Let's Play 163: F those Effin' F-Bag Padres, with special attention to Steve Garvey and Scott Hairston

I wrote most of this while I thought the Padres would win. And I spent enough time on it that, well, fuck all y'all. I'm posting it. How crazy was that? Holliday definitely didn't touch the plate. Why did the ump wait so long? Jim Garrison, indeed. This game had enough intrigue for a Bond film (not one of the new ones--one with Connery or maybe George Laznbee).

Fuck it all. They won and they can't take that back. Go Rockies.

The Padres should not be commended. Nope. The Padres should be held up for ridicule., The Padres should be cursed at traffic stops, pelted with peanut shells and made to wear the goat's horns eternally. The Padres should be disbanded, sued, tarred, feathered, washed, re-tarred and re-feathered. And then they should be forced to play in Los Angeles.

I'm sick of this team. Frankly, I'm sick of the city. I'm sick of Trevor Hoffman, who never delivered me a fantasy championship and saved a zillion games with a nine-year-old's fastball. I don't like their sandy beaches or their bikini-clad denizens. I don't like their perfect weather, their zoo or Sea World. Go fuck yourself, Shamu.

Trevor Hoffman. He'll probably be a first-ballot HoFer and Goose Gossage still won't make it. A pox on the team, a curse upon the city.

And the Chargers will lose in humiliating fashion to the Broncos. It's only fair.


And here is the rest of it.