There are people out there who honestly want to see others be happy.  They wish the best of people and want them to happy and healthy.  These people harbor no animosity, they don’t hold grudges and they most likely live lives of peace and contemplative relaxation.

Those people, are of course, simplistic douchebags.

I like it when people are happy.  I just happen to like it more when I’m happier.  I don’t think that makes me a bad person.  Of course, if you happen to think it makes me a bad person, I hope you get run over by a garbage truck the next time you go outside to get your mail.

The Germans have a word for this, they call it schadenfreude.  Well,  of course the Germans have a word for it.  Don’t let the lederhosen, warm beer and Jew hatred fool you, the Germans aren’t as nice as you think.

In most things in life, I think I have a relatively healthy outlook.

Sports, most specifically the Cubs, bring out my schadenfreude.

Take for instance, David Eckstein, the cute little shortstop for the St. Louis Cardinals.  He’s like a Muppet come to life.  He’s overcome his dwarfism to have a successful big league baseball career.  Had Major League Baseball not canceled last year’s World Series due to a lack of interest, he’s just the type of scrappy little dipshit that fat sportswriters would throw a token World Series MVP to.  It’d make for a funny sight, too.  Jeanne Zelasko handing Eckstein the keys to the SUV he wins as part of the MVP award and then helping buckle him into the booster seat.  That’d be charming, wouldn’t it?

But I not only don’t think Eckstein’s story is all that inspiring, I’d like to see him fall into a giant vat of anthrax.  Actually, it wouldn’t even take a giant vat of it.  That little bastard could drown in a teacup full of the stuff.

Two other things that bother me about him is that he refused to give one of his kidneys to his adorable little twin nephews, because it would have meant that he would have had to have to cancel a trip to Disney World he was being paid to attend by some St. Louis Cardinals major sponsors.  Instead, both of his nephews died horrible, painful deaths, and the nurses at the hospital still tell tales of their awful shreiking for hours and hours on end.  But hey, Dave got one last shot at Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride before they closed it.  He wanted to ride Space Mountain but of course he’s not tall enough.

(I’m pretty sure everything in that last paragraph is wrong.  But, I could be wrong, and I’d hate to be, so let’s leave that in.)

The other thing that bothers me is his inexplicable love of Elvis.

I’m also not a big fan of the whole “Wow, what a great story Rick Ankiel is!”  That’s not to say that I’m not happy about it.  If you’ve been under a rock, or if your house doesn’t receive ESPN (you lucky son of a bitch, you) you might not know the story of Rick Ankiel.

A few years ago he was considered a great young pitcher for the Cardinals.  Then, in the 2000 playoffs, after likely doing several lines of coke off the chest of a tranny hooker in the Cardinals’ clubhouse (the place is lousy with them at all times) he went out and threw 19 pitches in a playoff game against the Braves.  Twelve of them sailed over the backstop into the stands, killing several fans.  Ankiel was arrested and shared a cell for several years with his father and brother.

Upon his release he was unable to return to baseball as a pitcher because of nerve damage suffered in his pitching shoulder during a gang shower rape incident.  He is now playing the outfield, swinging from his ass, striking out a lot and occasionally lucking into a homer.  His range in the outfield is limited by the bulk of the ankle monitor he is forced to wear as part of his probation.

But he is being hailed as a hero.  They’re even talking about making a movie out of his story.  But wait, I thought they already did.

His story is similar to that of the Brewers first baseman, Prince Fielder.  Prince is the son of former big league player Cecil Fielder.  Prince is a player of some note, and has overcome a lot in his young life.  His dad and mom are now estranged, with dad rolling up some huge debts from gambling and shady investments.  Prince deals with it the only way he knows how.

By eating.

He’s the only player in baseball with his own gravitational pull and the only one who doesn’t sweat…he self bastes!

I know this is wrong.  I know it’s not nice to poke fun at others.

I just don’t care.