Glengarry Glen Fenway

Thanks to a number of external factors that are utterly outside of our sphere of influence, we are feeling poorly today. In fact, if we had to draw a rough sketch of our malaise, we’d say that we feel like we’re having someone else’s period right now. The chunky kind. Either we’re going to run out and spend $3,000 on shoes [Oh, like that would happen.--ed.] or we’re going to buzz over to the receptionist’s desk and gossip about that BITCH WENDY IN ACCOUNTING WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS THAT FUCKING DIRTY HO-BAG SKANK. Or maybe we’ll start crying for no good goddamn reason.

At any rate, our sad and tired little parody is just our feeble way of saying Boston sucks. Now take off the hat, fold the Big Papi T-shirt away in a drawer and remain silent until the Spring thaw. Or the Super Bowl. Or whatever it is you fuckers boast about when you’re not hanging out at Reveahuh Beach with Sully and Fitzy.

Sakebomb: Let me have your attention for a moment! So you’re talking about what? You’re talking about…bitching about that ALDS series you shot, some son of a bitch that doesn’t want to Cowboy Up, some broad you’re trying to screw and so forth. Let’s talk about something important.

Keith Foulke gets up to grab a cup of coffee.

Put that coffee down! Coffee’s for closers only. Do you think I’m fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. I’m here from Yawkey Way. I’m here from Henry and Werner. And I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Foulke?

Foulke: Yeah.

Sakebomb: You call yourself a closer, you son of a bitch?

Foulke: I don’t have to listen to this shit.

Sakebomb: You certainly don’t pal. ‘Cause the good news is you’re traded. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. ‘Cause we’re adding a little something to this year’s World Series race. As you all know, first prize is a ring and bragging rights for an entire year. Plus, you get to fuck really, really hot college girls. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize’s a guest stint on Queer Eye. Third prize is you’re traded. You get the picture? You’re laughing now? You got a solid five-man rotation. You’ve got Ortiz and Manny. Henry and Werner paid good money. You can’t close the games you’re given, you can’t close shit, you ARE shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it ‘cause you are going out!

Foulke: The starting pitchers are weak.

Sakebomb: The starting pitchers are weak? Fucking starters are weak? You’re weak.

Foulke: What’s your name?

Sakebomb: Fuck You, that’s my name! And you can’t play in a man’s game. You can’t close them. And you go home and tell your wife your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life! Get them to swing at the ball that is seamed! You hear me, you fucking faggots?

Millar: You’re such a hero, why you coming down here and waste your time on a bunch of bums? Also, I think someone forgot to Cowboy Up.

Sakebomb: To answer your question, pal: why am I here? I came here because Henry and Werner asked me to, they asked me for a favor. I said, the real favor, follow my advice and trade your fucking ass because a loser is a loser.

OK, you get the point. More later. Maybe.