Raggin’ On Shitske, Always In Style

I admit that I hate Eric Hinske with more passion than I could ever love a woman. And my hatred isn’t just spawned by his horrible at-bats with runners in scoring positions while he was with the Blue Jays.

Remember this:

Men on first and second. One out. The Jays are down a run. Eric Hinske swings at a sinker away. Ground ball to the second baseman. Double play. Inning over.

That scenario is almost as familiar as:

Bases loaded. Two out. The Jays are down a run. Eric Hinske swings and misses at a fastball high and away. Strikeout. Inning over.

Then of course, there’s vintage Hinske:

Ground ball to third. Eric Hinske fields it cleanly. Lots of time to get the runner out. He tosses it over to first. Ten feet over the first baseman’s head.

I also hate Hinske because he just looks like a total douche. Now, I know that term is overused, but seriously he is the epitome of douche.

It’s all in the way he shakes his head or slams his bat after striking out. It’s as if to say that it wasn’t his mediocre talent that led to the fuck up, but rather fate conspiring against ol’ Shitske once again.

A recent article in the Nashua Telegraph (which I read twice daily, of course) reminded me of a great story involving some Drunk Jays Fans.

Two seasons ago, the Jays played a mean-nothing game against the Milwaukee Brewers at the SkyDome. Hinske was in the middle of a 0 for 500 streak at the time, but got the start presumably because he’s from Wisconsin and likely had a retard bus full of family come up to watch him play.

All night long, my friends were ragging on him. Every at-bat would inspire the “Shitske . . . Shitske . . . You Suck!” chant (a classic). During breaks in play, outbursts of the quick-to-the-point “Shitske, you suck!” could be heard throughout the stadium via the abnormal decibel-reaching shriek of Beau Gaudreau.

As the dull game wore on, more and more fans left the stadium to avoid not only the traffic, but also their children’s loss of innocence from a Gaudreau or Stoeten obscenity.

Around the seventh inning, a field commentator from Fox Sports, with a camera crew in tow, walked down the steps to the same section in which my friends were seated. The commentator looked around and then began to make his ascent back up the steps.

“Where you goin’?” slurred Gaudreau. “You should interview this guy,” he said, pointing at the equally shit-faced Andrew Stoeten.

“Ha-ha,” replied the oh-so-perfectly manicured reporter. “Actually, we’re looking for Eric Hinske’s parents. They were seated right here,” pointing two rows in front of my drunken friends. “But I guess they’ve left already. Too bad.”