Thursday, January 22, 2009

Bastardo Nationals

So I see that the single-game prices for our season tickets last year dropped about thirty-two percent.

Good; they'll "lose" less money when those seats go empty this year.

They knew last year that they had banged us up the ass; the empty seats everywhere proved it.

Now I am not one for thinking that we were entitled to renegotiate the deal -- we were stuck with our bargain. A deal's a deal.

But the continued shabby treatment by some connected with the stadium left a bad taste. And their failure to do anything nice or special to acknowledge that we had been stupid in buying their effing seats sorta sealed our relationship with the Roya . . . Nationals.

And let's not forget that Stan and the Lerner's rigid adherance to The Plan, while admirable [I generally like principle] is possibly stupid. The Plan worked so much better for a franchise that was over seventy-five years old, and had become established as the only team in the South [east of Arlington, TX], and was a staple of one of only *three* national cable systems [HBO, TBS, and WGN]. AND the Plan involved some luck [Glavine, Smoltz, Avery . . . ] -- if it were surefire, I promise you others would have copied it. In Atlanta, you could go to the game, or you could go to the mall and measure the height of the ladies' hair.*

Here, you have options, and you have a franchise defining itself as woeful. Meaning maybe you do something baseball-stupid for entertainment value.

I'd say there is a forty-percent chance I won't set foot in that ballpark this year, and probably a twenty-five percent chance I'll never again enter the place.

Cutting off my nose to spite my face? Are you kidding? It's a freakin' baseball game! Baseball requires a willing, willful suspension of reason -- and entry into a fantasy -- for its enjoyment. Fuck with that, and you've fucked with baseball.

[imagine Dennis Quaid as Jerry Lee Lewis]: The Nationals . . . can kiss my ass!

*cheap rhetorical device divorced from reality

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