Another day, another billion dollars, another night, another meltdown, it would be so much easier to spit venom solely about the goddamn disaster that's Jonathan Broxton right now but with so much more going on, something of such importance drowns in the cesspool that is the 2011 season. The good news, I suppose, could be Ethier's hitting streak but it has also become irrelevant in the face of all this other good news.
While it's mildly entertaining and even more mildly fulfilling to see Frank McCourt be universally exposed as a failure, it doesn't help with the sinking ship. It'd be more fulfilling if he would be beaten and robbed and the people owned the team but I know the limitations of victory in this life. It's a perpetual, metaphorical 2009 NLCS.
Our proud owner can't meet payroll, which in the scheme of the present economical climate for most people is insipid as fuck, and not being a Pittsburgh or Cleveland market, no offense to those cities, this is just sad. And all the other tragedies suspended in Dodgertown this year are just a likely, predictable result of people at the top not having their shit together. And just like any instance concerning your owners, landlords, employers, etc. chances are it's not getting better for you. The worst thing to ever happen to these bloodless motherfuckers is an embarrassment, a slap on the back and a pay day somehow. Even McCourt not being as wealthy as everyone thought only means he's a multi-millionaire not invited to the Billionaire's Club. Cry into this collective dick, Frank McCourt. Nobody cares about you and your Quaddafiesque ranting to the media. We hate you. Move aside so some other bloodless motherfucker can own us and make our quality of life just a little worse than ever.