The Late Mistake

My wife asked me if I remembered the Beavis and Butthead where Beavis composed and performed a song that went:

Dammit dammit son of a bitch
Dammit dammit son of a bitch
Son of a beeeeeetch sonofabitch sonofabeeetch
Dammitdammitdammitdammitdammit

Of course I called her a damn liar. Nothing so perfect could exist in this world! But she was right. It was during a song by a band called the "Comateens" (good lord) that Beavis didn't think much of. Butthead didn't like it either.

While this shook my faith in the terribleness of creation and in the untrustworthiness of my wife, Beavis' song became my go-to refrain when something goes wrong. How handy!

Washington Nationals center fielder Adam Eaton, who was carried off the field Friday, has a torn left ACL and will not play again this season...

Dammit dammit son of a bitch, etc.

Eaton wasn't around long enough for any of us to develop an emotional attachment to him, but dammit (dammit son of a bitch) if I'm not going to miss him. He got on base and stuff. Big fan of that. And even if you didn't have the same regard for him that I do, consider the mess we're in now.

Babyhead's back. Son of a beeeeetch.

Michael A. Taylor's tenure with this team has been frustrating. He didn't hit, can't hit, and will not hit, but he's always right there when the center fielder of first resort gets hurt. He's going to suck up an unacceptable number at bats in a completely useless manner until management does something about it.

And here's the thing: This team just scored 23 damn runs, which doesn't even seem like it's possible. Problem solved, right?

No, the problem is not solved. Mike Rizzo needs to get on the phone 29 times and say something like, "You guys give up yet? Who's playing center for you assholes? What's this gonna take?"

I'm serious. 29 times. Don't do any research. Go in there like a bull. Coffee is for closers.