POINT – Brett Myers: Cole Hamels and I Are Not Fighting With Each Other
Hi, folks. I’d like to thank the fine men and whatever stage of pre-op tranny Chamomiles Davis is in at the moment for giving me this opportunity to clear up a rather unfortunate misunderstanding, one which has created this unwelcome sub-plot to what has otherwise been an outstanding postseason.
Certain reports have indicated that I confronted my teammate (and good friend) Cole Hamels after last night’s victory over the Yankees. Hamels’ comments after our loss in Game Three were misconstrued by the press to imply that Cole was “quitting” on the team, whether mentally, physically, or both. Nothing could be further from the truth.
When I spoke to Cole as he was leaving the clubhouse last night, I made a remark that could have been interpreted as referencing his post-game remarks. I did not say that Cole had quit on his teammates, although I phrased my question in a way that certainly could have invited that interpretation. I’ve since expressed regret for my poorly-chosen words.
Rest assured, however, that both my remarks and those offered by Cole were both taken far out of context, and our friendship is as solid as his commitment to helping our ball club win its second straight World Championship. Thank you for your time and, as always, your support!
COUNTERPOINT – Brett Myers’ Chinbeard: You’re Goddamn Fucking Right I Called Him a Pussy
‘Sup, fuckers. First of all, you little shitpackers out there in the media need to stop backpedaling from the truth like you’re some kind of bizarro Lance Armstrong. Here’s the real deal, and be sure to quote me ver-goddamn-batim: Brett Myers works for me, you got that? I give the orders around here, and have since day one. My instructions after Game Five last night were crystal-fucking-clear: Get up in that little prima donna’s face and give him both barrels until his mascara starts to run.
I don’t give two flat titties what my life-support system just told you: This chinbeard has a double-wide full of friends, and ain’t none of them named Colette Hamels. (See what I did there? I made it a girl’s name! That’s fucking satire, man.) When you quit on the ‘Beard, you shit on the beard. And to me that’s like shitting on the flag, because my colors don’t run, either.
You can bet I made goddamn clear to that left-coast penthouse dwelling bi-racial adopting motherfucker that he was officially ON NOTICE. Nobody, I mean NOBODY walks out on the C.B., people. Not my friends, not my teammates, not Mrs. Chinbeard. NOBODY. We’re in this together, you sumbitches. If you think this season was rough on you, young Miss Hamels, try an offseason of me instructing my host organism to dial your home number every night from now until St. Patrick’s Day to remind you what a flapping cooch you are.
Tough love, people! Motivation! That’s me! That’s America! FUCK YEAH! NOW LET’S TEAR A-ROD AND THE REST OF THOSE OVERPAID SISSIES A THIRD OUTPUT AND WIN THIS MOTHERFUCKER ALREADY!
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