Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts

September 15, 2009

Deep Thoughts: FML



I gave Argentinian Juan Martin del Potro zero chance of defeating Roger Federer. I figured Federer, owner of the U.S. Open, would take the final in straight sets.

When I think of Federer, I think of the saying: "the relentless pursuit of perfection." And I want him not to deviate from that path. I want him to be perfect. I want him to be, without a doubt, the best tennis player to have ever played the game. While in every other scenario as a fan I cheer for the underdog, I find it impossible not to root for Roger Federer. It shouldn't, and it sounds rather juvenile, but it sucks when he loses.

Here's hoping he takes the Aussie. Greatest Tennis Player of All-Time. GTPAT ...

You can add last night's ridiculous Buffalo Bills vs. New England Patriots Monday nighter to the list of Bills-related nightmares I suffer from. Some night's it's Scott Norwood's "wide right." Other nights, Troy Aikman. Sometimes Emmitt Smith makes an appearance. One of the worst is a trip down "Music City Miracle" lane. Even the 2007 Monday night epic failure at home to Dallas stings in ways it probably shouldn't.

It's amazing how many different ways the Bills have found to kick their collective fan base in the nuts. And each time hurts just as much, if not more, than the one before it.

Growing up, a young eyebleaf and his older brother became Bills supporters because two of our best friends (the same age as big bro and I, and our respective tennis doubles partners) had family in Buffalo, and were fans by proxy. Without a home team to cheer for (sorry Boatmen), we hopped along for the ride. Who knew it would be so tragic?

Thankfully those four Super Bowl losses happened when I was nine through 12 years old. Little time, and emotion, had been invested then. Imagine, now, watching the Toronto Maple Leafs lose four straight times in the Stanley Cup Final? I'm not sure I'd ever recover.

There aren't many people in this world whom I'd wish Buffalo Bills fandom upon. It's not the best way to live. I hate you today, Leodis McKelvin. And you too, Tom Brady ...

The Toronto Blue Jays. Those bastards. Unfortunately, they're still playing. And you knew you could count on them to blow a 5-2 lead, and add to an already miserable Monday night.

You know why people are sick to death of this team? You know why nobody is showing up at the SkyDome? Because Brian Wolfe has pitched 12.1 innings this season, while Jeremy Accardo has pitched only six and two-thirds more. That's bullshit, plain and simple. And there is no excuse. There can't be for not be fielding the best possible team, night in and night out.

Errors be damned, Marco Scutaro is still the man. Yeah, he fucked up last night. Yeah, his .770 August OPS and .598 September OPS aren't exactly worthy of phone calls home. But he'll have to mail it in a lot worse than that for me to start taking away from what he's been able to accomplish in 2009.

The Blue Jays cannot play out the stretch soon enough. If you're not depressed enough, read the most recent from Jeff Blair.

I don't know about you, but I'm doing my best to forget this season ever happened. I'm looking towards the future. Stay tuned, either late today, or Wednesday morning, for a Q&A between 2009 Blue Jays third-round draft pick Jake Marisnick and the few, the proud, the Blue Jays blogosphere.

November 21, 2008

It's Official: I'm Depressed


The onset of winter has me, once again, questioning why I live in this God forsaken city. I hate when Mother Nature whores it up tundra style in fucking November. To add to my malaise, it's official: Manny Ramirez will not become a Toronto Blue Jay this winter.

The dream is dead. J.P. Ricciardi killed it. I know, it was the longest of long shots to begin with and, deep down, I knew it wasn't going to happen. But, well, still. I could have done without J.P. flat out saying "We won't be involved with Manny," and completely ruining my Thursday afternoon. Asshole.

Alright, so Manny won't be donning powder blue. But J.P. will sign one of Jason Giambi or Milton Bradley instead, right?


This is where I get confused. I hate Jason Giambi. With a passion. I hate his steroid-abusing ways, and the fact that he only came clean after he got caught. I hate the stache. I hate that he was a Yankee. But I'd welcome him to Toronto with open arms. That's how much I want his bat (that's what she said).

The same goes for Milton Bradley. The man is a lunatic, but I can't say no to that 2008 163 OPS+.

J.P. Ricciardi certainly has more will power than I.

OK, the kids, Adam Lind and Travis Snider, will play left field and DH. That's cool. All part of the plan. J.P. will use the money he's got at his disposal and plug some holes in the rotation via free agency. Brad Penny, perhaps. Or Derek Lowe. A flier on Jon Garland. Maybe even Pedro Martinez, or Randy Johnson.

Right?

Wrong. None of those guys are on J.P.'s radar. Nobody is. Clearly J.P.'s radar is broken because he's got to be shitting me when he says that he, the Jays, and, by cause and effect, me, are going to be sitting out the free agent frenzy. 

There is one, uh, minor exception. A contract, on lovely Blue Jays stationary and worth $54 million over four years, is currently lost amongst more lucrative offers atop A.J. Burnett's agent's desk. But I simply can't imagine Burnett signing on Toronto's dotted line. He'll take more money, and a chance to play with Derek Jeter, and Mariano Rivera, in the new Yankee Stadium. No hard feelings. I'd take the fattest cheque, too.

I do truly wish for Burnett to stay in the AL East. I want the Jays to face him. A lot. I want the Jays to beat him. I want Roy Halladay to beat him. Ideally, I want him to watch Toronto make the playoffs. And I want to watch him inevitably hit the disabled list (seriously, no hard feelings).

If it were up to me, I'd take all that A.J. money, plus some more, pack it in suitcases, and show up at ManRam's door. Make like Jerry Maguire, you know, and show him the money. Make him an offer he can't refuse.

J.P.'s got to do something. A winter watching on the sidelines is not acceptable, and will not be tolerated. It just might make Richard Griffin's head explode. 

For once, I find myself hoping that Ricciardi is actually lying this time.