SportsGuy33:Hello, Grantlandians!1 I’m more excited than Teen Wolf’s best friend Styles when he found out that Teen Wolf wasn’t a homo! I’m more nervous than Johnny in the Karate Kid when he was asked to sweep the leg!
|1. I’ve been toying around with a cool, inclusionary nickname for all our faithful readers. Something that would look real neat on the back of a satin jacket. Keep an eye peeled for the Grantland ShopZone, opening soon.|
|SportsGuy33: As you all know, we here at Grantland are dedicated to presenting the finest in contemporary literature. That’s why we staff the finest and most lauded authors of our generation, like the guy who investigates pop statistics, or the guy who likes ladies and music!|| |
|SportsGuy33: So today, we’re pleased as Michael Keaton punching Martin Mull at the end of “Mr. Mom” to bring you one of the greatest authors of ANY generation! He’s one of my greatest inpirations as a writer2, and I couldn’t be prouder to present to you, Grantland’s newest guest author, the incomparable Charles Bukowski!||2. I feel like his influence in my work can be felt most strongly in my articles “The Top 10 Wrestling Entrances of All Time” and “How Hockey is Not as Cool as Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”|
| ||**Online Host**|
RhymesWithPuke has entered the chatroom.
RhymesWithPuke: Me and Carol went to see the
back in the old days
when they used to play at
we came all the way out from
And we were drinking that stuff, boy.
that good old stuff
and stepping around the puke
and the hot dog wrappers.
if Carol wasn’t here
I’d be down at Santa Anita
relying on good, strong
I felt more sure the
in a late race
than I did about the Angels
being able to swing a
summer day game.
too much left to
| ||**Online Host**|
The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim have entered the chatroom.
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: Is…is someone writing about the Angels?|| |
|DiscreetCharmoftheBourjos: Oh, wow! And on a big-time national website thing, too!|| |
|GreasersAndScoscia: We haven’t seen pub like this since we choked all those times in the playoffs!|| |
|BobbyFish: Holy moly! Is this really happening, Mister Coach Scoscia?|| |
|GreasersAndScoscia: Shhhh, pay attention, kid. This is one of America’s greatest voices…and he’s talking about us!|| |
|BobbyFish: Golly!|| |
|RhymesWithPuke: I took in a spring training game|
with those same rotten Angels
playing up at Chavez Ravine.
a blistering afternoon
spent in the company
of a pair of cold beers
|DiscreetCharmoftheBourjos: What prose!|| |
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: Nothing like fine, literary musings on ours, the most beautiful of sports.|| |
|BobbyFish: /awestruck|| |
|RhymesWithPuke: I was only able|
to catch the first inning
before the sickness
my guts clenched up
and I ran to the bathroom.
“God o mighty!”
I shoved slow-moving
out of my way.
I dropped to my knees in the first empty stall
and unloaded my guts.
“Jesus, what a mess!”
I wiped my brow and
had maybe thirty seconds of
before my guts clenched back up
in a different
but familiar way
and the whiskey sh*ts set in.
|GreasersAndScoscia: Uh…|| |
|DiscreetCharmoftheBourjos: Well, that was…hm.|| |
|BobbyFish: Wow! Real poetry! What’s a “whiskey sh*ts” Mister Wells?|| |
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: That’s a bad word, Michael, and I don’t want to hear you using it around the clubhouse.|| |
|BobbyFish: /claps hands to mouth|| |
|RhymesWithPuke: watching baseball on the|
while some old lady jaws
in my ear.
“You’re good for nothing!
I can’t even use what you’ve got
after you’ve had a few drinks in you!”
I’m not trying to hear about that
all I care about
is the score of the game.
trying to figure out
if the Angels beat the
But here she comes again,
yelling and hollering.
so I shove her out of bed
and she lands on the floor
on her fat ass.
and just my luck,
it gets her all riled up.
and here she comes again for this
big thing I’ve got
so I give it to her
just so she’ll shut up and leave me
/covers BobbyFish’s ears
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: Can’t believe you, skip. Exposing the boy to all this smut.|| |
|GreasersAndScoscia: Hey, I…I didn’t…|| |
LoveHerandWeaver: LOL this dude’s f**ken crazy. Reminds me of my great-uncle from San Bernardino. Give us some more of that poetry sh*t bro.
/revs El Camino
|RhymesWithPuke: baseball |
have a lot in common.
LoveHerandWeaver: haha yeah okay I’m listening
|RhymesWithPuke: you enjoy yourself more|
with each drink.
but the only thing they care about
is whether your d*ck can get hard.
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: Terrible.|| |
|DiscreetCharmoftheBourjos: how is that even an analogy|| |
|LoveHerandWeaver: WOOOOOOOO this guy knows what I’m talking about /hoists bottle of Corona|| |
|BobbyFish: /bursts into tears|| |
|DiscreetCharmoftheBourjos: Maybe…maybe we should go, skip.|| |
|BobbyFish: He used the bad word for tallywhacker!|
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: I’m ashamed of you, coach. You oughta know better|| |
|GreasersAndScoscia: B-b-b-but I…|| |
|WhatchuTalkinBoutWells: /shakes head|| |
| ||**Online Host**|
The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim have left the chatroom.
|RhymesWithPuke: I put my head down |
next to the typer.
my guts are rotten with booze.
I close my eyes
and think about the green grass
of a baseball field,
endless afternoons of my childhood.
when the sound of the bat
on the ball
was heaven on earth.
|RhymesWithPuke: I wake up at ten o’clock|
and take a satisfying beer sh*t.
Jane will be here soon
and she’ll want me to give it to her.
|LoveHerandWeaver: haha man chuck klosterman has gotten a lot better|| |