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Manny Ramirez: Understanding the Glee

If a first-time visitor were to come to the site and read the quickie Manny Ramirez thread, they might think, boy, what a bunch of bitter, craven Giants fans. That's only somewhat true. There's a part of us that's laughing at the misfortune of others, and it's just a little repugnant. Just a little. I'm not too worried about it.

But the real happiness when someone like Manny Ramirez gets pinched comes from this: When Barry Bonds was the biggest name in the steroid scandal, no one really understood why Giants fans were still cheering. Few understood why some Giants fans were adept at making such tortured arguments for Bonds's possible innocence.

"Maybe his trainer, like, picked up the wrong package from the post office, 'cause I saw that once in a Hitchcock movie or something. Or maybe it was a De Palma film. Wait, if it was in a De Palma film, then that explanation sucks, because the movie probably did too. Still, all of the people on the team I root for are innocent until proven guilty. I thought this was 'Merica, dammit."

With every one of these stories, there's just a little bit of "see! see!" attached. Yankees fans kind of get it. Now Dodgers fans kind of get it with Manny Ramirez suspended. Some people will never get it. Like, say,the guy in the Caminiti jersey giving Bonds an earful in San Diego, or the guy in the "'89 World Champs"-shirt complaining about the sanctity of the game. The Logic Fairy didn't have time to stop by and leave something under the pillow of those folks. Their loss.

That's why I want the stars to tumble. I want Ichiro! to be found in a dingy Ottawa HGH den. I want Dustin Pedroia to be arrested for munching on a greenie sandwich. I want every team's most popular player to go down. Then, maybe, people will say, hey, human nature makes people break rules in order to succeed, or make money, or live up to the expectations of their daddy, or impress Samantha Scootbottom from the second grade, or whatever. Maybe there isn't something with a specific region of the country, or one or two players. Maybe there's something wrong with humanity.

I don't have a solution for that last part. I'm just a bitter, craven human, myself. But I still feel comfortable flipping off the finger-waggers, and I still feel mostly okay with laughing at the misfortune of others in this instance

21-8*! LOLomgLOL. 21-8*! Check this out:

21 - 8*


Won 7*


Tainted home wins record! Sanctity of the game! My son bought a Manny wig! My son! WHAT DO I TELL HIM NOW?

Dang, that feels good. It isn't the high road, and I realize that. But the high road's kind of a drag. The low road is filled with booze and scantily clad members of the gender that appeals to you. You know you kind of want to check it out. We'll save a seat.