Five Hundred And Yawning

I'm not sure if the guy in the photo is yawning or about to launch into the reasons why countries should boycott the Olympic games in China. Either way, I think the point I'm going for gets made.

Of all the baseball games I've ever seen, this was definitely one of them.

I don't know if last night's marathon drained me of excitement, or the back to back losses have deflated my baseball boner faster than accidentally clicking on a link to grandma porn, but tonight's 4-1 loss to the Texas Rangers feels especially blah. Seeing as though the loss evens their record, I suppose that's fitting.

Yes, facing a diet of steady fastballs, Frank Thomas seemed more behind the times than a new album by Duran Duran, but I can't find any catharsis in complaining about his lack of bat speed.

Roy Halladay, without his best shit, powered through for a complete game, but still allowed four runs for the loss.

Alex Rios and Vernon Wells didn't play terribly, but still left a combined four runners on base.

It was just that kind of game. And when it's that kind of game the only thing to do is look at those around you in the crowd and write notes that mock them very harshly.

So, without further ado, I give you some crowd surfing:

1. Ladies at the ballpark, I know you know nothing about baseball because you're a woman and you only come to try to pitch our tents, so I thought I'd throw you a bone (ha, I kill me), and let you in on a sure fire way to succeed in the one thing you came to do at a baseball game.

Completing your mission is as easy as looking good and carrying around a bag from La Senza. That's right. Carry around a bag that could be holding freshly purchased lingerie, and your fuckability levels soar through the roof. Yes, even an open roof. The beauty of this, besides your angelic face, is that you don't even have to have purchased new lingerie. Just the idea that you did is enough to send our crotches into hysterics.

Yes, I'm talking about you blonde hair, pink shirt. You even passed my good-looking blonde rule where I imagine you with dark hair and you still looked gorgeous. Congratulations.

2. Jesus Christ! Thirty-five year old frat boys, I don't know if you work in marketing or you have other issues with your age, but faux hawks were briefly cool just prior to the 2002 World Cup in Japan and South Korea. I don't know if you've checked your Timex Ironman watch lately, but it's 2008, and you look sad.

3. Jesus Christ again! Forty-seven year olds sneaking booze into the game and carrying on like you're a less relevant me, what the fuck? I don't know if you think you're the embodiment of a real life Peter Pan and when you go back to Neverland you'll turn back into a flying fictional character that's actually played by chestless girl, but you're not.

You actually live in a rented room in Leslieville and the only tits you ever get to touch belong to a coked up stripper named Icee at Jilly's, and that's only when she (and I use the term loosely) walks by your disgusting specimen of humanity and accidentally brushes against you.

Do you think maybe you took a wrong turn somewhere in your life? Looking at you made me promise myself to never order more than three beers at a ballgame the moment I turn thirty.