Son of Bitch. This is Suck.
So Mike Mussina turned the Yankee’s postseason carriage into a rotting heap of coyote vaginas, as is his wont, while A-Rod’s bat up and died like Spock at the end of Wrath of Khan
. Matters were made worse when a sprinting Gary Sheffield, apparently on his way to the Cotton Club to go see Duke Ellington––seriously; dude looks like he should be wearing a zoot suit and a floppy pimp hat with that fucking 1930s Ralph Ellison mustache he’s got going on––smashed into a rhubarb from Texas named Bubba and ruined our lives forever. Fuck it. That’s why the Good Lord invented ham radio. Or something.
But in saying peace out to the 2005 campaign, it’s time to look forward into the swirling mists of The Future. Herewith, a few brief notes about what lies in store for some of your favorite Bronx Bombers:
1) Bernie Williams.
Gads, it’ll be weird not to see Bernie gimping around in centerfield, kind of like renting Superman III
and discovering that Richard Pryor has been CGI’d out of the picture and replaced by Gary Sandy. (We said kind of.) But good news for those of us who love Bernie but hate watching him throw to the cut-off man with his raggedy girl arm: Seems like the Bronx’s answer to Ruben Blades is hard at work on a follow-up to his 2003 CD, The Journey Within
, cutting a track-by-track cover record of Big Black’s Songs About Fucking
. (Bernie’s version will be titled Canciones Sobre Coger
and the CD insert will, for reasons that remain shrouded in mystery, feature a picture of Pat Metheny eating popcorn with his rectum.)
2) Hideki Matsui.
We sent an email to Hideki’s official fan club, Hi Hi Happy Fun Hideki Godzilla Bukkake Hi Hi, asking what the Yankee leftfielder had on the back burner for the off-season. The response, from the man himself:
3) Kevin Brown.
The oft-injured hurler will spend much of the coming winter yelling at neighborhood kids to stay the fuck off his goddamn lawn.
4) George Steinbrenner.
Let’s not beat around the proverbial Kate Bush here, people. Bad things are happening underneath that turtleneck right now, and if we were Joe Torre, we wouldn’t bother to return that copy of Erma Bombeck’s seminal volume If Life is a Bowl of Cherries … Then What Am I Doing In This Christ-Humping Coffin?
to the Tarrytown Public Library. The town librarian can thank A-Rod, Matsui, Sheffield, Mussina, Giambi and Bernie for the loss. At any rate, our spies tell us that King George has descended into a sort of pre-Alzheimer’s dementia praecox, and is so far gone that he has nightly colloquies with his turds, like that guy in The Corrections
. Look for him to fire Brian Cashman, Randy Levine, Torre and replace them all with whoever the fuck wrote “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
5) Jason Giambi.
Juicy Jay’s spokesmuppet didn’t get back to us in time for this post, but an edumacated guess has the first baseman CRANKING THE RAP-ROCK AND POPPIN’ WHEELIES ON MURDERCYCLES!!! Yay, Slipknot! These rad activities will be punctuated by moments of sudden, blinding rage and finally getting to that secret screen on the sit-down version of Ms. Pac-Man (wogga wogga), the one where she totally shows her tits to Inky and Clyde. Also; SLIPKNOT!!!!!
6) Jorge Posada.
Grows chin. Promotional opportunities follow.
Now that we think about it, there is something positive that we can take away from last night’s debacle in The Los Angeles Angels Stadium of Anaheim, California, 92812. At least Giuliani is all sad this morning. And maybe Billy Crystal will hang himself. See? Upside everywhere you look.