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Bruce, we gave you tha keys, and THIS is what you brought home?

¿Dónde está mi dinero, las rameras?

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Friday, April 22

Insult on top of injuries

Chicago baseball fans are being treated in 2005 to an exciting team that gets clutch hits, an excellent balance of long-ball bashing and small-ball creativity, and an excellent starting rotation anchored by one of the true Ace pitchers in captivity.

Unfortunately, its the team made for the flea market clerks, meth cookers and blue eye-shadow junkies on the shitty part of town. I know championship baseball when I see it, and even more to the point, I know mediocrity...boy, do I know mediocrity. It's gonna be a looooong year as: the Cubs flounder their way around .500, wasting the best years of Prior's and Zambrano's lives, the Sux claw their way towards the top, their insipid sawed-off chip-on-their-shoulder fans coming out of the sewers and the bars along 111th Street to rag on us (at the expense of being genuinely proud of their own team)...

...and, worst of all, the media shitstorm that is going to brew, fester, and swirl around in a tornadic motion until Dusty Baker's silly ass is shipped back home to Sacramento. If there's one thing worse than having a distant relation of my ex-wife puff his sunken chest out to gloat, it's the Jay Mariottis of the world mashing down the panic button until our eardrums are completely eroded.