what if I told you . . .

this blog was made by PIZZA HUT?!

<pottymouth - earmuffs! blindfolds!>
I ate a lot of bacon tonight in an attempt to soothe myself after a particularly troubling and maddening Indians loss. Why bacon? Because bacon is delicious. I was not about to eat tomatoes, which would have only infuriated me further. Seriously, the only thing that would have made me feel better would have been if Jensen Lewis were here cooking me the bacon whilst I berated him (or perhaps boxed him about the ears?) for being such a shitty pitcher and all-around asshole. Ok, ok. He had a bad day and it wasn't (entirely) his fault and he seems like a nice guy, and really it's the "trends" of the season that are upsetting me. It's kind of like when you can tell a relationship is going badly and you don't necessarily want to get the boot. You know it won't happen right away. So you try to hold on till August (when anything can happen!), but kid, it ain't happening. You can't ski the K-12.

I can't prove this statistically but the Indians fucking suck have developed a habit of "finding a way to lose." That's what the coaches are always talking about, right? If it's not the starters screwing up, it's the relievers. If it's not the relievers, it's the starters. Should they both decide to pull it together the hitting and defense go AWOL.

insert big fat Charlie Brown *sigh* here.
</pottymouth - earmuffs! blindfolds!>

<computer dorkery>
Ok. I'm over it. And now is the time for backing up some partitions on my hard drives because that's how I'm rolling with my BRAND-NEW SATA II 640GB hard drive that I have to install some stuff on so I can put the PATA hard drive in the tv box machine. What is the tv box machine? It's this Frankenstein of computers that I put together so I could watch Netflix instantly at a higher quality than what s-video offered. So far so good, but I fear I might have wireless throughput issues. Watch this space for further updates!

I hope Larry reads this post or those exciting insights will totally fall on blind eyes or whatever.
</computer dorkery>

I also partially cross-posted this at Draft Day Suit. I don't post there enough because I'm lazy/figure people can only take 1 or 2 of my whiny monologues per year.

probably my last post

I am going to the Indians "nooner" today. I will be seated in a very prominent position - viewable via camera when they show the side view of left-handed batters. Oh yes, the heckling will be sweet. I actually probably won't heckle too much because being so close is kind of disarming (the other 99% of it being my sobriety).

I fully expect to be discovered by some talent agent of some kind and, unfortunately for you, respectable famous people don't do blogs. It's been fun.

an expletive-filled rant

would have filled this space were I to have written yesterday. You see, my beloved Cleveland Indians lost to the asshole-ish Boston Red Sox (hmm, I can't seem to find any links) in the ALCS on Sunday night.

Here at Marginally Clever, I know my audience. I know my audience is made of mostly western Canadian women. Western Canadian women who (if their blogs are any indication) don't have much appreciation for sports obsession.

theMonica, is much the same (though I am slowly warping her). I mean, logically, there is no reason for me to drop f-bombs all over - "You fakking idiot. You're so fracking stupid! AflacDucker!!" - seemingly randomly, but actually controlled by really, really stupid baseball players. Granted this is reserved almost exclusively for playoff games, but still, even for me it is a bit much. Such is the rage, but that subsides and when the losing comes, the depression begins.

In an attempt to explain, the best analogy I can think of is that a sports team is like a pet dog. Maybe you trained him to do cool shit (fetch beer) and when he fails that surely angers you. Ok, you probably wouldn't swear at it, but you do get mad when your dog does dumb things. So there's that.

Then your team loses and is done playing for the season. Basically, on Sunday, my dog died. So I'm sad. I'm always sad when my dog dies, but this dog was with me a lot longer than the past, say 10 dogs. So it hurts all the more. My sadness is mitigated somewhat by the fact that I know my dog will return next April from the Pet Sematary that is the new baseball season. Sure, maybe it'll turn out that the new incarnation of my dog isn't as good as my dog this year and maybe next year's dog will cut my achilles tendon when I'm searching for him under the bed and say ominous things like, "First I played with mommy. Now I want to play with yooouuuuuu." But by God he'll be my dog and damnit, I'll love him all the same. But I will not name my dog Gage.