Hey Drake, Eviscerate Meek Mill All You Want, But Leave My Childhood Getting Curbstomped Out Of This
Hey, Drake. Remember this little doozy from 2001?
TASTE IT BITCH. *Plays sad trombone in head because I realize it’s not even close to the same thing.*
God DAMMIT. Now, I couldn’t care less about the beef between “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter”* Drake and Philly’s own Meek Mill (I’m sure a certain someone at Complex is currently at Defcon 5 with the subject). However, it’s beyond personal to bring Toronto and Joe Carter ending the magical ’93 Philadelphia Phillies season into all of this. I suppose all’s fair in love, war, and millionaire rap battles done for mutual publicity. The last thing I needed this morning was a reminder of the exact second my sweet and innocent childhood ended. Please, let’s have another moment of silence for all the young souls lost.
I feel like Andy Dufrense wondering where 20+ years went. For anyone aged 4-18 in 1993 in the Philadelphia area, a part of you died on that fateful night. It seemed like destiny to ride the likes of Dutch, Kruker, Schill, Nails and Mitch to the promise land. So many run of the mill players the likes of Inky, Eisey (the original Tourettes Guy), Dave Hollins and pretty much the rest of the team having their one career year at the same time. Such a fun ride, but such a devastating fall.
Also, anyone who still blames Mitch Williams for ruining the season is an asshole. A la Bill Buckner, it’s a damn shame 1 pitch defines his career. What people don’t remember was Toronto was absolutely STACKED. They already won the World Series a year before with so many great players. Future Hall Of Famers Ricky Henderson, Roberto Alomar and Paul Molitor. Borderline HOF guys (if not then great players in their prime) John Olerud, Joe Carter, Dave Stewart, Al Leiter and Jack Morris. Even had young Carlos Delgado and Shawn Greene riding the bench. Kind of hard going up against that kind of talent with a worn down Ben Rivera, Mariano Duncan starting most games with Larry Anderson doing his best Eddie Harris impression night in and night out.
We did what we could, but the better team ultimately won. Time to let it go as much as we can, hence the big FUCK YOU to Drake for making me cry earlier in the day than usual.
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PS – Holy hell I miss Harry Kalas:
*Get it? Cause Drake is fake as fuck with his sports allegiances. Boom. Roasted. I’m sure he’ll feel that one while sleeping on his billion dollars.