OK people, let’s cut right to the chase.
The 2008 World Series features two of the most loathsome teams in the history of mankind. On one side there’s the Tampa Bay Rays, a make-believe team from a fabricated location with a lineup of cocky fratboy douchebags whose off-season activities consist mainly of date rape and Creatine.
Opposing them is the Philadelphia Phillies, the sole source of pride for a city full of degenerates who steal Salvation Army buckets and throw batteries at kids with Down’s Syndrome. Honestly, most Phillies fans would sooner eat poop out of a public toilet than perform any activity remotely resembling basic human decency.
While we’re at it, the aforementioned public toilet poop would undoubtedly taste better than a cheese steak from Pat’s or Geno’s. YEAH I SAID IT. THAT SHIT IS OVERRATED, FUCKWADS. GET OVER IT.
You said it, anteater.
And yet here we are. The World Series starts tomorrow night and one of these asshole teams is going to win.
I know what you’re saying. You’re saying that the Rays-Phillies series is good for baseball. For one thing, the ALCS energized the people of Tampa Bay and possibly salvaged an entire franchise. And the Phillies are the best hope for a long-suffering fanbase that has waited 25 years for a championship in any sport.
Here is my response: Fuck you.
Furthermore, I have devised the following foolproof plan for coping with this swirling liquid shit pile of a series.
Step 1 — I will boo every play.
OK, maybe not every play. Routine grounders in blowouts shall not draw my invective, but I promise you that every hit, every run scored, every RBI, every slick double play, and every homerun will be met by a barrage of baleful profanity from yours truly.
I don’t who does it or what was done, I hate it and it angers me.
Step 2 — I will bury my copy of “The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin” in the back yard for the duration of the series.
This one is specific to Philadelphia, a city so devoid of homegrown successes that it persists in claiming Benjamin Franklin as a favored son. He was from Boston, bitches. That’s why he was so much smarter than you.
Step 3 — I will officially proclaim some baby names off-limits.
The real and spectacular Mrs. Pax Arcana has not yet been blessed with a Viking in the oven, but like all couples our age we’ve had a few discussions about baby names. And like those other couples, we realize the hardest thing is to narrow down the ones we like. But now I have a better solution.
For example, she likes “Chase.” I have a friend named Chase, with whom I have had many iPhonesaber battles, so I was open to it until now. However, the presence of child molester Chase Utley in the World Series (note: not really a child molester… as far as we know) means the name is officially off-limits.
So are Ryan, Jimmy, Shane, Trever, Grant, Pedro, Dioner, Jayson, Rocco, The Corkscrew Plancha, and So.
The only possible exemption from this list is Bossman Junior, but not B.J. Only an idiot abbreviates an awesome name like Bossman Junior.
Step 4 — I will spend more time on the Internet.
This one is just more of a prediction than anything.
The Internet: Reminding you that there is more to life than baseball since 1994.
Step 5 — I will reassemble the letters of each team name into funny anagrams.
Tampa Bay Rays = Trampy sayaba
Philadelphia Phillies = Hip, hip ladies hell pail
Step 6 — I will set my Facebook status to “Pax is ignoring the World Series this year” AND WILL LEAVE IT AT THAT UNTIL AFTER IT IS OVER.
I think this one speaks for itself.
ADDED SPECIAL BONUS IMAGE OF NO ONE IN PARTICULAR: