Original article posted by Gunny:

For the last few weeks I’ve been watching this show, “Prison Break,” on Fox. It is definitely the coolest new show on TV I have seen lately. As the story goes, an engineer, Michael Schofield, robs a bank to get into the prison where his brother is wrongfully incarcerated and is about to be executed. Michael finds him inside and tells his brother his plan to break out and leave the country. He has the prison’s blueprints, and any other information he will need, tattooed all over his body. The show is a total rush. Every commercial is a cliff-hanger, and in every episode somebody new finds out about their escape plan, making the escape less likely and more dangerous.

Last week I arranged my homework other occupations, so that I can have time for the hour long show. At the appointed hour, eight o’clock on Monday night, I turn on Mr. Philo T. Farnsworth’s incredible machine (The TV), for what could be the awe-inspiring finale of this epic hero-saga. To my horror, and near maddening dismay, Major League Baseball has competed for, and won, the prime time Monday night venue. I braved the irresponsible abuse of the Fox Network, hoping that it was a mistake. I waited for this week, Monday night at eight o’clock, only to once again be mocked by the sight of tight-polyester clad men standing around on a pile of dirt.

I tell you, I almost pitched my remote through the screen. I mean really…who, in the name of Bigfoot’s testicles, actually watches this pseudo-athletic farce? And what programming genius *thinly veiled sarcasm* down at Fox actually thought it could trump “Prison Break.” Perhaps baseball was, at one time, as American as apple pie (Which reminds me, why are things termed “American” often the very worst example of a product? I.e. American cheese, McDonalds, MLB, etc. Don’t say it’s a reflection of our society or I’ll kick sand in your eyes.); however, the days of baseball’s height are far gone. Whatever respect the game once commanded has melted away like the shining frosts on spring rooftops. Whatever loyal fans were left from the money grubbing strikes are being turned off by the steroid abuse of the players. Putting the conduct of the players aside, the game is a snoozefest. I really don’t think the game would change much if you replaced the players with cardboard cutouts or even two inch army men. When you get down to it, baseball has the same amount of action as fishing in a swimming pool, but without the serenity; instead, baseball has the whiny voices of commentators, droning on, trying to put the unbelievably dull game into the even duller context of the season. The result is the most irritating collage of visual and auditory messages that any sane person could imagine.

Baseball has made people suffer enough, and the time has come to let baseball die. Let Americans remember baseball by hitting rocks with a stick in their backyard instead of trying to picture Babe Ruth’s face on the greedy, depraved hedonists in the MLB. The players themselves know that their strutted, fretted hour on the stage is coming to an end; Jose Conseco wrote “Juiced,” naming names in McCarthy fashion of those players who take steroids. He’s getting his money from the book sales and jumping ship. Let the captain go down with that ship – taking the ridiculous plastic hat-helmets, the worthless trading cards, and tightest pants that ever graced a husky man’s thighs – down in a wonderful whirlpool to the nethermost reaches of the Mariana Trench, never again poking its steroid-augmented, chaw spitting, stupid cap-wearing head around my “Prison Break” hour again.

For more ammunition against MLB, see George Carlin’s “Baseball and Football.”

Mst. Gny

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