Baseball is not the one with the pointy brown ball, that’s football (but not the football all the rest of the world calls football,) it’s the one with the small white ball, but not the really small ball cause that’s golf. There are a whole bunch of rules, the point of which are to make the whole fucking thing take longer than it needs to. The last time mrpeenee was dragged to a game he was caught reading a book by his long suffering father. I was bored, what did he expect? As Aunt Ida in Female Trouble reports “The world of heterosexual is a sick and boring life.”
So the World Series apparently is this baseball thing, much like Project Runway’s Season Finale, and San Francisco is in the series hoo hoo, and seems to be winning, more hoo hoo. Even as a sportsphobic gayboy, I have to admit it is sort of thrilling to have the home team doing so well. You go girls!
Just this evening, a particularly pleasant, warm l’heure bleue, Secret Agent Fred and I were making our way through the Castro and the queer bars were yelling and high fiving like a Hooters after too much cheap speed with all the TVs tuned into the game. I’m pretty sure most of these poofters have no firmer athletic insights than does mrpeenee, but they were not allowing that to slow down their sloe-gin-fizz-fueled mayhem.