Not That Theres Anything Wrong With That.........

I know it’s a couple weeks late, but I just had to come out of hiding and speak on something real quick.  Do you remember a little while ago when every media outlet and practically every sports (and for that matter, non-sports) fan was calling for the head of our resident short-shop to be served upon the metaphorical platter?  It has since fizzled down some, and everyone has seemed to have moved on, albeit not unto more pressing matters by any stretch of the imagination, but moved on nonetheless. However that doesn’t mean this situation gets a pass as far as I’m concerned.  They wanted Yunel released, by any means necessary.  On a train by sundown straight out of dodge, destination unknown.  Traded for a box of light bulbs and some 2-ply.  They hated him, called him a cluster of names, and completely wrote him off as an incumbent for next season’s team, let alone give him a chance to finish this year’s sad campaign.  Now two weeks in the sports world is an eternity in human years, so if you can’t recall the exact reason as to why this was going on, I’ll refresh your memory a bit.  The reason was simple really.  James Greenhalgh.  Who’s he Brad?  Well kids, he’s the morally piss poor crybaby, re; season ticket holder/amateur photographer who kick started this whole damn fandango in the first place.   Here’s old Jimmie, at the ball game eating a hotdog and admiring its phallic dimensions, when something dawns on him.  He’s in all actuality very insignificant and meaningless.  “This can’t be” he says to himself, something needs to be done, and quick.  But instead of coming up with a plan, rolling up his sleeves and accomplishing anything useful in this world, our hero remembers that as an amateur photographer (which roughly translated means unemployed) he always has a camera in his hand and is somewhat okay at pushing the little button on the side of it.  Now Mr. Greenhalgh here is part of a growing population in our society.  A demographic that has dedicated itself to standing on a soap box and screaming and crying about absolutely nothing of importance in an attempt to attract other members of their little sewing circle together so they can all whine and be unimportant together.  It’s slight in numbers right now, but with every convention held, its density seems to increase significantly based on the level of triviality that the current session is concerned with that particular day.  Sad, depressed and close to taking a bath with a toaster JimBoy pulls his thumb out of his ass, that’s where guys like him keep their thumbs in case you  wanted to know, sucked it clean and started snapping pictures like he’s never snapped pictures before, in hopes of finding something worthless to capitalize on.  Now after the game his routine was simple, he swung by Church Street for a Mojitio or three, went home and took his cat for a walk and finally loaded his snap shots onto his computer.  Sexy woman in LuLuLemon pants; delete.  Old fat bald men dancing during the 7^thinning stretch, maybe later.  Wait, what’s this?  Skinny Dominican Baseball player rounding bases……  Jackpot!    Hold on, he’s got lettering on his eye black.  What’s that say?  Maricon?  I know that word, the guys call me it all the time.  Let me Google it.  And with a smile that hasn’t been that big since George Michael got caught in the washroom, our protagonist dug out his tiara, crawled into his pink satin sheets, and watched reality T.V. until he fell asleep, for tomorrow he will be King.   And of course, the rest is all history. 

Yunel Escobar writing “Tu Ere Maricon” (which in actuality is spelt wrong, it should have been “ERES”) is not a big fucking deal to anybody in this world.  And the guy who called it out and tried turning it into something important is even less of a big deal.  Period.  What was the insinuation here, really?    That Yunel hates gays?  How the hell did we draw that conclusion?  The direct translation from Spanish to English would be, “You Are A Faggot”, and in 34 years on this Earth I have probably said that exact same phrase approximately   9, 217 times, and not once was it directed at or referenced to for that matter, any homosexual content or person.  “You are a faggot” has no correlation with being gay, just as “I banged your mom” has no association with me having relations with your mother.  And any assumption otherwise could only be made by a man who obviously spent most of his time in ballet or figure skating instead of the change room with the rest of the boys whooping it up and doing what Y chromosomes do.  But Jimmy G, he got his 5 seconds of fame alright, because the media ran with it, and run they did.  They got a little carried away if you ask me though.  One respected analyst, who will remain nameless because I actually like him, even went as far as to call this a travesty, and said “this is the most embarrassing moment in Blue Jays history”.  Excuse me Bob McCown, but are we being serious here?  If I wrote “You’re a faggot” on my face and went and played some baseball, that wouldn’t even break into the top 100 embarrassing moments of my life, and if you don’t believe me, ask around.  That wouldn’t even garner honorable considerations in my world.  Am I supposed to assume that because I’m just a bus driver I don’t get held to the same level of respect and dignity as a baseball player?  I’m pretty sure the code of conduct I signed is almost word for word the exact same as the one Escobar signed when he joined the Jays a few years back.  Why in the hell would anyone think for a split second that a professional athlete of all things should do, say or act any different than the rest of us do on a daily basis?  In fact, an argument could be made that they should if anything, (not all players mind you but most) be held to a lesser level of maturity due to the simple fact that they are nothing more than men playing games for a living.  And even by a code of conduct or anything else directly related to such, as far as I’m concerned (and I’m only joined by just about everyone I fucking know) that he didn’t do anything wrong in the first place.  Immature, yes.  Stupid, maybe.  But malicious, hateful or spiteful, absolutely not.  And if you hate Yunel Escobar for this act, then you must hate me, and you must hate 98 percent of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis.  And although you may have trouble admitting it, you must hate yourself, because I know for a fact that you have done it too.  All the poor man’s Peter Parker over there did was prove once again that the general public is nothing more than a flock of hypocritical, unable to think for themselves moronic sheep.  How many times do I have to say this, worry about that which concerns you, nothing else.  And definitely not what some baseball player thinks is funny (and for the record I thought it was), and even more definitively not what some do gooder with nothing better going on in his world thinks is slander (which it was most certainly not). 

But anyway……………….

That’s enough for this go ‘round, I’m going back underground for a bit.  I’m currently consumed in this book I got that contains practically every philosophical and scientific essay pertaining to the Mayans and their predictions for 2012.  And it’s actually pretty amazing.  No the world isn’t going to end, as Hollywood would have you believe, but a conscious change is definitely on the horizon.  I’ll school you on all that in the not so distant future though, I promise.  Oh, and nothing for nothing but you wouldn’t believe this chick I’ve been hanging out with recently.  Let’s just say to call her perfect would do her an injustice.  It’s still early, so I won’t go into it too much right now, but between me, you and the overflowing laundry basket to my left, a change in relationship status could be imminent.  I know, I know, I said never again, but hell, even Michael Jordan had to retire eventually, right?  I’m outta here, I’ll see you all in a couple of weeks.  Until then, hang in there…………………………    You fag.