JAMES EARL! Quit beating that poor girl!
Posted: Wed Jan 23, 2013 12:32 pm
I am not a hard man to please. Give me a bag of Doritos, a Dr. Pepper 10, notes on ball players, and a computer or tv and I'm a happy camper. Today, I was channel surfing and paused at a talk show.
Are they serious?
There were five people in a semi-circle facing the camera talking about if it was ok for Beyonce to lip-sync the National Anthem.
Really?
And I catch shit from my friends when I bring up fantasy baseball?
These five people are getting large amounts of money and being watched by millions of people. And they're talking about how a song was delivered.
Why is the sustainability of Mike Trout less trivial than a damn lip-syncing?
C'MON!
Listen....
Mann: Ray, people will come, Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. "Of course, we won't mind if you have a look around," you'll say. "It's only twenty dollars per person." They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it; for it is money they have and peace they lack.
Mark: Ray, just sign the papers.
Mann: And they'll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game, and it'll be as if they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they'll have to brush them away from their faces.
Mark: Ray, when the bank opens in the morning, they'll foreclose.
Mann: People will come, Ray.
Mark: You're broke, Ray. You sell now or you lose everything.
Mann: The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.
Mark: Ray, you will lose everything. You will be evicted...C'mon, Ray.
Ray: I'm not signing.
I know it's not fair to have Beyonce compared to James Earl Jones.
Go ahead pick a voice.
Look Beyonce is cowering in a corner. James Earl Jones just pounded her vocal cords with his.
Beyonce not singing the National Anthem will pass as fast as Moonlight Graham helping a girl choking on a hot dog.
Rat's ass to the nonsense!
Baseball is a mere two months away. Two months from now I won't be channel surfing. I'll be watching a baseball game and I won't care who sings or doesn't sing the National Anthem.
It's not why we come.
We come to watch the game.
It's the one constant through the years.
Right now, they seem to be watching stupid talk shows with stupid people talking about stupid stuff.
But, in two months, there'll be something relevant.
They'll come through the doors, and pay money, and walk around the bleachers, and enjoy a shirt sleeve day outside.
It'll be baseball season.
A time where every team has a chance.
A time for watching Americana.
A time for hope.
Are they serious?
There were five people in a semi-circle facing the camera talking about if it was ok for Beyonce to lip-sync the National Anthem.
Really?
And I catch shit from my friends when I bring up fantasy baseball?
These five people are getting large amounts of money and being watched by millions of people. And they're talking about how a song was delivered.
Why is the sustainability of Mike Trout less trivial than a damn lip-syncing?
C'MON!
Listen....
Mann: Ray, people will come, Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. "Of course, we won't mind if you have a look around," you'll say. "It's only twenty dollars per person." They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it; for it is money they have and peace they lack.
Mark: Ray, just sign the papers.
Mann: And they'll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game, and it'll be as if they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they'll have to brush them away from their faces.
Mark: Ray, when the bank opens in the morning, they'll foreclose.
Mann: People will come, Ray.
Mark: You're broke, Ray. You sell now or you lose everything.
Mann: The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.
Mark: Ray, you will lose everything. You will be evicted...C'mon, Ray.
Ray: I'm not signing.
I know it's not fair to have Beyonce compared to James Earl Jones.
Go ahead pick a voice.
Look Beyonce is cowering in a corner. James Earl Jones just pounded her vocal cords with his.
Beyonce not singing the National Anthem will pass as fast as Moonlight Graham helping a girl choking on a hot dog.
Rat's ass to the nonsense!
Baseball is a mere two months away. Two months from now I won't be channel surfing. I'll be watching a baseball game and I won't care who sings or doesn't sing the National Anthem.
It's not why we come.
We come to watch the game.
It's the one constant through the years.
Right now, they seem to be watching stupid talk shows with stupid people talking about stupid stuff.
But, in two months, there'll be something relevant.
They'll come through the doors, and pay money, and walk around the bleachers, and enjoy a shirt sleeve day outside.
It'll be baseball season.
A time where every team has a chance.
A time for watching Americana.
A time for hope.
