I haven't written anything in awhile. It has to do with a number of factors, mainly the lack of internet which is another story, but also because of beer, basketball, laborious tasks, apathy, anger, for a little while contentment and being in and out of town.
All that can be said now is that the Dodgers have developed an acute allergy to first place. They get there and back off, one step ahead and two back, for two days last week we were an elite group of ballplayers. A fucking team. In one boring weekend, where the Dodgers played baseball like walruses fuck, they reversed the charge and played like shit.
A sweep of the goddamn Cardinals and first place in your hands, momentary best record in the league, Angels in town and you lose in three different annoying ways. Ethier and Kemp in their promotional bid to make the All-Star team have decided to stop playing, which is nice. Kemp hasn't hit the ball since Mother's Day and Ethier has been hitting like he has two broken pinkies, one broken thumb and glaucoma.
Once again, nice fucking life.
I'm trying not to worry or feel done so wrong by all this, it's only June and we're still only a game out of first. But they pissed and shit all over their longest home stand of the year. And here they go stumbling into Cincinnati and Boston, then Anaheim. And the Giants get Baltimore at home. Giants fans are almost as excited about this as they are about free WI-FI at their rustic yuppie mall ballpark. This will be a hard week. I'll resist the urge to take a hundred hits of LSD and fly into the sun. At least Padilla's coming back. He's been incredible. Wait, actually he sucked, got hurt and gave up a bunch of runs in the minors the other day. The bullpen has become reliable, minus George Sherill, but reliable in the way my Uncle is reliable. He'd do anything for you but he's a fuck up. So he does well for a little while and then shits on everyone's life one day, when it counts. Uncle Bullpen, I'll still send you money when I can.
Cue the heroics, motherfuckers.