Any Old Business?

Did you see the All-Star Game home run derby? The derby itself was sort of a snooze –too drawn out, too much digressive commentary, too many commercial breaks– but it was the bullshit beforehand that really had me stomping around my living room and foaming at the mouth.

I mean, seriously, doesn’t it chap your fat ass to think that there is someone out there –probably a whole committee of someones– who gets paid, and more than likely paid handsomely, to think up such nonsense?

Let’s see…oh, shit yeah, this will be brilliant: let’s build a great big stage right in the middle of the infield at Pac Bell (or A T & T, or whatever the hell it’s called) Park, and get a bunch of amps and shit and drag the Counting Crows (or Hootie and the Blowfish, or whoever the hell it was) out of mothballs to play one lousy song while we explode some really cheesy flash pots, and after the has-beens have finished their one lousy song we’ll have, like, some military jets come flying over the ballpark.

Fuck yeah! That’ll be so cool! What a perfect way to kick off the home run derby and waste a shitload of money and time!

My God, what a disgraceful bunch of nonsense.

What a ridiculous country.

I almost threw up an entire bag of Swedish Fish.

And, what the hell, as long as I’m on my cranky-old-man-on-the-mountain high horse: Would somebody please, please, please tell John Cougar to shut the fuck up?

I’m very happy –happier than you can possibly know– to have all that All Star monkey business behind me so we can get back to playing baseball.

The Twins are facing a decidedly uphill battle, but I’m not budging: For at least another week or two I’m going to insist that they’ve got what it takes to win the AL wild card.