Thursday, July 06, 2006

Colon Blow

When I was a kid, back when I still watched TV, I really liked Saturday Night Live. It took me a while to realize that I didn't get some of the jokes, but I still had a lot of fun watching. My best friend and I even dressed up as Wayne and Garth for Halloween one year -- the year before the Wayne's World movie came out, even. (Before you ask: I was Garth.)

So it stands to reason that, while watching last night's "game", and despite knowing how one really pronounces Bartolo Colon's name, I was still reminded of one of the funnier commercials from the late 80's SNL stuff: Colon Blow.

[fade in on a guy in a living room watching the Twins-Royals game]

Announcer: Hold it! Are you really watching this crappy team play baseball?

Man: Sure, haven't you heard? Futility is really good for you.

Announcer: Well, there's sucky, and then there's real sucky. Try this.

[the TV suddenly changes to the Mariners-Angels game]

Man: Hmm.. Bartolo Colon. He's looking awfully fat. I hear he hasn't been pitching so great this year. Are you going to tell me the Mariners can't dent this pincushion?

Announcer: Take a guess: How many runs do you think the Mariners are going to score off Colon?

Man: Seven?

Announcer: Guess again.

Man: Five?

Announcer: A little lower.

Man: Four?

Announcer: Keep trying.

Man: Three?

Announcer: No, you'll have to do better than that.

Man: Two?

Announcer: We'll give you one more guess.

Man: One?

Announcer: Not even close. This team can't even score one freaking run off Fatty McAnaheim over there. To suck so much that you can't even beat a pitcher who hasn't won a game since last September takes such amazing depths of suckitude that you'd have to lose ninety games a year, every year for at least three years running.

Man: Wow! I think I get the picture! Colon Blow must be the most crushing defeat the team could endure at this point!

Announcer: And even better, it comes with a box of Quinlan Toast Crunch!

Man: Sweet!

Voiceover: Mariners baseball. What a blow.

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