FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Drunk Blog nearing end on sour note

OK, I blew it. My bad. It was my rippy of Robbie, a day too soon. I should have waited, held my fire, turned inward, used my rage for the sake of good. Instead, I got trigger-happy, went out for a joy ride, said some things, lashed out against the world... cost us a big Yankee game. And every Yankee game is a big Yankee game.

It won't happen again. I've learned my lesson.

But, well, jeeaz, come on, here, folks, it only goes to show how much Cano misses Yankee Stadium, and as far as I'm concerned, Robbie Runaway can spend the rest of his life in Seattle, hitting moon shots that land in outfielders' gloves, because they play on airport runaways instead of ballparks, and good riddance, YOU HEAR ME, GOOD DAY, SIR, I HOPE THE LEGAL WEED IS WORTH IT, MY FRIEND, BECAUSE YOU'LL ALWAYS BE BOOED IN YANKEE STADIUM, ALWAYS, EXCEPT FOR ONE TIME. YES, THERE IS ONE TIME YOU WILL NOT BE BOOED IN YANKEE STADIUM: YANKEE OLD-TIMERS DAY... BECAUSE YOU WON'T BE INVITED!!! GET IT? YOU'LL BE IN THE SEATTLE OLD-TIMERS DAY WITH HAWTHORNE WINGO AND MARSHAWN LYNCH AND WHOEVER THE HELL ELSE IS BIG OUT THERE, and I couldn't care less what he'll be doing, not a whit, not a whimble, not nothing, because it's another time zone, it's another planet, it might as well happen on Pluto. And my head hurts, no thanks to Robby Cano, whom I will never think about ever again. Dead to me. Gone. Robby Cano? Who's that?

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