I was alerted about this vidya earlier today by one of my sisters, and it still makes me cackle like a scary old broad who’s watching her mangy, rabid dog chase the neighborhood chirrun out of her damn yard.
This happened at a recent Chicago Cubs/Pittsburgh Pirates night game at Wrigley Field.
One caveat here — I am not a baseball fan. It’s not something I follow, but I will go to a game from time to time if the ticket is free and I’m plied with enough alcohol. Kidding about the alcohol part. Ok, ok …I’ll go if there’s an unlimited supply of ballpark hotdogs and Coolie Coos (or whatever they’re called) waiting for me at the park.
I do know this much about baseball: The Cubs blow donk and Wrigley Field is the world’s largest beer garden–but probably with more piss and puke strewn about, and guys with up-turned collars on their polo shirts and backwards baseball caps. Ew.
Plus, I used to live near Wrigley, and I grew weary of Cub fans from Schaumburg sullying my neighborhood with their shitty beer vomit and Schaumburgian ways. And the post-game puke on my car always killed my sunny disposition, and that memory is still knocking around the obsidian-like part of my soul.
However, this performance may restore my faith in America’s Game or whatever it’s called.