It’s a shame that it didn’t wind up the winning run, but regardless, Aaron Hill stealing home on Andy Pettite in the seventh was probably the best thing anyone who has never seen Scarlett Johansson topless has ever seen ever. Which means that for me it’s number two, but it was still really fucking outstandingly awesome.

Fucking Sweet!
Hill’s steal has to top the list of awesomeness from tonight, but getting another absolute gem from Shaun “North of Steeles” Marcum is only barely behind it.

And shit, there were a number of positives to take from this game: Jeremy Accardo was fucking outstanding again, and somehow as a right-hander seems like he just can’t be touched by left-handed batters. How the fuck is it possible that this kid who looks like he’s from Apsley is making me forget about the Beej?

Plus, Adam Lind earned a walk by showing some actual fucking plate discipline in the sixth, and then doubled and eventually scored the winning run in the bottom of the eighth– against one of the games best lefties, no less. Bringing his average all the way up to a stellar .223.

How Fucking Long has This Been Going On?
So I haven’t had the, er… privilege of watching any Jays home games until this point, and, um… I was just sort of wondering… is Rogers’ “Strike Zone” feature thing brand new this week or something? Because somebody’s got to buy that piece of shit some glasses, or at the very least get Robbie Alomar to spit on it.

What the Fuck are They Fucking Thinking For Fuck Sakes???
The Fan590‘s Mike Wilner has been harping on this for a coup
le of weeks now, and he’s bang fucking on: what the fuck are the Jays doing carrying so many goddamn pitchers?

Parkes touched on it in his recap of last nights game, and you couldn’t have asked for two better illustrations of why it is complete fucking insanity to have Josh Towers, Jamie Vermilyea and now Brian Wolfe rotting in the bullpen than when the Jays’ only pinch running options for Frank Thomas in the seventh were Matt Stairs and Mr. Greased Lightning himself, Sally Boy.

And then Clayton comes up lame in the ninth after fouling a ball off his toes, and they’re forced to insert Troy Glaus, at the huge, inex-fucking-cusable risk of further injuring his hamstring???

Total fucking horse apples!

Having all of these pitchers wouldn’t be nearly as bad if Gibbers weren’t– quite fucking rightly– scared shitless of putting in Towers, Frasor or Vermilyea with as much as a five run lead and three outs to go.

But what’s that you say? “Fuck that, John Gibbons ain’t scared of nothing!”

Well, that’s a double negative, assface, so that means he is afraid of something– and that something is losing his job out of some asinine sense of loyalty to those absolute fucking losers (sorry Justin, I was on a roll).

In fact, because those three sacks of shit can’t be trusted with a five fucking run lead, the Yankees got to experience an extra dose of Downs Syndrome on Monday, when Scotty stayed in for an inning and a third.

I suspect that maybe had a little to do with Downs coughing it up tonight to that piece of garbage roided up speed freak Giambi.

Holy Fuck!
After opening the month with 9 straight losses (due, of course, to my angering the Baseball Gods, which I am still truly, agonizingly sorry about), the Jays have a legitimate chance of finishing the month at a nearly-respectable 13-15. But… to do that they have to win their next two.

Let’s Not Fucking Forget
Before we get too far beyond last night’s game, am I the only one who can’t help but think of Andrea
Bargnani when watching Dustin McGowan mature into an outstanding pitcher right before our eyes? Because lately I’ve been experiencing that same exact kind of man boner in my man pants that I was getting watching Raptor games back in December. Game to game you can actually see that he fucking gets it just a little bit more.

McGowan has Burnett-like talent. The movement on some of his pitches is pretty unreal. If he could ever really actually finally put it together it would be exactly everything that the Jays have needed for the last three years.

Well, except for this one, when their hitters started shitting the bed. Speaking of…

Still Fucking Waiting
Hey Vern. Hey Frank. You’re still on the shit list, dudes. Still. Figure it the fuck out already.

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