Hello, I'm Paul the Pretard. I'm supposed to write about sports, but first I want to confess that I got a little muff-action last week at a party in the U-District by telling this chick I was Coach and that I write a sports column for the Seattle Times.
Yesterday, I got into the shower without taking off my clothes, thereby saving myself time and money by using shampoo to clean not only my butt, but also my laundry. Another way I save time is to watch two baseball games at the same time. Yup, I do. I was in Italy last month. Basically, the computer keyboards in Italy are different than the computer keyboards in my apartment, so it was a difficult trip. I got diarrhea.
I was putting on my pants yesterday and it occurred to me that the standings for the American League West are like our solar system. Going down the line, each team is exponentially farther from the last, just like the planets, with the Mariners as Pluto.
If it's not Ichiro's fault the Mariners are doing so poorly, then who is to blame? The answer is Bret Boone. Boone is hitting a measly .231. In 2001, when the Mariners were the best team ever to step on field, Boone was hitting .331. Now, however, he can barely swing the bat. Thanks for destroying the '04 season, you filthy pig bastard!
Everyone stay tuned in July for the JOCK ITCH TOUR DE FRANCE EXTRAVAGANZA! The Stranger is sending Coach to France to report comical observations of life as an American jock amongst the smelly French. He'll be sending detailed descriptions of his attempts to interrupt Lance Armstrong's concentration. That should be funny, 'cause Coach is really good at, like, bothering people when they're trying to concentrate.
