Hey, you know that Red Sox-Yankees rivalry, THE ONE THAT’S THE MOST FACKIN IMPAHTANT AND HISTOAHICAL IN AWL OF SPAHHHTS? PK’s bucket list wouldn’t be complete without it. Yeah, well, none of the four games from its series last week came within sniffing distance of the ratings pulled in by the Hall of Fame Game Sunday between the Titans and Bills. Yes, the first preseason game between two NFL teams of low-to-middling popularity wiped its ass with MLB’s crown jewel of overhyped steroidery.
That’s right, baseball, the part of the year where you hold the sports world hostage with your crushing dullness is thankfully coming to an end. By the time your neverending season finally starts getting interesting, the glorious glorious (it’s glorious) NFL season will already be in full swing. And none will be bothered to watch A-Rod fail again amusingly in the postseason.
But, still, c’mon, IT’S BASEBALL! It has majesty! It is pregnant with metaphor! And once it gives birth to metaphor, will nurse it with steroid bitch tits. James Earl Jones makes it sound cool! You can’t overstate its cultural import! It freed the slaves and beat the krauts overseas, then kissed your mom in Times Square on V-E Day. It’s America distilled into a situational pitching change.
Like, remember baseball cards? WE GOTTA SAVE ‘EM! Kids put them in their bike spokes, ferchrissakes! Then the little doe-eyed tykes collected them. Yes, they collected the shit out of them, in order to make themselves future thousandaires! Capitalizing on this, the card companies produced way too many of the damn things, which drove their allure down to money-grubbing collectors. Then they produced not quite as many but printed the cards on glossier paper and jacked up the price. Then they created all these “inserts” which were special, more valuable irregular cards that card companies used to justify charging $5 for a pack of 10 cards. BECAUSE THERE WAS A 1 IN 18 CHANCE YOU WOULD GET AN ANDRES GALARRAGA DIAMOND KING, WITH A SERIAL NUMBER INDICATING ITS PLACE AMONG THE ONLY 10,000 PRODUCED! HOW YOU WOULD BEAM TO ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS ON THE STREET WHEN YOU GOT YOUR MITTS ON THAT! HOW THEY LAVISH THEIR PHONE NUMBERS AND PANTIES ON YOUR FACE!
To wit: baseball blows and I’m glad we don’t even have to pretend to acknowledge it soon.