Cal Ripken is sometimes referred to as baseball’s Iron Man. Unlike the real Iron Man, Cal doesn’t wear a red and yellow suit made of iron, and he can’t fly. On a side note, did it not confuse the hell outta ya that there was a black Iron Man and a white Iron Man? I mean, wouldn’t a more appropriate title be “Iron Men“? Or at the very least, “Iron Man and Whitey”. But I digress.
At this year’s All Star Game, Cal made his final appearance and became the only player in Major League Baseball history to hit a home run in his final All Star game. Big freakin’ deal. I struck out in my final Little League All Star game. Which incidentally cost my team the game, my brother his prostate (he bet it against some guy’s Camaro), and my father his job (his boss said that he couldn’t employ a man whose son “hit like a handicapped prostitute”, which is odd because there was this handicapped prostitute on my team that year who hit .386 with 12 home runs, 42 runs batted in, and 45 stolen bases).
But you don’t see the press jabbering on and on about my last at bat, do you?
Actually, I didn’t even play Little League. But I did date a handicapped prostitute for about 2 years. OK, replace the word “date” with the words “pimped for”, and you have a more accurate description of our relationship. But again…I digress.
For reasons that I can’t understand, the media has deified Cal Ripken. What the hell did he do that was so great? So he was a tall shortstop who hit a lot of home runs. Whooptie do. Does his abnormal size, or the ability to hit a ball with lots of power make him a Hall of Famer? My uncle has an abnormally large thyroid gland and can crush a beer can with his butt cheeks, but I don’t think he’s gonna make the Hall of Fame. Okay, maybe he’ll make it, but he definitely won’t be first ballot. Unless of course they use those Florida ballots. Are Florida ballots still funny? I think they’re still funny, but maybe it’s Florida in general that’s funny, and the ballots are simply an offshoot of Florida’s inherent funniness. But once more…I digress.
So where was I…ah, yes…comparing Cal Ripken to the unknown odor that emanates from my rear-end. As I’ve conclusively proven thus far with my large amount of statistical evidence, Cal Ripken throws like a girl and therefore does not deserve to be in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Not only does he not deserve that honor, but also he deserves to be kicked out of baseball for being overrated. Yes, I know he’s retiring, but they should still kick him out, just to really get across the message to all the fans that he does indeed suck.
On second thought I don’t think kicking him out of baseball is good enough. I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that Major League Baseball shoot Cal Ripken. That’s right, you read it here first, folks: Cal Ripken should be shot. With a gun. Preferably a loaded gun, but I don’t want to seem like I’m asking for too much.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want anything bad to happen to Cal. I just want him to be shot and in a lot of pain. This way, he’ll truly understand the pain of the common man, and he’ll come out of his gilded tower and recognize that life isn’t about struggling to win all the time. Life is about failing in moments of extreme pressure. Or more accurately, my life is about failing during moments of extreme pressure. My failures in life are a continual reminder about my personal and sexual inadequacies.
I hate my life.
So, to sum up: I hate my life, superheroes who change race are confusing, Florida is usually funny, and I digress…a lot.
Oh, and I hate Cal Ripken for being so damn successful.
I hope they shoot that prick.
Guest Columnist