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Turkey Hunter and Baseball

The baseball season is only hours old and I can already feel myself dying inside. Who doesn’t love 5 hour games displaying finely tuned athletes picking at their jerseys with a zeal people with OCD would envy? Ah, the boys of summer playing a game that moves just slightly faster than Stephen Hawking on a staircase. If you’re one of the lucky ones, and catch a game being played at its highest level, you will witness literally zero action. That’s right, nothing says thrill me like a no-hitter, where pro after pro fails miserably in his quest to reach first base- a place even the founders of this website reached by their early 20’s. The only thing interesting in baseball is trying to guess the actual age of your team’s new Dominican. If you have a fantasy baseball team and make more than 1 move a week, I will wager my meager salary your V-Card is more pristine than your whole Topps collection.
But worse than the game itself is the incessant sports talk that accompanies this most precious season. You cannot swing a dead cat without hitting someone bitching about the baseball hall of fame. Who’s in, who’s out, who cares? Can you imagine spending a day wandering around things that are merely baseball related? Oh look! Over there in that wing is Lefty Ballsack’s old shoe he wore in the 17 inning stalemate between the Brewers and the Devil Rays back in 19dickety3! Someone catch me, is that a piece of fuselage with Roberto Clemente’s teeth? If it came down to me choosing between visiting the hall of fame or table dancing for the Duke lacrosse team, just go ahead and call the SANE nurse down at the hospital and tell her I will be paying for the exam in dollar bills.
Just to clear things up, I do not enjoy baseball.

Article written by Turkey Hunter