BASEBALL STARTED. That means the Blue Jays! It also means something that isn’t the Maple Leafs!
If you’re not convinced yet, here are some things that will persuade you to give money to Rogers:
Last week, against Oakland, we moved down to the first row of the outfield and heckled the shit out of the Athletics’ Center Fielder, Ryan Sweeney. One of my fellows (who wishes to remain anonymous), delivered a winner with “Hey Sweeney, your sister’s in my trunk!” Keep in mind that Sweeney was standing about 20 feet away. But did he turn around and run into the stands to beat us up? No. He ignored us the best he could as we continued with “Hey Ryan come over and play Goldeneye for N64 later!”
Bottom line is, you can yell anything you want to any of these players without feeling bad for them, since they are paid millions of dollars to tune you out! But you know some of them (especially the rookies) can hear you loud and clear, and die a little inside every time. And at the end of every game, I feel like a bigger man because of it.
You must of read about this on the news. You may have even seen the blurry videos of it on YouTube. But you didn’t see them in person. I did, you slackers. And now the Blue Jays have made the $2 Toonie Tuesday seats an alcohol free zone to try and stop the massive brawls. What they haven’t figured out yet is that people who can only afford a $2 ticket aren’t buying the $11 beers. They are the ones sneaking hard liquor in. So I suggest you go to as many of these as you can to partake (or take part?) in the European football-ish debauchery. They are May 6, May 20, and June 10. I will be the one with the billy club.
THE SANDLOT REFERENCES
As if you don’t quote this movie enough, being at a baseball game is the perfect place to bust out your favorite Squints lines. Or your best impression of Ham’s “You’re killing me Smalls!” And if your friend’s friends don’t know what you’re talking about, you can shun them and talk about Wendy Pefercorn, or how unenthused Dennis Leary is in this movie.
If you have NO IDEA what I’m talking about, fuck you. Fuck you and every other movie you’ve ever seen.
McGowan is the third pitcher in the Jays’ rotation. He’s turning 26 this year, and is one of the most promising up and coming stars in the Major Leagues. In a few years he will be an all star. And you won’t. But why should YOU go see him?
Because he’s dead fucking sexy.
Nice cut jawline. Old school mutton chops. Stunning physique. And eyes that say “I can’t wait to go to Picadilly’s and find some bitties later.” Still not sold? How about the fact that he can throw a baseball faster than you have ever driven in a car? He’s a major league pitcher, his arm is a weapon. It can kill. Imagine what he could do your organs.
I had forgotten how hot summer bitties were. But the Rogers Center reminded me and I couldn’t get up to cheer for the next dinger. Nothing is nicer than a potentially underage lady in a backwards New Era cap and a pair of capris. You can choose to heckle or to hoot at them. Either way, you don’t need to pay $8 for candy anymore.
There really is nothing like baseball on a breezy summer evening. The smell of hot dogs, the crack of the bat, the cheer of the crowd . . . add in downtown Toronto smog, the often closed roof of the skydome, and at least $30 for a seat where you are close enough to see what the players actually look like, and you’ve got Toronto’s version of the American pastime. But seriously, can you come up with a better way to celebrate the oldest North American sports league than by watching Puerto Ricans who make $15 million more a year than you ever will slouch around in the dugout? I can’t. So see you there, fuckers.