Call Uncle Del, Tell Him For The Next Two Weeks I'm a Philly Phanatic

So by some act of witchcraft, voodoo, or divinity, the Rays are in the World Series. That's surprisingly alright, strange as that might be to say. They fielded an improbable team, but they beat us fair and square. I take issue with two groups of people: 99% of fans in Tampa Bay, and every living soul (save Dennis Eckersley) that was involved in this abortion of an ALCS broadcast. So, with that being said, let's get this started, because as George Carlin once said, I don't have pet peeves, I have mad psychotic fuckin' hatreds.

The Tampa Bay Fans:

I got a tumor, and the only prescription is less cowbell.

I'm fairly certain that these people came out of the woodwork about a month ago with the express purpose of ruining baseball. These people had absolutely no loyalty to their hometown team, and more likely than not were lambasting them up until a few months into this season. By in large, they've had absolutely no loyalty to their team, but somehow now their own well being and their life hangs in the balance of these games? Bull. Baseball is a game of respect and tradition. Cowbells, cheerleaders, horns, big goofy wigs, and shitty music. It's not a Wiggles concert, its a god damn baseball game. This is a fucking sacrelige. Put your gimmicks away, sit down, shut up, and enjoy the game for what it is. It's the greatest sport ever to grace this country, and it's an absolutely beautiful thing. It doesn't need to be drowned out by distractions. End of story.

TBS:

Never once in my entire life did I ever think I'd say this. I miss Tim McCarver. Really. I'm serious. The ALCS coverage was such an abject failure that I've been forced to come to that conclusion. Being forced to watch the Steve Harvey show because Ted Turner couldn't pony up a couple grand for a fucking backup generator wasn't bad enough, we needed to listen to the following window lickers for an entire 7-game series.

Chip CarayThe Eyebrows of a Buffalo.

Buck Martinez
Puts the emPHASIS on the wrong sylLABLE.

Ron Darling
Never has anything worthwhile to contribute.

I don't think there was a single minute of Game 3 where Matt Garza's balls weren't firmly entrenched in all of their mouths. It doesn't just start there though. Routine double plays, pop-outs, and blowing their noses without covering their laps in snot, these were all unbelievably life-affirming achievements. It was like they coordinated it, too. Chip Caray would shower praise for the Rays' ordinary achievements at levels bordering all out fellatio. Buck Martinez would mispronounce a name so brazenly that I considered throwing a rock at my TV. "David ORtiz up to bat." Shut up. If I hear anyone say his name like that ever again I'm going to find your family in Whoville and steal all of their fucking christmas presents. Lastly, Ron Darling would round it off nicely by stating the obvious. "They'll be keeping David Price in." WOW, what a revelation! I mean, I know he's standing on the mound ready to deliver a pitch, but until you affirmed he was staying in the game, my mind couldn't have possibly processed that. Shitbrick.

I'll save my last ounce of vitriol for this window licker.

Craig Sager

Craig Sager is the creepy uncle your family tries to avoid inviting out. It's because he sits at the edge of the pool and stares at your kids just a little bit too intently. He is one creepy individual. He wears bright and unconventional suits. Holy shit, that's never been done before, right? He's no Don Cherry, in fact I'm gonna have to rank him below that fucking nutjob with the Question Mark suit on late night television. Learn how to be an on-field reporter, FREE! Crawl in a hole and die, you pederast.

Anyway, I digress. This isn't really a post of bitterness, as I was planning on ripping on these failures no matter what the case was. Hope it's been a worthwhile read. Go Bruins?