a little easier to take an annoying loss but not that easy. This sans-Ethier, textbook National League trip we've been on has been a good one. The Dodgers have been carried through the wilderness by stellar starting pitching, decent games by the back-up crew and again John Fucking Ely, whose success can be attributed to Chad Billingsley's personal turnaround, Chad's "Who the fuck is this kid and why's he pitching so much better than me?" attitude has transcended introspection and displayed itself on the mound with victorious results.

The Detroit series, even though I attended the losing game, was a fun one to watch and a good time to drink insane amounts of beer with some friends. Even Saturday as I cruised around Long Beach looking for some place that isn't there anymore, it was an easy time, hearing the roar on the radio and in my chest, amen.

The come down to this high is the losing has been irritating. These games against the shitty Cubs, have really bummed me out. I hate seeing Kershaw lose without an earned run. Furcal needs to take a few extra grounders before the game if he's going to play short stop like I do. If he was smoking dope and playing softball in cut=-off khakis, it'd be one thing. But this is definitely another. And the game where Ely takes a one hitter into the 7th and we can't get one goddamn motherfucking run against Ted goddamn motherfucking Lilly? I know it's how everyone feels and that it's already in the past. But it's no less a stain on my afternoon.

Good news is that Ethier is rehabbing with the Isotopes in Memphis town. He should be back. The worry going down now has to do with this series in Colorado having to be in our favor. With the Padres still winning games somehow, The Giants occasionally not being shut out and The Rockies just a Blakebeard hair behind us, victory is an absolute necessity. We need to come back home with the comfort and confidence to keep this motherfucker rolling. And then Andre comes back. Now if we can trade Troncoso and Belisario for a ten year old who can throw strikes and a couple used VCRs, then we'll be in business.

Otherwise, I'll have to get a mile-high just to forget these assholes exist, once again.

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