Fatty

Pull yourself together, St. Louis. This Albert Pujols stuff is ridiculous. Yes, I’m aware that he spent something like nine years with the Cardinals (his very first major league team, so it’s totally unlikely that he’d ever consider leaving, right?) and just got a World Series ring. So? How does that make him beholden to this city for the rest of his life? And why does it affect yours so much?

Although I am a former athlete, I just don’t care about sports. I mean, it’s nice when a team wins and everyone is happy. Also I am an American whose grandfather played in the minor leagues, so I know and appreciate baseball. But I’ve never been at the point where a player leaving a team of his own volition for more money has seemed like the ultimate betrayal to me. It’s never affected my life to the point where I get interviewed by the news about how heartbroken I am. And dudes, I don’t even have a life, okay? I don’t have anything better to do and I still don’t care.

Blame it on age-related cynicism, but I long ago stopped being concerned about athletes getting even more obscene salaries, about rich dudes cheating on their trophy wives, and about famous people making sex tapes and going to rehab instead of to jail. These are the things that happen. They always have. They always will. Just be glad that Pujols is going to the Angels instead of being arrested for murdering a studio call girl with Fatty Arbuckle.

Because of course referencing Fatty Arbuckle is relevant. God, where have you people been?

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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