With Brennen Gray as the Feature Creature.
No More Talk
Ken Griffey Jr. has some news for the stuffy oldheads who seemingly populate the majority of baseball media and front offices: let the kids play! In a new MLB-produced ad for the postseason, the legendary outfielder lists off a number of the supposedly cardinal sins of America’s national pastime, “unwritten rules” including “don’t flip your bat” and “don’t stop and stare” [at your home run].
I’ve written before how ridiculous these traditions are, as well as the dangerous retribution that is often enacted for breaking them (if you support intentionally hurling a projectile at another human being at speeds exceeding 90 miles per hour, potentially exposing them to an injury that affects their livelihood, then you are an asshole), but it’s nice to see some more influential voices than mine coming around to the idea. Ideally, that person would be a current baseball celebrity who might be more familiar to young fans of the game, instead of a ‘90s star looking thiccque almost beyond recognition, but I’m not complaining about the message. Because guess what, if you want baseball to start appealing more to youth and minorities, you have to… make it fun? What a scalding take! They could also make another ad featuring a popular hippity-hop group in order to speak to the non-good-ol’- boy fandom. I’m thinking Migos could be a fascinating choice, can we make this ha — oh they already did that? And it’s as cringy as all hell? Welp, back to the drawing board, gang.
Do you know how many people came up to me after the Patriots began the season 1-2 to tell me that the dynasty was over and that I was a fool for picking them to win the AFC? At LEAST one. It was a difficult time for me and my family, to say the least.
And look, I know we’re only five weeks in, and there is still technically a possibility that things turn to shit in New England. But after these last two convincing wins, can the haters slow their roll a little? You guys will have your time in the sun eventually, after TB12 retires to the great big sonkissing, vegan-eating commune in the sky, but don’t rush a thing before its time. This is like the fourth time this decade that the Pats have started off slow, and what do you know, things are already in the process of working out again. Screw 4d chess, Belichick is out here playing… well, you already know the joke.
Before I hand the ball over to the Feech Creech, I’d like to share with you a little diddy that’s the best drunk game you’ve never heard of: sk’douche ball, alternatively spelled skidoosh or stylized as an image of Jack Black’s character Po from “Kung Fu Panda.” It’s like tennis plus volleyball, only stupid! To play, all you need is an indeterminate number of (preferably inebriated) college students, a single tennis ball and an empty court. Line up the players on either side of the net, paying no attention to an equal number of people on each team, and proceed to play tennis using your hands instead of rackets. Here is the catch: the ball is allowed to hit the ground twice before it has to be returned, and you can volley the ball in the air between your teammates as many times as you want. It seems like an advantage, but you’ll be too drunk to use it.
One Sport to Rule them All
I have found Ivan Drago’s true calling. He may have lost to Rocky in the documentary “Rocky IV,” but I found the sport he would be unbeatable in: Chessboxing. Russians are good at three things: chess, boxing and drinking. Chessboxing combines the former two of these traditional Russian pastimes to form a sport in which Drago could pummel grade-school dropout Rocky Balboa. I bring this up because the first chessboxing world championships were held in October 2005, opening the world’s eyes to the perfect meld of skill and power.
One professional chessboxer, Conner Maggio, expressed enthusiasm that the sport is taking off. The game can either end by knockout or checkmate. A match consists of 11 rounds: six of chess and five of boxing. The rounds alternate between until one fighter/player wins. The champion achieves world fame as the literal coolest person ever to walk on Earth. The majesty of the burning sweat pooling over the pieces and board. The beauty of a man’s genius brain getting knocked about. This sport is not only brutal, but tasteful. It is the perfect representation of what ancient Athenians wanted for humanity.
This soccer-heavy sports section needs to address one little detail. Does anyone else get sick of how soccer uniforms have the name of their sponsor on their chest? I keep finding myself cheering for United Arab Emirates or Samsung. My precious Liverpool sports Standard Chartered on their chests. I support the beautiful football club that will never let me walk alone, not this British banking corporation.
That being said, we could have some fun with this. When I am an eccentric billionaire, I plan on buying some football clubs. Imagine Liverpool running around with “Feature Creature” on their chests! Or I could make fake companies just to have them sponsor other teams. Real Madrid would be sponsored by the Fascist International Real Estate Locations or “Fascist IRL.” I would probably make sure that Man U and Man City are just Dumb and Dumber, in any order. But seriously, you see the point here. Having not the city the team plays for, not the nickname nor the mascot on the uniform, but instead the sponsor looks pretty dumb.
Who is Marlins Man
October is here again, and we all know what that means. We all wonder one thing: who, seriously whomst the hell, is Marlins Man. We know he is just some guy who always sits behind home plate of every major MLB game in a bright orange Marlins jersey. Commentators have made, well, comments about the mysterious superfan. I have a few theories.
First, he could be a robot constructed by the Marlins franchise. He sends the message that while his team can’t seem to win World Series, Marlins fans are the most loyal and enthusiastic. True Americans indeed. Speaking of true Americans, he may be the opposite: a Russian spy. Let us think about this, he shows up constantly, but few people know his real name. He subtly influences American media, yet, without making an argument or even saying much of all. He is there for Americans to get used to seeing him, until he releases a signal that travels through the airways and brainwashes all of us. Lastly, maybe he is like the Avatar. Once the Marlins Man can no longer see a game, another random fan suddenly finds themself wearing the orange jersey, and his spirit will reincarnate forever.