Monday, November 27, 2006
Making Verisimilitudinous Proclamations
It was a foggy Wednesday morning as I dragged myself from my sublime sleep to prop myself up in front of the computer; two-week-old coffee remnants were molding in my coffee pot, and as I blinked myself awake, I double-taked the sports news...
Surprise begat hilarity, which continued unabated until I could catch my breath long enough to assure my girlfriend that my mind had not just then snapped. Derek Motherfucking Jeter, long considered a lock for the MVP award in the American League, lost out to the bomb-bashing Minnesota Twins' first-baseman, Justin Morneau.
These are the cases in which I absolutely LOVE making a bad assumption.
Don’t get me wrong; I could give a shit who wins these ridiculous popularity-contests, and I was no more happy on Wednesday than I was on Tuesday that Morneau, similar to me, is Canadian, and became just the second one of our little 35-million-tribe to win the award. I was, however, ECSTATIC with the mental image of Jeter sitting at home with Jessica Biel, balling his hands up in fury and cursing at the baseball gods for forsaking him, in his mind, once again.
It’s like the Oscars: I don’t care from year-to-year who wins the Best Leading Actor trophy, but I was happy for Phillip Seymour Hoffman when he won it whenever it was that he did so. Good for Morneau, despite the anti-Justin tripe that’s been seeping out of various Sports News Network’s online homes. Good for Derek Motherfucking Jeter, who can, I guess, go back to spit-polishing his World Series MVP, those pathetic Glove awards, and one of the hottest women in the world.
Poor Jeter.
Pardon me; poor Motherfucking Jeter. ¶ 10:44 AM
Surprise begat hilarity, which continued unabated until I could catch my breath long enough to assure my girlfriend that my mind had not just then snapped. Derek Motherfucking Jeter, long considered a lock for the MVP award in the American League, lost out to the bomb-bashing Minnesota Twins' first-baseman, Justin Morneau.
These are the cases in which I absolutely LOVE making a bad assumption.
Don’t get me wrong; I could give a shit who wins these ridiculous popularity-contests, and I was no more happy on Wednesday than I was on Tuesday that Morneau, similar to me, is Canadian, and became just the second one of our little 35-million-tribe to win the award. I was, however, ECSTATIC with the mental image of Jeter sitting at home with Jessica Biel, balling his hands up in fury and cursing at the baseball gods for forsaking him, in his mind, once again.
It’s like the Oscars: I don’t care from year-to-year who wins the Best Leading Actor trophy, but I was happy for Phillip Seymour Hoffman when he won it whenever it was that he did so. Good for Morneau, despite the anti-Justin tripe that’s been seeping out of various Sports News Network’s online homes. Good for Derek Motherfucking Jeter, who can, I guess, go back to spit-polishing his World Series MVP, those pathetic Glove awards, and one of the hottest women in the world.
Poor Jeter.
Pardon me; poor Motherfucking Jeter. ¶ 10:44 AM
