Ninemen’s Morris: A ‘Nap’-Man rises to defend his Chief! Joy in Lajoie, and all-aboard Taft’s Raft!
sir, have undone your intellectual suspenders and dropped your common
sense trow to reveal a posterior so pock-marked with mind-munge, it
almost goes so far as to not even warrant a rebuttal, but rather a
pity-whistle played on Lazarus’ last gummed-up flute!!!
How dare you, sir, speak so ill of the President? And
how dare you, sir, compound your heresy with a trumpeting of some
apparent virtue found in the Christ-abandoned dung-ball indulged by one
First — to speak to your treason ‘gainst this fair nation, this journalist
need only offer his own recently penned exercise in pith:
“Clean plate, cleaner conscience! Surplus of pounds, Surplus of President!”
You harangue our dear leader because of his weight, calling him similarly soft on foreign policy. While
there is no denying that the aforementioned Taft’s Raft better be
well-built, such ballyhoo and whatnot attacking the man’s actions in
relation to lands beyond the hallowed borders of this nation resolve to
cockamamie in the ears of the simplest of troglodytes! Here is one very simple counterexample to your nonsense:
The man bought the Philippines.
those dear readers who aren’t familiar with this delightful land, the
Philippines are a mystical chain of islands situated abroad, in the
giving waters of the South Pacific Sea. These islands are known for their cash crops and their sanctimony. Holiness runs rampant, as evidenced by their previous owners, the Roman Catholic Church. I have heard nothing but pleasurable reviews of a local vegetable, the “bananalla,” which I have yet to enjoy for myself.
negotiated the purchase of this land from Pope Leo XIII (please hush
the nonagenarian barbs… obviously old age contributed to his lopsided
dealings), and served as governor of the land for a year by three. How
serves you that for foreign policy!!! This new acquisition serves to
establish our nation as a stern presence in Asia’s left underarm,
virtually guaranteeing that no surprise threat is ever imposed upon us
by any nearby nation (a bite of the thumb to you, Japan!).
(It should be noted that the bananalla is a fattening food. Perhaps that explains our captain’s rounded countenance?)
Point being made, on to our beloved game…
Has the liquor done its wilting?
You speak poison with forked tongue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cobb as any sort of exemplary model for any sort of proverbial
‘job-well-done’ speaks to not only a general misunderstanding of
competence, but also a general disregard for the plight of man!!!
Cobb is a beast. A walking ape who lost his fur, a salamander grown too big for his swamp. He
struts about puffing his chest, intimidating all those who crossed his
crooked path with the threat of a spike or, worse yet, a studded
knuckle to temple. But ultimately… what is the threat? The Tigers have failed to capitalize on his gaudy numbers, and in the end… what are we really playing for here? To trumpet Cobb is to trumpet ungracious loss.
The ‘Georgia Peach’ say you? I
prefer to call him the ‘Georgia Thief,’ for the taking of unwarranted
bases is, in this journalist’s opinion, ball-play that isn’t becoming
of even the most common of gentlemen.
And so, dear reader, let me turn your attention elsewhere. Perhaps to an old standby? Perhaps to a man who plays the shared agreement between two opposing groups of like-minds with a modicum of class?
Napoleon ‘Nap’ Lajoie.
Mack’s pride has displayed numbers that make dear Cobb’s corn hop back
onto the stalk, and his demeanor has been that of a dandy sans
foppishness. His swing reminds me of my first-born’s
first words — a pleasure to watch and even better to hear, and his play
about the infield is the equivalent of your Cobb. Throw
in a lollipop for the gilded statesman’s son down in box two, and we
have ourselves the wood-wielder of, by and for the people.
Dare I suggest that a gamesman’s rivalry is afoot?
The ball is in your general vicinity, ne’er-do-well.
PS. Wagner? We are in agreement. The man is weak about the knees, and he looks about with the shiftiest of eyes.
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‘Alabaster’ Eastman Thune
Former editor of the “Follies and Whatnots” section of the Chicago Inter-Ocean.
“Alabaster” is known for coining the popular quip: “An Irishman and
his whiskey are like the Father Sky and his Sun – you are guaranteed
that the latter will show up in the former each day of God’s blessed
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