The Marlins signed Mike Cameron. Then they lost 14-2. To us. Michael Martinez hit a three-run triple. Scott Mathieson showed up for a little bit. Logan Morrison tried to pass off a trap as a catch, and then tried to climb the wall in left. He failed both times.
Poor Chuckles is a big Marlins fan. He fell asleep before the game started. He woke up later and killed himself.
The Nats haven’t been playing kitten-killing baseball lately. I doubt they’d let the First Lady of America into a facility that’s been responsible for a series of self-inflicted kitty gunshot wounds.
While the Michelle Obama waved to cameras, all the while trying to desperately communicate to us that she’d been captured and held against her will by a pack of local children, other, more important things were happening. Did you not hear that Bryce Harper bounced up a level of the Nationals farm system? He’s in Harrisburg now, and though Washington has assured us that he won’t sniff the Majors this season, the scent of arrogant douche is quickly wafting toward the noses of his future division rivals.
Of course, he apparently has been asked to shut the hell up by team management, so I can’t follow that statement with an example of said douchiness dribbling out of his mouth. Now he just says things like
"“I think it was a sinker down and away.”"
What’s the matter, Bryce? I thought you were ’embracing the role of villain.’ Now, what? You just follow the rules like some kind of rational human being who can apply his eye black with any sort of efficiency?
You know what? I’d be complaining about him no matter what happened.
Maybe I don’t know what I want anymore.
New York Mets
The woman who wrote “Meet the Mets” is dead.
The New York Times offered this lyrical analysis in the wake of Ruth Roberts’ passing from lung cancer, pointing out how poorly the song translates into modern day.
"“Certainly the upbeat, sing-songy melody of “Meet the Mets” is not complex. Neither are the words, which originally began “Meet the Mets, meet the Mets,/Step right up and greet the Mets,” and included the claim — optimistic in the Mets’ early days, when they were the worst team in baseball, and unrealistic now that they play in the cavernous Citi Field — that “the Mets are really sockin’ the ball,/Knockin’ those home runs over the wall.”"
No word on the fate of whoever wrote “Get Mets-merized.” But we can assume they at least faked their own death a short time after the song came out.
See this is a special moment because we’re actually playing the Braves. So that’s fun.
They don’t seem to lose much. Its frustrating. How are we supposed to enjoy all of this winning if we’re not stomping on the dreams of a team trying desperately to keep up, but knowing how fruitless and terrible of an idea that is? It seems impossible. I don’t want to sit here and tell you that I’m completely miserable with the Phillies sitting at the top of baseball with a 55-32 record, but. I cry a lot. In the dark.
Fortunately for us, the Braves are falling apart. They’re blaming umpires for things. Their pitchers are winning “Rookie of the Month” instead of “Pitcher of the Month.” The trade rumorsare starting to fly. They’re signing players with impronounceable names. Ha, ha, yes. These are the reeking stench lines of a gangrenous team; too scared of success to be anything closer than four games to it.
Yes, sir. Any day now. Utter collapse.