Poor Barry.
http://sports.yahoo.com/mlb/news?slug=sh-bonds071507&prov=yhoo&type=lgns
He's a widdle mad he's not seeing the bally-ball so good. He needs a nappy-nap.
I needed another reason to visit the sports bar this summer. I love watching him strike out because he's such a quality individual. And of course, there's the preferential treatment he gets because he's so close to breaking a frigging record. Statistics are sometimes the ruin of sport.
I admit it. His failure is my success. Thanks Barry.
About Me
- Mick
- In 1968, a baby boy was born and his parents named him Michael. As a cute little zero year old, he had a little round nose and made gurgly noises. But, he also had colic which tired his mama out and his grandmother often rocked him to sleep. One night, while doing this, she nicknamed him "Mickey" and that is why people also call him Mick. He grew up in upstate New York in a place too remote to be called anything. There were a lot of bugs and his Dad yelled at him for using too many paper towels. Little Mickey tried to have fun playing war with his friends and shooting BB guns. He didn't apply himself very much in school and he graduated high school Magne Cum Lousy. One day in 1986 he discovered a lump in his neck which he promptly ignored for more than 6 months. As fate would have it, it was Hodgekin's Disease and after months of dicking around with inept doctors, he promptly underwent aggressive treatment involving brutal tests and chemotherapy. This lasted a year followed by many years of paranoia. This is where he learned to suffer and it payed great dividends. Now he teaches 13th grade at a college in Ohio where he suffers daily.
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