It has come to this.
I think that sets an appropriately melo-fucking-dramatic tone for this ill-gotten foray into the Realm of Blogdome. (Fuck me, that sounds like a country in Lord of the Rings, doesn't it? "And now, young hobbits, we come to the Realm of Blogdome." I would throw in a buck-oh-five to hear Ian McKellan say that, wouldn't you? Oh, sure, like I'm the only one on the entire goddamn Internets who likes Lord of the Rings. Go ahead and judge me, asshat.)
(And by the way, having watched the extended editions of the Lord of the Rings this weekend -- let's just lay all those Nerd Cards on the table right now -- I need to say that casting Elijah Wood as Frodo is one of the worst moves in the history of cinema. Mr. Wood is No. 2 on my list of "People Who Should Not Play Frodo," right behind that dude who played Dawson on Dawson's Creek. Read the books -- Frodo was a fucking bad-ass. He was like a tiny, medieval version of Shaft. He wasn't a whiny bitch who spent most of his time playing grab-ass with Sam. I swear to God, every time Peter Jackson couldn't think of anything for Frodo and Sam to do, he said: "Oy [in my mind, New Zealanders begin every sentence with 'oy'], maybe you boys could have a cry for a minute or so." This, apparently, shows how heavy Frodo's burden is. You know what else would accomplish that? Having Frodo toss out a: "Fuck me, there's a lot of guys trying to kill me" every once in a while. But that's probably too subtle.)
Anyway, this isn't about Lord of the Rings. It's about a kid who grew up in Wisconsin watching Paul Molitor and Robin Yount and Jim Gantner and Chris Bosio and Teddy Higuera and Dan Plesac and Greg Brock and Chuck Crim (google that one, my friends), and who, as a 12-year-old, watched the Brewers somehow go 92-70...and then promptly lose The Ignitor (y'all came up with some wretched nicknames in the '80s) to the fucking Blue Jays.
You know what? That's all you need to know. That's life as a Brewer fan, right there. Paulie hits .320, steals 31 bases, drives in 89 and scores 89, we finish four games out, and then the bastard goes and wins a World Series with the fucking Blue Jays. (I know that's the second time I said "fucking Blue Jays." I apologize to our brothers from the North. I don't say it with malice; more bemusement. Honestly -- the fucking Blue Jays?!?)
Now, on the heels of a season in which we pissed away the division (due, in large part, to the facts that our best starting pitcher's vagina is unable to withstand the rigors of a 32-start season, and that our manager suffered an epic and public meltdown at the most critical juncture of the season), the Brewers again find themselves in last place, behind even the Pirates, who used to pick up our cast-offs like we were St. Vincent DePaul. (Helloooo, Jeromy Burnitz!)
So, in lieu of breaking another remote control against the wall, I'll try this as an outlet. Come along as one man screams himself hoarse while talking to no one in particular.
Monday, May 19, 2008
It has come to this.