Dispatches from the Home (Opener) Front
I LOVE YOU. I LOVE THEO. I LOVE THE COLLECTIVE FRONT OFFICE BEING. BUT MOST OF ALL, I LOVE YOU .
P.S. Yaay homers! Yaay for saying Baise-Toi to the stupid Blue Jays shift at least once. ( It's something rude. In French. Because they're Canadian, you see.)
NO MORE HEAD FIRST SLIDING EVER. It annoys me no end, how cunning you are, that you work so hard to make me like you, and I submit, and than stupid shit like this finger fracture happens. ( I feel for you too, because jamming your index finger hurts like a bitch. I did in volleyball in sixth grade, so I should know, obviously. Although it only prevented me from playing the violin.)
I can't bear to blame you. So I will blame the base. And possibly, and collectively, the city of Baltimore. STUPID BALTIMORE WHERE IT IS 6:42.
Dear Mark ,
You know that you pretty much have the second base job locked up, don't you? I know we're pretty tough on second basemen, but I think you're sticking around for a while. We understand that people go 0-4 occasionally, we won't sneak in the middle of the night and put your stuff in the parking lot if you have an off game. Not that I am not incredibly turned on by all the big sexy defense you and Gonzo are playing, and would object if it continued. But dude. That "jump 10 feet in the air and deflect the ball with your body for the double play" play looked tiring. Pace yourself.
Dear Keith and Wily,
le sigh. That was not fun.
You are one bad-ass, ass-kicking, dead sexy mothafuckah.
Okay, yeah, you too.
Dear Red Sox,
Well played, boys. Hell yeah.