Fin(ish)

“Hey Frank, what are you reading?”

Glad you asked.  Currently, Im working on The Art of Fielding, by Chad Harbach.  Ostensibly about baseball, it is a book that covers such varying and familiar topics that it almost seems to have been written about the CCSL: college, making errors at shortstop, sexually experimenting and expanding your self identity from “straight” to “apparently gay, as noted by the affair I am having with a male student 40 years younger than myself.”  Its also about how all things must come to an end, which brings me to this, another bittersweet season recap.

2013 was a, uhh, tumultuous? no.  underwhelming? ehh.  rainy? yes, rainy season, and it came to a disappointing finish as us Griffons couldn’t seem to link up a few more base hits to avoid the 10-9 loss in a playoff game against The Ogres that was, for once, as close as the score would dictate.  I believe the score was, at varying points in the game, 2-0 us, 2-3, 5-5, 8-8, and eventually 9-8 us, holding a lead of one run with 2 innings to go.  It was the kind of game where everyone (on both teams) hit nothing but seeds, and the difference in the end was where one or two of those seeds landed.  Which, in the Ogre’s case, was in the middle of a game of ultimate frisbee played by a bunch of dorks who obviously read way too much J.K. Rowling.

Oh well.  We fucking lost.  Try as I might, I can’t seem to put on the extra 150 pounds of muscle it takes to hit a ball as far as the Ogres.  Or maybe we haven’t spent enough money on our bats yet?  Either way, there’s no chance they’re beating Catahoula after tonight’s blown game, and Phyllis will be furious when Catahoula emerges as the first undefeated champion in league history.  As Colach pointed out the other night, they are just like the 1984 Dolphins, which Ryan quickly pointed out was actually the season Miami lost to the 49ers in the Superbowl, but since when did we ever expect Colach to understand how to correctly make an analogy?  Photoshop a picture of that, motherfucker!

Since I have no new ground to cover, haven’t seen a new Nic Cage movie in forever, and want to make Ford happy by writing this post (you happy yet?), I suppose its time to hand out some end of season Lynchies

The Golden Lynchy for best new nickname goes to Matty Photo, aka Mustache Jeremy, who earned his new title because Pittsburgh Benson can’t seem to get his name right.  A distant second place goes to Tim Tebow, which Pittsburgh Benson desperately tried to make happen, but much like “fetch,” it just wont happen, mainly because you only say it when I am actively swinging a bat and can’t respond even if I wanted to.  Mostly, this just points to Pittsburgh Benson being a shitty manager.  This award is a golden statue of Lynch smoking a cigarette, pushing a drunken Amy off the field while pointing at Pittsburgh Benson going “booooo my man!”

The Golden Lynchy for most improved player goes to TJ cousins cousins significant other and TJ cousins cousins significant others boyfriend.  Just generally good play all around, as well as good drinking habits.  This award is a golden statue of Lynch going “ha ha, my man, what exactly the fuck are you trying to say about TJ cousins significant other or whatever the fuck?  Lets get some rum.”

The Lifetime Achievement Golden Lynchy goes to Dr. Siebert and his knuckleballing high-jinx, which will sadly be departing us after the 2013 championship.  Hes moving to Brooklyn to start wearing Rivers Cuomo-signed glasses and start a business making limited edition screenprinted tote bags with designs based on obscure lyrics from unreleased Animal Collective songs.  Or work as a consultant, every time he talks to me all I hear is “IM A DOCTOR IM A DOCTOR I AM SO MUCH BETTER THAN PHILADELPHIA BEN FRANKLIN WAS A FUCKING HACK.”   I just stop listening.  But on a serious note, we will all miss you, especially at Drinkers West on Monday nights this fall.  Anyways, this award is a golden statue of Lynch saying “ha ha my man, Frank is now the default best knuckleballer in the CCSL”, and everyone else in the league is standing in the distance kind of like when Captain America died and all the superheroes were at his funeral, and they are all like “Lynch, way too soon man.  Way too soon.”

See you all next season.  Or tomorrow.  Heres to Bane showing up and bombing the field so someone other than these two teams has a chance to win it all in 2014.

WFWH

Bryce Harpers Haircut.

I was asked specifically to update the blog today (are you happy now TJ Cousins Cousins Couins Cousins brothers hair stylist?).  And in the update Im supposed to talk about Bryce Harpers Haircut.  Have you seen Bryce Harpers Haircut?  Its majestic.  You know, in that Im-19-and-better-than-everyone-you-have-ever-known-combined-at-baseball kind of way.  Say what you want about the kid, but that fauxhawk obviously doesnt hinder his ability to hit a baseball 471 feet.  The only thing more effective for the purpose of hitting home runs than his fauxhawk is apparently being cuban.  And the only thing more impressive than being cuban is Bernie Williams’ softball swing.  Im pretty sure I just saw his right handed swing win another grammy when he crushed that ball in the first inning.  amiright??  I wish I had a nice cuban cigar right now.  Like the Partagas P2.  It is honest to god perfection in cigar form, if you ever get the chance to smoke one.  I smoked mine in Olympic National Park.  I had just gotten stung by a bee hours earlier and Im allergic and my leg blew up to about 800 times the size of what a leg is supposed to be.  I was worried that would happen today at our games because there were a shit ton of bees and hornets and various other kinds of insects that like to sting and murder and swarm you.  But no one got stung, we won a few games, and due to the magic of rounding there were exactly zero Kyles pulled on the night.  Good job everyone.  sports, yay!

HoagieFest Jumps The Firepit

Hoagiefest has, according to at least one person who played about an inning of softball yesterday, jumped the shark firepit.  What blows my mind, however, is how few people actually know where the term “jump the shark” comes from.

The fifth season of the iconic ABC TV show Happy Days premiered with a 3 part special where Ron Howard and co. head to California to, among other things, wear leather jackets in the Pacific.  On September 20, 1977, in the finale of the 3-episode arc,  Arthur Fonzarelli literally jumps a shark.   In real life, Henry Winkler is an experienced water skier.  And in real life, the writers for Happy Days had no ideas left for the show, because honestly, how many times do you want to hear Richie Cunningham bitch to his dad/Potsie/Charles in Charge/Mr. Miyagi about how he can’t figure out how to get a girl’s bra off? (full disclosure, I still have no idea how to get a girl’s bra off.)

So the writers found a gimmick  and Fonzie jumped the shark.

Happy Days went on for another 7 seasons after the infamous shark jumping.  But it is widely accepted that the show’s creative peak officially ended on that fateful, and apparently chilly enough for a jacket, day.

So who knows.  Maybe hoagiefest has lost its charm?  Maybe we’re all holding on to a special moment a year too long?  Or maybe someone whose bra I can’t figure out how to remove is cranky and just needs to remember hoagiefest is like barbecue chicken: if it isn’t a total mess, you aren’t doing it right.

Next order of business: Simon Birch.  Another thing APPARENTLY NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT.  Starring the idiot kid who threw up all over himself in Jurassic Park, Jim Carrey, and Eric The Actor from the Howard Stern Show, Simon Birch is the story of some kid who is physically disabled and taken in by his best friends family bla bla bla, its a feel good family movie about how even the smallest person can make the biggest difference.  Get it? Good. Oh and it takes place in the 50s, because everything Im talking about today takes place in the 50s.  There are all these funny for the whole family scenes, and all these tear jerker for the whole family scenes, and theres, I think, Daniel Stern narrating this like its The Wonder Years.  And then, out of nowhere, Simon Birch kills his best friends mom.

Watch the whole thing, its incredible.  And now when The Darkness or myself makes makes a reference to Simon Birch, you’ll understand.  In the words of Kanye West, “How could something so wrong make me feel so right?”

The next order of business is rather sad.

Id like to take a moment to pour out a bit of my liquid panty remover (why havent we made a version that removes bras?) for a homie that aint with us no more.

L-R: Colach, Boobs McGee/Pirate Hooker, Dr. Knuckleball, tall dude that tans well, mantis, apparition of olivia, amateur astronomer.

Firepit, veteran of multiple hoagiefests, indiscriminate guzzler of metal cans and glass bottles, burner of so many police sawhorse barriers and benson wood bats, and holder of so much rainwater, is gone.  We had so many good times with him.  And we jumped him, in a good way, without him ever complaining.  He got but the dregs of peoples alcoholic beverages, was treated miserably, yet all he ever wanted to do was bring us all together.  He was a good firepit.  If he was just broken, I would be sending him to the same facility that gave us the six million dollar man.  But hes gone, most likely living a hellish life in the murky depths of the Schuylkill.   Remember Firepit, for none of us could do our jobs nearly as good as he did his.  FIREPIT IS DEAD. LONG LIVE FIREPIT.

Finally, we lost to Catahoula about 16-6.  They hit the ball well, we did not.  Marino hit a ball over my head.  Adam threw a knuckleball that Casey dropped because shes a girl.  Adam got engaged and wouldnt tell us about it.  Pete got kicked off the fishtown team because he was stealing money from GradyOs the bar that sponsors us.  GradyOs doesnt make cereal, so Im not sure why they sponsor us.  Bryan made a play at short with my lefty glove on.  I climbed a tree.  I TP’d a tree.  Some guy showed up and asked for a hoagie while the P&P/collar game was going on and just sat there and ate it and left.  Nic Cage didnt show up, and we were all relieved.  The detailed recap of the game will be appearing on Ryans blog.  And THAT, my friends, is the best joke I could possibly write tonight.

*drops mic*

The Jeremy on the Edge of Town

I had such a good night tonight with basically every sexy lady of the Bishops Collar.  The Patron Taint of Boobs, The Patron Taint of Taint Sewing, and the Patron Taint of being Denise’s Sister.  They were all there, man.  I felt so special.  And then Nevins, the Patron Taint of Unenthusiastic High Fives, showed up after his dinner with the mayor of Kansas City.  Am I putting too much personal information on here yet?  Because I dont think so:

THE ADVENTURES OF JACKSON VOLUME ONE

As we all know via facebook, The Patron Taint of Unenthusiastic High Fives (TPTOUHF) recently went on vacation to the gulf coast of Florida.  He brought his kid, the one named (appropriately I might add) after the dude with funny glasses who hit like 550 home runs in the month of October.   Well the morning of TPTOUHF’s flight to Florida, Mini October decided to shit everywhere.  In TPTOUHF’s words:

We could have hired an indian tracker to tell us exactly what happened in his bedroom, because there were dried foot- and hand-prints everywhere, circling all over the room.  He took off his diaper and went to town.

TPTOUHF then made this kind of a motion to show exactly how Mini October went to town

Yeah, Mini October knows how to party.  Back to the story:

So there we were at the airport and I smell something and say “I think Jackson needs a diaper change.”   But we take a look inside his diaper and hes totally dry.  We realized that his poop had completely stained his hands and it smelt awful.  We made him walk 5 feet in front of us all the way to the plane.

Yup. Thats a true story.  And you can guaran damn tee there will be more adventures of Mini October in the future.  But lets get back to softball, because I suppose Im contractually obligated to talk about that.

We beat the Rising Pickles Monday night.  They put a quick run on the board in the first, and then we countered with an insurmountable runs immediately afterwords.  It was a good game, I think, and the only reason I think that is because of the spastic actions of the old city right fielder.  I have never in my life seen someone get so angry over someone saying something that has no bearing on the outcome of the original thing in question.  Follow me? Cuz I dont.  If it were a week later Id be making a joke about Old City Right Fielder being like the militant Islamic dude in London who beheaded some guy for something.  But, as it is not a week later, making a joke about that is entirely too soon.  But seriously, he stormed off that field like a tornado.

We let him back on, however, and Im pretty sure he scored the Fightin Pickles’ second and last run of the game.   Before we knew it the game was over, and everyone just seemed happy to finally play 7 innings of softball in +70 degree weather and -100 percent rain.

The next day we played Fleischer.  AND I QUOTE:

Where else are we supposed to hit the ball?

Thats Kyle, on why Fleischer hit more than 10 balls at the girls playing our field.  Im not complaining about losing the game.  We lost it fair and square.  But, wow, sportsmanship, amiright?  Thanks for completely validating the conspiracy theories being thrown around by the various other Farties.  Theres another argument to be made, about the lack of walks in this league, that justifiably should be mentioned in relationship to our game against fleischer, but I dont care enough to argue it and Im only saying something because my own team would probably feel slighted otherwise.  Personally, Im still working on my quest to rid the league of metal bats in the hands of untrained Ogres, so ball/strike counts are a distant second.  No matter how you slice it, we didnt deserve to win the game, but that doesnt mean we have to enjoy the outcome.

In the words of Kanye West, “You see its leaders and theres followers.  But I’d rather be a dick than a swallower.”

Pell- the Patron taint of Cham-pell

“I can sew a taint.” Laniece, patron taint of birthing and other taint-related activities. Such as licking.

I’ve spent the past few days since our never-had-a-chance loss to The Collar wondering what to write about.  One idea involved going point for point on which is a better field: Belmont or the Natural Resource at 44th and Haverford.  Another part of me wanted to detail every single thing I hate about every single member of the collar.  But Im pretty sure theres a 75,000 word limit per post on this website and I don’t know if Id ever run out of bad things to say about those taints.  I thought about telling the story of last Friday night, when we were all at Grady’Os and Pat came up to me to let me know some girl down the bar said she would “totally suck my balls.”  I asked him to pass the note to Phyllis, maybe with a yes and no check box on 3-hole-punched paper.  But then I remembered no ball sucking took place on Friday so why talk about it?  The story would have just devolved into a mess of George Michael lyrics being shouted at full volume.  And that makes everyone feel far too aroused to continue paying attention.

Finally, I had a conversation with one Mr. Flynn that started with the above Major League scene – those words could be said about at least 75% of the taints in this league – and ended with our ideas of what we would do with the massive powerball jackpot.  And in the words of Kanye West, “Heard Yeezy was racist, Well, I guess that’s on one basis
I only like green faces,” so I decided Id talk about that.

We have similar but disparate ideas with what to do as newly minted millionaires. We both agreed that we would spend a weekend partying with Michael Jordan and Charlie Sheen.  But seeing as its likely that both our money and lives would be no longer come Monday morning, we have important things to take care of first.   Flynn wants to take his $350 Mil and buy the Dairy fields.  You heard that right.  This man, given a 9 figure prize, before paying off any loans or mortgages or bookies or hookers looking to break his legs for being a deadbeat, would buy the Dairy fields.  And build a CSSL stadium.  Im nominating him for tainthood.  Flynn, The Patron Taint of Greenbow Alabama.

Im not so selfless.  I would buy the CCSL and implement something similar to premier league soccer.  Every year I would kick the shit teams out of the league.  Ford had a similar idea where there was a two-tiered league, and the worst of the best and the best of the worst switched divisions each season.  But thats too inclusive for my rich ass.  I want to kick the worst out of the league entirely.  Maybe have a Real World v. Road Rules Gauntlet to determine which teams I let back in the next season.  Maybe just never let anyone back in.  Maybe every team is eventually kicked out and the CCSL is nothing but me sitting on giant piles of money in Fairmount Park on Tuesdays.

Which actually sounds way more fun than our game against the collar.  We lost something like 18-4, and I believe the official scorekeeper had it down as 18 unearned runs.  And it should have been more if not for Greg, The Patron Taint of not paying attention, leaving his post as third base coach and umpire at the same time his teammate was sliding in to third for a triple.  So thanks for that.  I spent the game watching the disaster helplessly from first base – god knows why I was there – and really dont remember much other than the sound of my glove being tossed to the ground in disgust.  It sounded like a taint.

I feel like anointing some others into Tainthood. I hereby declare you:

Nick, the Patron Taint of ill-fitting shirts

Ryan, the Patron Taint of getting people to go to the bar closest to your house whenever possible.

Ford, the Patron Taint of cynicism.

Rice, the Patron Taint of hand-cranked radios.

Darkness, the Darkness Darkness of Darkness

Phyllis, the Patron Taint of boobs.

Lynch, the Patron Taint of breaking into unoccupied houses My Man!  I like to think if you ever have trouble selling your home, all you need to do is bury a tiny statue of Taint Lynch upside down and facing the house in the front yard.

Derm, the Patron Taint of not knowing what brand your baseball glove is.

Adam, the Patron Taint of getting my jokes.

Lanice, the Patron Taint of carnivorous insects.

Colach, the Patron Taint of photoshop.

Chewy, the Patron Taint of Fishtown.  And dentists.

 

 

 

 

The Mechanic

Who would have thought this guy, armed with a library of dirty jokes about his wife’s lady parts – and a buttload of money from writing Lethal Weapon – would reinvent himself as the man at the helm of the third chapter of the most wildly popular film franchise on earth?  Not me.  But to Shane Black I raise my glass: you sir have made one hell of a movie about a guy with a metal flying weapon suit and Vince Vaughn’s sad Swingers friend (no, not Nevins, the other one) for a bodyguard.

The last time I reviewed an Iron Man movie, it was during that awkward opening week of Iron Man 2.  Awkward is the only word to describe people slowly realizing that DJ AM made an extensive cameo that abruptly ends with Tony Stark and Buck Swope blowing the house to smithereens… and oh, man, he died in real life in an eerily similar explosion of a plane crash like 2 days before the premier.   So the extent of my review was making an ill-timed joke about an ill-timed cameo.  I can hear you all gasping right now, shocked to learn that I of all people would stoop so low.

Perhaps unfortunately for me, there is no such low-hanging, morally devoid fruit to pick in this latest installment of Robert Downey Jr Watches His Mansion and Bank Account Explode.  The closest thing to snark that I could think of while watching the movie had to do with Guy Pearce’s teeth, and what joke about those British-genetics defying slabs of porcelain hasn’t already been made twice?  So I guess that means the movie was pretty, umm, enveloping.  Which isn’t something I would say about any non Iron Man comic movie in the Marvel world.  Leaving Wolverine out of this conversation, of course, because the only reason Wolverine movies exist is for us to continue referring to Hugh Jackman as Huge Ackman.  For a long time I never knew if it was Christina Ricci or Christine Aricci.  Or Nicholas Shay or Nick Lachey.  But I know its supposed to be Huge Ackman.  Just look at him.  Its…really quite beautiful.  And then you remember how he’s a song and dance man too!  I mean wow.  Huge Ackman, someone we can all aspire to be.  On.

So what Im trying to say is Iron Man 3 has a good script.  Its a story that keeps you interested, and manages to deliver various plot twists and turns without feeling obvious and trite.  And also its a Christmas Movie!  But, unfortunately, John McClane wasn’t invited to this party.  Now that I think about it, the one thing this movie fails to do – quite oddly I must say, considering Shane Black’s involvement – is firmly plant itself in the holiday it claims to be taking place during.  It feels like the movie studio already had sets designed with christmas decorations from another shoot and they decided to save a few bucks by using them again.  Which would be a monumentally stupid idea, considering the film opened up to more money than the GDP of whatever countries Robert Downey now owns.

Bottom line is behind Die Hard, this has to be considered the number 2 Christmas movie of all time.  But I guess that depends on how you feel about Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.  Its the 2nd best Iron Man, but I have no idea which is number 1.  And Its also the number 2 Shane Black movie of all time, because honestly who would pick anything over Predator?  So I guess this makes Iron Man 3 the 2nd best movie of all time, no matter how you slice it.

Final Rating: Second Best Movie Of All Time

A bit of a postscript here, the trailers that premiered before the movie are hilarious.  After Earth should have been titled, “Will Smith does Blue Steel for 2 Hours.”  Superman feels like it should be about Crash Davis’ grandkid and Robert Redford’s grandkid having their own child who becomes otherworldy good at baseball.  But unfortunately its just going to be another movie about Superman that will be god awful.   Phyllis asked me if I read any of the Hunger Games books and I almost choked on the popcorn I wasn’t eating because holy shit who would think I’d read those?  How many Hemingway references do I make on a weekly basis?  Oh yeah Good recap this week FordImeanEd!  Thor looks like if Garden State literally took place in another galaxy.  My only hope for that would be finding out Zach Braff cant breathe space dust and he just dies and the movie is over 75 minutes earlier than expected.  And the new fast and the furious movie gives a ton of screen time to one of these:

Basically all of my dreams involve The Rock driving up to me in a Superbird, stepping out and telling me to get in the drivers seat, because its time to go win the World Heavyweight Championship.  Id say Im probably the target demographic for Fast and Furious 6.

What Now?

Great Win team!  We really showed TGT what for!  TGT, aka The Gangrenous Taintlickers, Didnt even know what hit ’em!  

Because they didn’t fucking show up.  

Can someone explain to me why these worthless shitstains are still in the CCSL?  Can someone explain to me how a person can be so thick that after confirming we would play at 4:30pm, he would then call it off 50 minutes later?  Well guess what taintlickers, you can…uh, lick my taint.  Because I biked my rain-soaked ass to the field, and you decided to be a  bunch of goddamn gangrenous taintlickers about it.  So the win goes to the art museum, and you can mark me down as 5-5 with 20RBI and 7 stolen bases. Same with everyone else.  We crushed these guys.

Now its time to discuss what to do with The Gangrenous Taintlickers.

The way I see it, we have two options.  One is we kick TGT out of the CCSL.  This isn’t their first ride in the I-dont-feel-like-showing-up rodeo, and I will bet you the majority stake in a professional baseball team in florida that it will happen again.  

If we dont like option one, option two is as follows: The ARTvTGT rematch is no longer a softball game.  Its a dodgeball game.  But we use softballs instead of dodgeballs.  And TGT has to start the dodgeball game blindfolded up against a fence.  

In the words of Kanye West:

Champagne wishes, thirty white bitches

I mean this shit is fucking ridiculous

Bad News Bearritos

On Presidents Day Weekend, In The Year of Our Flying Spaghetti Monster 2010, I joined a prestigious and rare fraternity of champions.  In Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, I stared down the ultimate foe: A Grande Meal of ten hard-shelled tacos, and ten minutes to eat every last sodium-filled shred of beef. In what seemed like a lifetime of seven minutes and forty seconds, I became a Rand Geiger Taco Bell Taco Challenge Champion. 

http://randgeigertacobelltacochallenge.com/

This was, in essence, the pinnacle of my Taco Bell career.  On a previous blog, which some of you may remember had to be shut down at the risk of losing my job, (In the words of Kanye West, “My dawg worked at taco bell hooked us up pure-o, fired a week later the manager count the churros”) I developed a pathetic following by way of reviewing taco bells around the country.  The goal being that one day, I might find a taco bell worthy of Rand Geiger himself.  Now I dont really know Rand – I think I only met him once and we were both drunk.  But I knew I had to find the perfect taco bell, and the only way to do that was to thoroughly review every taco bell I encountered across the vast expanse of this fine country.  

Well life got in the way, I upset some very important people, and here we are a few years later with no surviving taco bell reviews in existence.  But as fate would have it, I found myself back in Delaware today to make a liquor run, with a taco bell in the parking lot, and a new blog in desperate need of a post.

 

Taco Bell Review: Naaman’s Road, Claymont DE

Walking in, it was obvious we chose the wrong time to frequent this TB, as there were approximately 30 people waiting in line.  I was greeted by a strange man in a faded Outer Banks t-shirt who kept staring at me.  After having enough with the staring, I asked if I could help him.

“Im sorry?”

“I said can I help you, you keep staring at me.”

“Oh no I dont mean any…look, I just… can I ask you a question?”

“…”

“How tall are you?”

Things werent looking good for Claymont’s finest fast food establishment.  I ordered a cheesy gordita crunch and a crunchwrap supreme, both standard bearers in the process of a true TB evaluation.  Fast forward 15 minutes and we had our food.  We promptly got in the car and drove to the liquor store section of the parking lot to eat as far away as possible from the miscreants who occupied this TB/KFC combo.  Did I mention we heard someone bragging about getting the police involved in a domestic violence situation while we waited for our food?  By this point I was searching desperately for a reason not to carpet bomb the town of Claymont. So I opened my food. 

The Cheesy Gordita Crunch was…surprisingly not all that bad.  Not the cheesiest, or the crunchiest, but it was certainly the gordita-est.  Which is a tie for the most gorita-est with every other gordita Ive ever had.  You can tell when a TB item was made with love; this CGC was not.  But it did its job, and with an ample amount of fire sauce, it did its job well.

On to the Crunchwrap Supreme.  For the uninitiated, a crunchwrap supreme is a weird kind of taco/pita hybrid that vaguely resembles a stop sign.  Which should be more than symbolic to those of you who aren’t eating taco bell for science.  I ordered this for one reason and one reason alone: what I like to call “the pufferfish test”.  Any TB worth its weight in chalupas makes a CWSPRME that passes the pufferfish test.  The test is as follows:

1. Take one bite out of the corner of the stop sign-shaped food. 

2. Blow into the hole. (still looking for a better sentence structure for step 2)

3. See if the CWSPRME blows up like a pufferfish.  

If it does youve got yourself a good taco bell.  If it just deflates like my hopes and dreams every time I watch my team blow another game in the CCSL, then you should probably just throw your crunchwrap in the trash.  

Final Rating

89.  The rating system goes as follows: 79, 89, 99, Fire Sauce, Baja Blast, Toxic Avengeance, Cheesy Gordita Crunch, Rand Geiger Approved.  So as you can see, 89 is actually pretty fucking terrible.

OH ALSO we played a softball game against Fleischer on Tuesday.  Heres the difference between us and them: we spend the entire season trying to avoid letting our knees touch the ground.  They slide hard into girls at second base.  Ill leave that there with no commentary, other than maybe thats the difference between winning and losing close games.  And also maybe being well liked by people.