Saturday, October 11, 2008
And Now This Important Message for the Tampa Bay Rays

At least when he's on he is. Listen, I've heard it non-stop today on the talk shows, in the barrooms (hell yes, I hang there on Saturday afternoons; who the f@#k doesn't?), and at the casinos. The Rays are tough. They're scrappy. They can very well come back and stomp us to fine paste and our 1-0 victory in Game One of the 1986 World Series should serve as evidence: Pocketing that first win don't mean shyte. It's pocketing the first four wins that means something.

To that, I say that when Commander Kick Ass of the F@#k Yeah Brigade is on his game--and I have to figure he's spent the last 15 hours in the sensory deprivation tank, channeling his inner primate and imagining an endless parade of fastballs off Jonny Gomes' pud--he is nails. He is fire and brimstone. He is the shady guy down the street you don't borrow money from because you've seen what he does to people who owe him money--it isn't pretty, and it involves garden hoes.

When the puck drops, it's anyone's game, baby. So we're firing up the cute girls/cold beer/best damn fans in the world mojo. And hoping for a win.


And we won't stop. Cause we can't stop.
Posted by Red at 7:12 PM