Goin’ Deep

(Silky is out sick with what may or probably isn’t the Pig Flew, so I’ll be running thangs on the site today – get yo’ Jiffy Pop ready)

You gotta turn off the brain waves sometimes to prepare for a DUI trial, and the next thing you know, hell has broken out all over the place like Mark McGwire’s backne when he hit 70 HR’s in 1998.  Everybody talks about how he and Sammy “Me Speaky No Engli at El Congressio Hearingo” Sosa’s chance for breaking Roger Maris’ single season record of 60* “saved baseball” that season.  No, they didn’t collectively try to drown all baseball fans.  They allegedly made the American public fall back in love with the game, like a trailer momma finding her old Chutes and Ladders set.  I’ll admit a lot of people watched that whole deal because everyone – not just chicks – enjoy the long ball.  Hell, growing up you describe how far you got with the other team by giving friends your own “box score”.  A home run was going all the way after she/he waived you around third like a coach with a windmill right arm. 

Getting back to whatever you thought you were reading about, if Mark McTestosterone and Sammy ”The Needle” Sosa saved anything, it was the theory that shrinking your biscuits to get all cut up was worth every last zit of it.  In 36 years, no one had really come close to 61.  Some fools got over fiddy, but got less of a sniff than that blind dog all around the bitches in your hood.  Then all of sudden, Big McNeedle hit fiddy-eight in 1997.  The next year, Roid Quarter Pounder and Sammy Steroidosa started launchin home runs out of the ballyards, like fat kids fly over fences after being double-jumped on a trampoline.  Steroidosa was breakin’ windows out of houses across the street from Jake Elwood’s address.  McGwire looked like he was trying to hit that big pointless croquet wicket.  If you didn’t know that shit was bogus, I’ve got a palatial 1/2 room hut made out of a refrigerator box in Haiti that is still standing.  It was almost as if George Lucas and ELO or whatever were behind the whole fuckin thing.  No way in hell two dudes that look like a light and dark chocolate version of Hans and Franz are just mysteriously going to get their power strokes in conjunction.

Let get more specific, if you will – if you won’t, just quit reading.  It isn’t involuntary, like death and masturbation.  Well, I guess that could be debated by the sight of an old widower with Popeye forearms and an oxygen tank.  Get over it.  That goddamn shuffle mixed with a “big-up” to his chosen extratesticular being Steriodosa did every time he “cycled one” out of the park almost made me vomit every time I saw it.  Look, you were just lucky enough to pull something amazing off at the highest level of the profession, and you ruin it by doing some Puerto Rican Lord of the Dance shuffle.  Not only are you showing up the other team, you’re making yourself look like a braggart and the first guy voted off of Dancing With the Stars.  I’ll give Happy Needle his props, even though he was on horse hormones – at least he didn’t try to make like one of the Knights backing up Otis Day.

Then there is the worst case scenariod, Barry Bonds.  What makes him worser is he was good before he juiced himself like a serial killer at “Pull Your Switch” night at Alcatraz.  he allegedly got all Jell-Ouscious over McRoid and Sosandrone’s home run fest of ’98.  After injecting all the main veins, he went from a 42 to 52 size jersey.  His feet grew from 10 1/2 to 13 cleats.  His gourd watered up from 7 1/8 to 7 1/4.  I’ll admit as much as the next whoever, by those stats, it appears his head got smaller.  Everything else got bigger.  If you’re only on Mother Nature’s natural nectar, you’re hoofs aren’t gonna have an extreme makeover in your late 30′s.  You’re not gonna jump up 10 sizes in a jersey unless you were hanging out with Pavarotti, the Pillsbury Doughboy, and the Michellin Man in the off season.  Bonds suddenly turning in the Incredible Bulk and crushin’ all the grapes in the vineyard was more outwardly phony than Borat, Heart to Heart, and Bryant Gumbel put together.  If you couldn’t pick up on the fact his incredible power surge was roid-induced, you should have your subscription to TVA revoked.  From everything I’ve read, he was also an asshole of a teammate.  He’s basically like the fake tits of baseball.  Sure he looks good, but he’s not that fun to play with.

Finally, McRoid tearfully coming out this past week was only more proof that was on roids.  People taking one to the buttocks on a regular basis go through mood swings.  That being said, I don’t think my wife takes steroids.  That crying he pulled off was so goddamn stupid, Forrest Gump it was what stupid does.  He went on to say shit like he only horse hormoned up to help him come back from injuries.  Everyone with access to a strength coach knows juicin causesinjuries, because your fuckin muscles get too big for your tendons.  It’s as if a cow roided out and tore an utter because they’d become 98% porterhouse.  The bigger you get, the more tender you become.  He also said some shit like he would have hit all those home runs anyway, because he had a short, compact swing.  His short, compact swing would have produced a whole mess of outs, like that that dwarf who used to play sax for the Stray Cats.  He’s now going to be the hitting coach for the St. Louis Cardinals.  The guy has a sub .300 batting average for his career, so basically a wife beater knows more about hitting than he does.