YANKEES…Speechless About What I Obviously Can’t Even Mention

Speechless About What I Obviously Can’t Even Mention

It had been suggested by a sociopath in the peanut gallery that a certain someone resembling myself should refrain from certain activities related to the Intertubes due to the possible negative repercussions on a particular professional sports team that shall remain nameless.

These Things That Cannot Be Spoken Aloud Or Even Scribbled Digitally (TTCBSAOESD, known in some writer circles as “Tits and Aesop,” for short…writers — always the sex and fiction references) will not be spoken or scribbled here for fear that the commenter with the Patrick Bateman personality, mentioned above, may be onto something — or more likely, on something, but whatever. Never look a gift horse in the anonymouth, I always say, just roll with the results.

So, Tits and Aesop and all that, I can only point out that one of the spheroidally-inclined professional sports teams in the general vicinity of New England (but not actually in it) remains the one and only team in their competitive set to post a .500 or better record with a negative run differ…oops, ummm, a lesser record in an important offensive category. You may know the one to which I refer.

Said team prevailed recently due to an Asian tsunami-type event that involved an orbish object landing in a spot known generally by a two-word nickname, the first word of which would be one way to describe the great Peter Dinklage, and the second, perhaps a place where Norman Rockwellesque characters sit nostalgically in wicker chairs on a construction connected to the front of their abode while sipping lemonades.

Also astonishing, two men not known for being effective in recent memory were, in fact, effective. One of them has a first name that, spelled a bit differently, would complete this movie title:  “_________ of the Dead,” a film featuring the very funny Simon Pegg. The other man has a last name that is part of what the Big Bad Wolf will do to blow down the door of the Little Piggies’ domicile.

As The Master said on this team’s radio network a couple of weeks ago, “Now, here’s something you can hang your hat on:  three games in the loss column. That’s what really matters.” Perhaps you don’t personally wear a hat, but it doesn’t matter. Go buy one and hang it on the aforementioned column or you might jack-indigo-negatory-xavier everything, if you catch my general drift.

Plus, who knew that they guy with the number of all living Popes on his back would be such an impish presence now that he’s about to step aside and join Benedict on the unemployment line? Amazing, all of it.

Ah, sorry, that word’s been taken for years by the other spheroidally-inclined sports team near, but not in, New England. Tits and Aesop, then, and I’ll keep it under that thing hanging on the column, just in case.



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