I know you’ve all been waiting with bated breath on the eve of the fifth(?) annual Socially Awkward Cubs Meetup to find out what’s happening for tomorrow’s festivities. Wait no more, master baters.
Don’t forget, men and women, that this Friday is the next annual installment of a bunch of us getting together, getting drunk, and bitching about the Cubs. Will Crane Kenney show his face around Dolan again? Will that cheap bastard GORDON WITTENMYER actually buy ME a drink this year? Will Al Yellon get heckled out of every bar he’s ever set foot into? FIND OUT ON FRIDAY. Details will follow.
The newest podcast is up here. Instead of spending the entire time talking about the podcast, we actually talk about baseball. And I molest my microphone, apparently.
Guys, Justified came back this week with more awesome one-liners and 100% more hot naked women. Archer comes back next week. That means you can stop pretending to still enjoy It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and trying to figure out what the hell is going on in American Horror Story. Good television is here to save us from the winter doldrums!
The Bun has been getting awfully wordy in the Muskbox lately. Maybe she’s getting paid by the word. Maybe she found a pocket thesaurus. Maybe she lost her journal, so the Muskbox is the only outlet for her ramblings. Maybe she likes to hear herself talk, just like every other woman, AMIRIGHT, GUYS??? Whatever the case, she talks a lot in this week’s Muskbox. Sorry in advance.
Hopefully, you didn’t resolve to actually work on Fridays this year. Because FAIL. If you haven’t made any resolutions, that’s good. Resolutions are dumb, and you should always be striving to be a better person, not just because some arbitrary date came. Just kidding. You’re all horrible people year-round. And that’s why I love you. Plus, Google says your resolutions are doomed, anyhow.
Finally, the T79 comes to a glorious end with a Hall of Famer. The idea behind the T79 was to pick out players who were at their best against the Cubs. A lot of these guys were schlubs who put up Hall of Fame numbers exclusively against the Cubs. Mike Schmidt put up Hall of Fame numbers against everyone in the MLB. Everyone except the Cubs. Against the Cubs, he put up numbers above and beyond the Hall of Fame. If there were a T79 Hall of Fame, Mike Schmidt would be the only person in it. He would be the only plaque on the wall. He would be the curator. He would tear your ticket when you walked in, and he would shush you in the library. All while wearing that damn, haunting mustache. Say hello, at long last, to the Top Cub Killer of My Time, Mike Schmidt.
The final Muskbox of 2012 is mercifully short. Like the Cubs’ 2012 playoff run, Bears fans’ patience, and Dale Sveum’s Book of Interesting Stories. Maybe the Muskbox celebrated a bit too hard during the holiday season. Maybe the normal Muskbox submitters all got new computers for Christmas and will spend the next month figuring out how to turn them on. Maybe there are only so many questions one can ask in the offseason about a 100-loss team that figures to be phenomenally dull in 2013. Whatever the case may be, enjoy the abbreviated Muskbox.
The end of the year is upon us. 2012 was sort of shit, so I’m glad to see 2013 arrive. I guess. Happy New Year to all of you and yours. Make bad decisions, but make safe decisions next week. You don’t want to start 2013 on a sour note. It was a pretty slow week of links. I’m assuming no one is working. Well done. Don’t forget that the annual Desipio-HJE get-together is coming up. On Friday, January 18th, to be exact. Details will follow, but rest assured it will NOT be at Shitty O’Kea’s. Maybe we’ll go somewhere that GORDON WITTENMYER can’t find us.
The choice between the number one and the number two Cub Killer of My Time was a difficult one. I felt like Sophie. Sophie Marceau. In Braveheart, when she has to choose between power and Mel Gibson’s seed. SPOILERS: She chooses his crazy seed, which is awesome. I guess that makes Randy Johnson the daughter-in-law of Edward Longshanks in this perfect analogy. And I’m Robert the Bruce, or something. And you’re all William Wallace’s dead wife. I’ll tell you what else Randy Johnson is. The second-biggest Cub killer of my time.