Hark!
Can there be a sweeter sound than the cry of the indigenous bleacher bum? Gargantuan, gross, beer-bellied schmoes, Yodeling cheers and gripped by the throes of Pitcher-perfect passion? What girth of grace blesses these patron saints of losing teams, Content with lite beer and heavy wives and Coulda, shoulda, woulda But never did? Yankees? Pshaw, they win too much. And as for sweet new fields, the Ballpark in Arrrrrrrlington? Bah! What bleachers there? The beer-soaked bums are gone, And three-hundred pounds displaced by 2.5 kids And a Gucci-loafered twit on a cell phone drinking Eww! Stale Heiniekin. Now all our heinies have individual seats And there is no joy in bum-ville Anymore. Marvin Long Austin, Texas "If you will not grant me victory, then grant me vengeance!" Conan the Barbarian "Blessed are the peacemakers." Jesus Christ
