As guest blogger for 790 the Ticket this week, I got the chance to post about two different topics on their forum. The first can be found here. (Or here.) This one went up yesterday. And yes, apparently I do suck at formatting paragraphs. Why do you ask? Whatever. Enjoy.
Palmeiro, Tejada, Giambi, McGwire, Sosa, Bonds and now A-Rod? I am livid.
Of course, I’m not upset with those players. Nor do I have any beef with Bud Selig and the Players Union for turning a blind eye. I’ve lost no love for the media for forcing this story down my throat like I were a freshman sorority sister at a Duke frat house.
No, I think we all know who the real turd in this roided-up punch bowl is: Jose Vizcaino.
Jose Vizcaino and every crappy middle infielder from the early 90’s, who couldn’t reach the warning track if they moved home plate 30 feet past second base.
As a paying customer, I only want three things at a baseball game: beer, a corndog and to be entertained by 600-ft home runs. The food and beverage, I can handle myself. All I ask of the players is to smack the crap outta the ball and give me something to cheer about when I’m sufficiently intoxicated in the 6th inning. Ok, fine, 3rd inning.
Now, as an athlete, if you don’t have the talent and/or strength to properly entertain me in my drunken state, I wholeheartedly encourage you to find a needle and a close friend who doesn’t mind seeing your bare ass. I’m paying $30 a ticket for this, so really, its the least you could do to even things up a bit. If you choose not to, I can only assume that you don’t care about the fans.
Listen, I know the media likes to treat this like it’s some danger to society, but it’s not. What’s dangerous is allowing players to take the field while not juiced. Does Major League Baseball realize how much drunk fans hate pop-ups and bloop singles?
We want our ballplayers roided up. We want our first and third basemen to be able to climb the Empire State Building and swat away tiny planes, like King Kong.
In ’98, Mark McGwire brought this sport back from the dead. And it wasn’t because he was a nice guy. It’s because everyone in America was waiting for one of those massive pimples on his neck to explode and drown the catcher in androstenedoine. That shit is entertainment.
What, you think fans actually believe Albert Pujols is clean? No, we believe he’s big enough to crush a house with his index finger. We believe he scares the crap out of opposing pitchers because there’s a good chance a line drive might kill them. We understand why he’s doing completely unnatural things to his body. What we don’t understand is why Khalil Greene isn’t.
This game is about the fans, and these players realize that. They give up every fiber of every HGH-infused muscle, and in return, we go to the games, buy their jerseys and pay their salaries. It’s really that simple. You scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours till the puss from your backne runs through our fingers like water.
So, to players like Vizcaino and Greene, I say man up and drop your pants. Because, unlike Tony Dungy, I’ll respect you more the sooner you take one in the ass.
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