Tim Kurkjian and Goose Gossage Love the Film "Pleasantville"

Tim Kurkjian has a preposterous article up on espn.com bemoaning the rampant celebrating in the game today. This is the first paragraph for reals:

In the only winner-take-all regular-season game in the history of Yankee Stadium, the Yankees beat the Red Sox on the final day of the 1949 season to win the pennant and advance to the World Series. "We didn't celebrate on the field, we didn't even shake hands," said former Yankees second baseman Jerry Coleman. "We just ran into the clubhouse."

Such world class douchebags as Frank Robinson, Don Sutton, and our own Aaron Boone proceed to complain about the nightmare of fist pumps, high fives and smiling that our beloved game has become.

Thank God.

Thank God we have heroic men like Tim Kurkjian, David Dellucci and Aaron Boone to protect us from the horrors of modern baseball. These kids today, if we didn't keep a close on them, might actually smile when they get a hit or congratulate a teammate on a 1-2-3 inning. WE CANNOT LET THAT HAPPEN. If we allow fist pumps, or high fiving a fan after your fist major league home run, the game will quickly devolve into a post-apocalyptic, NBA-like world complete with hilarity, hijinks and on-field shootings. Joba Chamberlain will fire a pistol in the air in celebration of each strikeout like an old-timey bandito. Lastings Milledge will pretend to take his pants off and moon an opposing crowd. The end is nigh.

We need more old-fashioned values in baseball. We need to return to an era of calling your shots, hitting catchers in the head with bats, and prolonged campaigns to keep black players out of the major leagues. Seriously...have you seen how many darkies are playing baseball these days?

When I Perish, David Dellucci Will Judge My Sins

All-time baseball great David Dellucci has appointed himself moral arbiter and guardian of our cherished national pastime.

The Dellooch doesn't like it when mean old Joba Chamberlain pumps his fist. According to St. Peter's eventual replacement:

"It is what it is. If he wants to yell and scream after a strikeout, I guess that's what gets him going. It's May baseball. The home run was in a much bigger situation. I didn't dance and scream."

First of all, Dellucci's home run came in the 8th inning of a two-run game. Joba's strikeout came in the 8th inning of a three-run game. Wow! Huge difference.
Second, why does Papelbon never get crap for this?

Third, fuck you, Dellucci. The guy pumped his fist. You precious unwritten rules of the game are for old-timey players from the Depression. Settle down.

Fourth, do you happen to remember your teammate C.C. Sabathia's reaction last week when he struck a couple Yankees out in the sixth inning? He screamed obscenities while looking right at them. And pumped his fist. I don't remember any holier-than-thou quotes from you in the press that day.

Kevin Franchise Sounds Off

Via IT IS HIGH, IT IS FAR, IT IS...caught, poor little Kevin Youkilis can't understand why the mean old Yankees keep throwing baseballs at his head! And fast!

Then, the man with the best ugly face/ugly name combination in baseball has the nerve to wrap himself in the cloak of Paul O'Neill to excuse his general douchery:

"They play 'Yankeeography' on Paul O'Neill every day. So, what's the problem? I've been compared to Paul O'Neill. I know Paul O'Neill. We have the same agent."

Youk, I served with Paul O'Neill. I knew Paul O'Neill. Paul O'Neill was a friend of mine. Youk, you're no Paul O'Neill.

(rapturous applause)

Poor, put-upon Kevin Youkilis wants to know why he is loathed and Paul O'Neill is beloved. Seems pretty simple to me, Redbeard: Paul O'Neill is not a ginormous douchefucker. You might want to work on that.

The whole article is worth reading, to enjoy Kevie's insane victim complex, to witness how truly dumb he sounds whenever he tries to speak, and to actually hear him use the phrase, "I never pimped a home run in my life." Uhh...you might want to talk to a couple of your teammates about that last one, K-Youk.

My Application to Become President of Red Sox Nation

The douchiest franchise in all of sports is running some ridiculous contest to elect an honorary president of "Red Sox Nation." (And by the way, "Red Sox Nation" is a moronic, self-bestowed nickname. I think we should start calling ourselves "The YankHeads" or "The Yankees Traveling Circus" or "La Cosa Yankees" or "The Pinstriped Gang of Doom" or "The Four-Million Man March" or MAYBE WE SHOULD JUST CALL OURSELVES YANKEES FANS AND NOT GIVE OURSELVES A GAY-ASS, SELF-CONGRATULATORY NICKNAME. Either way.)

After much deliberation and soul-searching, I've decided to throw my hat in the ring. Forthwith, my application:

I humbly ask you, kind citizens of Red Sox Nation, to elect me, The Psycho Fan, as your president.

My qualifications are myriad and irreproachable:

1) I lived in Boston for six of the most miserable months of my life.
2) I have been to Fenway Park on several occasions.
3) I have watched numerous Red Sox games on television, and listened to more on the radio.
4) I know who all their current players are.
5) I can name all the great Red Sox who have ever played: Ted Williams when he had a head, Roger Clemens, Wade Boggs. See? That was easy.

As if you needed more reasons to give me your vote after seeing that resume, allow me to delineate how I will fulfill my duties if elected. I call this my Hundred Day Plan.

First order of business: Prettier ball girls. I know there's not much to choose from in the greater Boston area, but come on. You've gotta be able to do better than that.

Second order of business: NESN revamp. No more Remdawg. Sorry, guys, that accent is killing me. Also...again with the ugly.

Third order of business: Move Fenway Park to Brooklyn. I am pretty sure this can be done with enforced cables and helicopters. The Cyclones could use a new (old) ballpark, and frankly, the last hundred years or so of Red Sox history does little to convince me they can sustain a winning tradition long enough to deserve such a fine old stadium.

Fourth order of business: Re-name Red Sox Nation. New moniker: Douchefuckers Incorporated. As president, I will have absolute power and you will be unable to stop me.

Fifth order of business: Evict all racists from Douchefuckers Incorporated. Hey, wait...where's everybody going?

Sixth order of business: Make sure that no fans are killed by Big Dig debris collapses on the way to games. HA HA HA HA...you have all been punk'd. Everyone knows that could never be accomplished, even by a president as omnipotent as me.

Seventh order of business: Ensure that Manny is never allowed to be Manny again.

Eighth order of business: Use my position of influence and power to strong-arm Red Sox ownership to trade Curt Schilling to the Florida Marlins, where there is no media, and every word he utters will disappear into a vacuum devoid of light and sound.

Ninth order of business: Bury the rotting, rancid carcass of Douchefuckers Incorporated somewhere in The Combat Zone.

I know it sounds like a lot of work, but I am confident that together, Red Sox fans, we can accomplish anything. How do you like them apples?

I am counting on your vote. If nominated, I will run. If elected, I will serve.

Some Pictures of Jonny Papelbon Looking and Acting Like a Douche

Because I feel like it.


















And I'm not even including his ridiculous "intimidating glare," as he looks in for the signs, in which he strongly resembles a 5-year-old boy who's really mad that you took away his Teddy Ruxpin.

Or the mohawk.

To Whomever Broke Into My Apartment and Robbed Me Yesterday...

...if you are a Red Sox fan, or Carl Pavano, and you robbed me out of revenge for all the mean things I've said about you...I still don't apologize.

Shut the Fuck Up: Orlando Cabrera

Well, well, well, what do we have here? Little Orlando Cabrera doesn't like Yankees fans.

Let the idiot speak:

"They don't appreciate good baseball," Cabrera said. "They just appreciate the Yankees beating up on everybody."

Fuck! I am always apologizing for all New York sports fans on here, and it looks like I have to do it again. I am so sorry, O-Dog, or whatever the fuck your nickname is, that we can't live up to the shining standards of the fans in Anaheim, who need a monkey to tell them when to cheer. Or fans in your former city of Boston, who never ever ever boo the home team.

Cabrera is clearly offended that Yankees fans would dare boo the home nine under any circumstances. In related news, Orlando Cabrera was originally signed to the big leagues by the Expos from his previous team, The Care Bears, members of the Happy Fun Sunshine and Tickling League.

"In Boston, they admire baseball," Cabrera said. "In Anaheim, those fans are some of the best in baseball. They know you care there. They know you can't do it every day. I appreciate that. These people here, they're mean. And they're really mean to the other team."

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! They admire baseball in Boston! Really?! Does Cabrera remember Games 3-5 of the 1999 ALCS, when opposing players' families feared for their lives and debris rained down on the field, while in the national spotlight no less? Oh no, that's right, he was still part of the Care Bears' famed Cabrera-to-Tenderheart-Bear-to-Wish-Bear double-play combination.

And they know baseball so well in Anaheim that they can only impact games with the help of two sticks that they bash together like mentally handicapped children.

As for the meanness, you're Goddamn right we're mean. Can't wait for your next visit to the Stadium, fucko. Now you've shown us your weakness.

Seems Like I'm Caught Up In Your Trap Again...

You have got to be kidding me.

The Yankees use chains, ushers and security guards to restrict fan movement during "God Bless America" in the seventh-inning stretch.

The Yankees, and baseball in general, have always head a patriotic/Republican bent that I find disturbing, but this is going too far. If I really had to go to the bathroom, and was told I couldn't by some douche in a uniform, something bad would happen.