Another long mild winter of labor with brief bouts of languor and inside of each no time to think about the bullshit of baseball, the projected batting average of Mark Ellis, the brittle bones of most of L.A.'s offensive players not named Matt Kemp.
These days are dwindling now. I still find myself enveloped in a shit job, shit wage, shit time, not complaining, just laying it down on the concrete, my wares for sale, fuck you america, it's time for Dodger baseball. What is dwindling are the moments, the minutes, counting down the seconds, that speculation and anticipation will rule all. Don't worry, the ESPN baseball cunts will decide the World Series match up after the first week of play and will be wrong as always without any accountability when the time comes. But at least there will be some games on. We can laugh at the Miami Marlins uniforms and hope their owner Dickface Loria is burned at the stake for taking the taxpayers of Dade County hostage. I'll have to hear the dissonance of surly fanaticism and shithead poetry about the Red Sox all the time but what else is new? The Astros will probably suck but sweep the Dodgers at some point.
The Dodgers will suck again but at least Magic Johnson kind of owns the team now. I never thought it would be possible for me to be happy about the billion dollar acquisition by an owner,2 billion actually, high fiving Capitalism and 69ing Satan with commercial transactions for another season. But everyone loves Magic and everyone hates Frank McCourt. If only the ability to enjoy a baseball game was affordable, God Bless America would be banned from Dodger Stadium and Frank McCourt was bludgeoned to death in a parking lot, then I'd be a lot happier about this change in ownership. Oh well. Magic Johnson has been my favorite athlete since I was in the comfortable confines of the womb, getting smoked out to the sounds of Kool and the Gang. No bullshit.
So here we are once again and I haven't given up on living. Time will tell. The future is always dim and we always show up anyhow. Half drunk, that's fifty percent and god damn ready to increase that percentage. Vin Scully's voice is still the most beautiful sound and I still hate the fucking cops. 2012 motherfuckers. Play ball. Or smoke dope and then think about playing ball. Sun and smog and something worth living for until it bums you all out once again.