A year ago, my friend sent me a link, with the message: “Your Phillies blog is bested only by this guy’s.”
After I recovered from the emotionally devastating tailspin of being told I wasn’t the best, I returned to my computer, closed the browser windows with depression hotline numbers in them, and actually visited the site, where I found the manic rants of one of those people that probably wasn’t the uni-bomber, but might have been a fan of his lifestyle (minus the murders).
It was called The Big Sharkey Show, and it was a collection of the most hideously poetic cynicisms and fist-pumps the internet has ever seen.
“Seeing as I am currently an unemployed sack I decided to devote my time not to the coming birth of my first child, the embetterment of the species or finding a job but to the only thing that matters in this smited world: The Philadelphia Phillies. I’m no expert or Sabermatrician virgin but I am funnier than 90% of the world’s population and you will laugh at my words. The fact that at least 20% of the world speaks Mandarin doesn’t hurt my standing, either.”
“Roy Halladay has the LARGEST dick in the history of the known universe. We are all lucky to see him use it.”
“Look at the sorry Mets. A billion games back and a billion sad sacks wear those colors. At the season’s end they’re without a manager, general manager and dignity. The next 2 men that step into those roles better bring wear condoms on every appendage.”
“Chollie better be standing at the stairs of the fucking dugout with a shotgun to make sure these 18.5-games-back-babies don’t do anything stupid.”
Once more, I find myself crushingly depressed, as Sharkey is pulling the rusty metal grate down over the twisted carnival that was his blog. He has succumb to the unfortunate realities of family and job, and is no longer willing to sacrifice time and feelings to Phillies blogging, which is understandable, but tragic. I myself have spent many a long night hunched over a keyboard, trying to cough out something that would be worth the clicks of you jackals. Which makes it all the more incredible how TBSS could be funny all of the time.
It was funny when we’d win, it was funny when we’d lose. It was even funny when he didn’t respond to my persistent requests for guest posts, which I had to put in his comment section because he did not have any contact info on his site. I’d sit at this keyboard, laughing hysterically as I typed out another futile attempt to trap his profane lightning in a perverted bottle.
Our only solace will have to be that all of the things discussed on TBSS in the past; the punching of family members, the horrific mood swings, the dangerously apparent instability–all of it will be happening somewhere out there–I think he’s based in Australia–it just won’t appear on the internet. Which is fine. TBOH is still here! Right, guys?
**Sound of a door slamming**