First and foremost a hearty congratulations to the squad for not sucking raw eggs Rocky style last Sunday on national television against the non-rival dickfaces. From my vantage point, Vinny Jack and Malcom were somewhat stellar in an almost professional football sort of way. There is a new mantra around here, at least one that I'm adopting and were I some sort of COACH I'd be preaching to the squad. One week at a time fellas. Let's not get all crazy with Super Bowl delusions and just handle one week at a time. Next up. Buffalo. Or Toronto? I can't remember.
Second. I'd like to take this space and your time to say to all who are touting this as a difficult game due to cross country traveling, uh, (pausing for composure) it's 2008. It's not 1848. We're not traveling by covered wagon or by train. It doesn't take 3 days to cross the country. We're not hold up in a the cargo by of a C-130 going to some remote base in some remote desert to fight some remote enemy. The squad is flying charter plane, with more than likely better than coach accomodations to Buffalo. That's a 6 hour flight. They aren't going to the moon. Let's not pretend that a first class charter flight to Buffalo is an impossible feat to overcome. It's not. And since we're at it, New England and Arizona had to play two consecutive weeks across the country and decided to stay in their respective cities during the week to practice and avoid further 'most difficult' cross country travel. The Pats went to Gay Town North, won, then held up in San Jose during the week for practice, made the trek down to America's Finest Bankrupt City and lost. Then went home tail between nutsack and taint. Arizona went to Favretown, lost, stayed there, practiced, and lost again. In conclusion, keeping players from their homes, families, familiar surroundings and practice facilities to avoid cross country luxury travel is rather unsuccessful as well. Let's not reinvent the wheel here fellas. There is no built in excuse. If the Bolts go to Buffalo and lose, it's not because they had to get on an airplane okay? Good, glad we got that settled hamburger tits.
Third, (please pardon the baseball interlude) I'd like to send a thank you card via snail mail USPS to Gabe Gross of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays of Sunshine or whatever the hell the Selig Enterprise is calling them now. It reads like this:
You are a professional right fielder for a professional baseball team playing for a chance to go to the world series against the Boston Red Sox. When a baseball is hit to you in the 8th inning, and you play it like a professional, picking it up on one hop after setting yourself to make a professional throw 150 feet to home plate in order to cut down the tying run in a playoff series clinching game, please don't pucker up your asshole and spike the ball to the first baseman who is standing 50 feet from you. He is not there to cut off the baseball. I'm instrucing you with knowledge garnered from the Tom Emansky school of baseball to throw the ball like a professional baseball player should, all the 150 feet to home and cut off that rather significant tying run. Hit the trashcan my friend. I emplore you. Fuck dude. I play right field. I can make that throw. I'm not even a professional. Shit, my niece could make that throw. She's fucking 8 and a half. Gabe, for the love of ice cream dude, make the fucking throw.
Baseball distraction over. Bolts, this message is for you. Go across the country. Kick the piss out of the Buffaronto Bills and kill their college concussed quarterback and come home victors. Thank you.
And Cheerleaders, flexible ones...