Myers the man, Hernandez a suspect, and canoodling with noodling.
by Bill FreitasAfter a rather disappointing throw-beer-cans-at-flat-screen 2-2 series split with the Yankees over the weekend in the Big Apple (Saturday’s bullpen meltdown sent my eyes rolling so far up my skull, I had to go to the ER), our Tampa Bay Rays barely had enough time to Febreze their jockstraps before facing the Blue Jays at home Monday night. The Jays, who had been enjoying an 11-game winning streak after sweeping the Rangers, Rockies and Orioles, looked to make it an even dozen. But it didn’t take long before those silly Canucks realized their toques were aboot to be blown off. Second inning, James Loney (crack!) homer, Wil Myers (crack!) homer, Sam Fuld (crack!) homer. Fast forward, the bullpen didn’t shit the bed and the Rays won 4-1. The streak is over, Jays. Put some pants on, for God’s sake.
At the time of the back-to-back-to-back blasts, Wil Myers happened to be at the plate for the first time in his home debut as a Ray. Not a bad way to start. After knocking out a grand slam at Yankee Stadium two days earlier, this kid just might make enough money for an additional “L” in his first name. Good luck, Wil. You can borrow mine anytime for a reasonable fee. Or we could just hang out … you know … if you need a wing man, whatever. I hear those ladies can get pretty aggressive. It would be my pleasure. What, too needy?
COPS … you can pretty much find that glorious show just about anytime on the weekend somewhere. Perfect guilty pleasure when there’s nothing else on, plus it’s the perfect 2x4 of perspective right upside the head if you think you have problems. So far I’ve learned that what primarily separates us from carnival trash is that we wear shirts.
Anyhoo, during the all too familiar theme song in the beginning, a booming badass of a voiceover reminds us that all suspects are innocent until proven guilty “in a court of law.” Well, it’s a good thing I don’t live in Aaron Hernandez’s area code for possible jury duty because that worthless knuckle-dragging bag of shit is guilty of something. All I know, or care to know, is a jogger found an acquaintance of the New England tight end with a bullet in his head, and sometime during the investigation Hernandez destroyed his cell phone and video surveillance system and had his home cleaned up so nice you could perform brain surgery on his toilet. Oh yeah … also? Another dude is suing this walking condom ad for shooting him in the face last week. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all of this.And here it is: He belongs in a federal prison with open-air shitters and free shower hugs. And yes, I’m aware of who he played for in college. As far as I’m concerned, he is permanently excommunicated from Gator Nation. You are not one of us.
Of course, if Andy Griffith swoops in and saves the day by discovering an evil twin, I’ll withdraw all assumptions, give him a signed apology and French kiss every tattoo on his body. For those not in the know, he’s more ink than man.
Yo, Tebow. There’s a tight end position opening up soon … just sayin’.
Honorable Afterthoughts: LeBron and the Heat won the NBA blah blah blah. But the real story is some guy tried to rob people in line waiting to buy $180 LeBron James sneakers somewhere in Atlanta where one shopper, who apparently ain’t got no time for that, shot that punk dead! “I salute the homie who did that,” said one LeBron/2nd Amendment fan in line (This one time? I got a dickens of a blister on my pinkie-toe wearing Asics. Gangsta!); meanwhile in Cleveland, WEWS chief meteorologist Mark Johnson successfully and deliberately delivered an entire weather forecast without using the word “Heat” (Thank God they’re not called the Miami Murder, eh Mark?); finally, Lucy Millsap became the first woman to win top honors at the Noodling Festival in Oklahoma, which is a sport where flathead catfish are caught by hand. I find that story absolutely fascinating. The fact that Millsap is a scorching hot 19-year-old former cheerleader has absolutely nothing to do with it. How dare you assume such a thing.