First order of business: Let's not be bangin' on Jason Varitek for only hitting his first grandslam this week, the dude has a lot to do being catcher and trying to keep that bunch of yahoos in line.
Second: Getting out collective asses kicked by the Minnesota Twins. The only thing I have to say about Friday night's game is, "No matter how much "potential" the Red Sox organization feels you have Mr. Arroyo, for $1.85 million a year, you need to be able to throw from the mound to second base and not fuck it up.
Sox versus Twins, Saturday 6, August, 2005:
Mr. Wells, as much as I love you, and the fact that you came to Boston from the Evil Empire, I have to put you on the hook for tonight's bullshit game. I don't know if you were feeling some of the effects of the voo-doo the Twins pitching staff was throwing out there. Maybe you were concerned with the fact that Tito wore out the fucking bullpen last night in a clobbering reminiscent of something out of the Fantastic Four, I don't know?It was obvious you got in somewhat of a jam as they say, tonight. I don't fault you for that, it happens from time to time. It may be even mean and spiteful to bring it up, but the fact that we needed a runner to get hit by a ball in play to close out the inning...not good my friend. However all is not lost, I still believe in you and will hold off calling you, "Fatty" like everyone else for a little while. P.S. Ease off on the twinkies.
To my friends from college, from Minnesnowta, from the land of 10,000 lakes, "eat a fucking dick." You wanna waste your precious cell phone minutes calling to razz me about my beloved Red Sox struggling a little, that's fine. Football season is around the corner and I will be more than happy to talk with you when the Vikings are gagging like an amateur porn star. To my peeps from Chicago and the surrounding suburbs, while I love the fact that you Cubby fans got NOMAH, don't get all smug when the Sox lose, cause when it comes down to it. The Red Sox had the greatest comeback in sports history last year, in Yank-me Stadium over the New York Yank-mes. Cubs fans, I feel for you for the catch heard around the world, by some jackass who just wanted a souvenir but don't rub it in, Steve Bartman would have never made it out of Fenway Park alive.
Other than the travesty that is Red Sox Nation, my weekend has been headache after headache after headache. My boss, who I have been friends with for about 15 years, who was able to get me my present job and away from the corporate hell of BankofAmerikkka, is trying to get me to drink myself to death. I don't mind going out for drinks once in a while or even once or twice a week , if one of those nights happens to fall on my weekend. The past couple of weeks have been filled with drinking 2-3-4 days a week. As someone who needs to be financially conscious of what I am spending on frivolous things like food and booze, I am also plagued by a incurable disease that is best cared for with a minimal alcohol intake. My friends fail to recognize this, and often goad me into drinking to daredevil extremes.
This is going to stop. Not cause I am afraid I have damaged my liver, kidneys or otherwise. I'd I was worried about this, I would have died from paranoia in college. It's going to stop cause I don't want to drink anymore. I'm not saying never again, I'm just saying it's not going to be a sport, pastime or hobby. Drink with dinner or on a date (if by some reason I get one) will be fine, but otherwise, I'm out. So, friend, pal, boss...I'm giving my two weeks notice to you and the bar staff at the drinketeria. I hope you'll understand.
Best Regards,
Jackass Jimmy
I hope you all are well.
Cheers,
JJ
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