Over the course of the next three days, the world will witness a spectacle unlike any other heretofore seen in this mortal realm. I speak, of course, of the impending series pitting the now-buoyant Blue Jays against the hungry Mariners. Walls will crumble. Fates will be decided. Expectations will be lowered.
It all begins tonight when the Poet faces the Piranha (that’d be Batista [4-11] up against Parrish [1-0]).
Run to the hills.
In the days ahead, these two powerhouses continue their epic struggle, charging bolt-throwing immortals with the task of hurling an orb from a mound of earth (bolt-throwing immortals who won't include Bedard, Halladay or Burnett, but, um, still) at massive, club-wielding men. The Rogers Centre will tremble to its very foundations, surely. Verily, the gods await the outcome of this awesome string of contests with great interest.
For real, though, woeful as the Mariners might (unexpectedly) be, if you live in
Wasn't that incredible? The Republica song, I mean. So catchy. What ever happened to Saffron, anyway?