Friday, July 10, 2009

The All-Cursing, All Dancing Crap of the World

I've gone from gung-ho to hesitant to downright disinclined about doing the topic I originally had in mind tonight, which was going to be a diatribe about everything that's wrong about baseball today and the personification of this phenomenon housed within a jersey that is the difference between 100 and 1. Therefore, anything I add to this pre-empted harangue would be self-destructive in nature, so I'm not going to do it. That being said: My team does not cheat.

Instead, I'll get all of my complaining out through the conduit of base-ball men pic-tured on card-board. For all of the overproduction of the 1980s and early 1990s, and the Reynolds Wrappification foil overdose of the latter half of the 1990s, at least you could hold the fucking card in your hands. Say what you will about all of the crazy Fleer inserts circa 1995-2000, at least they were fucking art. Fucking art! At least you could touch the fucking thing, get your fucking non-fertility hormone-tainted fingerprints on the damn thing. At least the fucking card companies were fucking trying. Shove aside your preconceived notions about sticker autos, manu-patches, air guitarists, tire treaders, dugouted dead guys aside 43rd presidents, Thoms, Mettage cappage, and amarillo amores rodentia... at least there's a top loader that you can slap your card into and ruin it. What is this insane rambling arriving at? Why, it's the worst idea any baseball card company ever came up with, eTopps. How far do you have to stray from the original intent of baseball cards, the notion that owning a card is like owning a piece of the team you follow, like sitting next to one of your heroes on the bench, like sharing a story with them? Why, why would you deviate from that idea of proximity? Why would you treat a card like a common stock certificate?

2008 eTopps #54 (344/499)

What a beautiful card. That's probably the best-looking CC-as-a-Brewer card out there, yet I can't show it off because it's wrapped in more plastic than Laura fucking Palmer. A fish in the percolator indeed.

You know what, Topps? Fuck you. You thought you could take someone's money and then hold onto a card for the next twenty years as it grew more and more worthless? Fuck that. I've got the card I wanted, Topps, and you can't fucking have it back unless you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

Editor's Note: Nothing against the other 29 guys or so not taking hCG. Thorzul cast a couple of votes for Matt Kemp this week, after all. Thorzul would be fucking overjoyed if his team's fucking number eight batter batted at or around .3-fucking-19. Have a nice day.

4 comments:

dayf said...

That's a highly articulate outburst there, Thorzul. (And a kick-ass Brewer CC)

Here's what you need to do:

1) Get that card in-hand if you haven't done so already.

2) Bake up a big batch of Tollhouse cookies.

3) While they are baking, gather various appropriate extraction tools such as needlenose pliers, a bowie knife and a Class 4 argon laser.

4) Assemble the extraction devices and encased card on a sturdy, clean table or other work surface.

5) Take the cookies out of the oven before they burn you dope!

6) While the cookies are cooling, use your tools to crack open your card's polystyrene tomb. DO NOT extract the card at this time.

7) Take a quick break to enjoy some hot, melty, tasty Tollhouse cookies fresh out of the oven.

8) After you have eaten a sufficient number of cookies, return to the workspace WITHOUT WASHING YOUR HANDS FIRST.

9) Take the card out of the case, making sure to get plenty of buttery, chocolaty brown sugary fingerprints all over the formerly pristine card.

10) THE MOST IMPORTANT STEP:
Take hi-res pictures of the card and the shattered remains of the case and post on your average baseball card forum and watch heads explode.

PunkRockPaint said...

I agree with Dayf... to an extent: Add step...

9A) Wash hands.

You don't want a sticky keyboard (it leads to all kinds of awkward questions.)

Motherscratcher said...

Good rant, dude.

While reading Dayf's comments, my brain inexplicably added an "r" to the end of "you" in suggestion #5. This changed the meaning drastically.

PunkRockPaint said...

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