BRONX, NY – “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…” Cliff Clavin was right, that Dickens guy really liked to keep his butt covered. But those words from A Tale of Two Cities seem to perfectly capture the current climate in sports, and society as a whole. You gotta take the good with the bad and vice versa.
Love Wins & So Do the Astros. This past weekend the Supreme Court of the United States continued its torrid hitting streak (those raking robes are the anti-Mets and Mariners) and made same-sex unions every bit as legal as any Kardashian or Cruise or circus midget superstar Mischu marriage. This momentous ruling triggered an absolute avalanche of rainbow filters across social media and America. So much so that it conjured memories of the 1970s Houston Astros uniforms. For every #LoveWins post I expected to see a photo of Joe Sambito and Enos Cabell running down a beach in their rainbow jerseys with Cesar Cedeno trailing on a unicorn. The funny thing is, I have a much easier time wrapping my mind around the no-brainer court decision than I do with the fact that Houston has a four-game lead in the AL West. Maybe this all ties into Mike Scott looking a lot like Charles Dickens enthusiast, Frasier Crane.
Cops n’ Robbers. These days its difficult to keep up with which side of the law is being more lawless. This week saw contributor Grote2DMax’s dream MTM prison escapee team of David Sweat and Richard Matt (“Sweat Matt” to Grote2DMax) brought back to justice. Due to a nasty case of lead poisoning, Matt won’t be tunneling anywhere north or south of six feet under while Sweat got “ventilated” too, and will soon be heading back to a Big House in an upstate neighborhood near you. Meanwhile the St. Louis Cardinals, Major League Baseball’s perpetual poster child for awesome franchises and fans, are a lousy bunch of computer-hacking a-holes who don’t deserve to be shot but at least need to feel a similar amount of public shaming as the New England Patriots. And let’s not get started on those scumbags, the Philadephia 76ers.
The Curse of Hojo. As my esteemed MTM colleague West Coast Craig so eloquently pointed out the other day, the Mets and Mariners couldn’t hit Jabba the Hut with a Pepsi Party Patrol slingshot armed with Eric “Butterbean” Esch. Both teams have some good young arms, but neither can hit worth a lick. And I (still) blame Howard Johnson. He was the Mets hitting coach when the wheels came flying off David Wright (among others) and he was the Mariners hitting coach until he got canned a week ago. When Robinson Cano is hitting .240 and a host of others are under .200 it’s time for Hojo to hit the bricks, permanently. Craig was right, half the Mets’ pitching staff could be hitting clean-up in NY and Seattle.
Donnie Dicko. Finally, in the “ups and downs” category, Donald Trump announces he’s running for President and NBC fires him. I mean, why do you have to pay a guy to be a jackass when you can get it for free on the nightly news?
That’s all for today. I have great expectations for tomorrow’s columnist Grinding Ax Walter Hynes.
