We watch the game, and it's a good one. This Delgado cat seems pretty good; he's batting .378 since he's been called up. All of a sudden, I get a flashback to the Harvest Crusade, when I watched big, tough Christians scream at sweet little usher girls for unwittingly giving away their seats. They needed to come to Jesus something fierce. Barry Wesson (who?) homers, and the fireworks go off.
Now, maybe it's just me, but doesn't giving fireworks to one side and not the other seem like bad cricket? All this unseemly partisanship all the time! It's like the Republicans in Florida! When I shot pool for Finian's Rainbow on St. Mark's Place in New York City, we esteemed our rival establishments by how gallantly they treated us to chicken wings when we were in their house. Anaheim Angels Arenaat Edison Fieldalready has all the fans; can't we at least be magnanimous and give them a tennis clap? Cheerio! Well done, you there! What ho!
Durrington (who?) comes up to bat to club-kid techno; how lucky for him that those ecstasy-brain-damage studies were mooted when it was noted the X in the "X-periments" had been switched for nasty old meth. Scott Spiezio wins the game for us with a two-run single in the fifth; whether he's yet washed his hair is anyone's guess. In the ninth inning, I discover I don't really care for funnel cake; don't you think it looks like squid? I also note that there's no scarifying military-testosterone flyover today, though there is a helicopter, no doubt photographing our faces for Herr Ashcroft's files. A Polish guy wins an SUV; they gyp the three semifinalists out of $1 million each by telling them to hit a four-inch target from more than 60 feet. We are outraged, I tell you! Outraged! They play The Kinks' "Apeman" as we leave, and music soothes the savage breast. Get it? Cause an ape's a monkey!
They're saying now that orangutans could be extinct in 20 years.
The season's over. We dutifully buy stuff. Now we're back where we used to be, before we went to Bizarro Universeand the Angels won the World Series—and isn't there a movie about that, I'm thinkin'? Didn't my kid make me watch it, kicking and screaming? Yeah, there is! There's some poor little waif whose rotten dad leaves, and the waif snivels, "Are you ever coming back [snivel]?" and the rotten dad sneers, "Yeah, right, ass. I'll be back when the Angels win the World Series!Because I hate you!"
That dad was a jerk. It was really sad.
You know what else was sad? How Rafael Palmeiro must have felt when the Rangers lost! Ha, ha, Rangers! Wooooooo! Losers! Ha! Yeah!