Have you ever thought to yourself: "I suck"?
Happens to me all the time, or it did, until I discovered the quick, easy, way to stop sucking, which is to obtain ownership of Steve Buffum's "The B-List".
Let me explain via a mostly-true story.
Three days ago I picked up my son from school - apparently fire-bombing the principal's office is a "no-no" these days, and a good way to lose bus priviledges - and the teenaged beast from hell was carrying with him a well-worn, tattered copy of some sort of blue-and-red looking book.
"They don't let you carry that thing around, do they?", I asked, assuming he was carrying some sort of firearms manual or punk rock manifesto. He went on to tell me that he wanted to know where I got "my book" that he was reading, because he already knew three people who wanted a copy.
Instinctly knowing that he lifted yet another personal possession of mine without asking, I lovingly cuffed him upside the head with a pipe wrench, and politely inquired which book had been purloined.
"This one", he said, showing me a copy of Steve Buffum's "B-List 2006".
"Listen to this", he said, and started reading:
"And it wasn't the most annoying in the division, because the White Sox were Evil.
In fact, consider the top four back-end relievers for the White Sox.
Here is a typical day in the life of Neal Cotts: upon waking up in the morning, Cotts would jump into his baby seal oil powered car at 5 AM and rev its two-stroke engine for ten minutes to maximize the number of neighbors disturbed and the amount of foul-smelling smoke into the air.
He would then speed ruthlessly through neighborhoods to the local Starbucks, where he would buy the largest, hottest coffee he could, pay with counterfeit money, and then toss the scalding hot coffee at homeless people on his way to the animal shelter.
After picking out the very cutest puppy and kitten from the litter, he would take them home and pan-fry them for breakfast. He would then roto-till the neighbors ' yards with ground road salt, superglue the elementary school' s doors shut, drive back to Starbucks, pretend to have spilled the coffee, get a free refill, and scald the local safety patrol volunteers near the middle school.
After a brisk game of Ground Glass Roulette with his children 's breakfasts, he would ..."
What a breath of fresh air. Finally, I had found a baseball writer I could relate to, a person who could make even a moribund Indians season crackle with excitement and pierce the fog of media blather to get to the real truth.
And the truth is, as long as I live in a world that has Neal Cotts in it, I know that I suck far less on a relative level. Any evil that I could be accused of is a paltry dot in a dusty corner of the universe compared to Neal Cotts.
Hence, compared to Neal Cotts at least, I no longer suck.
After discovering this life-giving truth, I read the remainder of Steve's book, a shining example of fan journalism that deserves to be read start-to-finish in book form. It's hilarious, perceptive, and a worthwhile trip. No BS. If you are a Tribe fan, or just a fan of Cleveland sports, you want this freaking book.
Save yourself from a life of self-loathing and perceived sucking. Buy BUY THE B-LIST 2006 BY EMAILING STEVE. Do it now.
There are less than two dozen copies remaining (no joke), so buy today, or else.
TO ORDER, CLICK HERE. OPERATORS ARE STANDING BY, OR WILL EVENTUALLY LOOK AT YOUR EMAIL