Holy Heck, Part II: The Attack of the Clones

So, I found my way into a paper, which is kind of cool. If you live in Boulder, you can pick up a Colorado Daily for free pretty much anywhere. If you don’t, your city is smelly and has cooties. You can check it out online right hyah. It’s in a different style than how I write here. The style I write on here doesn’t belong in any newspaper. Maybe in: Maniacal Tirades for Those Who Find Craziness Funny Weekly. Anyway, I’m in a newspaper. Maybe I can call myself a sports writer. No, definitely not, but I can pretend (I’ve got a voice recorder and everything!).

In other news, I’m in this thing called “college” and in this thing called “college” they have these other things called “finals” and “term papers.” Well, they are very time consuming. So, I won’t be posting much for a week or so. I’m guessing neither will Anthony. I will, however, try to post a Rockies minor league report sometime this weekend. For hopin’ through.

In other other news news,, we here at Frost Brewed Baseball have decided to upgrade our website. We will soon get our own domain name and will thence be referred to as (on your address bar) www.frostbrewedbaseball.com (unless it’s taken, which I doubt). It really means nothing, but it makes us look more radical, possibly tubular, without the little “.blogspot” part.

I have a couple quick mini-posts.

Mini-post #1

The Rockies suck (though I still love them dearly).

Mini-post #2: Electric Boogaloo

Jay Cutler was recently diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Has Jay been spending a little too much time on the ranch with Wilford Brimley? If so, he better break out that patented Wilford Brimley mustache for next season. The Brim-stache. The Wilf-tee. Well, no matter how you got it, we at Frost Brewed Baseball wish you luck, Jay. You can Dia-beat-this. Sorry, had to.

Mini-post #3: Beyond Thunderdome

Come on, Av’s. Wasn’t this supposed to be an intense rivalry? That wasn’t a rivalry playoff series, it was a massacre; a massacre akin to the scene in Hot Shots Part Deux in which Charles Sheen has a machine gun and guns down hundreds of hundreds of terrorists while a little body counter at the bottom of the screen counts up until it is “The Bloodiest Movie Ever!!!” In this example, the Red Wings are Charles Sheen; an Army of One—only at goarmy.com. The Avalanche, meanwhile, are the heaping piles of shameful turncoats who gave up the ghost at Sheener’s command. My mastery of metaphor is staggering, baby. Right now, Patrick Roy is looking down from his throne and brushing his index finger at the Av’s (the international sign for “shame on you”).