All those years of taking steroids… the clear and the cream and all that shit… how did Barry Bonds do it?
I’ve been putting a steroid cream on my poison ivy rash for six days now and my arm is all swollen and sore. My upper arm is so swollen it actually hurts a little. If Bonds was using crap like this for years, he must have been as swollen as… well… he must have been as swollen and gross as he actually looked. Lets all think back to the middle of the aughts decade and remember how bloated and cartoony Bonds looked. In just six days I’m already feeling a smidge like that.
There was a time when I looked at Alex Rodriguez with something akin to hope. Barry Bonds had a legit chance to soil Hank Aaron’s home run record with his steroid induced bombs. Could someone maybe catch the Balco freak and give us our record back? Might it be Alex Rodriguez? If anyone can do it, it is probably him.
Then, of course, A-Rod got busted and admitted to using steroids himself. Then it happened again. Damn it, you asshole. I was starting to count on you.
Now it’s all coming to an end. The Yankees say that they are just moving him to a new position within the company, but let’s call it what it is. He’s getting cut. Midway through a disappointing Yankees season that included selling off all of their valuable players, Alex Rodriguez gets cut. Released. Fired. Read between the lines there, it means that no other team in the majors had any interest in trading for him. He’s done. He’s toast. He’s finished.
And I am one gleeful Red Sox fan.
The Yankees come to Boston tomorrow for a three game series and it is our collective last opportunity to boo the steroid freak back to the stone age. Let’s all practice:
I so hope that the Red Sox bring Jason Veritek back so that he can relive the famous face washing of 2004. That magic moment when we realized our Red Sox had a set of balls. Their season didn’t turn around immediately after that fight, but it may as well have. That was a glorious day in Red Sox history.
Alex Rodriguez, you are a steroid using cheater who let the baseball loving faithful down by being just as much of a scumbag as Barry Bonds. Just when we thought it couldn’t get worse, there you were visiting an “anti-aging” clinic. Now you have lost all of your skills (both natural and chemically induced) and you’re being kicked out on your ass. I hate you for being a cheater. I hate you for being a Yankee. True, but I sure do love that we get to help run you out of the league.
So long, A-Rod. Don’t let the door hit you on your pin cushion of a steroid using ass on the way out!
You know what pisses me off the most? After a number of years of not paying the slightest inkling of attention to the National Football League, I decide to sort of jump back on the Patriots bandwagon for the playoffs. I watched quite a bit of their two playoff games, and actually watched the first half of the Colts game on the tube before listening to the second half on the radio.
And what do I get in return for starting to almost think about caring again? Why the Patriots get accused of cheating again. Oh thank you so much, Bill. I really wanted to hear this crap. They provided 12 balls to be used by their offense. 11 were under-inflated. Now forgetting the fact that as methods of cheating go, this one is just stupid. Come on, Bill. Can’t you come up with a better scheme than this? Couldn’t you have gotten all super villain and done something maniacal like putting Ambien into the other team’s Gatorade? Why cheat at all? Wasn’t the fact that Indianapolis doesn’t know what it’s like to play in freezing rain while you play in snow and hurricane horror on a regular basis competitive advantage enough?
I was this close to having fun with football again and boom, my team gets called out for cheating. That’ll teach me a lesson, eh?
Good breakfast, good lunch, no between meal snacking until after dinner. Dinner itself was bigger than it should have been, but not the end of the world. There were peanuts, of course, but I didn’t over do it.
So what’s the problem? The snack that came after dinner but before the peanuts. A chocolate chip cookie sandwich with about a two inch thick vanilla frosting filling, that’s was the problem. I cheated. I was bad.
It’s not the end of the world. It could have been worse. I didn’t fall off the wagon or anything, I just had a moment of weakness. Big deal. I’ll survive. I’ll recover. I won’t say that I won’t do it again, but I will say that I won’t do it often. Frequent junk food is one of the reasons I’m in this mess in the first place, I’m not going back to that.
I cheated, but it’s okay. I just won’t cheat again for a while.
It’s going to be a rough one today, weight watchers wise.
For the first time since we jumped onto the wagon back on Labor Day weekend, I failed to go grocery shopping this weekend. That means I had nothing to make a brown bag lunch for today. Since I didn’t have a bag, I also failed to bring my usual tiny breakfast. Not good.
That means breakfast became a convenience store breakfast, which means donuts. Very bad. Later on today lunch will be cafeteria lunch, which isn’t as bad as donuts, but it’s not even close to as good as a small sandwich on a deli thin. Worse, we ate out last night at a Japanese restaurant and I had hibachi chicken, steak, and friend rice. Even worser worse, on Saturday night we ate out at what might be the best steak house I’ve ever been too. I had the single best steak dinner of my life. Ever. Bar none. Not question. I also ended up cleaning off my wife’s plate… and my step son’s… and my step daughter’s. Remember me being happy about losing 4.6 pounds last week? I probably put it all back at dinner on Saturday. It was soooo good.
This just means I have to go grocery shopping tonight after work, and that I have to be extra good for the rest of the week. I can do it. I just want to manage things until after the new year, and then it’s back to an almost militarily disciplined diet again. I can do it.