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Speaking of people who tanked my fantasy team last year, one or two weeks ago, Sam got drunk and warned me that he was going to address Grady Sizemore's nude photographs on our much neglected blog. "I'm going to make a post and it's going to be a post razzing [is this a word?] you for not being into those Grady Sizemore photos," is mostly what he said, "Come on, here's someone you spent a year toiling over and then this happens and you're not into it?!"
Listen Sam, when Grady Sizemore was just some handsome abstraction that I could daydream about meeting in the Continental Philosophy section of the Cleveland Barnes & Noble, life was great. Now that he's demonstrated himself to be a real person with an exhibitionist streak, a scary looking girlfriend and generally poor fashion sense (not to mention the fact that I've always known about his passion for The Doors), I can't help but feel slightly wounded. Unconditional love predicated on the knowledge of who a person is, as opposed to who I want them to be, is a feeling that I've reserved for only one professional athlete.
Now, here's some pictures I made that will make that last sentence seem completely disingenuous.
Anyway, none of this means that I no longer like Grady Sizemore. I like him and I'll like him more once baseball starts again. I'll definitely go see the Indians when they're in New York. Maybe Sam can come with me. What do you say, Swebs?
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