EDISON, NJ – This whole MLB lockout thing is affecting everybody. It’s particularly difficult on those of us that set our Dick Tracy watches to the sports schedule, including Spring Training. We know that’s it February because that’s when pitchers and catchers report to Grapefruit and Cactus Leagues, respectively. Without them, we’re lost. Off-kilter. Misfiring. We drop the ball. Blow assignments – like poor Grinding Ax Walt, who is apoplectically faffing somewhere. He’s likely bumping into walls, taking one step forward, two steps back – kind of like Mark Sanchez during the butt fumble. The Ax Man didn’t commeth today, likely because he thinks it’s Saturday, and consequently isn’t here entertaining you with his take on all things sports. And it’s all because of these mother flucking owners and players, messing up our calendars and lives, only because they can’t agree on how to divvy up fringe amounts on the generational wealth they already have. Just despicable, if you ask me.
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
What really has my proboscis out of joint over this Major League fan-f*cking is that I’m epically hungover in an Austin hotel, freezing my baseballs off (the room doesn’t have heat & it’s 35 flicking degrees out!), and have to take the ball today with a foggy noggin. And I’m missing the free breakfast to do so! I feel like Daniel Jones vs the Cowboys, when he was staggering around like a drunken sailor after getting his bell rung… So here we are, all of us victims – collateral damage – because two sides of a$$holes can’t agree on the sharing kings’ ransoms.
UPDATE
THIS JUST IN: Things got WORSE in the flucking negotiations in the last 20 hours… and I quote: “Saturday’s acrimonious session left the players considering walking away from negotiations entirely.” –The Washington Post. Unf*cking real. You can’t make this sh1t up.
Anyway… Can you drink the tap water in Austin?
Leave your comments below and come backs tomorrow for Mark Sanchez fan, Junoir Blaber, who thinks the any butt fumble joke is just a dirty crack.
