Tonight, we face mop-up time with the angriest franchise in baseball, run by the sourest man in the game. The Orioles are angry because their owner is a dolt, their manager sleeps with an axe, and over the last 15 years, they haven't even won a free calendar from their insurance agent. Last week, a good man - their announcer - went and killed himself. And they're pissed. At us, of course. Naturally, it's our fault
It's always our fault. If not for us, they would own several recent championships. Everybody knows this. We stole Mike Mussina from them. He was theirs - they owned him - and how dare he go elsewhere!
Actually, the Orioles sort of hate everybody. They hate the Baltimore Ravens because the team always contends. They hate expansion teams - the Rays and Marlins, for example - who have risen during the time they've continually sucked. Most of all, they hate Derek Jeter. Yes, they hate him because they didn't draft him. Nope. They drafted a guy named Hammond on the pick before Jeet. So they're muy pissed.
Of course, they have Buck Showalter, who grinds his teeth whenever a pinstripe comes into view. This weekend, they shoved it to the dirty rotten Yankees - forced us to reschedule another travel day, while other teams played doublheaders - so we now go to Boston beaten and weary, while the Redsocks have momentum, first place and two days of rest and relaxation.
Misery loves company.
Tonight, we have one recourse: Beat the piss out of them. We need 22 runs. Beat them like a dirty rug. Pound them like pizza dough. Beat them, and steal their anger.
We're heading into Boston, and it's time for us to be pissed.
Baltimore is the new Philly, now that Philly no longer sucks.
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