Drunk Blog Continues:

Stayed up late last night but missed the Mariano think in the All-Star game. I can't believe I missed it. I missed it because a friend came to visit, and he doesn't give a damn about baseball, and with the Yankees being bad, I capitulated. I relented. I gave in. If the Yankees were decent this year, I would have seen the Mariano moment, and now I missed it.

I saw the Zimmerman verdict moment. That's how pathetic my life has become. I was watching TV when the Zimmerman verdict came down. And now I've missed the Mariano moment./ I can't believe I missed it. My head hurts, and I'm not just talking about pain. I'm talking about deeper than pain. Worse than paid. Melancholia. Angst. Worse than either of those two, too. It's the pain of a Mariano blown save - the worst pain in the Yankiverse, worse than - well - not really worse than a Jeter injury or a death to a Yankee great such as - no, I WILL NOT SPECULATE IN SUCH MATTERS - where are we? Mo. I missed his entrance last night. I missed everything.

They named him MVP. They're trying to be nice. They know we're dying, and they know A-Rod isn't coming back, and they feel sorry for us, so they named Mo MVP. He should have refused it. He should have said, "NO, I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS, NOT AFTER WHAT BUD SELIG AND HIS FINANCIAL POLICIES HAVE DONE TO MY TEAM AND ORGANIZATION." Chad Curtis would have done that. He would have told them to go to hell.

What made me think about Chad Curtis? The booze. That was the booze thinking. Somebody help me. It's 95 degrees and my old college roommate is screaming for more...