MRI and Kevin Gregg Blows

MRI is done and I'll see the good doctor on Friday to see what's what with the bad knee.

My hip is starting to hurt now from limping for nearly 6 weeks. Any "healin' feelin'" I was having the last few weeks was strictly from the prednisone, because my knee feels as bad as ever now. It's less tender when I twist it, but it's swollen and stiff. It sucks. I'm really ready for Friday to get here. Let's just get this train rollin'.

On the upside, the MRI tech was very handsome. On the downside, I had to listen to Sunny 99.1 during the scan. Ugh.

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So, the Jays were just supposed to be a summer fling. Something to occupy the sports-loving part of my brain for a few months until hockey comes back. Maybe become literate, or at least semi-literate, in another sport.

But then the Jays turned out to be so fun and inexplicably good and lovable. And really, there's nothing more fun than a team playing above its talent level. They're like lovable losers... who don't lose!

But then Kevin Gregg darkens the mound with his chomping and his Oakleys. Screw his hot start. Night after night, he HEMORRHAGES leads. I was mad when I went to bed and I woke up still mad. At first I was shocked at myself. I can't tell you the last time I woke up still mad from a hockey game. Even my OWN games, usually a good sleep and I'm full of perspective and zen the next day.

So, why am I getting this worked up for baseball?

Well, I figure it's because I don't know what the fuck I'm looking at with baseball. As in, I have no perspective because it's too new to me. I can look at one miserable loss in an 80 game season for the Aeros and go, "Okay, I know why that happened and I know what this team can do, so I'm assuming they'll do it better next time." Hockey is a slow burn. Baseball is sirens and red flashing lights and OMGOMGOMG!!! You'd think, given the divergent pace of the two games, it would be the other way around. You'd be wrong.

I'm assuming this will get better. Or the Jays will finally start being bad-to-mediocre when they remember that gravity applies to their balls (baseballs, I mean), too, and there won't be so many fat leads to blow. I'm not sure that's better.

Anyway, Kevin Gregg will continue to be a magnet for my ire and disdain until he's sent to Vegas or he quits seeing the Baseball Reaper every time he's on the mound.

(P.S. Even worse is that he's HOT. Like break-my-neck-doing-a-double-take hot. And 6'6". Bitches!!! But he's completely unlovable and reeks of GAZOLINE! What a waste of a perfectly good object of lust.)