Hey, you know that Red Sox-Yankees rivalry, THE ONE THAT’S THE MOST FACKIN IMPAHTANT AND HISTOAHICAL IN AWL OF SPAHHHTS? PK’s bucket list wouldn’t be complete without it. Yeah, well, none of the four games from its series last week came within sniffing distance of the ratings pulled in by the Hall of Fame Game Sunday between the Titans and Bills. Yes, the first preseason game between two NFL teams of low-to-middling popularity wiped its ass with MLB’s crown jewel of overhyped steroidery.

That’s right, baseball, the part of the year where you hold the sports world hostage with your crushing dullness is thankfully coming to an end. By the time your neverending season finally starts getting interesting, the glorious glorious (it’s glorious) NFL season will already be in full swing. And none will be bothered to watch A-Rod fail again amusingly in the postseason.

But, still, c’mon, IT’S BASEBALL! It has majesty! It is pregnant with metaphor! And once it gives birth to metaphor, will nurse it with steroid bitch tits. James Earl Jones makes it sound cool! You can’t overstate its cultural import! It freed the slaves and beat the krauts overseas, then kissed your mom in Times Square on V-E Day. It’s America distilled into a situational pitching change.

Like, remember baseball cards? WE GOTTA SAVE ‘EM! Kids put them in their bike spokes, ferchrissakes! Then the little doe-eyed tykes collected them. Yes, they collected the shit out of them, in order to make themselves future thousandaires! Capitalizing on this, the card companies produced way too many of the damn things, which drove their allure down to money-grubbing collectors. Then they produced not quite as many but printed the cards on glossier paper and jacked up the price. Then they created all these “inserts” which were special, more valuable irregular cards that card companies used to justify charging $5 for a pack of 10 cards. BECAUSE THERE WAS A 1 IN 18 CHANCE YOU WOULD GET AN ANDRES GALARRAGA DIAMOND KING, WITH A SERIAL NUMBER INDICATING ITS PLACE AMONG THE ONLY 10,000 PRODUCED! HOW YOU WOULD BEAM TO ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS ON THE STREET WHEN YOU GOT YOUR MITTS ON THAT! HOW THEY LAVISH THEIR PHONE NUMBERS AND PANTIES ON YOUR FACE!

To wit: baseball blows and I’m glad we don’t even have to pretend to acknowledge it soon.

LIVE BLOG SNEAK ATTACK! Yes, it’s the one baseball event before September that’s actually somewhat enjoyable to watch. Or at least it would be if Berman didn’t force his shtick on everyone throughout the entire telecast. You know he’s spent the entire afternoon memorizing suburbs outside St. Louis so that every home run he has something stupid to yell out. “THAT ONE’S HEADING FOR CHESTERFIELD!” Oh, how you must die, Berman, you don’t even know how you must die.

SOON THEY’LL ELECT A UNIBROW TO BE MAYOR. The Bawlmer Orioles Beisbol Club selected Mike Flacco, the younger brother of one Joe Flacco, in the 31st round of the MLB Draft. Before you know it, all Jersey inhabitants will be called upon to save Baltimore sports. However, upon further inspection, Mike doesn’t seem to have as prominent a unibrow as his older brother, but he did play for a baseball team that borrowed the Buzzsaw logo. FIX YO BIRD ALLEGIANCE!

What the fuck is this shit? I thought Sunday Night was Football Night ™? I was ready for a game. A football game. And now, here I sit, at 8 o’clock, after a full day of…stuff…and now YOU’RE TELLING ME THERE’S NO GODDAMN FOOTBALL ON TONIGHT?

I don’t want to…wait, what’s that? There’s no football…because of baseball? No, noooo, this is fucking bullshit. This is America, goddammit! We don’t cancel football for baseball. They cancel baseball for rain. For fucking rain, man! They can’t even stand up in the face of precipitation! We cancel games for when presidents get shot in convertibles, not for some lame-fuck baseball game. We can have a cocksucking game in tea-and-crumpets London, but not tonight? At its regulary-scheduled space in my life? Fucking bullshit, man.

This does it. I don’t wanna hear Jerome Bettis ever again, telling me that Sunday Night is, or was, whatever. Not if he’s gonna fold up his tent like some loafer-toting French infantryman every time baseball walks into town. As of now, Sunday Night Is Jerome Bettis Runs Like A Little Bitch Night. It wasn’t bad enough when Willie Parker ran you out of Pittsburgh. Now you’ve got Tim McCarver and that crooked little finger he keeps up Joe Buck’s ass running you off of the calendar. You’ve gotta represent, Jerome; this looks pretty fucking Grosse Pointe.

Leave it to fucking white people to ruin everything, man. Cocks.

Last night I accidentally saw a few minutes of Baseball Tonight (extended viewing of John Kruk has been known to cause hemorrhoids in test subjects). If you didn’t see it you probably missed the single greatest baseball highlight we’re likely to see all year (unless Manny Ramirez finally just takes a piss on the warning track). On first glance it looked like a routine foul ball, but there was so much more.

While the Baseball Tonight recap was everything I could have expected (”I would have eaten that!” -Kruk) it was the game’s live broadcast on NESN that provided the best analysis. Now watch as this noble football fan shows a pussy baseball fan how they roll in Foxboro.

I’m not sure what Mystic Pizza is about but I’d like to think it involves Julia Roberts on the other end of a sloppy slice like that one.

I can’t decide which reaction is my favorite, there’s a bounty of greatness to choose from. You have to love the Oliver Stone inspired analysis conducted by the Jerry Remy, but my favorite is the reaction of the victim’s friend. In a short period of time he goes through the full gamut of emotions; joy when the foul ball is headed his way, sadness when he spills his beer, anger when he sees what’s been done to his friend, horror when he sees the wasted pizza, and finally happiness when he realizes that his dumb ass is going to be all over television.

We salute you random Patriots fan. You waited for the perfect moment before you stuck it to the northeast liberal elite baseball-istas for the world to see.