It’s Halloween, So Be Prepared….


Guys, guys, guys! It’s officially Halloween, which can only mean one thing: an extra spooky Halloween-themed Fried-ay blog on hump day. I’m currently locked away in the confines of my own special cube I’ve roped off in the library and I’ve been thinking about some things, as it relates to the blog.

For the last six or seven months, most of the feedback I’ve received regarding the blog is that people generally love the Fried-ay blogs. As I’ve stated before every Fried-ay blog ever, Fried-ay blogs are essentially just the sausage of the blog industry—I scrape all my fleeting ideas I failed to dedicate to an entire post off the cutting board and into an empty WordPress text book that I’ll eventually publish at the end of the week.

Now, these blogs also happen to be my favorite posts to write. There’s no formatting or pretending to string together concepts. I just fire off thoughts, which is a more accurate depiction of how my brain actually works. It’s just compartmentalized chaos in here, so why fight it?

In other words, Fried-ay blogs are dead, but not really dead. I’ll still post them on Friday (or maybe Saturday, Sunday, or Monday) but expect that format to be more commonplace as we tread forward from here on out. Let’s get into it…

So yeah, it’s been an exhausting couple weeks. Unless you’ve been living in a bomb shelter, you probably heard the Red Sox won the World Series and I’m still recovering from it. People outside of New England will never understand, but running on 3 hours a sleep/night because you’re obligated to watch yet another championship run is BRUTAL. Today is the parade. Death, taxes, duck boats…

Today is also October 31st, which means I’m obligated to rant on some Halloween-related shit. I wanted to borrow a page from Buzzfeed and shoot out my Halloween candy Power Rankings but realized it would be too shameless. Not to mention, Reese’s is the GOAT and arguing anything otherwise is just looking for shock clicks.

Also, another thing the Internet loves to do is shit on certain stuff for absolutely no reason. Whether it’s cargo shorts, Nickelback, or candy corn, the Internet collectively grabs their pitchforks and charges at whatever American staple they see fit and it’s bullshit. I love cargo shorts, I love Nickelback, and fuck anyone who swings at candy corn this year. For the record, candy corn isn’t great, but it’s fucking candy corn. You eat three or four of them a year. Is it really worth all this fuss? Not to mention, you’ve allowed society to dictate your opinion, which makes you unoriginal.

This unoriginality often bleeds throughout social media. People are fucking pathetic these days. If I have to scroll through Instagram and see another Squints/Wendy Peffercorn costume, I may develop Polio on the spot. I mean, how uncreative can you be while still passing as “creative.” It’s weird because that couples costume is capable of winning you a costume contest, as well as provoking a few people to say something like “Oh my God stoppp, that’s so clever.” At the same time, it’s also the 200th time I’ve seen it since 2009. Clean it up…

Lastly, if you’re someone in a neighborhood that gets flooded with kids tonight, be fucking ready. I’ll never forget one year when I was around 5 or 6 and I spent five minutes knocking on this dickhead’s door to no avail. The lights were on and I could see TBS on the screen upstairs. How big of a hack do you have to be to ignore kids on Halloween? Hit CVS, grab a bag of Skittles and throw it on the porch. I’m 26-years-old and whenever I jog by that house, I grit my teeth. No joke, I honestly hope that guy dies in a car fire….

Fried-Ay: Stay Put Drills, Question #1, and mid90s


Guys, guys, guys! It’s everyone’s favorite blog post on Friday (but on a Sunday): Fried-ay (but on a Sunday). It’s a post capable of reuniting lost relationships and inspiring the uninspired. It’s a post I throw up every week; and every week, I make sure to warn everyone that it makes absolutely no sense. There is no rhyme or reason. It is basically the sausage of the blog industry—I wipe all the scrapped ideas I couldn’t dedicate to a full blog over the week into a drafts folder and just spew them out like I’m wielding an M1 Garand in Medal of Honor: Frontline on Gamecube. Anyway, here we go…

So about an hour away from Game One’s first pitch on Tuesday, my TV reverted to that Emergency Alert System screen three or four times. I guess there’s a tornado in the area and they wanted everyone to “remain calm and indoors.” Like, the Sox are entering Game 1 of the World Series on a Tuesday night. No one’s going anywhere, dude. That was probably the most prepared this region’s been for a tornado since last year’s Super Bowl.

For the record, advising people to “remain calm” after indicating forthcoming danger is the dumbest thing ever. It’s the same opinion I apply to those school shooter drills conducted in high school. The #1 rule of executing a drill is clarifying the drill is just a drill; in fact, the ONLY reason a drill succeeds is because everyone knows the drill is just a drill.

Once I learn it’s not a drill, then fuck the drill. I always laughed when my teachers would instruct us to treat the drill as if it wasn’t a drill. Okay sure, but don’t be surprised when I shove some kid in a wheelchair down two flights of stairs for quicker access to the fire extinguisher, which I’ll use to smash through one of the 1st floor windows and escape. Don’t die—you know the drill…

If there’s a cyclone or ballistic missile heading towards my patio, keep that shit on the DL. I’d rather die wearing sweatpants, eating Celeste pizza, and updating my NBA 2K17 “MyPlayer” attributes than frantically rummaging through my contact list and apologizing to family members and ex-girlfriends for past transgressions. Not to mention, if nothing happens, I’m stuck renovating a laundry list of relationships I only attempted to salvage in fear that heaven exists and I may be on the wrong side of the velvet rope. I’d rather a terrorist attack at that point…

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably know midterms are approaching. This year, I guess there are a lot of hotbed issues being adressed, most notably, Question #1.

For the record, I don’t know what the law is or what it plans to do because I don’t do research; however, I’m familiar with it because I’m friends with Nurses on social media. After I combed through pictures of various nurses holding mugs asserting “I Save Lives,” I finally saw some clarification on the issue and realized I’ll just be voting with my gut, like I do every year.

The best part of me is that I’m essentially just a dog. If you give me more food, you have my loyalty. How I vote is exclusively determined by who I speak to last. Every one of these commercials sway me in another direction. I could be dead set on voting yes, and as I’m pulling into the parking lot, I could hear a radio commercial claiming “If you hate Stalin, you’ll vote no on Question 2” and I’ll be smashing that box at the ballot.

I saw mid90s on Thursday and I don’t know what to make of it without giving spoilers but I’ll try. The film marks Jonah Hill’s first venture into the world of directing, and from that perspective, I thought it was well done. The dialogue was serviceable and the 90s nostalgia—Super Nintendo, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bed sheets, VHS tapes—is enough to generate a wry smile from time to time but that’s kind of where things fall. It simply felt like a love letter to California skate culture during that period, which is fine, but not for something who isn’t necessarily invested in it.

As I mentioned, it’s difficult to review a movie like that without giving spoilers but I will say that the ending doesn’t do much to justify the price of admission. A lot of people disagree and contend they like when directors leave stuff to interpretation but get the fuck out here, dude. As a filmmaker, it’s your job to tell me a story, that means beginning, middle, and end. Don’t leave the ending up for me to decide—that’s what I paid you for…

Can We Talk About That Game Last Night…?


Okay, so this is going to be a profanity-laced blog, so for anyone who’s faint of reading, I suggest you navigate elsewhere. I already got my page click and that’s really all I’m looking for out of this. I’m sure I’ll write something more in-depth about this tomorrow or something (about last night’s game, as well as tonight’s game) but I’d be remiss if I didn’t shoot from the hip on this one.

So yeah, I sat on the couch at my buddy’s place and watched baseball for SEVEN HOURS last night. That’s NOT what you want. Around 6:30 PM yesterday, we were discussing if we should hit a bar but we resolved to just watch the game in the comfort of his place—right move. I can’t imagine the people who watched this downtown or something, only to get kicked out during a tie game around 1 AM and scramble to the nearest television to catch the end… 2.5 hours later.

One quick thing before I get into things too much. Point blank: this chick needs to DIE in a car fire right now…

I don’t care how it happens, but this woman needs to meet the Reaper in swift fashion. The entire game, this chick was prancing around imitating monkeys (or something, I don’t know) and awkwardly gyrating her hips like she was convulsing at a John Mayer concert. Need someone in our armed forces to take her out before Game 4. Can’t have this on my television screen while I’m trying to enjoy the longest game in World Series history.

Okay, so back to the actual game…

I’ve always hated this new trend of over-managing that occurs in the playoffs. I understand you need to adapt for lefties, ballpark dimensions, and defensive shifts but can we just agree that—when it really comes down to it—baseball is still baseball?

Outside of a missed spot that resulted in a solo jack, Porcello was ROLLING. He got yanked around 70 pitches and my jaw hit the God damn floor. Why, you ask? Well because Porcello was due up the next inning and we just couldn’t risk having a guy who hit 3/7 over the season take another crack at the dish. At the time, it wasn’t the worst decision of all time but looking back, Nathan Eovaldi had three plate appearances before I went to bed—THREE.

The JBJ homerun was incredible. One of the big controversies going into the game was that Martinez got shipped to left field so we could preserve Bradley’s defense in center over Benny’s wood. In the end, I guess you could say it worked out but at what cost? You have to wonder if things could’ve been different with a bat like that in the game from the jump. Benny saw one plate appearance, and in a 3-2 game that went 18 innings, you’d be an idiot not to scratch your head a little.

Bogaerts and Mookie were just atrocious. I think they went something like 0-50 last night and I just don’t want to talk about it…

Nunez was essentially the only bright spot outside of JBJ’s at-bat from an offensive standpoint. He also made a pretty good grab at first glance following the Sox taking the lead in the 13th. One second glance though, what the FUCK are you doing dude? Rewatch that play in slow motion and try to convince me needed to fall into the stands on that one… you can’t. That ball’s a difficult, but still a routine fly ball and Nunez turns his back to carry himself into the stands on some Derek Jeter-type bullshit. Just catch the fucking ball like an adult; if you do, that runner doesn’t advance and I salvage 2 hours of sleep. Not to mention he was flopping and faking injuries like Neymar out there. So frustrating.

Not talking about Kinsler right now. I understand he slipped but dear God, just eat that infield single. No reason you should be heaving that ball 50 yards to the right of first base there. Mookie would’ve made that play at second…

Last but not least because I’m crunched for time: Eovaldi has some fucking ROCKS on him. That guy’s been nails all postseason and even after getting the loss, he has my World Series MVP vote so far. If they win that game, his performance goes down in the pantheon of all-time great postseason performances in Red Sox history. I may be overreacting (because I am) but I would’ve put that right up there with the “Bloody Sock” game. To come into a game with no notice like that around midnight and throw absolute ROCKETS for 7 innings is something that will immediately ingratiate yourself to this fanbase and I just feel bad our bats couldn’t lift him up. Damn shame.

We’re onto Game 4…

Tweets I Didn’t Tweet: Red Sox/Dodgers World Series Game 1

MLB: World Series-Los Angeles Dodgers at Boston Red Sox

After a 5-day hiatus, we’re back with another installment of Tweets I Didn’t Tweet where we explore a bunch of tweets that I didn’t tweet. Brilliant, right? It allows me to react to things in “real time,” but only a day later so I can shamelessly refine everything in an attempt to make myself sound smarter.

Anyway, last night was Game 1 of the World Series and, all things considered, it certainly didn’t disappoint. Let’s get the ball rolling…


  • We’re roughly an hour away from the first pitch and my TV has reverted to that Emergency Alert System screen three times already. I guess there’s a tornado in the area and they want everyone to “remain indoors.” Like, the Sox are entering Game 1 of the World Series on a Tuesday night. No one’s going anywhere, dude. In fact, this is probably the most “prepared” this community’s been for a tornado since last year’s Super Bowl.
  • The PA announcer just introduced the Dodgers and you can hear Fenway from Connecticut right now. Awesome moment when Dave Roberts was introduced first. All those boos transitioned to applause INSTANTLY. It was like when there’s a shitload of contact downfield and you’re screaming at your TV over the no-call, but then the cameras shoot over to some hero line judge who chucked a flag for roughing the passer. Such an immediate emotional swing.
  • James Taylor just sang the National Anthem and I was devastated when he didn’t transition into an encore performance of his SMASH hit, “Angels of Fenway.” If you’re unfamiliar, than you’ve been doing things wrong. It’s basically a song detailing the various misfortunes of being a Red Sox fan—86-year curses, the Yankees payroll, ordering hot dogs at Fenway—a few months removed from Boston’s 3rd WS title in a decade. Wild stuff.

1st Inning

  • Sale looks convincing as he strikes out the first two batters. Strictly speaking, he hasn’t been the guy we saw prior to his DL stint in August, but not living up to a 1.97 ERA and nearly 14 strikeouts per nine innings doesn’t necessarily make you a bum. That said, he seems like he has his stuff, and more importantly, he’s oozing more of that “shut up and get in the box” demeanor fans in this city gravitate to.
  • As I mentioned in my previous blog, Taco Bell’s running this promotion where they’ll pump out free tacos on November 1st if someone steals a base in the WS. Well, it didn’t take long as Betts singles and steals second to kick off the bottom of the first. If you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the cries of every drive thru attendant in America calling their manager to inform them they’ll have food poisoning next Thursday.
  • Benny singles to bring Betts in and JD returns the favor with an RBI single of his own. I can’t lie, I was slightly nervous about how Martinez would respond this October. The guy’s been nothing short of a rock since he signed here but in Boston, your legacy’s predicated on what you do in the postseason and he’s answered the bell in a big way.

2nd Inning

  • Sales notches another quick punch out to start the inning but Matt Kemp fights off a couple payoff pitches before launching one into the Monster Seats the very next at-bat. I’m not worried, though. I chalk that up to Sale missing his spot against a veteran with some pop. Shit happens.

3rd Inning

  • Sale gives up three straight singles with the last one coming off the bat of Machado to tie things up at 2. Not to brag, but I saw that coming a mile away and even texted my buddies as Machado stepped in the box. He’s the clear villain in this series and, although I’m confident he won’t torch this team, you just know he’s going to scrap together a few plays that drop your head.
  • Martinez hammers a double to score Pearce, distancing him even further from the likes of Carl Crawford, who I’m pretty sure is still streaming his monthly Netflix subscription on John Henry’s dime.

5th Inning

  • Sale walks Dozier to open things up and Cora’s seen enough. Maybe it’s his pace, but there’s something about Sale where I never realize the severity of his pitch count until he’s yanked. The guy threw about 5,000 pitches before the 4th for God’s sake.
  • Barnes closes things up, but not before Machado grounds out to extend Dozier and claim his second game-tying RBI in the game. Hell of a game so far.
  • Bogey grounds out to score Betts; Devers follows it up with a single to drive home Benny and I think I’m officially out on the whole “Kershaw is the best pitcher of this generation” argument. He’s reached that Peyton Manning-level of postseason incompetence and I would suggest that puts him in rarified air but I’m assuming he’d choke on that too.

6th Inning

  • Nothing happening offensively for either team but I’d remiss if I didn’t touch on Joe Kelly. In my previous blog, I mentioned how badly I want him to be a big game arm and he looked scary good in that outing. The movement on his changeup is ruthless; contrast that with a triple-digit fastball and you have yourself a weapon.

7th Inning

  • Brasier—who’s most likely been the most dominant bullpen arm in baseball this October—gets credited with Machado’s third ribbie of the night and you’re damn right I’m nervous. Sox still have a one-run lead but this bullpen is due for an implosion.
  • Núñez pinch hits for Devers with two men on and sends the second pitch he sees into Rhode Island. Fenway’s a zoo right now but I’m more astonished by the decision than anything else. Not to discredit Cora’s baseball acumen, but some performances defy managerial credit. This guy’s been on an absolute HEATER the last couple weeks and I’m just waiting for the crystal ball to fall out of his back pocket during a mound visit. I mean, if I’m Cora and the Sox pull this off in LA, I’m forgoing the team flight and punching a ticket to Vegas out of LAX.

8th Inning

  • Eovaldi enters in relief and retires the side before I can even grab another beer from the fridge. All anyone wanted to talk about in August was that the Sox didn’t do enough at the deadline but that argument’s treading water right now. If I told you Nathan Eovaldi would be the horse of a postseason rotation that boasts three former Cy Young winners, you would’ve drug tested me.

9th Inning

  • Kimbrel’s been a source of palpitations all postseason but his dick was DRAGGING throughout that inning. I’m aware it was a 4-run game but it seems like he’s found something. I guess Eric Gagne—a Dodger legend, by the way—contacted Cora to let him know Kimbrel was tipping his pitches; since then, he’s looked untouchable. Just further proof that Canadians are incredibly nice people, eh…

Fried-ay: Hot-wired Hatchbacks, Halloween Dominance, and Elizabeth Warren


Editor’s Note: I wrote this on Saturday but felt it wouldn’t do as well views-wise over the weekend so I’m posting it here. In other words, I’m posting a Fried-ay blog I wrote on Saturday, on Monday. 

Guys, guys, guys! It’s Saturday, which can only mean one thing: it’s Fried-ay. Yes, it’s time to read the only blog post on the face of the Earth worth reading on a Friday, unless it’s posted on Saturday because there were bigger fish to fry (Fry-day WHOA) the day before. As always, Fried-ay is a blog I write that has no rhyme or reason and requires no introduction, which is why I explain that prior to every one of these posts. Let’s get into it…

For those of you keeping score at home, I am OBNOXIOUSLY hungover today. I often speak in hyperbole, but I’m being 100% sincere when I declare that I haven’t felt this discombobulated since Senior Week of college. The only thing that’s preventing me cliff diving headfirst off my roof was a Pedialyte I smashed before going out, as well as a Big Mac I smoked via Uber Eats at around 3 in the morning. Here’s how my morning has gone…

I woke up and cleaned what I could at my buddy’s apartment because, although I’m a complete degenerate, I’m a tidy one. From there, I walked up and down a nearby street looking for my car, eventually asking neighboring residents the number of the local tow service. After a few misplaced calls to a couple companies, I came to the conclusion that someone hot-wired and sped away in my 2014 Ford hatchback. Devastated, I banged a right at the end of the road, peered up, and realized I had spent the last 30 minutes of my life scouring the wrong street.

Upon arriving home, I nearly brushed my teeth with hand soap. After scrubbing my away all the Budweiser/McDonald’s-related bacteria nestled in my oral cavity, I ventured to the basement and belligerently attempted to turn on my television with the garage door opener. Now, the fact I did this is something I’m not entirely embarrassed about it. People make mistakes and—although I’m criminally close to being perfect—I’m not immune to that; nevertheless, what really bothered me was the sheer amount of time and effort I put forth before realizing things weren’t working out. I literally sat my deplorable ass on the couch, clicking away for a solid 10-15 seconds as my garage door was having an aneurysm before acknowledging that “Hey, maybe the 7th click might produce the same undesired result the first 6 clicks delivered.”

On another note, I’m attending a Halloween party tonight at my buddy’s place and, for those who know me, you understand this is a big deal. Over the past two decades, I’ve consistently put Halloween in a bodybag and, at this point, October 31st is basically in my back pocket. Every year, I roll into whatever social gathering I was apathetically invited to and put on a fucking clinic. It’s to the point where a costume contest is to me as the AFC East is to the Patriots—all I have to do is show up.

However, this year is a bit different; this year, I haven’t done my research. My buddy texted me earlier this morning (while I was still somewhat entrenched in a reprehensible stupor) and informed me he’ll be picking me up for the party around 5 PM. It was at this point that I realized the party was today, and not whenever I had previously thought it was. In other words, I don’t have a costume…

For the record, this isn’t necessarily a huge problem, and in a way, it’s most likely for the best. I do my best work when my back’s against the wall. When my feet are dangling over a wood chipper, my enormous brain kicks into second gear and genius juice begins to drip from my ears and the manifestation of greatness is on full display.

In the past, I’ve dressed as Happy Gilmore, Mac Miller, Robin Thicke, and Jake from State Farm; however, if I’m going to pull this one off, I need something fresh and unique. So far, I’ve flirted with a few ideas. Originally, my plan was to dress up as “Playoff David Price” and not show up to the party altogether but, following Price’s six innings of 3-hit baseball against the Astros on Thursday night, the joke would’ve fell flatter than a shitfaced Olsen twin.

One of my fallback ideas (which I still may implement) is to buy face paint, a buckskin kilt, and some feathered headdress so I can roll into the party as Elizabeth Warren. Although hilarious and topical, I’m sure I’ll most likely encounter some social justice heat for it so bitching out may be for the best; besides, I’m sure a million other assholes will go viral for executing the same idea.

When it’s all said and done, I’m sure I’ll be raising another banner come Monday. Primetime players perform their best when the lights shine the brightest and although I’m ill-prepared, I love a good knock. Hit your money balls…

Tweets I Didn’t Tweet: Red Sox/Astros Game 5 (CLINCHER)

sox 1

Alright, so we’re back with a new improved version of Tweets I Didn’t Tweet. For those of you who may be stumbling on my first blog in this format (so both of you), I’m not a fan of Twitter but I’m also a narcissistic hedonist who gets his rocks off by shamelessly spewing his opinions on sports and pop culture through the vehicle of WordPress.

As you can see, I’ve divided my unsent tweets by inning to give people a slight idea of what the hell I’m talking about. Let’s get into it…

1st Inning

  • David Price is somewhat of a genius. He’s convinced me that it’s perfectly acceptable to earn 30 million a year and produce close to nothing in the postseason. It’s honestly hilarious how far the expectation bar has dropped and I can’t hate on him for that. If he gives up 4 over roughly 5 innings, I’ll be ecstatic…
  • JD Martinez is just methodical at the plate. Guy knows the strike zone like nobody else in baseball and that’s the type of shit that runs big game arms off the mound in October. High pitch at bats is what this team needs against a horse like Verlander.
  • Unreal how much of an afterthought this has been (and most of that credit goes to Pearce, who’s been admirable to say the least) but Mitch Moreland coming back is HUGE. People forget this guy was an all star this year, as well as a former Gold Glove recipient.
  • Price has good command and he’s getting those calls on the outside. Everything’s telling me she should implode against a guy like Verlander in this type of situation, which tells me he’s teetering on the verge of a gem…

2nd Inning

  • JBJ’s been a breath of fresh air this series but he’s also been the beneficiary of Rob Manfred’s home cooking. Hell of an at bat but that’s the second time he’s struck out in two days and ended up on first base; this time to load the bases with two outs and Mookie up. Major League Baseball wants Dodgers/Sox so badly and I’m not complaining.
  • Price is still cruising through two. I keep forgetting we pay him so much but whatever. John Henry could lose all his money in shady, offshore human trafficking investments and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash if we get hardware out of it. Go morality!
  • Very unfortunate but Verlander’s getting the squeeze (SAD!). Low curveball that should’ve been called a strike gets a pass to extend the at-bat and on the very next pitch, JD hits a no-doubter. By the way, that marks another run with 2 outs in the inning. Frustration city if you’re wearing orange.
  • Naturally, Bregman ends the inning with another inconceivable stop and throw from third. As a Sox fan, I know I’m supposed to harbor some sense of animosity towards him over the whole Instagram fiasco but I also have a brain and refuse to get triggered over ill-advised social media behavior. I could care less, the guy can flat out play.

3rd Inning

  • Price with another strikeout on Bregman. Not much else to say aside from that he’s making curiously quick work out of Houston right now. In the words of John Wayne during some shitty Western my grandfather would fall asleep to while babysitting: “It’s quiet… too quiet.”

4th inning

  • As Price blows a “high” fastball by Altuve—so roughly 4 ft off the ground—for his fifth strikeout, I can assuredly say this is the most confident body language out of him I’ve seen in a while. He then follows that up by blowing three by Correa. Who is this guy?

5th Inning

  • David Price is sailing. Sits down another set of batters. The last out even required him to charge and make a one bounce throw to first base. Everyone and their mother has spent the last three months criticizing the David Price contract but the Sox front office didn’t hear no bell.
  • Foul ball rattles off the wall near the ballgirl and I couldn’t help but notice an overwhelming amount of older gentlemen wearing baseball gloves in the stands, which begs one question: If it exists, what’s the age cutoff on wearing a glove to a baseball game? I think once you hit 14 or so, you gotta leave that shit in the garage. The whole point of catching a fly ball is that so people in your section can whisper things like “oh shit, that dude must’ve got D3 looks” or something. Nobody in the history of fan catches has ever looked badass with a glove. That’s what your $13 plastic cup of Sam Adams is for.

6th Inning

  • I don’t want to say I’m a genius so I’ll just type it instead. Yesterday, I said that baby-faced son of a bitch Devers should’ve played over Núñez to start the series and obviously he waits on an outside fastball and pushes it over the wall in left for 3 runs. Joestradamus is a forced to be reckoned with.
  • After the run support from Devers, I finally mustered up the courage to check the score of the Thursday night Football game. The TNF matchups have actually been pretty enjoyable this year; however, Broncos/Cardinals might be the most upsetting game the NFL has slated in years. I’d rather give myself a colonoscopy with a rusty screwdriver than watch Case Keenum desperately attempt to justify a 36-million dollar contract for four hours.

Sometime around 1 AM

  • I just woke up and scrambled for my iPhone, which is currently on 2% battery. Just enough to coordinate a quick Google search to find out if I’ll be depressed for the next 48 hours or not.

And this is the problem. I’m an adult, and as an adult, I have shit to do early in the morning. I have to wake around 6AM, which means I don’t have the luxury of lounging around like some asshole for 6 hours, chasing beers with Fruit 2 O’s between pitching changes in a 4-run game going into the 8th inning.

The MLB needs to fix this because I’m sure I’m not the only baseball fan with this problem. You have the ALCS and NLCS—two of your game’s best products of the year—being played while over half the country is either asleep or wiping their search history clean after an impromptu Pornhub fling.

It’s not fair, and as someone who’s paid my dues as a fan throughout the season, it’s a slap in the face. I’ve slowly transitioned into a bigger fan of the Patriots thanks to two decades of spellbinding dominance but my first loves has, and always will be, baseball. Don’t deprive me of that because you want “ratings.”

And that’s what REALLY pisses me off. Although I’m not some high-end network executive, I’m pretty sure you can’t be posting MONSTER ratings in these times lots. I understand these games end at a relatively reasonable time on the Pacific end of things, but who gives a fuck when the markets are Houston and Boston? Leave those 8-9 PM first pitches to the west coast. There’s no reason why I should miss out on October Baseball three times a week due to sheer exhaustion.

From what I’ve read, the reason these games are on networks like TBS or FS1 is because the local networks don’t want to risk a game legging out a 5-hour time slot that drips past their local news coverage. It screws everything up for these networks that have live programming near that midnight time slot. Not only do they need to prepare for the prospect of an overtime game, but also the fact that conventional baseball moves at a snail’s pace.

Keep in mind the Sox have an incredibly good chance of playing the Dodgers in the big one. If this is the case, we’ll have two teams in polar opposite locations, which is a scheduling nightmare that I’ll allow some slack for but not in the case I spoke of above. In this case, you had two teams competing from relatively manageable time zones and you chose to neglect the convenience of two gigantic core markets in favor of national appeal. Hopefully you got your ratings and I can happily say you got mine—it’s just my eyes were closed half the time.

This, along with other things, is why I’m starting to believe baseball is cannibalizing itself. Outside of the general pace of play issues, Manfred & co. are deepthroating the business end of shotgun with these media restrictions. The fact you can’t share a diving catch or late-game homer without the FBI taking a battering ram to your apartment door is bad enough, but when you deprive me the prospect of that altogether by putting me to sleep before I can log into Twitter is when things become inexcusable.