Dear God,I realize the necessity of dichotomies. Without evil, we have nothing by which to measure Your infinite goodness; without abject ugliness, we have no lens by which to view Your unimaginable beauty. However, God, there is no way for me to comprehend, rationalize, or philosophically legitimize the existence of this abomination of mankind. Because of this, I remain an agnostic, teetering on atheism. Because of this, I have been inexplicably spewing watermelon for the past two weeks.
Why, God? Why Pink Hats? If you exist, give me a sign. Make a Pink Hat wearing this exact atrocity spontaneously-combust in the right field bleachers tomorrow night.
Please. God. Why?
Yours truly,
Nate Graziano
2 comments:
You seem to be the only Red Sox fan I talk to (and by talk to, I mean, read blog) who seems as sick of the over commercializing of the Sox as me (an admited non-fan of "the nation"). Whenever I talk to friends who are, I think by your definition "pink hatters", they seem to think I'm just angry that my Mariners aren't the most popular team in the country and have an equally annoying vast fan base. I mean, doesn't that essentially make them Yankees fans? Growing up in New England though, I know this was not always the case. There was a time when being a Sox fan wasn't a defualt choice for douche bags who don't know what OBP stands for. It makes me dread the thought of what would happen if the Cubs ever won the World Series. ESPN would probably become dead to me.
You guys got pink hats, but at least you're main storyline for the 2009 season isn't based around a 39-year-old has been who's hitting .217 and no one can understand why you aren't estatic he came back to his "hometown." Probably has something to do with that magical .217 batting avg.
I hate baseball.
-Brian
Yeah, Brian, I can't stand the Pink Hatters. I can't remember where I first heard or read this, but there's an inveritable test to identify a "real" Sox fan versus a Pink Hatter (sometimes there's a certain level of Pink Hat-denial, you know, the "I went to a game in 2003 BEFORE they won" excuse). Very simple: Ask the person in question to name the starting line-up for the Yankees. If they can't, they're Pink Hatters. If they still don't believe you, redirect them to this blog.
Watching Griffey Jr. this year is almost like staring at an old lady with tremendous tits: It's not doing much for you, but just enough so you'll keep looking. But in the end, you leave with a limp dick.
And, yes, I completely lost control of that analogy.
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