That Sportster Piece or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love A Pile of Unrepentant Trash
7 years ago
I’ve spent far too many hours of my damn life dealing with pathetic trolls — a redundant phrase, I assure you, and yet one that barely grazes the bile that sits and festers on the tip of my tongue when I get wound up about these utter wastes of skin. And while I don’t think a normal human being can ever fully enter the head-space of these kinds of shit-for-brains dweebs who have so little else in their lives, and place a value on their time that’s as tiny as their dicks, in my experience it always felt like laughing at them for not even being good at trolling served as an effective riposte.
I’m sure it really didn’t, but that’s what I liked to do. After all, the only thing worse than a troll is a troll who can’t even be a piece of shit properly. At least give me some wit, you shit-belching squid!
Sadly, though I’m only one paragraph in as I type this, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be dealing with delightfully playful human garbage today. More like a garden variety phony provocateur. Or perhaps, if we give him much more credit than he deserves, a writer failing miserably at parody.
Does the fact that I’m obviously not entirely sure if it’s parody suggest that it is, perhaps, a successful parody? Fuck no! A parody of what? A steaming shit-pile fan so ridiculous that people would only take him seriously for as long as it takes them to quietly slink out of the room and away from his blinding aura of stupidity?
I mean… take a look at this shit:
The Toronto Blue Jays had a fairly easy World Series title in their grasp last year. If John Gibbons knew when to pull David Price in Game Two of the ALCS against the Kansas City Royals, that could have helped. Who else remembers them stranding second and third with none out in the top of the ninth in Game Six? If they played like an above-average team in those games, they would have made it to the World Series.
Aww, precious.
If you’ve yet to see it, the above comes from a piece at something called The Sportster — a site that has all the lack-of-quality of Sportster’s on the Danforth, but none of the what-the-hell-is-this-place-and-why-are-they-opening-six-beers-no-one-has-yet-ordered-at-1:59-AM? charm — which is titled 15 Reasons The Toronto Blue Jays Will NOT Win The World Series.
It is purported to be written by a Blue Jays fan — and, honestly, I’ve dealt with enough know-nothing lemon-sucking whiners that it’s not entirely implausible that he’s doing it honestly — which is maybe supposed to give it some kind of extra authority. This author — or “author” i.e. the fecal scent of a person “Alex H” is piss-poorly attempting to do an impression of — sees, man. He cuts right through the bullshit the other sheeple who follow this team refuse to acknowledge!
Actually, that’s a pretty good angle from which to approach writing about a team. I sometimes use a sort of version of it myself! The difference being that when I do it it doesn’t come off as the petulant ravings of a slow child lost up his own asshole. Usually.
I wouldn’t do the piece justice if I tried to pull out the dumbest highlights, because frankly it’s all the dumbest highlight; a stream of barely-consciousness from a cliche-loving surface-skimming mouth-breathing fun-hating imbecile.
Having read through it now I can only try to laugh at what would produce such unrepentant trash. The seething at John Gibbons that runs through it, the delusional divining of Jays players’ pride and mental toughness, the over-the-top lauding of small-ball horseshit the author thinks is so obviously the only way to win that such a statement stands on its own without any need to back it up, the painful obviousness of the fact that this person has literally zero idea what a good baseball team looks like.
Oh man, I actually think that, in a way, I kinda fucking love it.
Yep. Yes! That’s it! I love it! I take back all those things I said about trolling without wit. This still doesn’t have any wit, but I was wrong! Oh, goddamn it, I was wrong! Witless trolling can be beautiful, my friends.
It is, in fact, kinda exhausting how much I love it and hate it and am awed by it at the same time. (Also exhausting: snarkily annotating it until you give up in disgust). Not because it’s witty or interesting or, least of all, sensible and correct. It’s because it’s precisely none of those things. It’s pulling me every direction and I can’t get enough! Here we have a hand-crafted artisanal barrel of piss, fashioned of reclaimed wood from a barn horses used to shit themselves in. WHAT A PUTRID MARVEL! WHAT A STAGGERING MONUMENT TO THE INDEFATIGABLE GARBAGE IMPULSES OF A CARICATURE OF A PISSBABY!
Do yourself a favour and go read it. Or at least skim it. Or load it on your screen, look away, and set the thing on fire.
Bravo, Sportster. Bravo.
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