Against baseball

I love baseball, myself -- but does it make me a bad fan if I don't care about the steroid report? Well, either way, even though I enjoy baseball, I enjoy Orson Swindle's rant against it just as much (warning: dirty). Small excerpt:

"Oh, but the romance! The history! It’s our national pastime, hearkening back to a SAHAHAKEREEGGHGHHKKKFJDmakdfadfkjg. Apologies. That noise was us garroting George Will, W.P. Kinsella, and any of the other bullshit geysers who’ve built up the myth that for some reason, merely because it’s very old and has been around a long time, that there’s some kind of moral or cultural onus to like baseball. (God, that felt good.) No one’s better at pulling a phantom peanut of sublimity from steaming turd of reality than a writer, and in baseball they’ve had a whole open sewer to browse in their quest to make shinola from shit."

Also, Bill Plaschke ("America's Worst Writer!") weighs in as only he can:
Four hundred and nine pages.

Eighty-six players.

One fatal injection into the heart of a national pastime's history.

Baseball will survive the steroid-bloated Mitchell report, which was released today with countless stories of cheating by players, compliance by owners and protection by the union.

Baseball will survive, but Roger Clemens will not.
It's a fatal injection that you can survive. Only in Plaschke World! (Also note that the report has somehow taken steroids -- I can't tell if that's intentional or not.

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