(Okay, I'm posting this a bit early. I'm not about to deprive myself of sleep just to watch those chump Yankees clinch it.)
So, now Jerry Hairston, Jr. has a World Series ring. Good for him, I guess.
Alright, there's no sense in wallowing in bitterness and self-pity. I'd like to congratulate the new world champions.
Kudos to the whiny, rag-armed catcher who pees on his hands.
Thumbs up to the phony, corporate, choker first baseman.
Job well done for the overhyped, bland-as-hell, power-deficient shortstop.
Take a bow, you purple-lipped, self-centered, steroid-abusing third baseman.
Pat yourself on the back, you dopey, obnoxious frat boy right fielder. That wacky mohawk sure distracted everyone from your .130 postseason average.
Bravo to the cro-Magnon, philandering left fielder.
Three cheers for the monstrously ugly designated hitter with the vast pornography collection.
Bully for you, HGH-abusing, stool-pigeon veteran starting pitcher.
And of course, a hearty huzzah to the fist-pumping, drunk-driving, fly-chasing relief pitcher.
But just remember that none of you could have done it without your skeletal, micromanaging prig of a skipper or your doddering, tyrannical plutocrat owner. You truly are the best team that a half-a-billion-dollar offseason orgy can buy.
May you all rot.