Is it time to propose a baseball thread yet?
t ducks and expects the counter "Go get a Cats thread!" remark
'Touched'
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Is it time to propose a baseball thread yet?
t ducks and expects the counter "Go get a Cats thread!" remark
Aimee, I am so sorry.
I think to make everyone happy we'll need a new thread that allows discussion of both baseball and cats.
About an hour after I fell asleep, I had a dream that I was attacked by a raccoon. Then I was awoken every couple of hours by my cat punching me in the face.
I think I am safe from Hec-resentment.
Edited to add that I'm apparently receiving subliminal messages to talk about my cat.
allows discussion of both baseball and cats.
You know that will just degenerate into playing baseball with cats.
we'll need a new thread that allows discussion of both baseball and cats.
That covers the Detroit Tigers.
You know that will just degenerate into playing baseball with cats.
That'll never work. The cats will just be hunting things in the outfield or asleep in the sun and miss their at bats.
The cats will just be hunting things in the outfield or asleep in the sun and miss their at bats.
Pretty much like my outfielders.
"Hey kid! Game's over here!" I can't tell you how often my outfielders are watching the game on the other field.
I would be all in favor of watching the humans play baseball in a catlike fashion -- it'd make lousy baseball but great entertainment.
Swisher's rounding second, coming up on third, and... he trips over Scutaro, who was tackled in a surprise move by the opposing third baseman, who's now vigorously washing Scutaro's ears!
It's a simple pop fly headed right at Milton Bradley, who's sitting on his haunches in the outfield looking dreamily at absolutely nothing. The ball plops down right by his left foot. After a minute or two of staring blankly at the ball in mild surprise, Bradley goes batshit, springs to his feet, and tries to run frantically in nine directions at once. Then he falls asleep.
The ball somehow manages to leave closer Houston Street's hand, sailing over the head of the batter curled up snoring peacefully on home plate, and whizzing past Jason Kendall, who's writhing in ecstasy as the ump scratches behind his ears. The ball flumps to the ground some yards away, and Kendall promptly bites a chunk out of the ump's hand.
I don't think I could ever adore JZ more than I do at this moment.
MWAH!!!!!